Chapter Thirteen

"So it was a heat of the moment crime?" asked Jones as he and Barnaby were driving back to the station, closely followed by the marked police car containing Arleen.

"They both were," said Tom. "I doubt if Muriel went round to Philip Reece's with the intention of killing him. She may have watched from her house and seen him leaving the pub after his session with Rose."

"And Philip let her in as a friend?"

"Friend or foe. Anyway, they knew each other. Muriel must have made one more demand for money, perhaps threatening to reveal his affair, and Philip must have said no, promising to print the article. She saw the heavy metal mortar there, with the place-mat that Arleen had put over it, and picked it up and - smash!"

"And the place-mat prevented her fingerprints from appearing on the mortar."

"Precisely so."

"But why didn't she take it away with her? After all, it was a vital piece of evidence."

"Think, Jones. It was in the heat of the moment. Muriel dropped the mortar and the place-mat and ran away. Later on she must have thought how important a clue it was and gone back for it. Spike saw her wearing gloves walking towards the house, carrying a shopping basket, about one o'clock in the morning."

"When she discovered that there had been a burglary."

"Which she let slip when she was talking to me this morning. Rose had not told her there had been a burglary and we never did. So she could only have known if she had been back to the scene of the crime."

"To pick up the mortar to use to frame Denny."

"And Denny knew the value of the mortar because he had been at the lecture, but Muriel didn't know that. Mrs Prendergast at the local village shop noticed that she was carrying a large wicker shopping basket with something heavy in it wrapped up in a tea-towel two days ago."

Barnaby drove for a moment in silence.

"What put you on to the business of the chihuahua that hadn't been paid for, sir?" asked Jones presently.

"Again, it was something Muriel said," said Tom. "She said that the last dog that Margot had bought had been very valuable. And that she was not sentimental about her dogs - what she expected to get in return was money. Most people would have said 'what I get in return' . That set me thinking, and the letters you found in her study confirmed it."

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"Poor woman!" said Joyce after Tom had told her the essence of the case later that night.

"Which one, Muriel or Arleen?" asked Tom.

"Well - both, I suppose. But I was thinking of Arleen. She seemed so nice."

"I'm sure she was nice - but she still strangled another woman with a dog-lead."

"Oh, Tom!" said Joyce, putting down the mug of cocoa she had just made, "whatever is going to happen to all those little dogs?"

Tom smiled. "The R.S.P.C.A. will look after them until the next of kin comes forward," he said. "After that - there may be no more chihuahuas for sale in Midsomer Worthy."

Joyce took a sip of cocoa pensively.

"Tom, you don't think - "

"No, I do not," said Tom firmly. "I am not having any of those yapping little things in my house. They're vicious." Tom took up the Causton Echo that was lying on the coffee-table and scanned it briefly. "No more murders?" he asked with an attempt at humour which was lost on Joyce. At that moment the telephone rang. Joyce looked displeased.

"Jones - hello! yes, something else to report?" There was then quite a pause while Jones said whatever he had to say. "You don't say!" said Tom at last. "Thank you very much for that information, and you have a good night too. That was Jones," he said, putting down the receiver. "Professor Stankiewicz has been arrested in London and charged with fraud. Apparently he regularly over-valued antique articles and charged the owners a commission based on the value he quoted. It came to light when several of the owners got only a fraction of his quotations when they sold their artefacts."

"So maybe the Hittite mortar wasn't worth so much after all?" asked Joyce.

"Maybe it wasn't," said Tom, smiling.

THE END