silently on.
'Anything else?'
'I can think of nothing else.'
'Well, let me tell you something. In Oz, it's what you call the quickest
fellow in a sheep-shearing competition. What about that?'
'Useful thing to know, sir.'
'What about a ' dead ringer'?'
'Somebody almost identical with somebody else.'
'Good! You're coming on nicely. Morse.'
'No, I'm not. I've stopped.'
Strange shook his massive head and smiled bleakly.
'You're an odd sod. You never seem to see anything that's staring you in the
face.
You have to look round half a dozen corners first, when all you've really got
to do is to look straight up the bloody street in front of you! '
Lewis, as he sat beside his chief, knew that such a criticism was marginally
undeserved; and he would have wished to set the record aright. But he
didn't, or couldn't. As for Morse, he seemed quietly unconcerned about the
situation: in fact (or was Lewis misunderstanding things? ) even a little
pleased.
'What about this, then?' Suddenly, confidently, Strange thrust the letter
across the desk; and after what seemed to both the other men an unnecessarily
prolonged perusal, the slow-reading Morse handed it back. Without comment.
'Well?'
''The Ringer' , you mean? You think it's the fellow who decided to ring
you--' 65
'Ring me twiceV ' It's a possibility. '
'Where do you think it was posted?'
'Dunno. You'll have to show me the envelope.'
'Guess!'
'You're expecting me to say Lower Swinstead.'
'No. Just waiting for your answer.'
'Lower Swinstead.'
'Explain that, then!' Strange produced a white envelope on which, above the
lurid red capitals, the pewter-gold first-class stamp was cancelled with a
circular franking: 'All right,' conceded Morse.
'I'll try another guess. What about Oxford?'
'Hm! What about the writing on the envelope?'
'Probably an A-level examiner using up one of his red pens. His scripts were
sending him bananas and he happened to see your invitation in one of the
newspapers. He just wondered why it was only the candidates who were allowed
to make things up, so he decided to have a go for himself. He's a nutter,
sir. A harmless nutter. We always get them you know that.'
'Oh, thank you, Morse!'
'No fingerprints, sir?' asked Lewis diffidently.
'Ah, no. No fingerprints. Good question, though!'
'Best forget it, then,' counselled Morse.
'Really Strange allowed the disyllabic to linger ominously. ' When I was a
lad, Morse, I once wrote off an entry for a Walt
Disney competition and I drew a picture of Mickey Mouse on the front of the
envelope. '
'Did you win?'
'No, I didn't. But let me just tell you one thing, matey: I'd like to bet
you that somebody noticed it! That's the whole point, isn't it?'
'You've lost me, sir.'
Strange leaned back expansively.
'When I asked Sergeant Dixon where he thought the letter was posted, he
agreed with you: Lower Swinstead. And when I showed him the postmark he said
it might still have been posted there, because he knew that some of the
letters from that part of the Cotswolds were brought to Oxford for franking.
So he went out and did a bit of leg-work, and he traced the fellow who did
the collections last week; and the postman remembered the envelope!
There'd only been three letters that day in the box, and he'd noticed one of
'em in particular. Not surprising, eh? So Dixon decided to test things,
just for his own satisfaction. He addressed an envelope to himself and
posted it at Lower Swinstead. '
Strange now produced a white unopened envelope and passed it across the desk.
It was addressed in red Biro to Sergeant Dixon at Police HQ Kidlington, the
pewter-gold first- class stamp cancelled with the same circular franking:
Strange paused for effect.
'Perhaps you ought to start eating doughnuts. Morse.'
'They won't let me have any sugar these days, sir.'
67
'There's no sugar in beer, you're saying?'
Lewis was expecting some semi-flippant, semi-prepared answer from his chief
something about balancing his intake of alcohol with his intake of insulin.
But Morse said nothing; just sat there staring at the intricate design upon
the carpet.
'One of these days, perhaps,' persisted Strange quietly, 'you might revise
your opinion of Dixon
'Why not put him in charge of the case? If you're still determined ' '
Steady on, Morse! That's enough of that. Just remember who you're talking
