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read all the claims of the lipstick as if reading her horoscope, unscrewed it and decided to apply it.
    She had it halfway to her mouth when a familiar voice said, ‘But Agatha’s my friend. It makes it difficult.’
    Agatha turned round, startled. Then she remembered the odd acoustics of the George. There was a fanlight window above the door, usually open, as it was that day, so that any diners sitting at a table on the other side of the door almost sounded as if they were in the toilet itself.
    That’s Bill Wong, thought Agatha with a smile. She tucked the lipstick away in her handbag, unapplied, and made for the door.
    Then she heard a female voice saying, ‘As far as I am concerned, Bill, Agatha Raisin is still a murder suspect. She could easily have put on a pair of men’s shoes to baffle Forensic, and she’s strong enough to strangle a man. Beefy sort of woman.’
    Agatha stood stock-still, her mouth a little open, her hand stretched out to the handle of the door.
    ‘Look, Maddie’ – Bill’s voice again – ‘I know Agatha, and she would not murder anyone. She’s a lady.’
    ‘Oh, come on, Bill, the way you go on about the old trout, one would think you were her toy-boy. And ladies don’t go around belting chaps over the face.’
    ‘What you are asking me to do is spy on Agatha,’ said Bill, ‘and I don’t like it.’
    Maddie Hurd’s voice came sharp and clear. ‘All I’m asking you to do is police work, Bill. If she didn’t do it, and Lacey didn’t do it, then the clues as to who did lie in Jimmy Raisin’s background. I mean, I’m surprised you haven’t called on her before this.’
    ‘I would have done,’ said Bill, ‘if you hadn’t made me feel like a traitor.’
    Maddie’s voice softened. ‘You know I wouldn’t ask you to do anything bad, Bill. Did you enjoy last night?’
    Bill’s voice, husky with tenderness, replied, ‘You know I did.’
    ‘Let’s go or we’ll miss the start of the movie. But you will find out what you can?’
    ‘I’ll take a run over there tonight.’
    There was a scraping-back of chairs, then Agatha heard their retreating footsteps.
    She felt desperately alone now. Bill’s friendship had always been rock-solid. He had been her first friend in a hitherto friendless life. Now she felt she had no one to trust, certainly not James, who seemed to be handling the current situation by treating her as impersonally as he would another man.
    And yet Bill Wong was obviously very much in love. What could he see in such a hard-faced bitch?
    James looked at Agatha’s gloomy face on her return and demanded to know what had upset her.
    Wearily, Agatha told him of the overheard conversation.
    James listened, his blue eyes intent. Then he said, ‘You cannot blame Bill for falling in love with an ambitious woman detective. I don’t think it’ll last long. You can’t choose his girlfriends for him.’
    ‘When he calls this evening,’ said Agatha huffily, ‘I’m not speaking to him.’
    ‘And what good will that do? He’s our only contact with the police. Instead of going into a huff, Agatha, you should simply tell him what you overheard. Maddie said some nasty things about you, but Bill said none.’
    ‘I don’t want to speak to him again!’
    ‘Agatha, be sensible.’
    ‘I’m sick and tired of being sensible,’ shouted Agatha and burst into tears.
    He gave her a clean handkerchief, he fetched her a stiff brandy, he suggested she lie down.
    And Agatha, who had suddenly and desperately wanted a shoulder to cry on, a shoulder to lean on, pulled herself together and said on a sob that, yes, she would see Bill.
    She would have been comforted could she have known that James felt as if he could cheerfully strangle both Bill Wong and Maddie, but James showed none of this as he returned to his computer. Agatha went up to bed for a nap, James tried to work, but his doorbell sounded shrilly. He thought it must be some persistent member of the press. Normally he would