“Did you have any money?” asked Agatha.
“I had just a little over that in my bank account. Of course I paid, but he didn’t let me have the negatives. I was nearly ill with fright. He said coldly he needed more money. One more payment would do it. So I sent that money, the money you brought back to me. I took out a personal loan.”
Agatha looked around. “Is your husband at work?”
Tears welled up in Harriet’s eyes. “That’s the bloody tragedy. After I’d paid that last instalment, Luke left me-for that secretary. The house was in his name. Oh, I suppose I could have got a lawyer. But I was so crushed I just let it all happen.”
“You know Shawpart was murdered?” asked Roy.
“Yes, and when I read it in the papers, I thought if I ever met the woman who did it, I would shake her hand.”
“Might have been a man,” suggested Agatha.
“I’m sure it was a woman.”
“What about his wife?”
“They split up just after I started going to Mr. John.”
“What was she like?” asked Agatha.
“Well, she wasn’t a very good hairdresser, although she didn’t know it. She thought she could start up on her own, but her own business soon failed.”
“What did she look like?” asked Roy.
“Blonde, lots of hair, sort of statuesque.”
“Do you think she was in on this blackmailing racket?” asked Agatha.
“I don’t know. He only started on me after the divorce.” Harriet clasped her hands and looked at Agatha beseechingly. “I keep having nightmares about those negatives.”
“I think they were burnt in the fire,” said Agatha soothingly. “If they hadn’t been, the police would have been on to you.”
“Someone’s coming,” said Roy as the figure of a man descending the area steps could be seen through the window above.
“I’m not expecting a customer,” said Harriet. She rose and went to the door just as a sharp knock sounded on the outside.
“Luke,” exclaimed Harriet, falling back a step.
Agatha moved like lightning. She picked up the envelope full of money and thrust it into Harriet’s open handbag and clicked the clasp shut. She picked up a swathe of material and draped it around her. “What do you think?” she was asking Roy as Luke walked into the room.
Agatha had imagined that someone called Luke-a romance name, a cowboy name-would be a brooding sort of man with saturnine good looks, not this tubby little bespectacled man who stood blinking at them in the gloom of the basement.
In a trembling voice, Harriet introduced Agatha and Roy.
“I see you’re busy,” said Agatha. “I think this red would be nice.”
“Too ageing,” said Roy and Agatha threw him a filthy look.
“We’ll be on our way,” said Agatha briskly. “I’ve left that payment in your handbag.”
…
“So what d’you think?” she asked Roy outside. “Reconciliation?”
“Poor woman. I hope so. What do we do now?”
“I’m tired of Portsmouth and we haven’t eaten. I suggest we drive home and stop off on the road and eat some lovely, greasy, cholesterol-laden food.”
“But we haven’t really got anywhere,” said Agatha, exasperated.
“Don’t know what else we can do. John’s dead, we don’t know where the wife is. But the police will know and they’ve probably interviewed her. I’ve a feeling we’re at a dead end, Aggie.”
Agatha was suddenly engulfed by a wave of weariness. Was she really interested in this case? Or was she always searching for something to take her mind off James-and now the humiliation of Charles?
Finally comforted by a large, greasy plate of sausages and chips, she slept fitfully on the drive home.
“Hope you haven’t had a visit from the murderer,” said Roy cheerfully as they drove up to Agatha’s cottage.
“I wish I’d left the burglar alarm on,” grumbled Agatha.
“I was only joking,” said Roy, suddenly nervous.
“We’ll go in and check and then go round to Doris Simpson and collect the cats.”
“You first.”
“Coward.”
Agatha walked up the path and then stopped short. Roy collided into her.
“What’s up?” he hissed.
“There’s a light on in the living-room.”
“Then we go and get a copper. Did you leave a light on?”
“No, honestly. Let’s get Fred Griggs.”
Following Agatha’s directions, Roy drove to the village police station. It was in darkness, but there was a light on in the flat above. Agatha rang the bell and waited while Fred Griggs lumbered down the stairs.
“Fred,’! said Agatha when he answered the door. “There’s a light on in the living-room of my cottage. Someone must be in there.”
“Sure you didn’t leave it on?”
“No, Fred. What if it’s this murderer waiting for me to come home?”
“I’ll just pop on my uniform. Wait here.”
Roy and Agatha waited for what seemed like an age until Fred reappeared.
“Haven’t you got a weapon?” hissed Agatha.
“Just my fists. Not even CS gas,” said Fred comfortably.
They drove him back to Agatha’s cottage. “Look at that!” exclaimed Agatha. “The light’s gone out.”
“Maybe you imagined it,” said Fred.
“No, I didn’t, did I, Roy?”
“Well, you did say you’d seen it, but maybe we imagined it,” said Roy.
“Can’t wait here all night.” Fred walked up to the door. “Your keys, Mrs. Raisin.”
Agatha handed him her door keys. Fred opened the door and Roy and Agatha crowded in behind him.
“Which way’s the living room?”
“Here.” Agatha pointed to the living-room door. Fred opened it and switched on the light.
“Look!” hissed Agatha.
A half-finished glass of whisky stood on a table and a newspaper was dropped on the floor.
“Not yours?” whispered Fred.
Agatha shook her head.
“Wait here.” Fred went off and looked in the dining-room and kitchen.
He came back. “I’ll just be taking a look upstairs.”
“I’m coming with you,” Agatha whispered back, not wanting to be left in the hall with only the weedy Roy for protection.
They followed Fred as he crept up the stairs. He opened Agatha’s bedroom door. Nothing and no one. Then the bathroom door. Sodden towels lay on the floor.
“I didn’t leave it like that,” muttered Agatha.
“Last room,” whispered Fred and opened the door of the spare bedroom. He fumbled and switched on the light.
Sir Charles Fraith lay in bed, fast asleep.
“Seen ‘im before with you, Mrs. Raisin,” Fred remarked.
“Oh,” said Agatha, weak at the knees with relief. “It’s only Charles. Just leave him.”
They backed out and went downstairs. “How did your boyfriend get in?” asked Fred with a grin.
“He’s not my boyfriend. Just a house guest. I gave him the spare set of keys. Look, Fred, it was very good of you. Roy’11 run you back.”
“I’ll walk. Nice night for it. Got a full house, hey?” Fred winked at Agatha, slapped her on the bottom and went off whistling.
“Bang goes your reputation, sweetie,” said Roy. “What a klutz you are! What’s with the baronet in the bed? You never told me about him. I mean, I didn’t know you were close”
“He’s just a friend,” protested Agatha. “He was staying here for a bit and then he left.”
“I’ve seen him recently.” Roy frowned. “Aha, he was in that restaurant in Stratford and with some girl and you never said a word.”
“Can we just leave the whole thing? I’m tired.”
“Have it your way. What’s the programme for tomorrow?”