Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

"That's what we thought," said Jimmy. "But so far Cliff is sticking to his story, which is that Janine had received a phone call. She got up and got dressed. He said he was sleepy and it was only when he heard the street door slam behind her that he thought it was odd.

"He ran after her but she told him to go home. He says he doesn't know who phoned or who she was meeting."

"But that phone call could be traced."

"It was made from a phone-box at the entrance to the pier, so we're none the wiser. We're under a lot of pressure. The newspaper headlines will be screaming about the witch murders tomorrow and already the town's filling up with photographers and reporters and television crews with their satellite dishes. I've got the chief constable on my back. The superintendent from Hadderton is coming down to take over. I'm relieved in a way. It takes some of the pressure off me."

"You know what I find odd?" said Agatha. "That lot at the hotel. First there's the seance, which Mary broke up as soon as the supposed spirit of Francie was about to accuse someone. Then they don't talk about the murders, none of them do. This evening the colonel will probably suggest a game of Scrabble. They will make little jokes about the meaning of words, Harry Berry will add up the scores, I will be bottom of the league as usual, and that will be that."

"The colonel did say that the whole business was distasteful and best forgotten about. It's maybe the way his generation goes on."

"Rubbish," said Agatha roundly. "No one can ignore two murders."

"Thanks for coming to see me, Agatha. I'd better get to work again, but I'll call on you as soon as I get some free time."

Agatha gathered up her handbag and gloves. She took a quick glance at the tea-tray. The cup had been used.

He opened the door for her and bent down and kissed her cheek. "You won't be bothered with press at the hotel. Mr. Martin is not allowing any of them to stay."

* * *

When Agatha went into the dining-room that night, she found their numbers had been augmented by a man and woman. She studied them closely. They were sharing a bottle of claret and talking in low voices. The woman had short-cropped dark hair and was wearing a pin-striped trouser suit. The man was in a respectable charcoal-grey suit and modest tie. But there was a certain air of raffishness about him, and when Agatha entered the dining-room his eyes raked her up and down and he whispered something to the woman, who looked at Agatha as well.

Agatha sighed and turned about and went to the manager's office. "I thought you weren't going to let the press into the hotel," she said.

"I haven't," said Mr. Martin. "I've been very strict about that. The life-blood of this little hotel is supplied by the residents."

"You've got two of them in the dining-room right now. Man and a woman."

"But that is a Mr. and Mrs. Devenish, over here from Devon."

"Did you ask for any identification?"

"No, we don't, if people are British. They sign the registration form and the visitors' book."

Mr. Martin surveyed her with disfavour. "I have been manager of this hotel for fifteen years, Mrs. Raisin, and I pride myself on being a good judge of character."

"And I pride myself as being a good judge of the press. Come with me," said Agatha wearily.

"If you make a scene, I will never forgive you." But Mr. Martin followed her from the office. Agatha went straight up to the table where the couple were sitting. "Which newspaper do you represent?" she asked.

The man and woman exchanged quick glances. "We're just here on holiday," the man said.

"Then you will not mind if Mr. Martin here asks you for some sort of identification. I am sure you would not like me to call the police in to check your credentials."

"Okay, then," said the woman with a shrug. "We're from the Daily Bugle. So what's wrong with that?"

"I'll leave you to deal with it," said Agatha to the outraged manager and went back to her table.

As she watched the press being told to leave, Agatha began to think again about the hotel residents. Just supposing one of them was a murderer. Did ordinary people such as they suddenly become murderous, or was there something in their backgrounds which would give her a clue? How could she find out? The police would simply check their records and if none of them had a record, they would not probe any further. Mary had suffered a nervous breakdown. But so did lots of people. She had learned a lot about Mary because of her love for Joseph Brady. The best way to get the others to talk was to get them alone. She decided to start with the colonel.

The colonel finished his dinner first and went through to the lounge. Agatha knew he would soon be followed by the rest and then that wretched Scrabble board would be brought out. She follow him into the lounge.

"Colonel," said Agatha, "I wonder if I could ask you a favour?"

"Certainly."