"We know that," said Maddie to Agatha's amazement. "The police went to close the place down in ninety-one, but the office was closed and the Gore-Appleton woman had disappeared."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why should I?" Maddie was barely able to conceal her contempt. "The trouble with you women who don't work is you're always poking your nose into other people's affairs. You've been told and told to leave matters to the police. I'll tell you something else. I think you were using that phone. Let's just try the call-back number and see what you were up to."
Agatha thought quickly. Maddie would only get that operator number. But she would ask everyone in the station if anyone had dialled the operator from the number in the interview room and find that no one had. Then, Agatha worried, she would phone the operator and find out what the inquiry had been about. But just at that moment, the phone rang.
Maddie picked it up. "Hallo, Bill," she said crossly. "Are you back in the building? You're not? You're phoning from outside." Bill's voice at the other end quacked busily. "Well, listen to this," said Maddie. "Your darling Mrs. Raisin is in the interview room and I think she was using this phone and I was about to get the call-back to tell me who it was phoned her, but because you found out I was in the interview room and decided to get through on an outside line, I can't find out now. Why didn't you just let the switchboard put yotl through?"
The voice quacked again. It was obvious to Agatha that Bill was explaining that whatever he had to say to Maddie he hadn't wanted to be overheard by the switchboard, because Maddie said, "This is neither the time nor place, and if you want to know the truth, there never is going to be a time and place...ever. Geddit?"
She slammed the phone down and said to Agatha, "Get out of here."
And Agatha went, gladly.
James was too curious about this new information to be angry with Agatha. In fact, he seemed to find her story about the desk and the manufactured faint amusing.
"Roy Silver phoned when you were out," he said "That secretary, Helen Warwick, the one Derrington was having the affair with, is back. I have the address. Want to go up to London today?"
"Can we leave it tomorrow?" pleaded Agatha. "I've got to go to Cheltenham with the awful Hardy woman and sort out the house sale."
"Are you driving her or is she driving you?"
"Neither. She's meeting me there."
"Do you want me to come with you in case she tries to put the price up again?"
"She wouldn't!"
"She might. She's a tough customer."
"I hate her," said Agatha passionately. "I hate her almost as much as I hate that Maddie Hurd. What Bill ever saw in her is beyond me. What a bitch! And we've got Basil to check out."
"You go and see to getting your home back and we'll drive over to Mircester afterwards and see what we can find out about Basil."
"And there's the husband, Geoffrey Comfort of the Potato Plus. What is Potato Plus anyway?"
"It's a small factory where they put potatoes in plastic bags for the supermarkets. But his home number is in the book. Guess where he lives?"
"Here? Carsely?"
"No, Ashton-Le-Walls, same place as the late Miss Purvey. Off you go."
Agatha found Mrs. Hardy waiting for her in the lawyer's office in Montpelier Terrace in Cheltenham.
Agatha had paid PS110,000 for the cottage and had sold it to Mrs. Hardy for PS120,000. Mrs. Hardy was asking PS130,000, a ridiculous price, thought Agatha, now that the market had slumped.
Agatha was about to sign the papers when the price of PS150,000 seemed to leap off the page at her.
"What's this?" she snapped.
"The price?" The lawyer smiled. "Mrs. Hardy said that was the price agreed on."
"What the hell are the pair of you up to?" snarled Agatha. She rounded on the lawyer. "You agree to the price of one hundred and thirty thousand on the phone!"
"Well, Mrs. Hardy seems to think one hundred and fifty thousand a fair price."
Agatha gathered up her handbag and gloves. "You can get stuffed, the pair of you. I'll tell you what my figure is now - one hundred and ten thousand pounds. Take it or leave it."
She marched out of the office.
Oh, my home, she mourned as she got in her car. I'd better give it up. Fd better find another cottage in another village and get away from James entirely and get my life back. The world is full of other men.
But when she walked into James's cottage and he looked up and smiled at her, she felt her heart turn over and wondered if she would ever really be free of the feelings she had for him.
She told him what had happened and James said mildly, "There are other cottages, you know. Let's have an early dinner and go to Mircester."
The Loanings, where Basil Morton lived, was a builder's development, rather like the one where the Wong family had 1 their house. It was like a council estate, the only difference that Agatha could see being that the houses were slightly larger and the gardens well tended.
They rang the doorbell, not expecting a reply, but using it as a preliminary to calling on the neighbours and asking where their 'friend', Basil, had got to. To their surprise, the door was answered by a thin, dark-haired woman. At first they thought she was a girl because she was wearing a short navy skirt and white blouse, almost like a school uniform, and her hair was braided into two plaits. But when she switched on the overhead light over the door, they saw the fine wrinkles around her eyes and judged her to be in her late thirties.
"May we speak to Mr. Morton?" asked James.
"Basil's away abroad on business. He's often away." Loneliness shone in the dark eyes. "Won't you come in?"
They followed her into a living-room, which was almost frightening in its sterile cleanliness. There were no books or magazines lying about. "How long have you lived here?" asked Agatha, looking around her.
"Ten years."
And not a scuff-mark or stain or wear anywhere, marvelled Agatha. Can't be any children.
"Sherry?"
"Yes, please."
"Then please sit down."
She knelt down in front of a sideboard which shone and gleamed from frequent polishing and took out a crystal decanter, then three crystal glasses and a small silver tray. She put the tray on the carpet and placed glasses and decanter on it.
"Allow me." James carried the tray and its contents to a low coffee-table, which also shone and gleamed like glass.
How terrifying, thought Agatha. Doesn't she ever spill anything?
The woman poured out three glasses of what turned out to be very sweet sherry, probably British sherry, thought James, wrinkling his nose as he sniffed it.
"Did you want to see Basil about business?"
"No, Mrs____ er...Morton?"
"That's me."
"We just wanted to talk to him about a personal matter," said James.
"He's gone abroad. Spain. He often travels."
"What is his business, Mrs. Morton?"
"Bathrooms. Morton's Bathrooms, that's the company."
"Why Spain?"
"He buys tiles there," she said vaguely. "To be honest, I don't really know anything about the business. I have so much to do here, and I'm so tired when Basil gets home that I usually fall asleep."
"Do you work at home?" asked James.
She gave a little laugh and one thin hand waved to take i in the gleaming living-room. "Housekeeping. It never ends. You must find that, Mrs...?"
"Call me Agatha. I get a woman to clean. I'm not very good at housekeeping."
"Oh, but you've got to keep on top of it. It's the least one can do for a hard-working husband. I like my Basil to have his little nest to come home to...when he does come home," she added wistfully.
James drained his glass with a little grimace and signalled with his eyes to Agatha.
"Well, we must be on our way, Mrs. Morton. We have other calls to make."