Free Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham by MC Beaton Page B

threw them back in through the window.
    Overhead came a great crack of thunder and the rain came down in sheets, so heavy it blotted out the view of the houses around.
    A woman ran past down the street. Agatha had an excuse to be seen running hard.
    She belted through the torrent, not stopping until she had reached her car.
    Gasping and sobbing with fright, she drove off. She nearly ran into another car on the Four Pools Industrial Estate and realized she had not switched the windscreen wipers on.
    She swung out on to the by-pass and made her way slowly and carefully home, through Broadway, up Fish Hill and along the escarpment past the Chipping Camden road, until she turned left and down through the tunnels of trees to Carsely.
    She let herself into her cottage just as the rain began to slacken. She slammed the door shut behind her and slumped down on to the hall floor and took the phone on to her lap. She phoned Charles and said in a shaky voice, ‘Come over. Something dreadful’s happened.’
    She found she was still wearing those gloves. She tore them off and carried them into the living room. She put a whole packet of fire-lighters in the fireplace, then a bunch of kindling and lit the lot. When the flames were roaring up the chimney, she threw the gloves on to the fire. Her shoes! If there was anything left of the house, they would scan the carpets and find her footprints. She took off her shoes and threw them on the fire as well and then sat in front of the blaze, hugging herself and rocking to and fro.
    When the doorbell rang, she gave a gulp of relief and went to open it. Charles stood there, as neat and immaculate as ever. She threw herself into his arms and began to cry.
    ‘There now,’ he said, shoving her inside. ‘What have you been up to? What’s that dreadful smell? Have you been burning old boots?’
    He propelled her into the living-room. ‘Sit down. I’ll get us a brandy. You’re all smoky and smelly and soaking wet.’
    He poured two brandies and handed one to Agatha. ‘Now drink that and tell Uncle Charlie what happened. Did he rape you? No, you might have a smile on your face.’
    ‘Don’t be coarse. Are you one of those fools who think women like being raped?’
    ‘Oh my God. You poor thing. It was rape. Look, Agatha. It’s no longer the Dark Ages. We’ll phone the police right now and –’
    ‘IT WASN’T RAPE!’ screamed Agatha.
    ‘Well, what was it?’
    ‘Sit down. Listen. I’ll tell you. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.’
    Charles listened while Agatha told of the collapse of Mr John and how she had stolen his keys, about the house being set on fire.
    ‘God, you’re idiotic, Aggie,’ he remarked. ‘Someone’s bound to have seen you. You might have got away with it if the house hadn’t been torched. Police, forensics, experts from the insurance company, God, they’ll be crawling over what’s left inch by inch.’
    ‘What am I to do?’ wailed Agatha.
    ‘Pray.’
    ‘I mean, what am I really to do?’
    ‘Well, if he was sick to the point of collapse and then someone torched his house, it looks to me as if someone tried to murder him. As they got him to the hospital, he’ll probably be all right, and when he recovers he can maybe tell the police who he thinks did it.’
    ‘Now it’s you who is being stupid,’ said Agatha. ‘If he was a blackmailer, then he won’t want to give the police the names of any suspects in case one of his victims tells all.’
    ‘I know, we could pay him a visit, or rather you pay him a visit and tell him about taking his keys. Throw yourself on his mercy.’
    ‘He might think I torched the house.’
    ‘He probably knows who did it.’
    ‘But what if he’s not a blackmailer, but just an innocent philanderer?’
    ‘I’ve a feeling he’s a crook. But let’s go to the hospital anyway.’
    When they got to Evesham Hospital, it was to find that John had been transferred to the Mircester General Hospital.
    ‘May as well go,’