The Riddle Of The Third Mile

in the investigations? Some outsider? Someone as yet unknown who would make a dramatic entry only towards the finale of Act Five? A sort of deus ex machinal Morse doubted this last possibility-and amidst his doubts, quite suddenly the astonishing thought flashed through his mind that there might just be a fourth possibility. And the more Morse pondered the idea, the more he convinced himself that there was: the possibility that the puffed and sodden salt-white corpse was that of Dr Browne- Smith.

On the way home that evening, Lewis decided to risk his w &’s wrath, to face the prospect of almost certainly reheated daps- and to call on Simon Rowbotham in Botley.

Simon Rowbotham invited him into the small terraced bouse in which he lived with his mother. But Lewis declined, learning over the doorstep that Simon had been one of three anglers who had spotted the body, and that it was he, Simon, who had readily volunteered to dial the police in lieu of looking further upon the horror just emerging from the waters. He often fished out along the banks at Thrupp, a good place for specialists such as himself. As it happened, they were just about to form a new angling club there, for which he had volunteered his services as secretary. In fact (just as Lewis had called) he had been checking a proof of the new association’s letter-head for the printer. They had managed to persuade a few well-known people to support them; and clearly, for Simon Rowbotham, the world was entering an exciting phase.

Lewis waited until 8.30 p.m. before ringing Morse (who had been strangely absent somewhere since lunch- time). He found him at his flat and promptly reported on his day’s work.

When he had finished, Morse could hardly keep the excitement out of his voice. ‘Just go over that bit about John Gilbert again, will you, Lewis?’

So Lewis repeated, as accurately as he could recall it, the news he had gleaned from the War Office archivist; and he felt very happy as he did so, for he knew that the news was pleasing to his master-a master, incidentally, who now had guessed the whole truth about the desert episode.

‘You’ve done a marvellous day’s work, old friend. Well done!’

‘Did you find out anything new, sir?’

‘Well, yes and no, really. I’ve-I’ve been thinking about the case for most of the day. But nothing startling.’

‘Anyway, have a good day in London tomorrow, sir!’

‘What Ah yes-tomorrow. I’ll-er-give you a ring if I find out anything exciting.’ -‘Perhaps you’ll do that, sir.’

‘What? Ah yes-perhaps I will.’

A rather sad footnote to the events described in this chapter is that if Lewis had been slightly more interested in the formation of a new angling association and if he had asked to see the proof of the proposed letter-heading (but why should he?), he would have found that one of the two honorary vice-presidents listed at the top left-hand corner of the page was a man with a name which was now very familiar to him: Mr G. Westerby (Lonsdale College, Oxford).

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Tuesday, 29th July

Morse appears to have a powerful effect on two women, one of whom he has never met.

For Lewis, a 10 a.m. visit to Lonsdale was pleasantly productive, since the college secretary (she liked Lewis) had brought him a cup of coffee, and been quite willing to talk openly about Westerby as a person. So Lewis made his notes. Then he found out something about cars, since – in spite of Morse’s apparent indifference to the problem – it seemed to him of great importance to discover exactly how the corpse had been transported from London to Thrupp, and he learned that Browne-Smith – doubtless on doctor’s orders – had sold his Daimler a month or so ago, whilst Westerby still ran a red Metro, occasionally to be seen in the college forecourt.

‘Why would Westerby want a car, though?’ asked Lewis. ‘He lived in college.’

‘I don’t know. He’s a bit secretive – doesn’t tell anyone much about what he does.’ ‘He must go somewhere?’

‘I suppose so,’ she nodded vaguely.

‘Nice little car, the Metro. Economical!’

‘Roomy in the back, too. You can take the seats out, you know -get no end of stuff in there.’

‘So they tell me, yes.’

‘You’ve got a car, Sergeant?’

‘I’ve got an old Mini, but I don’t use it much. Usually go to work on the bus and then use a police car.’

The college secretary looked down at her desk. ‘Has Inspector Morse got a car?’

Lewis found it an odd question. ‘He’s got a Lancia, He’s had a Lancia ever since I’ve known him.’

‘You’ve known him long?’

‘Long enough.’

‘Is he a nice man?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t exactly call him “nice”.’

‘Do you like him?’

‘I don’t think you “like” Morse. He’s not that sort of person, really.’

‘But you get on well with him?’

‘Usually. You see-well, he’s the most remarkable man I’ve ever met, that’s all.’

‘He must think you’re a remarkable man-if he works with you all the time, I mean.’

‘No! I’m just, well…’ Lewis didn’t quite know how to finish, but he felt more than a little pride in the shadow of the compliment. ‘Do you know him, then, miss?’

She shook her pretty head. ‘He spoke to me over the phone once, that’s all.’

‘Oh he’s terrible over the phone-always sounds so, I don’t know, so cocky and nasty, somehow.’

‘You mean… he’s not really like that?’

‘Not really,’ said Lewis quietly. Then he noticed that the gentle eyes of the college secretary had suddenly drifted away from himself, and out towards a man she had never known or even seen. Momentarily he felt a twinge of jealousy.

Morse!

Down the dingy red-carpeted stairs, through the dingy red curtains, Morse, at 11 a.m., followed the same path that Browne-Smith had trodden eighteen days before him. He sat at a table in the Flamenco Topless Bar, and transacted his business with a milky white maiden. It didn’t take him long; and, after that Browne-Smith’s spunky antagonist behind the bar had proved no match for him, since for some reason she could not conceive of suggesting to this man, with the blue-grey eyes and the thinning, grey-black hair, that he could go across the way to the Sauna if he wanted any further sexual gratification. He seemed to her coldly detached; and when he looked at her with eyes intensely still, she found herself answering his questions almost hypnotically. Thus it was that Morse, in a short space of time had penetrated the door marked “Private” at the rear of the drinking lounge.

At 1 p.m. he was riding in a taxi to an address he had known anyway -the address already pencilled firmly in his mind when that same morning he had left the Number One platform at Oxford on the 9.12 train. Perhaps he should have short-circuited the whole process; but on the whole he thought not, even though he had felt not the vaguest