a spade. Jessica Tartinck had been a campaigner for all sorts of rights – anti-nuclear, save the whales, the environment in general, and now the rights
of ramblers. A don from Oxford University described her as having a brilliant academic brain and absolutely no common sense whatsoever. She had taught at a girls’ school and had brought the
pupils out on strike. Although her family were in Milton Keynes, since leaving university Jessica appeared to have hopped from one teaching job to another, with spaces in between to take time off
to go on marches and rallies and create general mayhem. Agatha reflected cynically that such as Jessica probably kept moving on as soon as people got used to her, as soon as she felt her power
slipping. There were people like that who really did not give a fig for the environment, the whales, or anything else, but used protests as a means to gain power. Probably, thought Agatha, if she
had not been killed, Jessica would soon have moved away from Dembley. She wondered what Jessica’s sex life had been like. Such women often used sex as a weapon to manipulate people and gain
control of them. There was a rather blurry photograph of her in one newspaper. She appeared to have been quite a striking-looking woman. There were several articles in various papers about ancient
rights of way. But there was no hint at all why anyone should have wanted to murder Jessica.
At five o’clock, Agatha found her initial interest had revived. When Mrs Mason arrived with Deborah, Agatha, going to the door and glancing in the hall mirror, wished she looked more like
a great detective, whatever great detectives were supposed to look like.
Deborah, decided Agatha, seemed an inoffensive sort of girl. There were hundreds like her to be seen on the streets of any town in the Midlands – fair-haired, washed out, thin and
timid.
‘So, Deborah,’ began Agatha, ‘how can I help you?’
‘It’s ever so worrying,’ said Deborah earnestly. ‘I don’t know where to begin.’
‘Begin by telling me how you came to meet Sir Charles.’
‘It was like this. Jessica was threatening to walk across that field and she sent me to check the right of way. I didn’t want to be caught out trespassing, so I called at the house
first. Sir Charles was ever so nice and gave me tea. Then he asked for my phone number and then he called me up and took me out to the cinema.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, well, you know . . .’
‘He fancies you?’
‘Maybe,’ said Deborah. ‘He seemed to like being with me.’
‘Has he phoned you since?’
‘No, but I phoned him today and told him about you.’
‘So the police have released him?’
‘They couldn’t really keep him. The farm worker who saw him having a row with Jessica also saw him walking away towards the house when Jessica was still alive. If you’re
available, Sir Charles would like us both to go there for lunch tomorrow.’
Agatha felt a glow of simple snobbish delight. She, Agatha Raisin, was going to have lunch at a baronet’s. Stuff James! She would have great delight in telling him all about it . . .
afterwards.
‘Do you want to use the phone to confirm it?’ asked Agatha.
‘No, he said if I didn’t phone back, he would know we were coming. We’re expected at one.’
‘So do you want me to pick you up at the school? Although I feel I should not be seen by the others if I’m going to investigate this case.’
‘I have a little old Volkswagen. I’ll get there myself,’ said Deborah, ‘and meet you there. There’s one person I should warn you about. If anyone is capable of
murder, he is.’
‘Who is that?’
‘Gustav. The manservant. He doesn’t like me. He told me to stay away from Sir Charles.’
‘And did you tell Sir Charles this?’
Deborah hung her head and muttered. ‘No.’ She hadn’t wanted Sir Charles to know she was the sort of person of whom a servant disapproved.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Agatha bracingly. ‘No
of ramblers. A don from Oxford University described her as having a brilliant academic brain and absolutely no common sense whatsoever. She had taught at a girls’ school and had brought the
pupils out on strike. Although her family were in Milton Keynes, since leaving university Jessica appeared to have hopped from one teaching job to another, with spaces in between to take time off
to go on marches and rallies and create general mayhem. Agatha reflected cynically that such as Jessica probably kept moving on as soon as people got used to her, as soon as she felt her power
slipping. There were people like that who really did not give a fig for the environment, the whales, or anything else, but used protests as a means to gain power. Probably, thought Agatha, if she
had not been killed, Jessica would soon have moved away from Dembley. She wondered what Jessica’s sex life had been like. Such women often used sex as a weapon to manipulate people and gain
control of them. There was a rather blurry photograph of her in one newspaper. She appeared to have been quite a striking-looking woman. There were several articles in various papers about ancient
rights of way. But there was no hint at all why anyone should have wanted to murder Jessica.
At five o’clock, Agatha found her initial interest had revived. When Mrs Mason arrived with Deborah, Agatha, going to the door and glancing in the hall mirror, wished she looked more like
a great detective, whatever great detectives were supposed to look like.
Deborah, decided Agatha, seemed an inoffensive sort of girl. There were hundreds like her to be seen on the streets of any town in the Midlands – fair-haired, washed out, thin and
timid.
‘So, Deborah,’ began Agatha, ‘how can I help you?’
‘It’s ever so worrying,’ said Deborah earnestly. ‘I don’t know where to begin.’
‘Begin by telling me how you came to meet Sir Charles.’
‘It was like this. Jessica was threatening to walk across that field and she sent me to check the right of way. I didn’t want to be caught out trespassing, so I called at the house
first. Sir Charles was ever so nice and gave me tea. Then he asked for my phone number and then he called me up and took me out to the cinema.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, well, you know . . .’
‘He fancies you?’
‘Maybe,’ said Deborah. ‘He seemed to like being with me.’
‘Has he phoned you since?’
‘No, but I phoned him today and told him about you.’
‘So the police have released him?’
‘They couldn’t really keep him. The farm worker who saw him having a row with Jessica also saw him walking away towards the house when Jessica was still alive. If you’re
available, Sir Charles would like us both to go there for lunch tomorrow.’
Agatha felt a glow of simple snobbish delight. She, Agatha Raisin, was going to have lunch at a baronet’s. Stuff James! She would have great delight in telling him all about it . . .
afterwards.
‘Do you want to use the phone to confirm it?’ asked Agatha.
‘No, he said if I didn’t phone back, he would know we were coming. We’re expected at one.’
‘So do you want me to pick you up at the school? Although I feel I should not be seen by the others if I’m going to investigate this case.’
‘I have a little old Volkswagen. I’ll get there myself,’ said Deborah, ‘and meet you there. There’s one person I should warn you about. If anyone is capable of
murder, he is.’
‘Who is that?’
‘Gustav. The manservant. He doesn’t like me. He told me to stay away from Sir Charles.’
‘And did you tell Sir Charles this?’
Deborah hung her head and muttered. ‘No.’ She hadn’t wanted Sir Charles to know she was the sort of person of whom a servant disapproved.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Agatha bracingly. ‘No
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