Free Agatha Raisin and the Walkers of Dembley by MC Beaton

uppity servant is going to get the better of me.’
    Deborah opened her mouth to say that she thought Gustav could get the better of anyone, but shut it again. Let Agatha find out for herself.
    Agatha went and got out a serviceable notebook and sat down again. ‘I’m sure you’re tired of questions, Deborah. But let’s go through it from the beginning.’
    And so in a weary little voice, Deborah described how Jessica had first arrived at the school, how she had taken over the walkers, how much they had all admired her until her reaction to Sir
Charles’s civil letter had seemed to go over the top and they had all decided they had had enough of her bullying ways. She went through the stories of the others, at least as much of them as
she had gleaned while they had all sat around the ballroom.
    ‘So no one except perhaps the waiters has an alibi?’
    ‘If we had known there was going to be a murder on Saturday afternoon, then I am convinced we would have all made sure we had alibis,’ said Deborah with a rare show of spirit.
    ‘Very well, then. Now this Gustav. Where does he come from? That’s a German name. What’s his second name?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Deborah. ‘No doubt the police have found out.’
    ‘Was there a detective there who looked Chinese?’
    ‘Yes, he was present during the interviews.’
    Bill Wong, thought Agatha. I must try to get hold of him.
    She asked Deborah a few more questions and then said she would see her on the following day. She wrote down instructions on how to get to Barfield House.
    No sooner had they driven off than Agatha’s doorbell sounded again. She patted her hair in the hall mirror. It would be James. Well, she might relent and forgive him for his earlier
rudeness. Such news was too exciting to keep to herself. But it was Bill Wong who stood on the doorstep when Agatha opened the door. Her first sharp feeling of dismay was counteracted by the
immediate thought that here was the very man she should be most glad to see.
    ‘Come in,’ cried Agatha. ‘How’s the rambler case going?’
    ‘Now, how did you know that?’
    ‘Because I have been asked to investigate.’ Agatha, leading the way through to her comfortable kitchen, reflected that she hardly ever used her sitting-room these days.
    ‘Who by?’
    ‘Deborah Camden.’
    ‘Why on earth did she ask you?’
    Agatha bridled. ‘Why not? She is Mrs Mason’s niece and she had heard through her aunt of my detective work in the village.’
    ‘What can you do that the police can’t?’
    ‘Well, for a start, I’ve been invited to Sir Charles Fraith’s for lunch tomorrow. It’s easier to get to know what makes people tick when you’re meeting them
socially.’
    ‘I suppose so, Agatha. But you’ve got a way of crashing into things. The next thing we know is the murderer will be after you with a spade.’
    ‘Where did the spade come from?’
    ‘It had been left there by the farm labourer, Joseph Noakes, the one who said he had seen Sir Charles having a row with Jessica. He’s a surly chap with a big chip on his shoulder. He
had been asked to clear a blockage in a ditch, had been walking back the day before, that was the Friday, got tired of carrying the spade and just stuck it among the rape at the edge of the field.
There were two paths through the rape other than the mess left by Jessica. One going towards the house, which we assume was made by Sir Charles, and one leading off to the side of the field from
where Jessica was struck. No footprints. Just crushed flowers.’
    ‘This Gustav,’ asked Agatha, ‘what’s his background?’
    ‘Hungarian mother, English father. Brought over here in the fifties, went into service at age fifteen in Clarence House as a kitchen porter, then footman at the Marquess of Drent’s,
then started work as chauffeur, and finally butler, ending up as butler to the old man, the late Sir Charles, who died three years ago. He’s fifty-two. Unblemished