senior SOCO.
'Next year, perhaps,' said Eddie Andrews pessimistically.
'You'd be out of a job without me,' continued Morse.
'Just like Dr Hobson here.'
But the unsmiling pathologist could find little place in her heart for any
banter and ignored the comment. As did Edwards.
The gloomy room was suddenly empty, apart from Sergeant Lewis.
'You said there wasn't any danger of him being murdered, sir.'
Morse could find no satisfactory answer, and stared silently
out of the
window until Mrs Bayley came in with (for Morse) wholly unwelcome cups of
coffee and the same two digestive biscuits that Barron would have eaten with
his over-sugared tea.
'You mentioned to Sergeant Lewis what you saw from the window? The one above
this, wasn't it?'
She nodded.
'It made such a vivid imprint on the, er . . .'
'Retina?' suggested Lewis.
'Thank you, Sergeant. I did myself once work in the Oxford Eye Hospital.'
She turned to Morse.
'You'11 think me a silly old woman, but it reminded me of something I saw
quite a few years ago now in one of the Sundays. There were these outline
drawings sent in by readers and you had to guess what they were; and one of
them always stuck in my, er . . .' (This time Lewis desisted. ) She took a
pencil and without permission made a quick little drawing in Lewis's
notebook: 'Can't you guess. Inspector?' Her eyes twinkled. Morse frowned,
about to suggest something wildly inappropriate when the undeterred Lewis
intervened: 'Giraffe walking past a window?'
'You clever man.'
'No!' Lewis smiled deprecadngly.
'I'd seen it before.'
He took a pencil and made an equally quick little drawing underneath:
'Aristocratic sardine in a tin!' she cried triumphantly. 'You clever woman!'
She shook her head.
'I'd seen it before.'
Morse sounded wearily impatient.
'I'm very sorry to interrupt the fun, Mrs Bayley, but. . .'
'Of course. Forgive me!'
'Which way was your, er, giraffe walking? Left to right? Right to left?'
'Left to right exactly like I've drawn it. Inspector.'
'So if the ladder fell across the window7 from left to right, the bottom of
the ladder must have slipped from right to left that is, from your point of
view here in the house, Mrs Bayley?'
'I'm not quite sure I follow you.'
'I mean, if someone had come along and given the ladder a hefty kick at the
bottom, he'd probably have been coming from' (Morse pointed to the right)
'the centre ofBurfbrd, say, to' (Morse pointed vaguely to the left) 'wherever
this road leads to?'
'Bourton on the Water.'
'Thank you, Lewis!'
'But we know that, sir about the ladder, I mean. They found him six or seven
yards to the right of the front door. That's from Mrs Bayley's point of view
of course,' he added mischievously.
'Yes!' whispered the lady of the household, as so vividly she recalled that
terrible sight, with the red Stanley knife lying there beside the shattered
skull.
Morse was looking far from pleased. Even less so when a further cup of
coffee was suggested. The room had become chillier, and he shivered slightly
as he got to his feet. It was time for the cliches: 'If you do remember
anything else anything odd any- thing unusual - anything at all . . .'
And suddenly she had remembered something. It was Morse's involuntarily
shivering shoulders that had jogged yes, jogged her memory.
The jogger.
'There was something a bit unusual. We don't get many people jogging here
we're all a bit too old. But there was one this morning, about a
quarter-to-eight. He'd pulled the hood of his tracksuit over his head as if
he was feeling the cold a bit.'
'Or wasn't anxious to be recognized,' added Morse quietly. 'Perhaps you
could recognize him though. Inspector. You see, he was wearing a very
distinctive pair of training shoes. Red, they were.'
The two policemen left with appropriate expressions of gratitude; and with
the two digestive biscuits still untouched on the circular tray, beside two
cups, one of them full, of stone-cold coffee.
202
chapter forty-three For coping with even one quarter of that running
course known as 'Marathon' for coping without frequent halts for refreshment
or periodic bouts of vomiting a man has to dedicate one half of his youthful
