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when the blonde returned.
    “Mr. Sommerville can spare you a few moments,” she said grandly, radiating disapproval from every thread of her tailored power suit.
    Adrian Sommerville came as a surprise. Agatha was expecting some sort of willowy stereotype, but the man who rose to shake hands with them was dark and squat, wearing a sober grey suit, silk shirt and tie. He had a thick thatch of black hair, thick lips and designer stubble. He was seated behind an antique desk. Agatha and Charles sat down on chairs facing him. The walls of the office were decorated with photos of expensive-looking rooms.
    His first question surprised Agatha. “Who is paying you?”
    “No one,” said Agatha. “The murder took place in my village and I want to know who did it.”
    “I hear the police suspect you.”
    “Well, I didn’t murder anyone,” retorted Agatha crossly. “I wouldn’t be wasting my time otherwise.”
    “Unless to throw them off the scent.”
    Agatha half rose to her feet but Charles pulled her down.
    “Stop being so aggressive,” he said. “Don’t you want to find out who murdered your Jill?”
    “Of course I do. But it’s better to leave it to the police.”
    “We’re sorry for your loss,” said Charles. “But it’s a loss you don’t seem to be grieving over. What do you plan to do with her house?”
    “Sell it. Why?”
    “I might like to buy it,” said Charles. “I collect properties. Hobby of mine. How much?”
    “Five hundred thousand or so.”
    “Rubbish,” said Charles. “A nasty little cottage where a murder has taken place? Three hundred thousand?”
    “It’s not on the market yet.” Adrian’s eyes held a mercenary gleam.
    “I might like to have a look at it,” said Charles.
    “You own that big place in Warwickshire, don’t you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Give me your card. I’ll phone you when the police have finished with it. Don’t want to bother with bloodsucking estate agents, now do we?”
    “Of course not.”
    “So, goodbye.”
    Charles could feel the volcano that was Agatha simmering beside him.
    He handed Adrian his card and heaved Agatha out of her chair. “Let’s go, darling.”

 
    Chapter Three
    Outside, Agatha raged, “Horrible man!”
    “Oh, calm down,” said Charles. “We want a look inside her cottage, don’t we? You nearly spoiled things.”
    “I am sorry,” said Agatha in a suddenly mild voice. Charles looked at her suspiciously. Agatha had just remembered that David Herythe was due to call at her office and she didn’t want Charles around. “Why don’t we split up? I can’t interview Victoria because she’ll just curse me. But you could and we could meet up later.”
    “All right,” said Charles reluctantly. “What are you going to do?”
    “I’ve got to get to the office and see how the others are getting on. I do have a business to run, Charles, and no one is paying me for all this effort.”
    “But we came in your car, or have you forgotten? How am I to get to Carsely?”
    Agatha whipped out her mobile phone. “Toni,” she said, “could you be an angel and run Charles back to Carsely? Great. We’ll meet you in the car park.”
    Now, why doesn’t Agatha want me in her office? wondered Charles. “We haven’t had anything to eat,” he said. “Why don’t we all go for a late lunch?” he asked as Toni came hurrying towards them.
    “I’m not hungry,” lied Agatha. “Why don’t you and Toni go for a bite first?”
    “I’ve already had lunch,” said Toni.
    “You can watch me eat,” said Charles.
    They were about to walk off, when Toni called, “My wits are wandering. Herythe is waiting for you in the office, Agatha.”
    Charles gave a malicious smile. “I haven’t seen David in ages. Must say hullo,” and to Agatha’s horror, he set off for her office without waiting for her.
    Toni and Agatha hurried after him.
    *   *   *
    To Agatha’s further irritation, when she got to the office it was to find David Herythe seated