The Silent World Of Nicholas Quinn

She nodded. 'Yes.' Her eyes seemed suddenly very sad, and Morse pressed the point no further. Whether Philip Ogleby had been to see The Nymphomaniac was a question still in doubt; but it was perfectly clear that the nymphomaniac had been to see him—at fairly regular intervals.

'He was lying there—?'

She nodded. 'I thought he must have had a heart attack or something. I wasn't frightened, or anything like that. I knelt down and touched his shoulder — and his — his head was — was almost in the fireplace, and I saw the blood—' She shook her head, as though to rid herself of that horrific sight. 'And I got blood and — and stuff, over my hands — and I didn't know what to do. I just couldn't stay in that terrible room. I knew there was a phone there but — but I went out into the street and rang the police from the phone box. I don't remember any more. I must have stepped out of the box and just — fainted. The next thing I remember was being in the ambulance.'

'Why did you go to see him?' (He had to ask it.)

'I–I hadn't really had any chance to talk to him about — about Nick and—' (Lying again!)

'You think he knew something about Quinn's murder?'

She smiled sadly and wearily. 'He was a very clever man, Inspector.'

'You didn't see anyone else?'

She shook her head.

'Could there have been anyone else — in the house?'

'I don't know. I just don't know.'

Should he believe her? She'd told so many lies already. But there must have been some cause for the lies; and Morse was convinced that if only he could discover that cause he would make the biggest leap forward in the case so far. . It was the Studio 2 business that worried him most. Why, he repeated to himself, why had Monica and Donald Martin lied so clumsily about it? And as he wrestled with the problem once again, he began to convince himself that all four of them — Monica, Martin, Ogleby, and Quinn — must have had some collective reason for being in Studio 2 that Friday afternoon, for he just could not bring himself to believe that their several paths had converged for purely fortuitous reasons. Even Morse, who accepted the majority of improbable coincidences with a curiously credulous gullibility, was not prepared to swallow that! Something—something must have happened at Studio 2 that afternoon. What? Think of anything, Morse, anything — it wouldn't matter. Quinn had got there early, just after the doors opened. Then Martin had come in, sneaking into the back row and waiting and looking nervously around. Had he seen Quinn? Had Quinn seen him? The lights must have been dim; but not so dim as all that, especially as the eyes slowly accustomed themselves to the gloom. Then, what? Monica had come in, and Martin saw her, and they sat there together, and Martin told her that he had seen Quinn. What would they do? They'd leave. Pronto! Go on, Morse. If Martin had seen Quinn — and Quinn had not seen him — he would have left the cinema immediately, waited outside for Monica, told her that they couldn't stay there, and suggested somewhere else. . Yes. But where had Ogleby fitted in? The number on his ticket, some forty-odd numbers after Quinn's, suggested (if the manageress had done her sums right) that Ogleby had not appeared in Studio 2 until about four or five o'clock. How did that fit into the pattern, though? Augh! It didn't fit. Try again, Morse. Something must have frightened Monica off, perhaps. Yes. That was a slightly more promising hypothesis. Had she seen something? Someone? The cause of all the lies? After learning that Quinn had been in Studio 2, she had told another lie, and. . Oh Christ! What a muddle his mind was in! The pictures flickered fitfully upon the wall, the faces fading and changing, and fading again. .

'You've been a long way away, Inspector.'

'Mm? Oh, sorry. Just daydreaming.'

'About me?'

'Among others.'