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sign that says Coddend. You’ll see the gates a little bit along that road. Got pineapples on the gateposts.”
    Soon they were cruising up a long narrow drive, thickly wooded on either side. The car bumped over a cattle grid, and they were out of the shelter of the trees and found open fields on either side. Agatha drove round a stable block, through an arch and into a courtyard which was full of cars.
    â€œHe must have guests,” said Gerald. “Look! There’s a space over there. Back into it.”
    â€œThis car goes forwards. It doesn’t go back,” said Agatha, who hated reversing. She parked between a Rolls and a Bentley.
    â€œLooks as if it was once a nice Georgian house. Now it’s got odd Victorian bits tagged on. And look at all that ivy! Must be eating into the stonework.”
    The door was standing open. Agatha was about to walk straight in, but Gerald caught her arm. “Shouldn’t we ring and get the butler to announce us?”
    â€œI think hardly anyone but the very rich have butlers these days. Come on.”
    They found themselves in a passage leading to a T-junction with corridors going off to left and right.
    â€œMaybe we should have phoned,” said Gerald.
    â€œAs an ex-copper you should know it’s often better to surprise them,” retorted Agatha.
    Gerald stopped short. His face was creased up with anger. “I know more about detecting than you could ever learn!” he shouted.
    â€œOh, shut up, you pompous git!” yelled Agatha.
    A woman appeared at the end of the corridor. She looked so like Peta that Agatha’s heart gave a lurch. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded, “and what are you doing in my house?”
    Agatha hurried forward with a placatory smile. “I am Private Detective Agatha Raisin. I am investigating the murder of Peta Currie. It would be helpful to learn something about her background. We wondered if we could have a word with Mr. Farraday.”
    â€œIt is not convenient. We have guests.”
    â€œWhat’s up, darling?” A man walked towards them.
    â€œThis woman,” said his wife in glacial tones, “wants to interview you about Peta Currie. I told her to get lost.”
    He walked forwards. He was a tall man with a thick head of white hair. His white face was marred with red splotches, and his large nose had very open pores.
    â€œDon’t worry, poppet,” he said. “You look after our guests.” He opened a door to the left. “In here.”
    The room had a dusty unused look. “Please sit down,” he said.
    Agatha sat on a battered sofa which sent up a puff of dust. Gerald sat beside her. Nigel pulled up a hardback chair, swung it round, sat down and leaned on the back. He was wearing a collarless shirt and baggy shorts. “My barbecue outfit,” he said. “Now, you are?”
    After introducing them both, Agatha began to question him about Peta. “There was nothing to her apart from clothes, make-up and a devouring interest in money. But she was attractive-looking, I’ll grant you that,” he said. “But she refused to breed. As a politician, it helps to have a family. The next one was a loser as well. Hit lucky with this one. Two little boys. What about you pair? Any kids?”
    To Gerald’s horror, Agatha said sorrowfully. “Gerald didn’t want me to have any.”
    â€œPoor you. Now you’re too old. You could adopt.”
    â€œWait a moment!” howled Gerald. “I would have you know that I am a retired Scotland Yard detective, working for the Agatha Raisin Agency. We are not married. Agatha, what the hell came over you?”
    Nigel leered at Agatha. “She’s a kittenish joker. I like that.”
    Agatha smiled at him, and he stroked back his hair and smiled back. “So tell me a bit more. Was she faithful to you?”
    â€œNot towards the end of our marriage. Lucky for me. Put a