“I say, this isn’t England. The silly man doesn’t want to get into that or he’ll end up floating in Kyrenia Harbour.”

“Oh, James can take care of himself. It looks as if it might have been Trevor who murdered Rose. For her money, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. Tell me.”

Agatha hesitated. Such background information as she had should only be discussed with James. James would be furious if she disclosed all their secrets to Charles. But she was shaken and Trevor had frightened her and James wasn’t there, only Charles, cool and inquisitive. So she told him all about Trevor’s financial difficulties, and how she wondered why Rose, who was rich, had not bailed his firm out of its difficulties.

“I think we should find Trevor and the others and ask him in front of them why he threatened you,” said Charles. “We’ll keep his financial difficulties in reserve. If he knows you’ve contacted the police about him, he’ll go ape.”

They wandered through the rest of the abbey, refectory, undercroft, chapter house and dormitories among throngs of tourists-British, German and Israeli. But of Trevor there was no sign.

“If he’s with the rest, they might have gone to some bar in the village,” suggested Charles. “We’ll look there.”

They drove back to the village of Bellapais, parking in a car-park next to the Tree of Idleness Restaurant and then wandering through the narrow streets until Agatha saw two rented cars with the Atlantic sticker on the rear window outside a café. She peered through the glass. “They’re all there. Maybe I should get back and find James before I say anything.”

“He’s not your husband, father or keeper,” said Charles, giving her a gentle shove in the back. “In you go.”

Trevor, pink and sullen, was drinking beer. Olivia and George Debenham, Angus and Harry were having coffees and pastries.

Agatha introduced Charles. Olivia beamed. “How nice to meet you,” she fluted. “We’re practically neighbours.”

Charles removed his panama and sat down after placing a chair at the table for Agatha. He smiled pleasantly at Trevor.

“Why did you threaten to kill Aggie?” he asked.

Olivia stared at Charles, her rather rabbity mouth falling open in surprise.

“Who’s Aggie?” demanded Trevor sullenly.

“Mrs. Raisin, Agatha. You seem to think she’s poking her nose into the investigation into your wife’s murder. When I saw you in the cloisters, you were shaking her and threatening her.”

All eyes turned to Trevor.

“I didn’t know what I was saying,” he mumbled. “I’d already had a bit to drink and it was so hopeless. Sorry.”

“Most off behaviour,” said Charles severely. “What if Aggie here had howled for the police, which she had every right to do? They’d have had you off to Nicosia in irons. Are you sure that’s all it was-grief and drink? Not frightened of our Aggie finding out who did it?”

Trevor jumped to his feet, knocking his chair backwards with a crash. “Leave me alone,” he shouted. He strode to the door, but stopped and turned and said in a quieter voice, “I’ll wait for the rest of you in the car. I’ve had enough of this.”

Olivia put a hand on Charles’s arm. “You must make allowances for poor Trevor,” she said. “We’re doing the best we can for him, but he misses Rose dreadfully, and I think it’s unhinged him.”

“But why accuse me of investigating the murder?” asked Agatha. “I’m not,” she lied.

“Oh, you told us all those stories when we first met about your investigations,” said George. “Didn’t she, Harry?”

Harry nodded and Angus said in his usual heavy manner, “Aye, we was talking about it the other night and Olivia here, she says to Trevor, she says, ‘I hope our Miss Marple isn’t getting in the way o’ the police investigation. She might put them on the wrong track althegether, her being an amateur, so to speak.’”

“Well, thanks a lot, Olivia,” said Agatha bitterly. “That’s what must have set him off.”

“It’s not all my fault,” said Olivia. “You added your bit, too, Angus. You said that the police would be so anxious to find someone, anyone, they could pin this on and get the press off their backs that they would take any daft suggestions from Agatha as gospel. And Harry, you said that it was only in books that amateur detectives were any help. You said in real life they were just people who waited until the police solved the murder and then claimed the credit.” She turned on her husband. “And darling, it was you who said to Trevor that someone should drop a quiet word in Agatha’s ear.”

“I am good at investigating,” said Agatha furiously. “If you don’t believe me, you’ve only got to ask the police at Mircester. Or ask James!”

Olivia gave a brittle laugh. “If you remember, dear, it was your James who suggested you just blundered about.”

“For your information,” said Charles, “Aggie is not investigating anything. And why should she? You are such a poisonous, dreary lot of people. Come along, Aggie.”

Outside the café, Agatha strode angrily away until they reached the car-park. Then she turned on Charles. “How could you? How could you insult them like that?”

“Come on, Aggie. They’d all just insulted you.”

“But don’t you see, I don’t want to make enemies of them! I’ve got to get close to them. Find out what makes them tick.”

“Why bother? Does it really matter who killed Rose?”

“Yes, it does!” said Agatha passionately. “It matters desperately who takes the life of another human being. They can’t be allowed to get away with it.”

“Suit yourself. But if you’re going to eat humble pie to that lot, do it on your own. I want lunch. We’ll go back to Kyrenia and find somewhere.”

“I’m going back to James. I said I would be back at lunch-time, or rather, he said he would be back at lunch-time.”

“Waste of space, Aggie,” remarked Charles. “He won’t care if you don’t turn up.”

“I shall find out who murdered Rose if it’s the last thing I do,” shouted Agatha.

“Oh, get in the car.”

Agatha took a step towards the passenger side. A rock sailed past her head and struck the rear window of the car, leaving a great jagged hole in the middle of the cracked and starred glass.

Charles, who had been unlocking the car door, stared at Agatha, white-faced.

Then he ran to the entrance to the car-park and looked wildly around. Groups of tourists laden with cameras wandered up and down the narrow streets. Agatha joined him.

“Let’s go back and see if they left that café.”

At the café, they were told that “their friends” had left a few minutes ago, got into their cars and driven off.

“It could have been kids,” said Charles as they emerged again. “But you’d better tell the police and then get the next plane out to England.”

“You forget. I’m a suspect, too. I’ve been told not to leave the island.”

“Well, I’ll need to report it anyway and get another car.”

They went into the Tree of Idleness and Charles asked the manager to call the police. Not only did the police arrive, but several detectives, and the road outside the Tree of Idleness was blocked by police vehicles with flashing blue lights.

Charles made his statement, which was duly recorded. They were told they would be contacted further. Police were fanning out to question tourists and locals if they had seen anything. It all took some time and so, when they finally drove back to Kyrenia and waited for Charles to get another rented car, Agatha realized she was shaken and very hungry. They went to Niazi’s, a restaurant famed for its kebabs and slow service, and ate a leisurely meal while Agatha went over and over it all again, debating that if the rock had been thrown at her deliberately, then it must be one of the English suspects.

Charles took himself off to the toilet as soon as the bill arrived. Agatha wondered whether to wait until he returned to see if he would pay it, but decided his sudden departure for the toilet was because he meant her to pay. And, indeed, on his return to the table he thanked her courteously for her “invitation to lunch,” said he would see her around, and drifted off.