Free The silent world of Nicholas Quinn by Colin Dexter Page B

to drop her inhibitions pretty quickly.'
    'Drop her knickers pretty smartish, too, I shouldn't wonder.'
    Lewis sometimes felt that Morse was quite unnecessarily crude.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    QUINN'S OFFICE WAS large and well-furnished. Two blue-leather chairs, one on each
    side, were neatly pushed beneath the writing desk, the surface of which was clear,
    except for the in- and out-trays (the former containing several letters, the latter empty) and a large blotter, with an assortment of odd names and numbers, and meaningless
    squiggles scribbled round its perimeter in black biro. Lining two complete walls, right
    up to the ceiling, were row upon row of History texts and editions of the English
    classics, with the occasional yellow, red, green and white spine adding a further
    splash of colour to the brightly-lit and cheerful room. Three dark-gr1een filing cabinets stood along the third wall, whilst the fourth carried a large plywood notice board and,
    one above the other, reproductions of Atkinson Grimshaw's paintings of the docks at
    Hull and Liverpool. Only the white carpet which covered most of the floor showed
    obvious signs of wear, and as Morse seated himself magisterially, in Quinn's chair he.
    noticed that immediately beneath the desk the empty waste-paper basket covered a
    patch that was almost threadbare. To his right, on a small black-topped table stood
    two telephones, one white, one grey, and beside them a pile of telephone directories.
    'You go through the cabinets, Lewis. I'll try the drawers here.'
    'Are we looking for anything in particular, sir?'
    'Not that I know of.'
    Lewis decided to plod along in his own methodical manner: at least it promised to be a
    bit more interesting that listing tins of rice pudding.
    Almost immediately he began to realize what an enormous amount of love and labour
    went into the final formulation of question papers for public examinations. The top
    drawer of the first cabinet was stuffed with bulky buff-coloured folders, each containing copies of drafts, first proofs, first revises, second revises—even third revises—of
    papers to be set for the Ordinary-level English syllabuses. 'I reckon I could get a few
    quick O-levels this way, sir.'
    Morse mumbled something about not being worth the paper they were printed on, and
    carried on with his own desultory investigation of the top right-hand drawer of Quinn's
    desk, wherein it soon became abundantly clear that he was unlikely to make any
    cosmic discoveries: paper-clips, bulldog-clips, elastic bands, four fine-pointed black
    biros, a ruler, a pair of scissors, two birthday cards ('Love, Monica' written in one of
    them—well, well!), a packet of yellow pencils, a pencil sharpener, several letters from
    the University Chest about the transfer of pension rights to the University
    Superannuation Scheme, and a letter from the Centre for the Deaf informing Quinn
    that the lip-reading classes had been transferred from Oxpens to Headington Tech.
    After poking haphazardly around, Morse turned to the books behind him and found
    himself in the middle of the M's. He selected Marvell's Collected Poems , and as if someone else had recently been studying the same page, the book fell open of its
    own accord at the poem written 'To His Coy Mistress', and Morse read again the lines
    which had formed part of his own mental baggage for rather more years than he
    wished to remember:
    'The grave's a fine and private place,
    But none, I think, do there embrace . . .'
    Yes, Quinn was lying in the police mortuary, and Quinn had hoped his hopes and
    dreamed his dreams as every other mortal soul . . . He slotted the book back into its
    shelf, and turned with a slightly chastened spirit to the second drawer.
    The two men worked for three-quarters of an hour, and Lewis felt himself becoming
    progressively more dispirited. 'Do you think we're wasting our time, sir?'
    'Are you thirsty, or something?'
    'I just don't know what I'm looking for, that's all.'
    Morse said