The Secret of Annexe 3

'But the Bowmans didn't know that!'

Morse nodded. 'No-o. But they could have hung one of those 'Do Not Disturb' signs on the door. In fact, they did.'

'Bit risky, though, hanging out a sign like that if you're supposed to be at a party.'

'Lewis! Don't you understand? They were taking risks the whole bloody time.'

As always when Morse blustered on in such fashion, Lewis knew that it was best not to push things overmuch. Obviously, what Morse had said was true; but Lewis felt that some of the explanations he was receiving were far from satisfactory.

'If, as you say, sir. Bowman was dressed up, all ready to go, in exactly the same sort of clothes as the other fellow, where was he—?'

'Where? I dunno. But I'm sure all he had to do was put a few finishing touches to things.'

'Do you think he did that in Annexe 3?'

'Possibly. Or he could have used the Gents' just off Reception.'

'Wouldn't Miss Jonstone have seen him?'

'How am I supposed to know? Shall we ask her, Lewis? Shall I ask her? Or what about you asking her — you're asking me enough bloody questions.'

'It's only because I can't quite understand things, that's all, sir.'.

'You think I've got it all wrong, don't you?' said Morse quietly.

'No! I'm pretty sure you're on the right lines, sir, but it doesn't all quite hang together, does it?'

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Monday, January 6th: A.M.

What is the use of running when we are not on the right road?

(GERMAN PROVERB)

THERE WAS A KNOCK on the door and Judith, the slimly attractive personal assistant to the Secretary, entered with a tray of coffee and biscuits.

'Miss Gibson thought you might like some refreshment.' She put the tray on the desk. 'If you want her, she's with the Deputy — the internal number's 208.'

'We don't get such VIP treatment up at HQ,' commented Lewis after she'd left.

'Well, they're a more civilized lot here, aren't they? Nice sort of people. Wouldn't harm a fly, most of them.'

'Perhaps one of them would!'

'I see what you mean,' said Morse, munching a ginger biscuit.

'Don't you think,' said Lewis, as they drank their coffee, 'that we're getting a bit too complex, sir?'

'Complex? Life is complex, Lewis. Not for you, perhaps. But for most of us it's a struggle to get through from breakfast to coffee-time, and then from coffee-time—'

There was a knock on the door and Miss Gibson herself re-entered. 'I saw Mrs. Webster just now and she said that Mrs. Bowman hadn't got back to her work yet. I thought perhaps she might be back here. .'

The two detectives looked at each other.

'She's not in the canteen?' asked Morse.

'No.'

'She's not in the Ladies'?'

'No.'

'How many exits are there here. Miss Gibson?'

'Just the one. We've all been so worried about security recently—'

But Morse was already pulling on his greatcoat. He thanked the Secretary and with Lewis in his wake walked quickly along the wooden-floored corridor towards the exit. At the reception desk sat the Security Officer. Mr. Prior, a thick-set, former prison officer, whose broad, intelligent face looked up from the Court Circular of the Daily Telegraph as Morse fired a salvo of questions at him.

'You know Mrs. Bowman?'

'Yessir.'

'How long ago did she leave?'

'Three — four minutes.'

'By car?'

'Yessir. Maroon Metro—1300—A reg.'