That night, Agatha sat on a hard bunk in a cell in Wyckhadden police station and bleakly went over the events of the evening.
Harry Berry had told the police that out of the corner of his eye, when he had joined the others at the window after the colonel had ordered a bottle of claret, he thought he had seen Agatha slip something into the colonel's drink. He had not wanted to make a scene and he had not been sure of what he had seen and so he had decided to say the wine was corked and ask for another bottle. Daisy had told the police that Agatha had insisted on putting drops of a love potion into the colonel's drink. Agatha, Daisy had said, had been romancing the colonel and was jealous of her, Daisy. Therefore Agatha was a poisoner.
Agatha, at first sure that the love potion which had been taken from her handbag, along with every other bottle and jar in her room, was harmless, was beginning to worry. What if the murderer of Francie and Janine had wanted to be rid of the colonel and had doctored that love potion? What if it turned out to contain poison?
Jimmy had not come near her. He had not interviewed her, the superintendent from Hadderton had done that, a cold, hard man with suspicious eyes. Agatha had not been charged but was being kept in for further questioning. She had at last demanded a lawyer. He would be with her in the morning.
Rain pattered at the barred window above her head. God get me out of this, she prayed, and I will return to Carsely and never, ever leave it again.
As she did not know the names of any lawyers in the town, one had been supplied for her and he arrived in the morning. He listened carefully while Agatha outlined what had really happened. He was a middle-aged, tired-looking man with a thin face and gold-rimmed glasses and wearing a shabby suit.
"If that's your story, I would stick to it," he said, when Agatha had finished. "They'll need to charge you this morning or release you. The pathologist has been working all night on the body. These things take time."
"Don't you believe me..." Agatha was starting to say impatiently when the cell door opened and Jimmy came in. He jerked his head at the lawyer and said, "Leave us."
"I cannot do that, Inspector," said the lawyer. "I am representing Mrs. Raisin."
"It's all right," said Agatha. "Leave us."
When they were alone, Jimmy said, "I'm sorry about this. I feel the police over-reacted." He sat down on the bed next to Agatha and held her hand.
"I look a wreck," said Agatha. "They took my handbag away and I've no make-up on. What do you mean, they overreacted?"
"I would say from a look at the colonel that he died of a massive stroke. His face had all slumped down to one side. I think that will turn out to be the case. What on earth were you doing messing with love potions, Agatha?"
"I went to Francie for that hair tonic. She offered that love potion as well and it seemed a bit of a joke at the time. Daisy was going frantic about the colonel. She had seen us at the theatre together and oh, I suppose I wanted to prove to her that I wasn't a bit interested in him. So I told her about the love potion."
"There was only half a bottle left," said Jimmy curiously.
"I started to pour it down the sink and then I thought it might be interesting to keep some and get it analysed when I get home," said Agatha, who had no intention of telling Jimmy she had put some in his drink. "What happens now?"
"They're more or less convinced, Agatha, that Colonel Lyche died of natural causes. You're free to go."
"Jimmy, I not only want to go but I want to go back to Carsely."
"I'm afraid that's not possible, Agatha. You'll need to wait for the definite result of the post-mortem, but it shouldn't be too long."
"How do you put up with me, Jimmy?"
"Because I love you."
Agatha felt a stab of guilt. What right had she to marry someone she didn't love? I do love him, she told herself fiercely, I'm just not in love with him.
"I'll have to keep clear of you until the final results of the post-mortem come through," said Jimmy.
"I understand." Again that stab of guilt because of the feeling of relief she had first felt at his words.
"I'll send a policewoman in to take you through to the desk to collect your things.
"See you," said Agatha wearily.
Agatha emerged from the police station into a watery world. Snow was sliding from roofs to fall with thuds on the street, water ran down the gutters and a mild, frisky wind blew through her hair.
She had hardly slept at all. She had refused the offer of a police car to take her back to the hotel. She opened her handbag and took out her packet of cigarettes, and turning her back to the wind, lit one. A thin, acidulous woman who was passing shouted at her, "Don't you know that's a filthy habit?"
"Naff off!" shouted Agatha with such venom that the woman scurried off down the street.
Why did I ever come to this place? thought Agatha, as she trudged along the promenade beside the restless sea. At the end of the prom, she could see the hotel. It looked like a prison. What were they all doing? Playing Scrabble and talking about the weather?
Tired as she was, before she got to the hotel she turned and walked along the pier. There was a fascination in piers, those Victorian structures on the British coastline whose elegant spindly structures led out over the waves with their theatre or dance hall at the end, with their souvenir booths and slot machines. Her heels clacked on the boards. Someone had shovelled a clear pathway through the rapidly melting snow. She longed to be able to go up to her room and pack and get in that rented car and drive as far away as possible. She stood at the end of the pier looking down at the surging waves racing each other toward the shore until she began to shiver.
Wearily, she turned and walked towards the hotel. Mr. Martin was at the desk.
"No calls," snapped Agatha and went up to her room. Scrabble purred and mewed while Agatha prepared cat food and a bowl of water. She wanted a hot bath but she was so very tired. After Scrabble had been fed, Agatha climbed into bed without undressing, pulled the duvet up to her ears and plunged down into a dreamless sleep.
The Red Lion in Carsely was busy that lunch-time. Publican John Fletcher pulled a pint of Hook Norton for James Lacey and said, "Our Agatha's in another mess."
"What? There was nothing in the papers this morning," said James.
"Heard it on the radio this morning," said John. "Some colonel died at that hotel Agatha's staying in. Agatha's been pulled in. Helping police with their inquiries, it said. You should go down there and see if you can help."
"Her fiance will look after her. He's a police inspector," sad James grimly and moved away from the bar.
Sir Charles Fraith was driving back to his estate when he heard the news about Agatha on the radio. "Silly woman," he muttered. When he got home, he phoned the Garden Hotel but was told that Mrs. Raisin was not taking any calls.
What on earth was going on down there? he wondered. Might be fun to find out. Life had been a bit boring recently and the girl he had thought had fancied him like mad had just got engaged to someone else. He packed an overnight bag, got back in his car and headed south.
Agatha did not awake until evening. She soaked herself in a hot bath, washed her hair, then put on a night-dress and dressing-gown and phoned down to the desk and asked for sandwiches and coffee to be sent up. She did not feel like facing the others. She wanted to pretend they didn't even exist. The night porter had just come on duty. "I have a note here to say you don't want any calls to be put through."
"That's right," said Agatha.
She switched on the television, which was showing an old James Bond movie. When her sandwiches arrived, Agatha settled down in a chair in front of the television with the cat on her lap to watch it.