Yes, Lewis understood all this. It seemed simpler,though, that now that Morse had put it into words. ‘But then,’ he said quietly, ‘Browne-Smith saw the chance to duplicate-’
‘ “Replicate”-that’s the word I’d use, Lewis.’
‘-to replicate the process with Westerby.’
That’s it. That’s the end of the first mile, and we’re going to start on the second.’ ‘Off we go then, sir!’
‘Do you fancy a cup of coffee?’
Lewis got to his feet. ‘Any sugar?’
‘Just a little, perhaps. You know it’s a funny thing, were no end of tins of coffee in
Alfred Gilbert’s flat, and not single drop of alcohol!’
‘Not everybody drinks, sir.’
‘Course they do! He was just an oddball – that’s for certain. And I’ll tell you something else. When I was a lad I heard of a Methodist minister who was a bit embarrassed about being seen reading the Bible all the time-you know, on trains and buses. So he had a special cover made-a sort of cowboy cover with a gun-slinger on his horse; and he had this stuck round his Bible when he was reading Ezekiel or something. Well, I found a book in Gilbert’s flat that was exactly the opposite. It had a cover on it called Know Your Kochel Numbers-’
‘Pardon, sir?’
‘ “Kochel”. He was the chap who put all Mozart’s works into some sort of chronological order and gave ‘em all numbers.’
‘Oh.’
‘I had a look in this book-and do you know what I found? It was a load of the lewdest pornography I’ve ever seen. I-er-I brought it with me, if you want to borrow it?’
‘No, sir. You read it yourself. I-’
‘I have read it.’ The numbed lips were smiling almost guiltily: read it twice, actually.’
‘Did you find anything else in the flat?’
‘Found a beard-a brownish beard. Sort of theatrical thing, stuck with Elastoplast.’
‘That all?’
‘Found a scarf, Lewis. Not quite so long as mine, but a nice scarf. Still, that was hardly a surprise, was it?’
‘Just a little sugar, you say?’
‘Well, perhaps a bit more than that.’
Lewis stood at the door. ‘I wonder whether Gilbert had his tooth out.’
‘Didn’t need to, Lewis. He had false teeth – top and bottom.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Gently we journey along the second mile, which appears to Morse to be adequately posted.
During the few minutes that Lewis was away, Morse was acutely conscious of the truth of the proposition that the wider the circle of knowledge the greater the circumference of ignorance. He was (he thought) like some tree-feller in the midst of the deepest forest who has effected a clearing large enough for his immediate purposes; but one, too, who sees around him the widening ring of undiscovered darkness wherein the wickedness of other men would never wholly be revealed. On his recent visit to London he had felled a few more trees; and doubtless he and Lewis (before the case was closed) would fell a few more still. But the men who might have directed his steps through the trackless forest were now all dead, leaving him with an odd collection of ugly, jagged stumps; ugly, jagged, awkward clues that could only tell a stark, truncated version of the truth. But that was all he had and-almost-it was enough, perhaps.
‘Tell me more about the Gilberts,’ said Lewis, handing across a paper cup of tepid coffee.
‘Well, you know as much about their background as I do. Just remember one thing, though. We learned they were identical twins, so closely alike that even their friends got them muddled up occasionally. But when you get to your sixties, Lewis, you’re bound to differ a bit: general signs of ageing, spots on the chin, gaps in the teeth, hair-style, scars, whether you’re fatter or thinner, the way you dress-almost everything is going to mark some ever-widening difference as the years go by. Now, I never saw Bert Gilbert alive-and I didn’t go and look at him when he was dead. You see, it was Alfred Gilbert I met in Westerby’s rooms that day-with a scarf wrapped round the bottom half of his face and a phoney tale about an abscessed tooth.’
‘He was frightened Browne-Smith would recognize him.’
‘Not just that, though. As it happened, Browne-Smith had already recognized his brother-although Alfred Gilbert wasn’t to know that. Like all visitors, Bert had already reported to the Porters’ Lodge a couple of times, and Alfred was anxious that no one should know that he and his brother had switched roles. He carefully selected a young assistant who’d only just joined the firm and who wouldn’t know and wouldn’t care which brother did what anyway-’
‘But why all the bother, sir? Seems so unnecessary.’
‘Ah! But you’re missing the point. The plan they’d concocted demanded far more shrewdness-and, yes, far more knowledge -than poor Bert could ever have coped with. Just think! It involved a close knowledge of Browne-Smith’s position and duties in the College -and in the University. It involved an equally close knowledge of how final examinations work, and all the complicated procedures of results and so on. It’s not easy to find all that stuff out. Not unless-’
‘Unless what, sir?’
‘When I went to London I found out quite a lot about Alfred Gilbert. He wasn’t a bachelor. In fact, he was divorced about ten years ago, and his ex-wife-’
‘I suppose you went to see her.’
‘No. She’s living in Salisbury-but I rang her up. They had one child, a son. Know what they christened him, Lewis?’
‘John?’
Morse nodded. ‘After the younger brother. He was a bright lad, it seems, won a place at Oxford to read Music, and got a very good “second”. In fact,’ Morse continued with great deliberation, ‘he had viva for a “first”.’
Lewis sat back in his chair. All the pieces seemed to be falling neatly into place- or almost all of them.
‘Back to the main sequence of events, though. Browne-Smith went to London on Friday the 11th of July, and that doesn’t leave much time before most of the class-lists are due to be posted up. So if he decides – as he does – that he’s going to repeat the broad outlines of the plan, he’s got to get a move on. The Gilbert brothers had to be in on it, too, of course, and no doubt Browne-Smith agrees to pay them handsomely. There’s no time for any chancy postal delay, so Browne-Smith drafts a careful letter to Westerby, and that letter, too, was probably written on Westerby’s typewriter the next day, Saturday the 12th, when Alfred Gilbert went up to Oxford again, and when Westerby was out clearing up his odds and ends at Thrupp. The letter -“By Hand” it must have been-was left on Westerby’s desk, I should think-’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘I don’t really. But what I know for sure is that Westerby turned up at an address in London at 2 p.m. on Tuesday the 15th.’
‘Not Cambridge Way, though, surely? That was his own address.’
‘No- but Alfred Gilbert wasn’t short of a few vacant properties, was he? And in fact it wasn’t all that far from Westerby’s flat, a little place-’
‘Yes, all right, sir. Go on!’
‘Now we come to the most fateful moment in the case. Westerby was given the same treatment as Browne-Smith: same pattern all through, same woman, same bottles of booze, with a few drops of chloral hydrate or something slipped in. But Westerby’s not so canny as Browne-Smith was, and very soon he’s lying there dead to the world on a creaking bed. But what exactly happened then? That’s the key to the case, Lewis. Messrs. W and S are waiting outside-’