Read The Blood of an Englishman for Free Online Page B

good idea. I would like to help you.” He smiled and Agatha blinked at the beauty of that smile.
    â€œOkay,” she said reluctantly. “You seem a very observant man, Mr. Hale.”
    â€œJohn, please.”
    â€œJohn it is. Perhaps I could take you for lunch and you could give me a picture of some of the people in Winter Parva.”
    He hesitated, while Agatha mentally crossed her fingers.
    â€œI suppose that would be nice,” he said slowly. “I’ve never met a private detective before.”
    â€œWhat about lunch on Wednesday at the George in Mircester? Be my guest.”
    â€œYes, I think that would be all right. I’ll phone you if I can’t make it. What time?”
    â€œSay one o’clock?”
    â€œRight. Thank you.”
    *   *   *
    Agatha left the school with a smile on her face. She was just getting into her car when Charles drove up.
    â€œHow did you get on?” asked Agatha.
    â€œShe seems to be finally mourning. She wept on my shoulder for quite some time. Apart from that, nothing interesting.”
    â€œDear Gwen is manipulating you,” said Agatha. “I’ll bet she’s glad to get rid of the beast.”
    â€œYou get anything?” asked Charles.
    â€œOnly a bit of possible gossip.” She told Charles about Kimberley. “He wouldn’t give me the address but we’ll look up Buxton in the phone book.”
    â€œActually, I’m going to shove off. Why don’t you get Toni along to help you?”
    But Agatha did not want her beautiful detective anywhere near Winter Parva. Her head was already full of dreams of John Hale. Normally, Agatha’s powerful sex drive would already have plunged her into obsession, but John’s beauty had roused an almost teenage romanticism.
    Charles walked to his car and then turned back. “What did this teacher look like?”
    â€œWhat has that got to do with anything? Oh, tweedy. You know the type.”
    Charles threw her a suspicious look before getting into his car and driving off.
    *   *   *
    Fine snow was still falling. Evening was settling down with smells of tea and fried fish. One more interview, thought Agatha, and then I’d better get home before I am snowed up. She decided to leave Kimberley for another day and interview the comedian, George Southern. A small girl who looked anorexic was painting her nails behind the counter in the gift shop. Molly Kite, thought Agatha. The shop was filled with the usual Cotswold tourist junk: coffee mugs, tea towels, Cotswold fudge and other items meant to tempt the bus tours which came in the summer.
    â€œI would like to speak to Mr. Southern,” said Agatha.
    Large black eyes framed in thick false eyelashes stared at her. “Oh, you’ll be that detective lady. Have you got a gun?”
    â€œNo.”
    Molly promptly lost interest. “I’ll fetch him.”
    She went through to the back shop. Agatha could hear the murmur of voices.
    Then Molly reappeared. She whispered, “He won’t see you. Says he’s stock taking. That’s a clue!”
    â€œIt is.”
    â€œLooked ever so shifty, he did. And he hated Bert.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œCos Bert was real hateful.”
    â€œIn what way?”
    â€œThe panto was Bert’s big moment, see? He was jealous of his wife being the singing star o’ Mircester. Said he could act her off the stage and that wimp, John Hale.”
    Diverted, Agatha asked, “And is John Hale a wimp?”
    â€œNaw. He’s a judo expert. One o’ the big boys tried to take him on and Mr. Hale laid him flat on his back.”
    Agatha felt a twinge of unease. She hoped John hadn’t fallen for Gwen. They must spend a lot of time together at the Mircester Players.
    â€œTell Mr. Southern I’ll call again,” said Agatha.
    She walked out of the shop and stood outside. After she had counted to ten, she