Pathetically Martin himself began to repeat the unauthorized version, but Monica stopped him. 'Tell them the truth, Donald. I just have. They know exactly where we both were on Friday afternoon.'
'Oh. Oh, I see.'
Morse felt his morale sagging ever lower as Martin stumbled his way through the same cheap little story. No discrepancy anywhere. He, like Monica it seemed, had gone straight home afterwards. And that was that.
'One more question.' Morse got up from the edge of the table and leaned against the nearest cabinet. It was a vital question—the vital question, and he wanted to witness their immediate reactions. 'Let me ask you both once again — did either of you see Mr. Quinn on Friday afternoon? Please think very, very carefully before you answer.'
But it seemed that neither of them had any wish to think unduly carefully. Their faces registered blank. They shook their heads, and with apparent simplicity and earnestness they said that they hadn't.
Morse took another deep breath. He might as well tell them, he thought — that is, if they didn't know already. 'Would it surprise you both if I told you that. .' (Morse hesitated — dramatically, he hoped) 'that there was another of your colleagues in Studio 2 last Friday afternoon?'
Martin turned deathly pale, and Monica opened her mouth like a chronic asthmatic fighting for breath. Morse (as he later realized) would have been wiser if he had allowed his little speech to take its full effect. But he didn't. 'You may well look surprised. You see, we know exactly where Mr. Quinn was on Friday afternoon. He was sitting along with the pair of you — in the rear lounge of Studio 2!'
Martin and Monica Height stared at him in stupefied astonishment.
After they had gone, Morse turned to Lewis: 'That'll give 'em something to think about.'
But Lewis was feeling far from happy, and he said so. 'I hope you'll forgive me, sir, but—'
'C'mon, Lewis. Out with it!'
"Well. I don't think you handled it very well.' He sat back and waited for the explosion.
'Nor do I,' said Morse quietly. 'Go on.'
'You see, sir, I had the impression that when you said one of the others was in the cinema — well, they didn't seem surprised at all. It was almost as if—'
'I know what you mean. It was almost as if they expected me to say someone else, wasn't it?'
Lewis nodded vigorously. 'But they really were surprised when you said it was Quinn.'
'Ye-es. You're right. And there's only one other person it could have been, isn't there? Bartlett was in Banbury that afternoon.'
'We haven't checked on that.'
'I don't think we shall have much trouble in finding a few headmasters to back up his alibi. No. I don't think there's much doubt where Bartlett was that afternoon.'
'That leaves Ogleby, then, sir.'
Morse nodded.
'Shall I go and fetch him, sir?'
'What do you think?' His customary confidence had deserted him, and Lewis got up and walked to the door. 'No, Lewis. Leave it a while, please. I want to think things through a bit more carefully.'
Lewis shrugged his shoulders with some impatience and sat down again. Morse didn't seem quite the man he had been, one way or another; but Lewis knew from previous experience that it wouldn't be long before something happened. Something was always happening when Morse was around.
And even as Lewis righteously reviewed the perfectly valid points he had just been making, Morse himself was conscious of an even greater failure in his own powers of logical analysis. Clown of a clown! Martin and Monica Height! Why had they ever told that abject lie in the first place? There was every risk (with Sally home so often) that even a moderately competent detective would pretty soon ferret out the truth about that. Why, then? And suddenly the answer presented itself, pellucidly clear: there was an even greater risk about telling the truth. If they had gone to the cinema together, why not say so? It seemed an infinitely less reprehensible piece of behaviour than the sordid liaison to which they had both been prepared to admit. People did go to the pictures together. It would cause a bit of talk — of course it would — if someone saw them. But. . The silhouetted figures once again reformed, and they were all now grouping around one man. Arnold Philip Ogleby.
'You're right, you know, Lewis. Go and fetch him straightaway.'
After they had left Quinn's office, Donald and Monica had stood silent for a few seconds in the polished corridor. 'Come in a second,' whispered Monica. She closed her own office door behind her, and looked at him fiercely. She spoke clearly and quietly, and with a force that was impressive. 'We don't say a word about it. Is that clear? Not a single word!'
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
OGLEBY LOOKED TIRED, and Morse decided he might as well be short and sharp. He knew he was taking a risk, but he'd played longer shots before—and won.
'You say, sir, that you came back to the office after lunch last Friday afternoon?'
'We've been over that before.'
Morse ignored him and continued. 'But you lied to me. You were seen outside this office last Friday afternoon. To be precise, you were seen going into Studio 2 in Walton Street.'
Ogleby sat placidly in his chair. He seemed in no way surprised indeed, if anyone were surprised it was Morse, who expected almost anything except the answer he received. 'Who saw me?'
'You don't deny it?'
'I asked you who it was that saw me.'
'I'm afraid I can't tell you that, sir. I'm sure you understand why.'
Ogleby nodded disinterestedly. 'As you wish.'
'We also have evidence, sir, that Mr. Quinn was in Studio 2 that afternoon.'
'Really? Did somebody see him, too?'
Morse felt progressively less at ease with the man. It was one of the troubles with lies — his own lies; but he solved the problem by ignoring it. 'What time did you go to the cinema, sir?'
'Don't you know?' (There it was again!)
'I'd like your own statement.'
For a few seconds Ogleby appeared to be weighing the pros and cons of coming clean. 'Look, Inspector. In a way I suppose I lied to you a little.' (Lewis was scribbling as fast as he could.) 'We finish here, officially that is, at five. I try to put in my time as honestly as I can, and I think anyone you speak to here will confirm that. I'm never late, and I often work well after the rest have gone. On Friday, I agree, I left a bit early. I should think about a quarter to five, or so.'
'And you went to Studio 2.'
'I live in Walton Street, you know. It's not far away.'
'You went there?'
Ogleby shook his head. 'No.'
'Will you tell me why you went?'
'I didn't.'