Deputy Manager had been speaking with him.
And indeed was very shordy to be brighter still.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Queen Elizabeth the First Slept Here (Notice which according to the British Tourist Board is to be observed in approximately 2400 residences in the United Kingdom)
THEY WALKED ACROSS the splendidly tended garden area behind the main complex to the Dower House, an elegant annexe wherein were situated most of the hotel's suites and bedrooms, as well as the restaurant, the main lounge - and the bar.
Immediately inside the entrance, Morse saw the plaque (virtually a statutory requirement in Bath) commemorating a particularly eminent royal personage:
George IV
1820-1830 Resided here
In the lounge, Morse sat down amid the unashamedly luxurious surroundings of elaborate wall-lights, marble busts - and courteously prompt service, for a uniformed waitress was already standing beside them.
'What would you like to drink, sir?'
Lovely question.
As he waited for his beer, Morse looked around him; and in particular at the portrait above the fireplace there: 'Lord Ellmore, 1765-1817', the inscription read, a fat-cheeked, smooth-faced man, with a protruding lower lip, who reminded Morse unhappily of Sir Clixby Bream.
Then he walked through to the Gents in the corridor just off the lounge where the two loos stood side by side, the Men's and the Ladies' logos quite unequivocally distinct on their adjacent doors.
It would have been difficult even for the myopic Mrs Adams to confuse the two, thought Morse, as he smiled and mouthed a few silent words to himself: 'Thank you! Thank you, Mrs Arabella Adams!' It wasn't that she could have been certain - from some little distance? with her failing eyesight? - that the person she had seen was a man or a woman. Certainly not so far as the recognition of any facial features was concerned. Faces were notoriously difficult to distinguish, appearing so different when seen in profile, perhaps, or in the shadows, or wearing glasses. No! It was
just that old Mrs Adams had always known what men looked like, and what women looked like, since habitually the men wore trousers and the women wore skirts. But of course if someone wore trousers, that certainly didn't prove that the wearer was a man, now did it, Morse? In fact it proved one thing and one thing
Ten minutes later, as he worked his way with diminishing enthusiasm through an over-generous plateful of smoked-salmon sandwiches, Morse saw Sergeant Lewis appear in the doorway - a Lewis looking almost as self- satisfied as the oily Lord Ellmore himself - and raise his right thumb, before being introduced to Sara Hickman.
'Something to drink, Sergeant?'
Thank you. Orange juice, please.'
'Something to eat?'
'What have you got?'
She smiled happily. 'Anything. Anything you like. Our Head Chef is at your command.'
'Can he rustle up some eggs and chips?'
She said she was sure - well, almost sure - that he could, and departed to investigate.
'Lew-is! This is a cordon bleu establishment'
'Should taste good then, sir.'
The buoyant Lewis passed a note to Morse, simultaneously (and much to Morse's relief) helping himself to a couple of sandwiches.
'You don't mind, sir? I'm half starving.'
At 2.30 p.m. Marilyn Hudson, a small, fair-complexioned young woman, was called into Sara's office. Marilyn had been a chamber-cum-kitchenmaid at the hotel for almost three years; and it was soon clear that she knew as much as anyone was likely to know about the day-to-day - and night-by-night - activities there.
Morse now questioned her closely about the morning of the previous Sunday, 3 March.
'You took them breakfast?'
*Yes, sir. About quarter to eight'
'You knocked on the door?'
'Like I always do, yes. I heard somebody say 'Come in' so I-'
You had a key?'
'I've got a master-key. So I took the tray in and put it on the dressing-table.'
'Were they in bed together?'
'No. Twin beds it is there. She was on the far side. Difficult to miss her, though.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Well, it was her
'Vertical stripes, you mean?'
