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hall?”
    â€œYes. He’s interviewing Andrea.”
    â€œWe should have beaten him to it, Charles,” said Agatha. “I bet she denies the whole thing. So let’s get back to Mrs. Bull. Say, she’s been bumped off. Where would you dump a body, Bill?”
    â€œHaven’t a clue.”
    â€œWhat about the allotments?” asked Charles. “I saw them at the edge of the village.”
    â€œI’d better go on my own,” said Bill. “If Wilkes turns up and finds you with me, he’ll be furious. Oh, Lord, here come the press.”
    â€œYou deal with them,” said Agatha quickly. “Let’s go, Charles.”
    Agatha and Charles drove to the allotments. Unlike the ones in Carsely, several of the plots were vacant and covered in weeds. There was no one in sight. They wandered through the allotments, looking to right and left. There were no signs of freshly turned earth: nothing that looked like a grave. The wind moaned through the trees bordering the allotments.
    Agatha drew her fake fur coat tighter about her and shivered. “This place gives me the creeps. I seem to hear someone shouting, ‘Help!’”
    â€œThere’s an old well over in that far corner,” said Charles.
    â€œLooks as if it hasn’t been used for a century,” said Agatha. “I’m cold and hungry, and a gin and tonic is calling to me.”
    But Charles walked over to the well. It was covered with a stone slab. He leaned down and pressed his ear against it. Then he straightened up and called, “Get a tyre iron out of the car, Aggie! I swear I heard a moan. Bring a torch as well.”
    When Agatha came back, Charles inserted the tyre iron under the edge of the slab and heaved. The old slab split in two. He grasped the edge of one of the pieces and hauled it onto the grass. Then he took the torch from Agatha and shone it down into the well. The white face and terrified eyes of a woman stared up at him.
    â€œI think we’ve found her,” he said. “Phone Bill. Have a look. Is that Mrs. Bull?”
    Agatha looked down at the terrified face. “It’s her.” She took out her mobile and called Bill. Then, leaning over the well, she shouted down, “Help is on its way. Who did this to you?”
    But Mrs. Bull had relapsed into unconsciousness.
    They were soon joined by Bill and several policemen and then by Wilkes. Before a fire engine arrived, Agatha fretted. If Mrs. Bull had been thrown into the well, she must be suffering from broken bones.
    At last the firemen arrived. It was decided that the thinnest of the firemen should be lowered down with a canvas hoist to put around Mrs. Bull. An ambulance rolled up, and paramedics stood by.
    At last, Mrs. Bull was slowly hoisted to the surface. She gave one long scream of agony and then fell silent.
    Oh, let her stay alive, prayed Agatha as Mrs. Bull’s white-and-blueish face appeared over the parapet of the well. Police had cordoned off the allotments, keeping the press at bay.
    She was tenderly placed on a stretcher, an oxygen mask over her face and a drip in her arm.
    Agatha scrolled down her phone until she found Damian’s number. “I’ve got to speak to you. It’s urgent.”
    â€œCome up to the house,” he said. “What’s happened?”
    â€œTell you when I get there,” said Agatha. She rang off. “Come along, Charles.”
    â€œNot so fast,” said Wilkes, looming over her. “I need statements from both of you as to why you so conveniently found the missing woman down the well.”
    â€œI have a job to do as well,” said Agatha. “Charles and I will call in at headquarters and give you a full statement later on.”
    â€œYou do that,” said Wilkes, “and I will have you arrested for impeding the police in their enquiries. Detective Wong! Take their statements … now!”
    Bill was painstaking and meticulous.