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promenade, arm in arm. The announcer then went on to describe Wyckhadden as a quiet seaside resort where a great many retired people stayed. Interviews with various neighbours of Francie Juddle, all expressing shock. James watched, bemused. Agatha had never mentioned Wyckhadden. And surely, if she had been friendly with a police inspector, she would have bragged about it.
    He switched off the television and went out and along to the vicarage. Mrs Bloxby answered the door to him. “Why, Mr Lacey! How nice. Come in. We don’t see much of you these days.”
    “I’ve been busy. What’s this about Agatha?”
    “She felt the need of a holiday.”
    “I have just seen her on television.”
    James told her about Agatha and the murder of the witch of Wyckhadden.
    “Poor Mrs Raisin. Murder does seem to follow her around.”
    “It said on the television news that Agatha was a friend of some police inspector.”
    “I saw the television news. How shocking! Poor Mrs Raisin. But I never heard her mention anything about a police inspector.”
    “But why Wyckhadden?”
    “I may as well tell you,” said Mrs Bloxby, “now that you know where she is. She didn’t know anything about Wyckhadden. She just closed her eyes and stuck a pin in the map.”
    “She might have told me where she was going.”
    “Why?” asked Mrs Bloxby gently. “You have not been close for quite a time.”
    “But we’re neighbours!”
    “No doubt she’ll tell us all about it when she returns. Tea?”
    ♦
    “No, I don’t want any more of your filthy tea,” Agatha was saying to the policewoman. The sun had gone down. The interview room was cold.
    The door opened and Carroll came in again. “We got someone for cutting up your coat.”
    “Who was it?” asked Agatha.
    “It was that girl you told Tarret about, who attacked you on the prom. Her name’s Carly Broomhead. We picked her up. She still had traces of red paint on her hands. Her sister works, or rather worked, now, as a maid at Garden Hotel. She’s been fired.”
    “It would be someone like her,” said Agatha bitterly. “I can sue her until I’m black in the face, but she’ll never be able to pay for another coat.”
    “At least we’ve got that out the way and know it’s not connected with the murder.”
    “Oh, isn’t it? In my opinion, anyone who slashes a coat is quite capable of bashing someone’s head in.”
    “Just leave investigation to the police in future, Mrs Raisin. You’re free to go but keep yourself available for further questioning.” He turned to the policewoman and said, “Interview with Mrs Agatha Raisin finished at eighteen hundred hours. Switch off the tape, Josie, and leave us for a moment.”
    When the policewoman had gone, Carroll leaned forward and said, “Jimmy Jessop’s a decent man.”
    “I am sure he is,” said Agatha stiffly.
    “He was shattered by the death of his wife. I don’t want him getting hurt or mucked about by the likes of you, see?”
    “Why don’t you concentrate on police work and mind your own damned business,” said Agatha, standing up.
    “I am concentrating on police business and I don’t like the way you went out at one in the morning and found that body.”
    “Are you charging me?”
    “Not yet.”
    “Then get stuffed.”
    Agatha stormed out. As she hurried back to the hotel, she realized with a little shock that she had not had a cigarette that day. She opened her handbag and took out a packet of Benson & Hedges. Then she took a deep breath of fresh air and put them back. She was free of the stuff at last.
    ♦
    When she got back to the hotel, she was relieved to see that no press were waiting outside. The manager, Mr Martin, was waiting for her. “If you would just step into the office, Mrs Raisin.”
    She followed him into an office off the entrance hall.
    “I am very distressed that a member, or rather, a former member, of my staff should have been party to the destruction of your coat, Mrs Raisin. We will not