The Silent World Of Nicholas Quinn

'Ogleby lied to me when I questioned him about his exact whereabouts that Friday afternoon. I've been able to look back on the evidence he gave, since my Sergeant here'—a few heads turned and Lewis sheepishly acknowledged his moment of glory—'took full notes at the time, and I can now see where Ogleby lied — where he had to lie. For example, he insisted that he was in the office at about 4.30 p.m., when not only Mr. Roope but also Mr. Noakes, the caretaker, could swear quite categoxically that he wasn't. Now, this I find very strange. Ogleby lied to me on the one point which seemed to prove his guilt. Why? Why did he say he was here all that afternoon? Why did he begin to tie the noose round his own neck? It's not an easy question to answer, I agree. But there is an answer; a very simple answer: Ogleby was not lying. On that point, at least, he was telling the truth. He was here, although neither Roope nor Noakes saw him. And when I looked back on his evidence, I began to ask myself whether one or two other things, which on the face of it seemed obvious lies, were in fact nothing of the sort. So it was that I gradually began to understand exactly what had happened that Friday afternoon, and to realize that Ogleby was entirely innocent of the murder of Nicholas Quinn. The fact of the matter is that precisely because Ogleby was in the office on the afternoon of Friday, 21st November, he knew who had murdered Quinn; and because of this knowledge, he was himself murdered. Why Ogleby didn't confide his virtually certain suspicions to me, I shall never really know. I think I can guess, but. . Anyway, we can only be grateful that the murderer has been arrested and is now in custody at Police Headquarters. He has made a full statement.' Morse pointed dramatically to the empty chair. 'That's where he usually sits, I believe. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, your own colleague, Christopher Roope.'

A babel of chatter now broke out in the room, and Mrs. Seth was weeping silently. Yet even before the general hubbub had subsided there was a further moment of high drama. After several whispered conversations along the top table, the Vice-Dean requested permission to make a brief statement, and Morse sat down and began doodling aimlessly on the blotter in front of him.

'I hope the Chief Inspector will forgive me, but I wish to clear up one point, if I may. Did I understand him to say that whoever killed Quinn had to be in the Syndicate building both in the morning and also at the end of the afternoon?'

Morse replied at once. 'You understood correctly, sir. I don't wish to go into all the details of the case now; but Quinn was murdered at about twelve noon on Friday — no, let me be more honest with you — at precisely twelve noon on Friday 21st, and his dead body was taken from this building, in the boot of his own car, at approximately 4.45 p.m. Docs that satisfy you, sir?'

The Vice-Dean coughed awkwardly and managed to look extraordinarily uncomfortable. 'Er, no, Chief Inspector. I'm afraid it doesn't. You see I myself went to London that Friday morning and I caught the 3.05 back to Oxford, arriving here about a quarter, twenty past four; and the plain truth is that Roope was on the same train.'

In the stunned silence which greeted this new evidence, Morse spoke quietly and slowly. 'You travelled back with him, you mean?'

'Er, no, not exactly. I, er, I was walking along the platform and I saw Roope getting into a first-class carriage. I didn't join him because I was travelling second.' The Vice-Dean was glad not to have to elaborate on the truth. Even if he'd had a first-class ticket he would rather have sat in a second-class carriage than share a journey with Roope. He'd always hated Roope. What an ironic twist of fortune that he, the Vice-Dean, should be instrumental in clearing him of murder!

'I wish,' said Morse, 'that you could have told me that earlier, sir — not, of course' (he held up a hand to forestall any misunderstanding) 'that you could have known. But what you say is no surprise, sir. You see, I knew that Roope caught the 3.05 from Paddington.'

Several of the Syndics looked at each other; and there was a general air of bewilderment in the room. It was Bartlett himself who tried to put their unspoken questions into words. 'But only a few minutes ago you said—'