“I saw those two ladies, Mrs. Cranton and Mrs. Glarely, leaving the marquee. I wasn’t really paying much attention. I had had a restless night, so I got up early to put out the goods and then decided to go back to bed and try to get some sleep.”

“Weren’t you frightened someone would pinch some of the prizes?” asked Agatha.

Fred gave a tinkling laugh. “No, it’s always the same old rubbish except for a bottle of whisky and a bottle of gin and I didn’t leave them out. And nobody was going to run off with the tombola wheel. Once the visitors started to pour in, I sold tickets very quickly, turned the wheel and I managed to get rid of everything, even that tin of sardines in tomato sauce that turns up every year.”

“Maybe if you could think about the early-morning bit again,” said Agatha. “You saw the two organizers leaving the tent and walking off home. After that, did you even hear anything?”

“Only a cat yowling. I thought there was some animal in pain. It was coming from the churchyard. So I went over and searched, but I couldn’t find the animal.”

“So someone could have slipped into the tent while you were away,” said Agatha eagerly. “Did you try the jam yourself?”

“No, I was too busy turning the wheel and getting rid of the usual old dreck.”

Agatha’s stomach rumbled. She looked hopefully at George. “Gosh, I’m hungry.”

“So am I,” said Fred, “and I don’t feel like cooking. Let’s all go to the pub and get something.”

Agatha groaned inwardly. Gone were her hopes of a dinner date alone with George.

The small pub only had two customers when they walked into the low-ceilinged barroom.

“What have you got on the menu tonight, Bruce?” asked Fred.

“Wasn’t expecting folks, but I’ve got a rare bit of ham. You could have that with an egg and chips.”

“Great,” said Fred. “We’ll have three of those.”

Agatha wanted to say pettishly that she would select her own food, but, then, there didn’t seem to be anything else on offer.