the further reaches of the shore-line. He'd always told himself he enjoyed
the changing moods of Homer's deep-sounding sea. And he did so now.
Soon, he found himself standing alongside the slowly lap- ping water,
debating with himself whether the tide was just coming in or just going out,
and staring down at the glass-like circular configuration of a jellyfish.
'Is it dead?'
Until she spoke, Morse had been unaware of the auburn- haired young woman who
now stood beside him, almost wearing a bikini.
'I don't know. But in the absence of anything better to do, I'm going to
stand here till the tide comes in and find out.'
'But the tide's going out, surely?'
Morse nodded somewhat wistfully.
'You may be right.'
'Poor jellyfish!'
'Mm!' Morse looked down again at the apparently doomed, transparent creature
at his feet: 'How very sad to be a jellyfish!'
He'd sounded a comparatively interesting man, and the woman would have liked
to stay there awhile. But she forced herself to forget the intensely blue
eyes which momentarily had held her own; and walked away without a further
word, for she felt a sudden, slight suspicion concerning the sanity of the
man who stood there staring at the ground.
25
chapter five In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is King
(Afghan proverb) it was on Tuesday the 14th, the day before Strange's visit
to Morse, that Lewis had presented himself at the Chief Superintendent office
in Thames Valley Police HQ, in punctual obedience to the internal phone call.
'Something for you, Lewis. Remember the Lower Swinstead murder?'
'Well, vaguely, yes. And I've seen the bits in the paper, you know, about
the calls. I was never really on the case myself though. We were on another
' ' Well, you're on it now from next Monday morning, that is once Morse gets
back from Bermuda. '
'He hasn't left Oxford, has he?'
'Joke, Lewis.' Strange beamed with bonhomie, set ding his chin into his
others.
'The Chief Inspector's agreed?'
'Not much option, had he? And you enjoy working with the old sod. I know
you do.'
'Not always.'
'Well, he always enjoys working with you.'
A strangely gratified Lewis made no reply.
'So?'
'Well, if it's OK with Morse . . .'
'Which it is.'
'I'll give him a ring.'
'No, you won't. He's tired, isn't he? Needs a rest. Give him a bit of time
to himself you know, crosswords, booze ...'
'Wagner, sir. Don't forget his precious Wagner. He's just bought another
recording of that Ring Cycle stuff, so he told me.'
'Which recording's that?'
'Conductor called
'Sholty' , I think. '
'Mm . . .' Strange pointed to three bulging green box-files stacked on the
side of his desk.
'Little bit of reading there. All right?
Chance for you to get a few moves ahead of Morse. '
Lewis got to his feet, picked up the files, and held them awkwardly in front
of him, his chin clamping the top one firm.
'I've never been even one move in front of him, sir.'
'No? Don't you under-estimate yourself, Lewis! Let others do it for you.'
Lewis managed a good-natured grin.
'Not many people manage to get a move ahead of Morse.'
'Oh, really? Just a minute! Let me hold the door for you .. . And you're
not quite right about what you just said, you know. There are one or two
people who just occasionally manage it.'
'Perhaps you're right, sir. I've just not met one of 'em, that's all.'
'You have though,' said Strange quietly.
Lewis's eyes turned quizzically as he manoeuvred his triple burden through
the door.
That same evening, Lewis had just finished his eggs and chips, had trawled
the last slice of brown bread across the residual HP sauce, and was
swallowing the last mouthful of full-cream cold milk, when he heard the call
from above: 'Dad? Da - ad?'
Lewis looked down at the (presumably problematical) first sentence of his
son's A-level French Prose Composition: 'Another bottle of this excellent
wine, waiter!'
27
'Easy enough, that, isn't it?'
'What gender's ' bottle'?'
'How am I supposed to know? What do you think I bought you that dictionary
for?'
'Left it at school, didn't I!'
'So?'
'So you mean you don't know?'
'You're brighter than I thought, son.'
'Can't you guess?'
'Either masculine or feminine, sure to be.'
'That's great.'
'Feminine, say? So it's, er,
'Garlon! Une autre bouteille de cette' --' 'No! You're useless, Dad! If
