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Harry went to the bar and came back with a half pint of beer.

“What do you feel about romancing Joyce again?” asked Agatha.

“Can’t. She knows me as James Henderson, who told her he lived with his parents on the Bewdley Road. She’d be very suspicious if I put in an appearance again and she might tell the police. Then there’s that letter. I was stupid to take it away. The detective agency might be the first place they think of when they’re wondering who took a copy.”

“Did the police ever search Mabel’s house?” asked Charles.

“I don’t think they did a thorough forensic search,” said Agatha. “I think she just let them go through all his papers and search his home computer.”

Harry said, “Don’t tell me you suspect that lady of all the virtues?”

Charles told him about Mr. Burden hearing what sounded like someone in high heels fleeing the scene of the murder.

“Have you ever seen Mabel Smedley in anything other than flat shoes?” asked Harry. “Doesn’t even wear make-up.”

“Phil is spending the day with her tomorrow. We’re going to ask him to try to get a proper look around. And did we tell you that Smedley may have been blackmailed? Or someone else? Two deposits of twenty thousand pounds were paid into Haviland’s account—cash.”

“The way I see it…” said Harry. “Oh, here’s your food.”

“Don’t you want anything?” asked Charles.

“Nothing like that. I’ll eat later. I was about to say that if Smedley was blackmailed and as his home computer had been overwritten, he might have been watching the girls’ Web site.”

“But if it was Smedley who paid the money,” said Charles, “the withdrawals would show on his bank account.”

“Unless, of course, the money came out of the firm,” said Harry, “and Joyce fiddled the books to cover it up. But I’m forgetting there is no record of Smedley having checked into that Web site.”

“There must be something,” protested Agatha, “or he wouldn’t have overwritten what was on his computer. Now, there’s a thing. As far as I can gather, everything on his home computer was overwritten right up until his death.”

“Meaning Mabel might have done it, even though she claims not to know one end of a computer from the other.”

Agatha’s mobile rang and she took it out of her handbag. It was Bill. “Agatha, I’m sending you a cheque for that other lamp. I didn’t mean you to buy it. It’s too much.”

“Nonsense. I hope your parents are pleased.”

“Pleased! They’re thrilled to bits. Mum wants you and Charles to come over for dinner on Sunday.”

“Oh, how lovely. But we’re both working flat out. When all these murders are solved, we’ll make a party of it. Please don’t bother sending me a cheque. I’d just tear it up. What is Joyce saying?”

“Stonewalling at every turn, or rather that’s the way it seems to Wilkes. Do you know, Harry may have slipped up a little with that letter. There were no fingerprints on the envelope. And the letter was a copy. Where’s the original?”

“I’ll see him about that,” said Agatha.

When she rang off, she asked Harry, “Why did you replace the letter with a copy?”

“Because my fingerprints and yours would have been all over the original.”

“It may make the police begin to wonder more about Joyce’s mysterious Mr. Henderson and they may begin to look in your direction. Also, you’d better go back to the Gothic look or whatever that was you were adopting when I first met you. I mean, if you should run into Joyce by accident, you might just be able to sneer your way out of it and look as far from the rich young James Henderson as possible. Better lie low for a bit and get on with the divorce cases.”

“I’m nearly finished with those. Phil lent me an excellent camera. I’ll have all the stuff for you tomorrow.”

“I think when we eat this,” said Agatha, “we should all go and visit Phil. I think he admires Mabel too much. We need to stiffen his spine.”

Agatha noticed that Phil did not look particularly pleased to see them. “Have we interrupted anything?” she asked.

“I was just watching television.”

He led the way into his living room. Agatha noticed