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Charles came to join Agatha. “I’m Agatha Raisin and this is my friend, Sir Charles Fraith.”

Mabel Smedley was wearing a dreadful print dress, no make-up and her hair scraped back, but she turned out to have a beautiful smile which she directed at Charles.

“Did you make all this jam yourself?” asked Charles.

“Yes, I can recommend the strawberry.”

“Oh, I’ll buy a couple of pots of that. What about you, Agatha?”

“Eh? Oh, can you recommend anything else?”

“I think the quince jelly is all right. Rather nice with game.”

“I’ll have one of those, then.”

Charles claimed to have left his money behind, so after glaring at him, Agatha paid for the jam.

“Your feet must get tired standing here all day,” said Charles.

“I’m just about due for a break. Mrs. Henderson takes over for me. I see her coming.”

“Such a hot day,” said Charles. “Perhaps you might like to join me for a drink? Agatha can’t come. She’s supposed to be helping.”

Agatha opened her mouth and shut it again.

Mrs. Henderson, a plump, sweating woman with a round red face, came hurrying up. “I’m so sorry, I’ve got to go to the school. Dwayne’s been playing up again, though if you ask me, that teacher’s got it in for him and so I’ll tell her.”

“It’s all right,” said Charles. “Mrs. Raisin will take over for a bit. Won’t you, Agatha?”

“Oh, all right,” mumbled Agatha ungraciously.

“You are so kind,” said Mrs. Smedley. “The prices are on all the jars.”

Agatha gloomily watched as Charles went off with Mabel. Charles had borrowed a twenty-pound note from her.

“Aren’t we going to the refreshment room?” asked Mabel.

“I saw a nice-looking pub across the road,” said Charles, steering her out of the hall.

“I don’t drink at this time of day.”

“They’ll have soft drinks or coffee.”

They crossed the road and entered the pub. Mabel ordered a tonic water and Charles got himself a whisky.

They sat down at a comer table. Charles smiled at Mabel. “Tell me about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell,” said Mabel. “The Ancombe Ladies’ Society keeps me busy. I make cakes and jam. I fund-raise for the homeless of Mircester. I drive the old folks on outings.”

“Are you married?”

“Yes, and a very lucky woman. Not many women these days are allowed to stay at home. The modem husband wants his wife to make money. What about you, Sir Charles?”

“Just Charles. Oh, I deal with the accounts for the home farm. Then there are the cricket matches and fetes and concerts. The village always thinks it has a right to use my house and grounds for everything. I do a lot of gardening,” lied Charles, who was beginning to feel, under her steady gaze, that he sounded like a dilettante.

“I love gardening. Tell me all about it.”

Fortunately, Charles had a garrulous Scottish gardener who was always lecturing him on flowers, vegetables, trees and mulches. So he talked about gardening while she listened with a little half-smile on her face, the kind of smile you see on classical statues.

And then she suddenly rose to her feet. “I must get back. Do stay and finish your drink.”

She gathered up her handbag and headed for the door. Then she turned and said sweetly, “Do tell your friend Mrs. Raisin that I didn’t enjoy the film either. Pity. Such good reviews.”

THREE

AGATHA was horrified when Charles told her of Mabel’s parting comment. “I should never have employed an amateur like Phil,” she raged.

“That’s not fair, Agatha. Amateur yourself! If it hadn’t been for Phil, you’d never have found Jessica’s body, and both of you were tailing her. Mrs. Bloxby’s trying to get your attention.”

Agatha was aware of Mabel, back once more behind her jams, smiling that little smile.

“Oh, Mrs. Raisin, bad news,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “Mabel has just confided in me that she knows you were following her. She thinks it’s rather sweet.”

“Sweet!”

“Yes, she says her husband is so jealous and it’s very flattering.”

“How did she know? We were well behind her.”

“Perhaps she took out her compact or something to powder her nose in the