The Jewel That Was Ours

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Going by railroad I do not consider as travelling at all; it is merely being 'sent' to a place, and very little different from becoming a parcel

(John Ruskin, Modern Painters)

AT KIDLINGTON HQ Morse and Lewis swapped notes at 7.45 a.m.: both felt very tired, but neither confessed to it; and one of them had a headache, about which he likewise made no comment. The Jaguar had been parked outside his flat that morning, with the keys found on the door-mat; but just as of his weariness and of his hangover, Morse made no mention of his gratitude.

At least the morning plan was taking shape. Clearly the biggest problem was what to do about the tour, scheduled to leave Oxford at 9.30 a.m. bound for Stratford-upon-Avon. It would certainly be necessary to make some further enquiries among the tourists, particularly about their activities during the key period between the time Kemp had arrived back in Oxford, and the pre-dinner drinks when everyone except Eddie Stratton, it appeared, was accounted for. One of the tourists, quite definitely, would not be able to produce his or her copy of the Oxford stage of the programme, for the yellow sheet found in Parson's Pleasure was now safely with forensics; might even produce some new evidence. And even if no fingerprints could be found on it, even if several of the tourists had already discarded or misplaced their own sheets, there would not be too many Americans, surely, who regularly wrote their sevens with a continental bar across the down-stroke. Then there was Cedric Downes. He would have to be seen a.s.a.p., and would have to come up with a satisfactory explanation of exactly why and when he'd left The Randolph.

In addition it was to be hoped that Max could come up with some fairly definite cause of death; and it was even possible (if only just) that the surgeon might throw caution to the wind for once and volunteer a tentative approximation of the time it had actually happened.

An hour later, as he drove the pair of them down to Oxford, Lewis felt strangely content. He was never happier than when watching Morse come face to face with a mystery: it was like watching his chief tackle some fiendishly devised crossword (as Lewis had often done), with the virgin grid on the table in front of him, almost immediately coming up with some sort of answer to the majority of the clues — and then with Lewis himself, albeit only occasionally, supplying one blindingly obvious answer to the easiest clue in the puzzle, and the only one that Morse had failed to fathom. Whether or not he'd be of similar help in the present case, Lewis didn't know, of course. Yet he'd already solved a little 'quick' crossword, as it were, of his own, and he now communicated his findings to Morse. The first part of Kemp's day had probably been something like this:

Left home earlyish for his visit by rail to London to see his publishers; been picked up by taxi at about 7.20 a.m., almost certainly to catch the 07.59, arriving Paddington at 09.03; obviously with only some fairly quick business to transact, since he'd appeared confident of meeting his commitments with the tourists at lunchtime at The Randolph, and then again during the afternoon; likely as not, then, he would originally have intended to catch the 11.30 from Paddington, arriving Oxford at 12.30.

'Have you checked with BR?'

'No need.' Lewis reached inside his breast-pocket and handed Morse the Oxford-London London-Oxford Network South-East timetable; but apart from briefly checking the arrival time of the 13.30 from Paddington, Morse seemed less than enthusiastic.

'Did you know, Lewis, that before nine o'clock the third-class rail fare—'

'Second-class, sir!'

'—is about, what, seven times — eight times! — more expensive than getting a coach from Gloucester Green to Victoria?'

'Five times, actually. The coach fare's—'

'We ought to be subsidising public transport, Lewis!'

'You're the politician, sir — not me.'

'Remember Ken Livingstone? He subsidised the tube, and everybody used the tube.'

'Then they kicked him out.'

'You know what Ken Livingstone's an anagram of?'

'Tell me!'

' 'Votes Lenin King.' '

'They wouldn't be voting him king now, though.'

'I thought you might be interested in that little snippet of knowledge, that's all.'

'Sorry, sir.'

'Why are you driving so slowly?'

'I make it a rule never to drive at more than forty-five in a built-up area.'

Morse made no reply, and two minutes later Lewis drew up in front of The Randolph.

'You've not forgotten Ashenden, have you, sir? I mean, he was the one who took the call from Kemp — and he was the one who wasn't looking round Magdalen.'

'I'd not forgotten Mr. Ashenden,' said Morse quietly, opening the passenger door. 'In fact I'll get him to organise a little something for me straightaway. I'm sure that all these tourists—almost all these tourists — are as innocent as your missus is—'

'But one of 'em writes these peculiar sevens, right?'

'They're not 'peculiar'! If you live on the Continent its ours that look peculiar.'

'How do we find out which one it is?'

Morse permitted himself a gentle grin: 'What date did the tour start?'