‘But the body wasn’t Browne-Smith’s.’

‘No?’ Morse smiled and wiped the blood gently from his mouth. ‘Whose was it then?’

But Lewis shook his head. ‘I’m just here to listen, sir.’

‘All right. Let’s start at the beginning. George Westerby is iust finishing his stint at Lonsdale. He’s looking for a place in London, and he finds one, and buys it. The estate agent tells him that all the removals from Oxford can easily be arranged, and that suits Westerby fine. He’s got two places: his rooms at Lonsdale, and his little weekend cottage out at Thrupp. So Removals Anywhere come on to the scene-and the supremely important moment in the case arrives: Bert Gilbert notices the name opposite Westerby’s rooms on T Staircase-the name of Dr O. M. A. Browne-Smith-the name of a man he’d always ranked among the legion of the damned – the man who’d been responsible for his younger brother’s death.

‘Now, very soon after this point-I’m sure of it! -we get a switch of brothers. Bert reports his extraordinary finding to his brother, and it’s Alfred-by general consent the abler of the two – who now takes over. He finds out as much as he can about Browne-Smith, and devises a plan that makes it ridiculously easy for Browne-Smith to go along with things. He writes a letter on Westerby’s typewriter -he’s in Westerby’s rooms whenever he likes now, remember -inviting Browne-Smith to do him a very small favour, and one that would entail no real compromise to Browne-Smith’s academic integrity. This offer, as we know, was taken up, and off Browne-Smith goes to London. But we also know-because he told us-that_; Browne-Smith played his own cards with equal cunning. And in the end Gilbert’s plan misfired-whatever that plan had been originally.

‘Gilbert came into the room to find that Browne-Smith wasn’t unconscious, as he’d expected. So they talked together straight away; and it wasn’t long before Gilbert discovered that the military records of young brother John were hardly a striking example of dedication to duty. In fact, far from being killed in action, he’d shot himself the night before El Alamein-and one of the few people who knew all this was Browne-Smith, John Gilbert’s platoon officer. So when the whole story was out at last, there couldn’t have been much wind left in the Gilberts sails, because it was quite clear to them that Browne-Smith hadn’t the slightest responsibility, direct or indirect, for the brother’s death! Now, at that point everything could have been over, Lewis. And if it had been, certainly four of the five people who’ve died in this case would still be alive. But…’

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-’