But it was Bert Trymp on the phone. ‘Remember me?’ he asked.

‘Yes, of course. You work at the garage in Downboys.’

‘There was something in the papers about a reward.’

‘Yes, there was,’ said Agatha cautiously.

‘How much?’

‘If the news is worth it, five thousand.’

There was a silence. Then Bert said, ‘You’d best meet me down here. On my boat. I live on it. It’s called the Southern Flyer. It’s an old fishing boat in the harbour at Hewes.’

‘Let me see,’ said Agatha. ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday. I could get down there around lunchtime. How can I find your boat?’

‘You know the one where that fellow was murdered?’

‘Could never forget it.’

‘I’m five boats along to the right o’ that. It’s an old fishing boat,’ he repeated.

‘I’ll be there,’ said Agatha.

She told Roy. ‘I’m not going to bother Patrick or Phil,’ she said. ‘There might be nothing in it. But the weather’s lovely. Like to come?’

Roy looked anxious. ‘I haven’t anything nautical to wear.’

‘Don’t even think about it. Any clothes will do.’

Chapter Six

THEY LEFT THE Cotswolds in blazing sunshine with shafts of golden light shining through the green tunnels of trees covering the road out of Carsely.

But as they drove steadily on, a bank of grey cloud rose up on the horizon and soon rain began to smear the windscreen. ‘I’m not really dressed for this,’ complained Roy, who had dug a striped French fisherman’s sweater out of his capacious luggage.

‘We brought our coats. They’re in the boot with the rest of the luggage,’ said Agatha reassuringly. ‘We won’t freeze.’

To Agatha’s relief, the skies began to clear as they drove down to the harbour at Hewes. ‘It’s a river!’ exclaimed Roy. ‘I thought we were going to the sea.’

‘It leads down to the sea,’ said Agatha. ‘Let’s get out and look for Bert’s boat. It’s an old fishing boat.’

‘Don’t ask me,’ said Roy, getting a coat out of the car boot. ‘I never could tell one boat from another except the ones with sails are yachts. Anyway, he’s probably dead.’

‘What on earth makes you think that?’

‘Well, it’s like in books and movies. Someone says, “The name of the murderer is … aargh.” They always get bumped off

‘I don’t believe it. We’ll find him.’ How irritating not to be in the police but always poking around on the outside of any investigation.

‘I think that must be it,’ she said. ‘It’s the shabbiest of the lot and it does look like a small fishing boat. Yes, I can make out the name. It’s the Southern Flyer.’

The deck and wheelhouse were deserted. ‘We’d best go aboard,’ said Agatha.

They climbed on to the deck, shouting loudly, ‘Bert! Bert!’ while the mocking seagulls sailed about overhead.