'Oh no. That's the picture that William painted. "House by a Canal", I think he called it in the catalogue. But it isn't as it was. You see, there's something wrong with it.'
'What's wrong with it?'
Mrs Boscowan stretched out a clay-smeared f'mger and jabbed at a spot just below the bridge spanning the canal.
'There,' she said. 'You see?' There's a boat tied up under the bridge, isn't there?'
'Yes,' said Tommy puzzled.
'Well, that boat wasn't there, not when I saw it last. William never painted that boat. When it was exhibited there was no boat of any kind.'
'You mean that somebody not your husband painted the boat in here afterwards?'
'Yes. Odd, isn't it? I wonder why. First of all I was surprised to see the boat there, a place where there wasn't any boat, then I can see quite well that it wasn't painted by William. He didn't put it in at any time. Somebody else did. I wonder who?' She looked at Tommy.
'And I wonder why?'
Tommy had no solution to offer. He looked at Mrs Boscowan. His Aunt Ada would have called her a scatty woman but Tommy did not think of her in that light. She was vague, with an abrupt way of jumping from one subject to another.
The things she said seemed to have very little relation to the last thing she had said a minute before. She was the sort of person, Tommy thought, who might know a great deal more than she chose to reveal. Had she loved her husband or been jealous of her husband or despised her husband? There was really no clue whatever in her manner, or ha. deed her words. But he had the feeling that that small painted boat tied up under the bridge had caused her uneasiness. She hadn't liked the boat being there. Suddenly he wondered if the statement she had made was true. Could she really remember from long years back whether Boscowan had painted a boat at the bridge or had not?
It seemed really a very small and insignificant item. If it had been only a year ago when she had seen the picture last - but apparently it was a much longer time than that. And it had made Mrs Boscowan uneasy. He looked at her again and saw that she was looking at him. Her curious eyes resting on him not defiantly, but only thoughtfully. Very, very thoughtfully.
'What are you going to do now?' she said.
That at least was easy. Tommy had no difficulty in knowing what he was going to do now.
'I shall go home tonight - see if there is any news of my wife - any word from her. If not, tomorrow I shall go to this place,' he said. 'Sutton Chancellor. I hope that I may fred my wife there.'
'It would depend,' said Mrs Boscowan.
'Depend on what?' said Tommy sharply.
Mrs Boscowan frowned. Then she murmured, seemingly to herself, 'I wonder where she is?'
'You wonder where who is?'
Mrs Boscowan had turned her glance away from him. Now her eyes swept back.
'Oh,' she said. 'I meant your wife.' Then she said, 'I hope she is all right.'
'Why shouldn't she be all right? Tell me, Mrs Boscowan, is there something wrong with that place - with Sutton Chancellor?'
'With Sutton Chancellor? With the place?' She reflected.
'No, I don't think so. Not with the place.'
'I suppose I meant the house,' said Tommy. 'This house by the canal. Not Sutton Chancellor vi!inge.' 'Oh the house,' said Mrs Boscowan. 'It was a good house really. Meant for lovers, you know.' 'Did lovers live there?' 'Sometimes. Not often enough really. If a house is built for lovers, it ought to be lived in by lovers.' 'Not put to some other use by someone.' 'You're pretty quick,' said Mrs Boscowan. 'You saw what I meant, didn't you? You musm't put a house that was meant for one thing to the wrong use. It won't like it if you do.' 'Do you know anything about the people who have lived there of late years?' She shook her head. 'No. No. I don't know anyfixing about the house at all. It was never important to me, you see.' 'But you're thinking of something - no, someone?' 'Yes,' said Mrs Boscowan. 'I suppose you're right about that. I was thinking of- someone.' 'Can't you tell me about the person you were thinking of?' 'There's really nothing to say,' said Mrs Boscowan. 'Sometimes, you know, one just wonders where a person is. What's happened to them or how they might have - developed.
There's a sort of feeling -' She waved her hands - 'Would you like a kipper?' she said unexpectedly.
'A kipper?' Tommy was startled.
'Well, I happen to have two or three kippers here. I thought perhaps you ought to have something to eat before you catch a train. Waterloo is the station,' she said. 'For Sutton Chancellor, I mean. You used to have to change at Market Basing. I expect you still do.' It was a dismissal. He accepted it.
CHAPTER 13 Albert on Clues
Tuppence blinked her eyes. Vision seemed rather dim. She tried to lift her head from the pillow but winced as a sharp pain ran through it, and let it drop again on to the pillow. She closed her eyes. Presently she opened them again and blinked once more.
With a feeling of aclu'evement she recognized her surround-ings.
'I'm in a hospital ward,' thought Tuppence. Satisfied with her mental progress so far, she attempted no more brainy deduction. She was in a hospital ward and her head ached.
Why it ached, why she was in a hospital ward, she was not quite sure. 'Accident?' thought Tuppence.
There were nurses moving around beds. That seemed natural enough. She closed her eyes and tried a little cautious thought. A faint vision of an elderly figure in clerical dress, passed across a mental screen. 'Father?' said Tuppence doubtfully. 'Is it Father?' She couldn't really remember. She supposed so.
'But what am I doing being ill in a hospital?' thought Tuppence. 'I mean, I nurse in a hospital, so I ought to be in uniform. V.A.D. uniform. Oh dear,' said Tuppence.
Presenfiy a nurse materialized near her bed.
'Feeling better now, dear?' said the nurse with akind of false cheerfulness. 'That's nice, isn't it?'
Tuppence wasn't quite sure whether it was nice. The nurse said something about a nice cup of tea.
'I seem to be a patient,' said Tuppence rather disapprovingly to herself. She lay still, resurrecting in her own mind various detached thoughts and words.
'Soldiers,' said Tuppence. 'V.A.D.s. That's it, of course. I'm a V.A.D.'
The nurse brought her some tea in a kind of feeding cup and supported her whilst she sipped it. The pain went through her head again.'A V.A.D., that's what I am,' said Tuppence aloud.
The nurse looked at her in an uncomprehending fashion.
'My head hurts,' said Tuppence, adding a statement of fact.
'It'll be better soon,' said the nurse.
She removed the feeding cup, reporting to a sister as she passed along. 'Number 14's awake. She's a bit wonky, though, Ithink.'
'Did she say anything?'
'Said she was a V.I.P.,' said the nurse.
&
nbsp; The ward sister gave a small snort indicating that that was how she felt towards unimportant patients who reported themselves to be V.I.P.s.
'We shall see about that,' said the sister. 'Hurry up, Nurse, don't be all day with that feeding cup.'
Tuppence remained half drowsy on her pillows. She had not yet got beyond the stage of allowing thoughts to flit through her mind in a rather disorganized procession.
There was somebody who ought to be here, she felt, somebody she knew quite well. There was something very strange about this hospital. It wasn't the hospital she remem-bered.