Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

They helped Harry to his feet. Then they followed the policeman down the pier past gawping onlookers and so to the hotel. Mr. Martin, the manager, came to meet them. "What now?" he cried. In a few succinct sentences, the colonel told him. "We will all foregather in the lounge," he said. "Is the fire made up?"

"Not yet." Mr. Martin rubbed his hands in distress. "This is terrible, terrible."

"Get someone to light the fire," barked the colonel.

They trooped into the lounge and collapsed into chairs around the fire. "I think tea with a lot of sugar," said the colonel, pressing the bell on the wall.

Agatha lit another cigarette. I quit once. I can quit again, she told herself with the true optimism of the addict.

Mary had stopped crying but she was very white. Daisy kept letting out odd little whimpers of distress and looking to the colonel for sympathy. But the colonel was watching the hotel servant lighting the fire, his head sunk on his chest.

Through the long window, Agatha could see Janine's husband hurrying along the pier. He would tell the police about the seance. She turned to the others. "I wonder if it was the husband after all."

No one replied. Tea arrived and the colonel poured. They all helped themselves to milk and sugar and digestive biscuits.

"I wonder what happened? I wonder who did it?" Agatha asked desperately.

"Put lots of sugar in your tea, Daisy," urged the colonel.

Agatha looked at them in bewilderment. All of them were avoiding eye contact with her. Were they all in it?

Jimmy Jessop came into the lounge. "The manager has kindly let us use the office, which will save all of you going down to the police station. I will take you one at a time. You first, Mrs. Raisin. You will all have to come to the police station later on today to make official statements."

Agatha followed him into the office, where Detective Sergeant Peter Carroll was waiting. Jimmy looked at her as if he had ever seen her before. "The dead woman's husband said you were all at a seance last night. Begin there and tell us what happened."

So Agatha began. She described the seance. She described how she had heard the supposed voice of her dead husband. "I always thought the voice of the dead was supposed to come from the medium's mouth," she said, "but this voice was in the room."

"And what did this voice say?"

"Just a lot of rot," said Agatha. "How was I, things like that."

"And then?"

"And then the supposed voice of Francie filled the room. She got to the point when she told Janine she knew who had murdered her and then Mary screamed. She said someone had kicked her. The colonel said we weren't paying, Cliff got ugly, the colonel threatened to call the police and so we all got out of there. We went for a walk on the pier this morning and Jennifer spotted the body in the water, or rather she said something like, 'What's that white thing?' and when we looked over, the body turned in the water and we saw it was Janine. The body was below the surface but the water was clear and glassy so we all saw it was her."

"Nothing else you can think of?"

"Like what?"

"Like what were the reactions of the others when you all saw the body?"

"Harry Berry slumped down and sat on the pier as if his legs had given way. Mary was holding on to Jennifer and crying. Daisy was squeaking and whimpering. The colonel went off to call the police."

"And you?"

"I went and bought a packet of cigarettes from the machine on the pier. I'd given up smoking, but suddenly, more than anything, I wanted a cigarette."

"That will be all for now. Send the colonel in."

Agatha rose. "Jimmy, could I have a word with you in private?"

Carroll glared.

"No, you can't," said Jimmy coldly. "Send the colonel in."

All Agatha had wanted to do was to apologize to him for rushing him. Feeling very low, she told the colonel to go in and sat by the fire. She lit another cigarette and stared moodily at the others. It was odd. Surely it was odd that this second murder, this murder of a woman they had all seen last night, should not be discussed amongst them. She got up and went to the window. A boat was bobbing by the pier. She watched, fascinated, as the body of Janine was lifted aboard. A team of divers arrived. Why? They had the body. Evidence, of course. They would be searching on the sea-bed for some sort of weapon. How did she die? And if someone had thrown her from the pier, where was her coat? It had been bitterly cold last night. Janine would not have gone out wearing nothing but a thin muslin gown. Cliff could have killed her, thrown the body in the sea, and the currents could have carried it round to the pier.

Surely Cliff was the murderer. He stood to gain not only Janine's money but the money she had inherited from her mother, and she must have inherited Francie's house and money or she would not have moved into that house in Partons Lane.