Agatha looked at her open-mouthed and then said, "That's all so very simple, it could well be what happened. But surely the police can find this woman, with all their resources and all."
"She could have changed her name."
"That might be an idea. I wonder if they've checked the Records Office to see if a Mrs. Gore-Appleton changed her name to anything else. Damn, they're bound to have done that."
"She was and still is a criminal, Agatha. She could easily get false papers. Apart from her, have you come across anyone during your investigations who might be a murderer or murderess?"
"It could be any of them. Those men's footprints near the body could be a blind. I have a gut feeling it's some woman. That secretary, Helen Warwick, I don't trust her at all."
"It would take some strength to strangle a man."
"Mrs. Comfort said something odd about Mrs. Gore-; Appleton. She said she looked like a man."
"So she could be a he, pretending to be a woman?"
"I suppose anything's possible."
"There you are," said James. "Dance, Agatha?"
"Sit down a moment," said Agatha. "Mrs. Bloxby's got some ideas." By the time Mrs. Bloxby had finished outlining them, her husband was announcing a ladies' choice, and to Agatha's dismay, Mrs. Hardy came up and tapped James on the shoulder and marched him off rather like a military policeman arresting a deserter.
"I wish that woman would go back in her shell," muttered Agatha. She was beginning to have that old feeling of being a wallflower, Then she remembered it was a ladies' choice and asked one of the farmers for a dance.
Mrs. Bloxby watched her and reflected that Agatha was looking almost pretty. Her eyes were too small and her figure, however slimmed down, always appeared a bit stocky, but she had excellent legs and her brown hair shone with health.
Agatha began to forget about murder and enjoyed the evening. James asked her for the next dance and then they moved to the bar for some companionable drinks. Mrs. Hardy was on her feet for every dance, her face flushed, her eyes shining.
"Who would have thought that nasty old bat would turn out to be so nice, if you know what I mean," said Agatha.
The village dance ended as usual at midnight. They said their good-nights, Agatha noticing that old Mrs. Boggle, having collected the money, had cleared off, leaving all the coats unguarded.
They walked home, Mrs. Hardy hanging on to James's arm, much to Agatha's irritation, and saying what a good evening it had been. They were just rounding the corner of Lilac Lane when a dark figure detached itself from the thicker blackness of the bushes.
In the dim light from the moon above, they saw with horror that a man was confronting them, a masked man who was holding a pistol.
"This is a warning," he grated. "Bug out. And just to make sure you know I mean business..."
The pistol was lowered to point at Agatha's legs.
For one split second they stood paralysed, then Mrs. Hardy's foot shot out like that of a karate expert and she kicked the gun out of the man's hand. He turned and fled. Mrs. Hardy went plunging after him, but tripped and fell headlong, blocking James's pursuit. He tripped over her and sprawled in the lane.
Agatha found her voice and began to scream for help.
More police interviews. Agatha, white and shaking, was somehow more upset to learn that the gun was a replica. Mrs. Hardy was told she had been very brave but very foolish. It could have been a real gun.
"Where did you learn to kick like that?" asked Bill Wong.
Mrs. Hardy laughed. "From those Kung Fu films on television. I suppose it was a silly thing to do - it was just an accident that I managed to kick the gun out of his hand."
"Remember," cautioned Bill, "that if that gun had been real and had been loaded, it could have gone off."
"Well, I think she was very brave," said Agatha, clutching a cup of hot sweet tea.
While James and Mrs. Hardy were being questioned again - what had the man's voice sounded like, what height, clothes? - Agatha began to think of Helen Warwick. They had gone to see Helen and then James's house had been set on fire, and now this.
There must be some connection.
But when the police had left to join the milling hordes of other police combing the area - armed police, police with dogs, and police with helicopters - and when Mrs. Hardy had finally gone to her cottage, Agatha broached her suspicions of Helen Warwick to James. He shrugged and said, "That's ridiculous."
"It's not ridiculous!" cried Agatha.
"You've had a bad fright," said James soothingly. "I've got to go to London tomorrow to see an old friend. I suggest you have a day in bed to recover. No, not another word. You're not in a fit state to think properly."
Agatha awoke at nine to find the cottage empty and James's car gone. She was suddenly angry. Damn it, she would go to London herself and ask Roy Silver if he had found out anything else from that detective.
The doorbell rang. She ran to answer it, hoping James had come back. But it was the vicar's wife who stood on the step.
"Oh, Mrs. Bloxby. Come in. I was just about to leave for London."
"I keep telling you to call me Margaret. And shouldn't you be resting?"
"Have they caught anyone?" asked Agatha over her shoulder as she led the way through to the kitchen.
"Not a sign. They're still searching. The woods above the village are full of men and dogs. Was the man wearing gloves?"
"I think so. Why?"
"Well, fingerprints."
Agatha seized the coffee-jug from the machine. Her hand suddenly shook and she dropped the coffee-jug, which did not break but bounced across the floor, spreading coffee and spattering the cupboards. Agatha sat down and burst into tears.
"Now, then," said Mrs. Bloxby, guiding her to the table. "You just sit down there and I'll clean up this mess."
"J-James is so-so persnickety," sobbed Agatha. "He'll be furious."
"By the time I've finished," said the vicar's wife, taking off her coat, "he won't know anything has happened."
She opened the cupboard under the sink and took out cleaning materials and a floor-cloth. While Agatha sniffed dismally into a handkerchief, Mrs. Bloxby worked calmly and efficiently. Then she put on the kettle, saying, "I think tea would be better for you. Your nerves are bad enough. I am surprised James has left. Why?"
"He said he had to see an old friend." Agatha, who had temporarily got a grip on herself, found she was beginning to cry again. "But I don't think he's gone to see any old friend, I think he's gone to see that murderess, Helen Warwick."
"I'll make us a cup of tea and you can tell me about it."
When they were both seated at the table, Agatha described the visit to Helen Warwick and how, after that visit, someone had tried to burn them to death, and then, last night, the masked man had been about to shoot her in the legs if Mrs. Hardy had not kicked the gun out of his hand.
"I heard about that last night. Very brave of Mrs. Hardy. But it all goes to show, Agatha, that your Christian act in taking her to the village dance had its reward. It always reinforces my belief in the fundamental goodness of people in the way that a little bit of kindness engenders such a reward."