"Tell me, by the by, did you notice an
air of desertion in the lower part of the house?"
"There seemed to be echoes," he admitted. "I noticed it more this
afternoon."
"The whole of the rooms downstairs were fitted up as a small hospital
during the last year of the war," she explained. "It was after I had a
slight breakdown and was sent back from Etaples. Some of our patients
stayed on for months afterwards, and we have never had the place put to
rights yet. One or two rooms are quite sufficient for us in these days."
"It seems to be a wing by itself that remains empty," Wingate ruminated.
"The house might have been built for the purpose we put it to," she said.
"The rooms we turned into a hospital are quite cut off from the rest of
the place. If ever you murder Peter Phipps and want a hiding place, I
shall be able to provide you with one!"
He was looking unusually thoughtful. It was evident that he was pursuing
some train of reflection suggested by her words. At the mention of
Phipps' name, however, he came back to earth.
"I think I should rather like to murder Phipps," he confessed. "The worst
of it is the laws are so ridiculously undiscriminating. One would have
to pay the same penalty for murdering him as for getting rid of an
ordinary human being."
"Queer how I share your hatred of that person," she murmured.
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