“You don’t think she drowned herself for fun!”

“Again, we have only your word for it. You could have thrown her in.”

“Oh, don’t be so silly. The waiters saw her run out of the bar.”

“She could have been running away from you. No proof, Mrs. Raisin.”

Agatha suddenly sat up, her eyes gleaming. “I know. She said when she stabbed Harry she buried the knitting needle in the sand on the beach.”

“Wait here,” he said curtly and went out.

Charles came in fifteen minutes later. “I’ve been trying and trying to get to you, Aggie, but you seem to be suspect number one. What went on?”

So Agatha told him about her brainwave, about confronting Olivia and how Olivia had confessed to the murders and run off into the sea.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” asked Charles. “I was only round at the garage getting petrol.”

“How was I to know that?” wailed Agatha. “For all I knew you might have been trawling north Cyprus looking for a female tourist to bed.”

“Nasty But I’ll forgive you because you must be in shock. Pamir’s swearing about there being no proof.”

“She buried the knitting needle she used to kill Harry in the beach at Salamis. I hope they find it in this storm. And I hope her fingerprints are on it or they’ll start saying I killed Harry and tried to pin the blame on Olivia.”

Pamir came in again and Agatha looked up hopefully. “Find the knitting needle?”

“You are free to go.”

“Why?” Agatha’s eyes gleamed. “You’ve found something?”

“We had already searched their rooms several times when they were out,” said Pamir, sitting down, “but we did not find anything.”

“You didn’t search me,” said Agatha.

“Yes, your villa was searched when you were out.”

“So what did you find to incriminate Olivia? You must have found something or you would not be letting me go.”

“We found the knitting needle.”

“A sharpened knitting needle. I knew it!” cried Agatha. But how did you find it? Where? Why? She only had to clean it and throw it away anywhere on the island.”

“We are lucky she did not. It was one of my sharp-eyed policeman. We returned to search her hotel room for the last time. Believe me, we had taken everything apart. And then this policeman saw a little white knob of plaster in a stain on the ceiling. We knew about the stain. The man in the room above had let his bath over-run and it had soaked the ceiling. He scraped away the little bit of white plaster and dug into the ceiling. While the plaster was still damp, she had simply rammed the needle up into the ceiling. It had a sharpened point and went in easily. Then she had bought a little bit of plaster from a hardware shop and sealed up the hole.”

Agatha gasped. “It was a wonder she didn’t get it out and throw it into the sea.”

“Not at all. She had no reason to. And digging out again after the damp plaster had hardened might have alerted us to its whereabouts, always assuming we were clever enough to guess that she had done it.”

“You mean, I was clever enough to guess she had done it,” said Agatha.

“How’s George taking it?” asked Charles.

“He’s a shattered man. He says if Rose were alive today, he murder her himself. Seems she lured him with a promise of bailing him out. He said he hated making love to her but he was desperate for money. Turns out he had asked Harry Tembleton for money and Harry said he would only give it to Mrs. Debenham and George did not want Olivia to know. Harry said that instead he would take them on holiday. George said Rose promised she would give him the money when they got back to England. He said that Olivia had a complete nervous breakdown about three years ago. He hadn’t told her about his debts in case that tipped her over the edge again.”

“I must ask the all-important question,” said Charles. “Are we really free to go?”

“You’ll need to come to police headquarters and make a complete statement, Mrs. Raisin, and sign it. After that, you are free to go.”

Agatha pulled the blanket closely around her still wet clothes. “Aren’t you going to thank me for having solved the murders?” she asked.

“I am sure we would have got there, sooner or later,” said Pamir. “In which case Mrs. Debenham would still be alive to stand trial. No, I am not grateful to you.”

“Well, I’m going back to the villa for a hot bath,” said Agatha. “I suppose that is all right?”

“Yes, just go!”

Agatha got into her car outside while Charles went off to collect his. She lit a cigarette. Above, the storm clouds were rolling away but a chilly breeze was blowing from the sea.

At the villa, she bathed and changed her clothes.

She had just arrived downstairs when the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” she called to Charles whom she could hear moving about the kitchen.

Wondering whether she was wise to answer it for it might be some reporter, she said cautiously, “Yes?”

“Agatha,” came James’s voice.

Agatha sat down in a chair by the phone. “James,” she said weakly. “Where are you?”

“Turkey. Istanbul.”

“Did you find any proof against Mustafa?”

“As it turned out, I didn’t have to. By the time I caught up with him in Istanbul, he was dead, shot by the Turkish mafia.”

“Why? I mean was he dealing in drugs?”

“He owed the Turkish mafia money for a drugs’ consignment and the silly bugger gave them a cheque that bounced so they shot him. What’s been happening?”

Agatha told him everything and ended up by saying, “How could you leave me in this mess, James?”

“I always think you are well able to take care of yourself, Agatha. Besides it seemed more important to catch someone who was ruining thousands of lives with drugs instead of one murderer.”

“But you just left. You knew there had been two attacks on my life, and you just left.”

His voice softened. “You’re right, Agatha. I did behave badly. I’ll be back in a couple of days and make my peace with the police.”

“Oh, James,” said Agatha, forgiving him.

Charles walked into the living room and called in his clear, carrying voice, “What about some lunch, darling, and then let’s go to bed?”

Agatha flapped him angrily away, but the damage was done.

“Who was that?” asked James.

“Charles,” said Agatha weakly.

“I am glad you are being well looked after,” said James crisply. “You won’t need me.”

EIGHT

AGATHA and Charles fought their way through the press outside police headquarters the following day.

She had been dreading meeting George, but this time, only she and Charles were in the waiting room.

Not Pamir, but another detective took down Agatha’s statement. When she had finished, Agatha asked, “Has Mrs. Debenham’s body been found yet?”

“Mrs. Debenham was found, yes, still alive, just. She must have been a very powerful swimmer. Attempts were made to resuscitate her but she died on the road to Nicosia hospital.”

So she might not have been trying to drown but to escape, thought Agatha.

Agatha went outside and waited for Charles. He would have little to say. Simply that he had found her missing and had gone looking for her.

At last Charles came out. “Ready?”

“Ready,” echoed Agatha. “Let’s go to the airline office and book our seats home. I’ve got an open return, what about you?”

“The same.”

At the Turkish Cypriot Airline office near the Saray Hotel, they could not find anyone who could speak English and so were forced to go to a travel agent across the road.

“Tomorrow?” asked Charles.

But Agatha clung to hope. James had said two days. This was Monday.

“Saturday,” she said firmly.

“Saturday!” exclaimed Charles. “Sorry, Aggie, but I’m going tomorrow.”

“Suit yourself,” said Agatha bleakly.