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He studied the card and then took out a mobile phone. He was wearing a black uniform with a badge on the front which said “Mircester Security.”

While the other man stood guard, he walked a little away and began to talk into the phone.

At last he came back to join them. “Mrs. Smedley agrees she employed you, but says you had no right to break into the factory. You can go. Back the way you came and let me see how you got in.”

They led the guards to the vulnerable bit of the fence. “We’ll get that nailed down. Off you go.”

“Can’t you let us out the front gate?”

“Just go.”

They rolled through one after the other. Phil helped Agatha up. Her hip gave a ferocious twinge and she let out a gasp.

“Are you all right?” asked Phil. “Got rheumatism?”

“No, just a cramp,” said Agatha. “We’d better go and see Mabel Smedley and find out why she laid off Berry. Maybe she suspects him. I’ll drop off at home first and change my clothes.”

Mabel received them graciously and offered them tea. Agatha looked around the living room for clues but all she could see was a pleasant room with tasteful furniture and some very good paintings on the walls.

When Mabel had poured them excellent cups of coffee and offered home-made biscuits, she said, “All you had to do was tell me you were going to the factory.”

“We found there was a way of getting through the fence. Burt Haviland told us. We wanted to see if the lock on the office door would be easy to pick. Because you had laid your security man off, we didn’t expect anyone to be there.”

“I hired a private security firm.”

“Why?”

“I never quite trusted Berry. I think he drinks. I thought it safer to suspend everyone and if the new owners want to keep them on, that’s their business.”

“Have you found a buyer?”

“My lawyers are working on it. It’s only a small factory, but profitable. It should not be on the market for long. I shall of course tell the new owners about Burt Haviland and those schoolgirls. The police told me about that. I was shocked. Pity*. Burt was a very good salesman.”

“I’m sure you won’t be giving Joyce Wilson a reference.”

“I find it hard to believe that Robert should have had an affair with that silly girl. The police told me about it. More coffee?”

“It must make you very angry.”

“Robert is dead,” she said with quiet dignity. “I am grieving. Getting angry doesn’t help.”

“Of course,” said Phil with quick sympathy. “These biscuits are amazingly good.”

“Have some more, do.”

“Would you say the office lock could have been easily picked?” asked Agatha.

“It’s just a Yale. The bit with all the electronic components was always securely locked.”

“Maybe nobody needed to break into the factory,” said Agatha. “Mr. Smedley had a meeting on the Friday. There was just enough milk left over for the Monday. But he wouldn’t have coffee first thing because that was the morning you both came to see me.”

“I went home and he went straight back to the office. He would automatically ask Joyce to fetch him a cup of coffee.”

“Do you suspect Joyce Wilson?”

“Not for a minute. She’s too spineless. Not the type.”

When they had left, Phil said, “If you don’t mind, I think perhaps we should be trying harder to find out who murdered Jessica. She didn’t deserve to die. But Smedley did. You said he beat his wife.”

“I think he did. I really could do with something to eat. Those biscuits gave me indigestion.” Agatha was lying. She had only eaten one delicious biscuit, but she was tired of the fact that all the men around her seemed to dote on Mabel Smedley.

EIGHT

FOR the next two days, Agatha worked hard interviewing as many of Smedley’s staff as she could find while Patrick and Phil worked on Jessica’s murder. She was glad she had employed Harry, who seemed to be coping well with two divorce cases. Agatha was beginning to wonder if she could tempt him to forget about university and work for her full-time.

Charles was still absent. She had put him to the back of her mind because she wanted to have dinner alone with Freddy. But as