'The fingerprints. Brenda Brooks or Julia Stevens---who do you go for?'
Lewis frowned. 'I can't really see his wife doing it, you know that. I just don't think she'd have the strength for one thing.'
'Really?' Morse seemed almost to be enjoying himself. 'Mrs. Stevens, though... We! l, she's a much stronger person, a much stronger character, isn't she? And she's got the brains---'
'And she's got nothing to lose,' added Morse more som-brely.
'Not much, no.'
'So your money's on her, is it?'
Lewis hesitated. 'You know, sir, in detective stories there are only two roles really, aren't there? It's never the butler; and it's never the person you think it is. So---so I'll go for 'Leaving me with Mrs. Stevens.'
'You'd have gone for her anyway, sir.'
'You think so?'
But Lewis didn't know what he was thinking, anti changed the subject.
'Did you have any lunch earlier, sir?' rette.
'You're not hungry?'
'A bit.'
'What about coming back and having a bite with us?
The missus'd be only too glad to knock something up for you.'
Morse considered the proposition. 'What do you nor-really have on Fridays? Fish?'
'No. It's egg and chips on Fridays.'
'I thought that was on Wednesdays.' Lewis nodded. 'And Mondays.'
'You're on,' decided Morse. 'Give her a ring and tell her to peel another few spuds.'
'Only one thing, sir--as I said. We're in a bit of a pickle at home, I'm afraid--with the decorators in.'
'Have you got the beer in, though? That's more to the point, surely.'
It was Lewis himself who took the call from the fingerprint bureau half an hour later. No match. No match anywhere. Whoever it was who had left some fingerprints on the Rho-desian knife, it had not been Mrs. Brenda Brooks or Mrs. Julia Stevens; nor, as they'd already learned, Ms. Eleanor Smith. One other piece of information. Classifying and identifying fingerprints was an immensely complicated job and they couldn't be absolutely sure yet; but it was looking almost certain now that the fingerprints on the knife-handle didn't match those of any known criminals either--well over two million of them in the Scotland Yard library.
'So you see what it means, Sarge? Whoever murdered your fellow doesn't look as if he had any previous conviction.'
'Or she,' added Lewis, after putting down the phone.
Them was no need to relay the message, since a glum looking Morse had heard it all anyway.
In silence.
A silence that persisted.
The report that Lewis had written on the visit to Matthew Rodway's mother was on the top of Morse's pile.
'Hope I didn't make too many spelling mistakes, sir?' ventured Lewis finally.
'What? No, no. You're improving. Slowly.'
'I don't suppose she gives tuppence really--Mrs. Rod-way, I mean about who killed Brooks. So long as some- body did.'
Morse granted inarticulately. His thoughts drifted back to their meeting with Mrs. Rodway. It seemed an age ago now; but as his eyes skimmed through the report once again he could clearly visualise that interview, and the room, and the slim and still embittered Mrs. Rodway....
'I know it's probably nonsense, sir, but you don't think that she could have murdered Brooks, do you?'
'She had as good a motive as anybody,' admitted Morse.
'Perhaps we ought to have another little ride ou there and take her fingerprints.'
'Not today, Lewis. I'm out for a meal, if you remember.'
'I'll see you there, sir, if you don't mind. About six, is that all right?
'What are you going to do?'
'Lots of little things. Make a bit more progress with the keys, for a start. I'm expected at the Pitt Rivers in twenty minutes.'
After Lewis had left, Morse lit yet another cigarette and leaned back in the black leather chair, looking purposelessly around his off'me. He noticed the thin patina of nicotine on the emulsioned walls. Yes, the place could do with a good wash-down and redecoration: the comers of the ceiling es-pecially were deeply stained....
Suddenly, he felt a brief frisson of excitement as if there were something of vital importance in what he'd just read, or what he'd just thought, or what he'd just seen. But try as he might, he was unable to isolate the elusive
