“I would really like to have a word with her,” said George soothingly. “It won’t take long. You must see that it’s important to find out who did this dreadful thing.”

“Okay, but don’t spend too long. Her be fair shook up.”

Mrs. Cranton was sitting in a stuffy cluttered front parlour, drinking tea and eating biscuits. “Why, Mr. Selby,” she said. “How nice of you to call.”

“I was worried about you,” said George.

A cynical little voice in Agatha’s head said, “He can turn that charm of his on and off like a tap.”

“This is the detective, Mrs. Raisin. Mr. Chance has employed her to find out who did this dreadful thing. How are you now?”

“Not so bad. I only had a little taste of the awful stuff. I ’member it was Miss Tubby’s plum jam. Last year she left stones in it. I said to Doris-that’s Mrs. Glarely-let’s make sure she hasn’t done that again. We take our jam making seriously in this village, but Miss Tubby and Miss Tolling go on as if it’s all a joke. So I tasted a little and then Doris did and then we came over all funny.”

“When was this?” asked Agatha.

“Why, it were right before the tent was opened. The vicar and his wife and you, Mr. Selby, and, oh, Miss Triast-Perkins and Mr. Bassett had just left.”

“So someone could have crept in while you were off for breakfast?” said Agatha.

“But the marquee was closed. We tied the flap over the entrance.”

“Someone could have untied it. I mean, was anyone else about so early?”

“I saw Mr. Selby here. Then Miss Corrie was setting up the tombola stand. Let me see… no, can’t remember anyone else.”

“We won’t trouble you any further,” said George. “We’ll leave you alone.”

Mrs. Glarely’s husband delivered himself of a tirade against hippies and druggies, leaning on two sticks and glaring at them. George listened carefully and then said, “Of course you are upset. But the sad news is that the jam seems to have been poisoned before any of the visitors arrived.”