Lewis was already waiting when Morse arrived back in his office at 7.30 p.m., and the two men exchanged notes. Neither of them, it appeared, had been in too much danger of flushing any desperado from his lair. The alibis were not perfect — far from it; but they were good enough. Phillipson (according to Phillipson) had arrived home from school about 5.15 p.m.; had eaten, and had left home, alone, at 6.35 p.m. to see the Playhouse production of St. Joan. He had left his car in the Gloucester Green car park and reached the theatre at 6.50 p.m. The play had lasted from 7.15 to 10.30 p.m., and apart from walking to the bar for a Guinness in the first interval he had not left his seat until just after 10.30 when he collected his car and drove back home. He remembered seeing the BBC2 news bulletin at 11.00 p.m.
'How far's Gloucester Green from Baines's house?' asked Morse.
Lewis considered. 'Two, three hundred yards.'
Morse picked up the phone and rang the path lab. No. The humpbacked surgeon had not yet completed the scrutiny of various lengths of Baines's innards. No. He couldn't be more precise about the time of death. Eight to midnight. Well, if Morse were to twist his arm it might be 8.30 to 11.30—even 11.00, perhaps. Morse cradled the phone, stared up at the ceiling for a while, and then nodded slowly to himself.
'You know, Lewis, the trouble with alibis is not that some people have 'em and some people don't. The real trouble is that virtually no one's likely to have a really water-tight alibi. Unless you've been sitting all night handcuffed to a couple of high court judges, or something.'
'You think Phillipson could have murdered Baines, then?'
'Of course he could.'
Lewis put his notebook away. 'How did you get on with the Taylors, sir?'
Morse recounted his own interview with George Taylor, and Lewis listened carefully.
'So he could have murdered Baines, too.'
Morse shrugged noncommittally. 'How far's the Jericho Arms from Baines's place?'
'Quarter of a mile — no more.'
'The suspects are beginning to queue up, aren't they, Lewis?'
'Is Mrs. Taylor a suspect?'
'Why not? As far as I can see, she'd have had no trouble at all. Left Bingo at 9.00 p.m. and called in at the Jericho Arms at 9.30 p.m. or so. On the way she walks within a couple of hundred yards of Baines's place, eh? And where does it all leave us? If Baines was murdered at about 9.30 last night — what have we got? Three of 'em — all with their telephone numbers on Baines's little list.'
'And there's Acum, too, sir. Don't forget him.'
Morse looked at his watch. It was 8.00 p.m. 'You know, Lewis, it would be a real turn-up for the books if Acum was playing darts in the Jericho Arms last night, eh? Or sitting at a Bingo board in the Town Hall?'
'He'd have a job wouldn't he, sir? He's in Caernarfon.'
'I'll tell you one thing for sure, Lewis. Wherever Acum was last night he wasn't in Caernarfon.'
He picked up the phone and dialled a number. The call was answered almost immediately.
'Hello?' The line crackled fitfully, but Morse recognized the voice.
'Mrs. Acum?'
Yes. Who is it?'
'Morse. Inspector Morse. You remember, I rang you up—'
'Yes, of course I remember.'
'Is your husband in yet?'
'No. I think I mentioned to you, didn't I, that he wouldn't be back until late tonight?'
'How late will he be?'
'Not too late, I hope.'
'Before ten?'
'I hope so.'
'Has he got far to travel?'
'Quite a long way, yes.'
'Look, Mrs. Acum. Can you please tell me where your husband has been?'
'I told you. He's been on a teachers' conference. Sixth form French.'
'Yes. But where exactly was that?'
'Where? I'm not quite sure where he was staying.'
Morse was becoming impatient. 'Mrs. Acum, you know what I mean. Where was the conference? In Birmingham?'
'Oh, I'm sorry. I see what you mean. It was in Oxford, actually.'
Morse turned to Lewis and his eyebrows jumped an inch. 'In Oxford, you say?'
'Yes. Lonsdale College.'
'I see. Well, I'll ring up again — about ten. Will that be all right?'
'Is it urgent, Inspector?'
'Well, let's say it's important, Mrs. Acum.'
'All right, I'll tell him. And if he gets back before ten, I'll ask him to ring you.'
Morse gave her his number, rang off, and whistled softly. 'It gets curiouser and curiouser, does it not, Lewis? How far is Lonsdale College from Kempis Street?'
'Half a mile?'
'One more for the list, then. Though I suppose Acum's got just as good, or just as bad, an alibi as the rest of'em.'
'Haven't you forgotten one possible suspect, sir?'