'I'm not at all sure I know what "calibre" means. Is it the diameter of the bullet or the diameter of the barrel?' 'Wouldn't they be the same, sir?' Morse got up and walked wearily to the door once more. 'Perhaps so, Lewis. Perhaps so.' Chapter Twenty-One A Conservative is one who is enamored of existing evils, as distinguished from the Liberal, who wishes to replace them with others (Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary) Morse did not go straight home to his North Oxford flat that evening; nor, mirabile dictu, did he make for the nearest hostelry - at least not immediately. Instead, he drove to Bloxham Drive, pulling in behind the single police car parked outside Number 17, in which a uniformed officer sat reading the Oxford Mail. 'Constable Brogan, sir,' was the reply in answer to Morse's question. 'Happen to know if Number 1 's at home?' 'The one with the N-reg Rover, you mean?' Morse nodded. 'No.
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