“What was her excuse for not calling them immediately?” asked Agatha.

“Sybilla said that she fainted with shock and when she came to, she felt dizzy and sick and it took about an hour for her to get the strength to phone,” said Phyllis.

“Why would she want to kill Sarah Selby?” asked Agatha.

Phyllis and Maggie exchanged glances. Phyllis said, “She was crazy about George. Always visiting his house on some pretext or other, but before that fatal visit, she never called except when George was at home. He has an office in Mircester, though sometimes he works from home. He’s an architect.”

“Does everyone in the village suspect her?” asked Agatha.

“No, only us. They’re all a bit backward in this backwater. You know, tug their forelocks to the lady of the manor. Some lady. Okay, the Triasts were upper crust, but old man Perkins made his money out of biodegradable cats’ toilets.”

“Place looked a bit run-down,” said Agatha.

“She’s mean, that’s why,” said Maggie.

“So why doesn’t she sell off that lodge house, for example?”

“Blessed if I know,” said Maggie. “Maybe she concocts poisons there.” She and Phyllis laughed heartily.

“And what do you do for a living?” asked Agatha. “Manufacture LSD?” She had not forgiven them for that “badly preserved” remark.

“I paint,” said Phyllis, “and Maggie throws pots. Don’t you feel a bit guilty? If it hadn’t been for your grandiose ideas about the fête, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“If you think it was Sybilla who did it,” said Agatha, “then it really doesn’t matter how many people attended the fête.”