Inspector Morse 12 Death is Now My Neighbour

'Have you checked all this? You see, my car was in the hotel garage - and God knows where that is. I left it outside when we booked in, and gave the keys to one of the porters. That's the sort of thing you pay for hi places like this - didn't you know that?'

Again Morse nodded. 'You're right The garage wasn't opened up that morning until ten minutes to nine.'

'So?' Storrs looked puzzled.

'You could have driven someone else's car.'

'Whose, pray?'

Tour wife's, perhaps?'

Storrs snorted. 'Which just happened to be standing outside the hotel - is that it? A helicopter-lift from Polstead Road?'

'I don't know,' admitted Morse.

'All right. Angela's car's there waiting for me, yes? How did I get out of the hotel? There's only the one exit, so I must have slipped unnoticed past a sleeping night-porter-' He stopped. 'Have you checked up whether the front doors are locked after midnight?'

Yes, we've checked.'

'And are they?'

They are.'

'So?' Again Storrs appeared puzzled.

'So the only explanation is that you weren't in the hotel that night at all,' said Morse slowly.

'Really? And who signed the bloody bill on Sunday -what - ten o'clock? Quarter past?'

'Twenty past. We've tried to check everything. You signed the bill, sir, using your own Lloyds Visa Card.'

Suddenly Storrs turned his back and stared out of the rain-flecked window once more:

'Look! You must forgive me. I've been leading you up the garden padi, I'm afraid. But it was extremely interesting hearing your story. Outside, just to the left - we can't quite see it from here - is what the splendid brochure calls its 'outdoor heated exercise plunge pool'. I was there that morning. I was there just after breakfast -about half past eight. Not just me, either. There was a rich American couple who were staying in the Beau Nash

suite. They came from North Carolina, as I recall, and we must have been there together for twenty minutes or so. Want to know what we were talking about? Bosnia. Bloody Bosnia! Are you satisfied? You say you've tried to check everything. Well, just - check - that! And now, if you don't mind, my dear wife appears to be back. I just hope she's not spent- Good God! She's bought herself anothercoal'

Lewis, who had himself remained silent throughout the interview, walked across to the rain-flecked window, and saw Mrs Storrs standing beneath the porchway across die garden, wearing a headscarf, dark glasses, and a long expensive-looking white mackintosh. She appeared to be having some litde difficulty unfurling one of die large gaudy umbrellas which the benevolent management left in clumps around the buildings for guests to use when needed - needed as now, for die rain had come on more heavily.

Morse, too, got to his feet and joined Lewis at the window, where Storrs was quiedy humming diat tune again.

Der Garten trauert...

The garden is mourning...

'Would you and your good lady like to join me for a drink, sir? In die bar downstairs?'

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

Hypoglycaemia (n): abnormal reduction of sugar content of the blood - for Diabetes sufferers a condition more difficult to spell than to spot

(Small's Enlarged English Dictionary, lyth Edition)

'WHAT DO YOU think they're talking about up there, sir?'

'He's probably telling her what to say.'

Morse and Lewis were seated side-by-side in the Dower House lounge - this time with their backs turned on Lord Ellmore, since two dark-suited men sat drinking coffee in front of the fireplace.

Julian Storrs and a black-tied waiter appeared almost simultaneously.

'Angela'll be down in a minute. Just changing. Got a bit wet shopping.'

'Beforeshe bought the coat, I hope, sir,' said Lewis.

Storrs gave a wry smile, and the waiter took their order.

'Large Glenfiddich for me,' said Storrs. 'Two pieces of ice.'

Morse clearly approved. 'Same for me. What'H you have, Lewis?'

'Does the budget run to an orange juice?'

'And' (Morse turned to Storrs) 'what can we get for your wife?'

'Large gin and slim-line tonic. And put 'em all on my bill, waiter. Room thirty-six.'

Morse made no protestation; and Lewis smiled quietly to himself. It was his lucky day.