"Dexter, Colin - Inspector Morse 11 - Morse's Greatest Mystery and Other Stories (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dexter Colin)

Wise contrived to keep talking as the two men dashed through the rain to the entrance hall.

"I'd be glad to give you a cup of tea ... or something .. . You see, I haven't really told you anything yet."

As they sat opposite each other in the living area, Wise passed across a white, six-page booklet containing details of A Service of Thanksgiving for the Life of AMBROSE WHITAKER, MA (Cantab.), FRAM 1917-1989, and Morse glanced cursorily at the contents: music; hymn; lesson; music; address; prayers; hymn; music; blessing; music; more music.

Observing only that if he ever had a voice in his own funeral arrangements he would join Whitaker in choosing the "In Paradisum' from the Faure Requiem, Morse handed the leaflet back.

"The thing is this," continued Wise.

"I saw an obituary in The Times in December, and I was sure it was the same man I'd known in the war. Quite apart from the pretty unusual Christian name, as well as the very unusual spelling of the surname, everything else fitted, too: born in Bristol, prodigy on the piano everything! And I just couldn't help thinking back and wondering whether she was still alive Dodo, that is. Anyway, a fortnight ago I read about this Memorial Service in Holborn, and I decided to go up and pay my last respects to an old friend and perhaps .. ."

"Find some plump-bosomed old spinster ' "Yes!"

"Did you find her?" asked Morse quietly.

Wise shook his head.

"There were an awful lot of important people from the musical world I hadn't realized what a name Ambrose had made for himself. I got to the church early and stayed outside for a good while watching the people going in, including pretty obvious who she was Ambrose's wife, who drew up in a chauffeur-driven Rolls registration AW 1! But I didn't see the woman I was looking for and she wasn't in the church, either. I'd have spotted her straightaway if she had been. She was smallish, stockily built, just like her mother. And there was something else. She had a nasty little red scar well, a nasty big scar really, just across the left-hand side of her jaw: a bicycle accident when she was a youngster, I think. She was awfully conscious of it and always used a lot of face-powder to try to cover it up a bit.

But it was still pretty noticeable, I'm afraid. Well, to cut a long story a bit shorter, I went up to Ambrose's wife after the service and told her I'd known her husband in the war and said how sorry I was and all the rest of it. She was pleasant enough, but she seemed a bit strained, and there were other people waiting to have a word with her.

So I didn't say much more except to mention that I'd known her husband's sister as well." Wise paused a second or two before continuing.

"Do you know what happened then, Inspector? Ambrose's wife pointed to a grey-haired woman in a black dress standing with her back to us, a woman very much the same height and build as Dodo had been.

"This gentleman here says he used to know you, Agnes .. ."

"Agnes!

"But I didn't hear any more I just didn't know what to do or say. You see, the woman in black turned round and faced me, and she wasn't Dodo Whitaker."

It was Morse who broke the silence which followed.

"Ambrose only had the one sister?"

Wise nodded, a wry, defeated smile upon his face.

"Yes Agnes. He never did have a sister named "Dodo"!"

Again the two men were silent.

"Well?" asked Wise, finally.

It had always appeared to Morse an undeniable fact that coincidence plays a far greater role in human affairs than is generally acknowledged. And here was yet another instance of it it must be!

Wise's tale was interesting enough assuredly so: but it wasn't much of a problem, surely? Ostentatiously he drained his whisky, gratefully witnessed the replenishment, and then pronounced judgement: "There were two Ambrose Whitakers, both musical men, and both from Bristol, and the one you knew wasn't the one who died."

"You think not?" The half-smile on Wise's face made Morse rather uncomfortably aware that a slightly more intelligent analysis had been expected of him.