Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

Agatha, at first sure that the love potion which had been taken from her handbag, along with every other bottle and jar in her room, was harmless, was beginning to worry. What if the murderer of Francie and Janine had wanted to be rid of the colonel and had doctored that love potion? What if it turned out to contain poison?

Jimmy had not come near her. He had not interviewed her, the superintendent from Hadderton had done that, a cold, hard man with suspicious eyes. Agatha had not been charged but was being kept in for further questioning. She had at last demanded a lawyer. He would be with her in the morning.

Rain pattered at the barred window above her head. God get me out of this, she prayed, and I will return to Carsely and never, ever leave it again.

As she did not know the names of any lawyers in the town, one had been supplied for her and he arrived in the morning. He listened carefully while Agatha outlined what had really happened. He was a middle-aged, tired-looking man with a thin face and gold-rimmed glasses and wearing a shabby suit.

"If that's your story, I would stick to it," he said, when Agatha had finished. "They'll need to charge you this morning or release you. The pathologist has been working all night on the body. These things take time."

"Don't you believe me..." Agatha was starting to say impatiently when the cell door opened and Jimmy came in. He jerked his head at the lawyer and said, "Leave us."

"I cannot do that, Inspector," said the lawyer. "I am representing Mrs. Raisin."

"It's all right," said Agatha. "Leave us."

When they were alone, Jimmy said, "I'm sorry about this. I feel the police over-reacted." He sat down on the bed next to Agatha and held her hand.

"I look a wreck," said Agatha. "They took my handbag away and I've no make-up on. What do you mean, they overreacted?"

"I would say from a look at the colonel that he died of a massive stroke. His face had all slumped down to one side. I think that will turn out to be the case. What on earth were you doing messing with love potions, Agatha?"

"I went to Francie for that hair tonic. She offered that love potion as well and it seemed a bit of a joke at the time. Daisy was going frantic about the colonel. She had seen us at the theatre together and oh, I suppose I wanted to prove to her that I wasn't a bit interested in him. So I told her about the love potion."

"There was only half a bottle left," said Jimmy curiously.

"I started to pour it down the sink and then I thought it might be interesting to keep some and get it analysed when I get home," said Agatha, who had no intention of telling Jimmy she had put some in his drink. "What happens now?"

"They're more or less convinced, Agatha, that Colonel Lyche died of natural causes. You're free to go."

"Jimmy, I not only want to go but I want to go back to Carsely."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Agatha. You'll need to wait for the definite result of the post-mortem, but it shouldn't be too long."

"How do you put up with me, Jimmy?"

"Because I love you."

Agatha felt a stab of guilt. What right had she to marry someone she didn't love? I do love him, she told herself fiercely, I'm just not in love with him.

"I'll have to keep clear of you until the final results of the post-mortem come through," said Jimmy.

"I understand." Again that stab of guilt because of the feeling of relief she had first felt at his words.

"I'll send a policewoman in to take you through to the desk to collect your things.

"See you," said Agatha wearily.

Agatha emerged from the police station into a watery world. Snow was sliding from roofs to fall with thuds on the street, water ran down the gutters and a mild, frisky wind blew through her hair.

She had hardly slept at all. She had refused the offer of a police car to take her back to the hotel. She opened her handbag and took out her packet of cigarettes, and turning her back to the wind, lit one. A thin, acidulous woman who was passing shouted at her, "Don't you know that's a filthy habit?"

"Naff off!" shouted Agatha with such venom that the woman scurried off down the street.

Why did I ever come to this place? thought Agatha, as she trudged along the promenade beside the restless sea. At the end of the prom, she could see the hotel. It looked like a prison. What were they all doing? Playing Scrabble and talking about the weather?