$0 Colin De?ter 'Unless you still think that girl on the phone's a phoney, too.'
'No. I don't think that. Not now.'
'Well, she said Mclure's girlfriend was in Spain when he was murdered, didn't she?'
'It's impolite to eavesdrop on telephone conversations.' Lewis nodded. 'Interesting, too. I felt sure you were going to ask her to send you the photo--you know, the top less photo from Torremolinos.'
'Do you know,' said Morse quietly, 'I think, looking back on it, I should have done exactly that. I must be get ting senile.'
'You can still cross her off your list,' maintained an sympathetic Lewis.
'Perhaps she was never on it in the first place. You see, I don't think it was a woman who murdered Mc Clure.'
'We shall still have to see her, though.'
'Oh yes. But the big thing we've got to do is learn more about Mc Clure. The more we learn about the murdered man, the more we learn about the murderer.'
Music to Lewis's ears. 'But no firm ideas yet, sir?'
'What?' Morse walked over to the front window, but his eyes seemed not so much to be looking out as looking in.
'I once went to hear a panel of writers, Lewis, and I re-member they had to answer an interesting question about titles--you know, how important a title is for a book.'
'The Wind in the W///ovs--that's my favourite.'
'Anyway, the other panellists said it was the most diffi-cult thing of the lot, pounds ding a good title. Then this last woman, she said it was no problem for her at all. Said she'd got half a dozen absolutely dazzling titles--but she just hadn't got any books to go with them. And it's the same with me, Lewis, that's all. I've got plenty of ideas al ready, but nothing to pin 'em to.'
'Not yet.'
'Not yet,' echoed Morse.
'Do you think Phillotson had any ideas--ideas he didn't tell us about?'
'For Christ's sake, forget Phillotson! He wouldn't know what to do if some fellow walked into his nearest nick with a knife dripping with blood and said he'd just murdered his missus.'
At least that's something you're never likely to do, thought Lewis. But the thought was not translated into words.
'Now,' continued Morse, 'just tell me about this second great discovery of yours.'
'Just give me ten more minutes--nearly ready.'
Morse ambled somewhat aimlessly around the rooms so splendidly cited 'by Messrs. Adkinson: Sitting/Dining- Room; Fully Fitted Modem Kitchen; Cloaks/Shower Room; Guest Bedroom; Master Bedroom Suite; Luxury Bathroom.
But nothing, it appeared, was able to hold his attention for long; and soon he returned to the murder room.
For Lewis, this brief period of time was profitable. His little dossier--well, three items held together by a paper-clip--was now, he thought, complete. Interesting. He was pleased with himself; masted that Morse would be pleased with him, too.
Not that Morse had looked particularly pleased with any-thing these last few minutes; and Lewis watched him taking a few more books from the shelves, seemingly in random manner, opening each briefly at the title page, then shaking it quite vigorously from the spine as if expecting something to fall out. And even as Lewis watched, something did fall out from one of them---nothing less than the whole of its pages. But Lewis's cautious amusement was immediately sti-fled by a vicious scowl from Morse; and nothing was said.
In fact, over only one of the title pages had Morse lin-gered for more than a few moments: THE GREAT PLAGUE AT ATHENS Its Effect on the Course and Conduct of the Peloponnesian War BY FELIX FULLERTON MCCLURE, M. A., D. PHIL. Student of Wolsey College, Oxford Correction.
Late Student of Wolsey College, Oxford...
At 5:45 P.M. PC Roberts knocked, and entered in response to Morse's gruff behest.
'Super just rang through, sk---'
''Rang' through,' muttered Morse.
'---and wanted me to tell you straightaway. It's Mrs. Phillotson, sir. She died earlier this afternoon. Seems she had another emergency op... and well, she didn't pull through. He didn't tell me any more. He just wanted you to know, he said.'
Roberts left, and Lewis looked on as Morse slowly sat down in the brown leather armchair, staring, it seemed, at the design on the carpet--the eyes, usually so fierce and piercing, now dull and defeated; a look of such self- loathing on his face as Lewis had never seen before.
It was five minutes later that Lewis made an offer which (as he knew) could hardly be refused.
'Fancy a beer, sir? The King's Arms down the road's open--Open All Day, it says outside.'
But Morse shook his head, and sat there in continued si-lence.
So for a while Lewis pretended to complete an already completed task. Perhaps he should have felt puzzled? But no. He wasn't puzzled at all.
