she confirmed that it was. You'll never know, Lewis, how much I dreaded the truth of all this. .'
The rain plashed across the yard, and the room was sombre and dark. Electric lights flashed on in several adjoining rooms, but not in Morse's office. 'Just consider a minute, Lewis. Jennifer had a car. That was a central fact in the case. And in spite of the temporary trouble she had with a puncture, she used her car on the night of the 29th. She said she did, remember? And she did. I didn't believe her at the time, but I was wrong. She met someone that night who saw her car and saw Jennifer Coleby in it. Someone who had nothing whatsoever to do with Sylvia's murder. And that was someone with whom Jennifer was having an affair — her employer, Mr. Palmer. So, although the evidence had pointed at almost every stage to Jennifer Coleby, she suddenly acquired for herself a wholly incontrovertible alibi. Up to that point I had felt utterly convinced that the other girl in this affair was Jennifer; but I now had to face the undoubted, unchallengeable fact that whoever it was who sat behind Sylvia Kaye that night in Bernard Crowther's car, it was not, quite definitely not, Jennifer Coleby. Who was it, then? Although I was forced to abandon Jennifer as suspect number one — indeed, forced to abandon her as a suspect at all — I stuck stubbornly to my original idea that whoever the girl was, she was Crowther's mistress, and that it was to her that Crowther had sent his message. So let us look at things from Crowther's angle for a few minutes. I think that without a shadow of doubt he must have been a very frightened man. Just put yourself in his shoes, Lewis. He had left Sylvia Kaye alive and well — he knew that — on the Wednesday night. And the next day — what does he discover? He reads in the press that this same girl has been found murdered. But not murdered anywhere. Murdered on the very spot where he had last seen her — in the courtyard of The Black Prince. Who knew that he'd been there? Just himself and Sylvia — and she could never again say anything to anyone. But Sue Widdowson would have guessed, because Sylvia would have told her where she was going. He must have been worried out of his wits, and certainly for an intelligent man he doesn't seem to have been very sensible in what he did. Again and again the thought must have flashed across his mind: would Sue realize how dangerous it would be to say one single word to a living soul? He must have thought she would surely realize this. But still the doubts must have nagged away at his mind. She was the one person who could upset the whole apple-cart — not only bring him under suspicion for Sylvia's murder but throw the whole of his family life into a turmoil he felt he couldn't face. He just had to make sure, or at least he had to do something. He daren't see her. So he wrote.' Lewis showed the familiar signs of unease and Morse nodded his understanding. 'I know, Lewis. Why does he write to Jennifer? '
'Why did he write at all, sir? Why not just ring?'
'Yes. I'm coming to that. But first let's be absolutely certain about the fact of the matter — and the fact is that Crowther did write to Jennifer Coleby. For if we fully recognize the significance of that, we can begin to answer the perfectly valid question you raise. Why not ring her? Why not? The answer is fairly straightforward, I think. Who was he to ring, and where? Let's assume for the minute that he wants to ring up Jennifer — the faithful messenger girl. At work? No. It was too dangerous. All the girls in the office knew Palmer's views on using his company's phones, and they played it fair because he turned a blind eye to personal correspondence coming in. But more than that. It was also far too dangerous, because all incoming telephone calls — except to the private phone in Palmer's office, which his personal secretary handled — came through the switchboard; and as you well know anyone on the switchboard can listen in with complete impunity to whatever's being said. No. That was out. Well? Why not ring Sue Widdowson herself? Why not ring his mistress and speak to her direct, either at her home or at the hospital? Again it's not difficult to see why he didn't. If he rang Sue up at home, he could never be sure that the other two weren't there, could he? He could risk Jennifer, but not Mary. He must have felt pretty certain — and I'm sure he was right — that listening in, even to a one-sided telephone call, is a temptingly easy and interesting pastime.'
After politely knocking on Morse's door, the young girl with the office correspondence entered brightly and placed the inspector's morning mail into his in-tray.
'Not a very nice day, sir.'
'No,' said Morse.
'It'll probably clear up later.' She gave him a warm and pleasant smile as she left, and Morse nodded in a kindly way. It was some vague consolation to know that life was still going on around him. He stared absently out of the window and noticed that the rain had slackened. Perhaps she was right. It would probably clear up later. .
'But why couldn't he ring her at work, sir?'
'Ah yes. I'm sorry, Lewis. Why couldn't he ring her at work, you say? I found the answer to that only last Friday. It is virtually impossible for any outsider, even for the police, to get into direct contact with any of the nursing staff at the Radcliffe. I tried it myself, and you might as well ask directory enquiries for a number if you haven't got the address. There's an old battle-axe of a matron there. .'
'Couldn't Crowther have written to her, though? Surely. .'
'He could, yes. And I don't know why he didn't really, except. . You see, Lewis, he'd got into this routine with Sue Widdowson. Let me try to explain how it must have started. As you know, the post gets worse and worse everywhere. But in North Oxford it seems it's particularly bad. It seldom arrives before ten in the morning — far too late for anyone to receive a letter before setting off for work. And even if it arrived early, say at eight, it would still not be in time. Why not write to her at the hospital, then? The answer is that our dear Matron puts her foot down there as well; she positively forbids all private mail being accepted in the hospital.'
'But if Crowther had posted a letter to her home address, she would have got it as soon as she came back from work, wouldn't she?'
'Yes, you're right. But you put your finger right on the central difficulty, and this is why I should think Jennifer Coleby was brought into the picture in the first place. Bernard Crowther, you see, like most of these University fellows, didn't work any regular hours at Lonsdale College. Something would always be cropping up at odd times — disciplinary matters, unexpected visitors, unscheduled meetings — and he could never plan his extra-marital escapades with any more than the hopeful anticipation that he might be free at any particular time in the days ahead. But much more important than this, he had to keep a very careful eye on the day-to-day comings and goings of his own family. Margaret might arrange something, the children might get a half-day holiday out of the blue, or be ill or — well, here, too, there was plenty that could go wrong and mess up the best-laid plans completely. So it seems to me that Crowther often didn't know for certain until the day itself, even perhaps until a few hours beforehand, if and when and where he was going to be free to meet his mistress. But, Lewis, Lonsdale College is no more than a hundred yards or so from the premises of the Town and Gown Assurance office in the High.'
'You mean Crowther just walked along and drop a note in?'
'He did just that.'
'But Jennifer wouldn't be able to contact Sue during the day either, would she? You just said. .'
'I know what you're going to say. He might just as well have written to Sue's home address. She wouldn't get
