below the TV set, peering carefully into the corners of each.
'Were you expecting to find something?' asked Lewis quietly as he and Morse walked back across to the Haworth Hotel.
Morse shook his head. 'Just habit, Lewis. I once found a ten-pound note in a hotel in Tenby, that's all.'
CHAPTER NINE
Wednesday, January 1st: P.M.
The great advantage of a hotel is that it's a refuge from home life.
(G. B. SHAW)
ON THEIR RETURN to the main building, Morse himself addressed the assembled guests in the ballroom area (not, as Lewis saw things, particularly impressively), telling everyone what had happened (they knew anyway), and asking everyone to be sure to tell the police if they had any information which might be of use (as if they wouldn't!).
None of those still remaining in the hotel appeared at all anxious to return home prematurely. Indeed, it soon became apparent to Lewis that the 'Annexe Murder' was, by several kilometres, the most exciting event of most lives hitherto; and that far from wishing to distance themselves physically from the scene of the crime, the majority of the folk left in the hotel were more than happy to stay where they were, flattered as they had been to be told that their own recollections of the previous evening's events might possibly furnish a key clue in solving the murder which had been committed. None of these guests appeared worried about the possibility of an indiscriminate killer being abroad in Oxford's semi-civilized acres — a worry which would, in fact, have been totally unfounded.
Whilst Lewis began the documentation of the hotel guests, Morse was to be seen sitting at the receipt of custom, with Sarah Jonstone to his right, looking through the correspondence concerned with those annexe guests whom (the duly chastened) Sergeant Phillips had earlier blessed or semi-blessed upon their homeward ways.
A pale Sarah Jonstone, a nerve visibly twitching at her left nostril, lit a cigarette, drew upon it deeply, and then exhaled the rarefied smoke. Morse, who the previous day (for the thousandth time) had rid himself of the odious habit, turned to her with distaste.
'Your breath must smell like an old ashtray,' he said.
'Yes?'
'Yes!'
'Who to?'
' 'To whom?', do you mean?'
'Do you want me to help you or not?' said Sarah Jonstone, the skin around her cheekbones burning.
'Room 1?' asked Morse.
Sarah handed over the two sheets of paper, stapled together, the lower sheet reading as follows:
29A Chiswick Reach
London, W4
20 Dec
Dear Sir(s)
My wife and I would like to book a double room — preferably with double bed — for the New Year Offer your hotel is advertising. If a suitable room is available, we look forward to hearing from you.
Yours faithfully,
F. Palmer
On top of this originating handwritten letter was the typewritten reply (ref JB-SJ) to which Morse now briefly turned his attention:
Dear Mr. Palmer,
Thank you for your letter of 20 Dec. Our New Year programme has been extremely popular, and we are now fully booked as far as the main hotel is concerned. But you may be interested in the Special Offer (please see last page of current brochure) of accommodation in one of the rooms of our newlyequipped annexe at three-quarters of the normal tariff. In spite of a few minor inconveniences, these rooms are, we believe, wonderfully good value, and wevery much hope that you and your wife will be able to take advantage of this offer.
Please be sure to let us know immediately — preferably by phone. The Christmas post is not likely to be 100 per cent reliable.
Yours sincerely,
There was no further correspondence; but across the top letter was a large tick in blue biro, with 'Accepted 23rd Dec' written beneath it.
'You remember them?' asked Morse.
'Not very well, I'm afraid.' She recalled (she thought) a darkly attractive woman of about thirty or so, and a smartly dressed, prosperous-looking man about ten years her senior, perhaps. But little else. And soon she found herself wondering whether the people she was thinking of were, in fact, the Palmer pair at all.
'Room 2?'
Here the documentary evidence Sarah produced was at an irreducible minimum: one sheet of hotel paper recorded the bare facts that a Mr. Smith — a 'Mr. J. Smith'—had rung on December 23rd and been told that there had been a late cancellation in the annexe, that a double room would now be available, and that written confirmation should be put in the post immediately.
