Lewis resumed his own considerable task.
Thus it was that for the next half-hour or so the two men sat reading their different texts; preparing (as it were) for their different examinations; each conscious of the other's presence; yet each, for the moment, and for different rea-sons, unwilling to speak his own immediate thoughts.
Especially Morse.
Yet it was the latter who finally broke the silence.
'What did you make of her, there? Our Mrs. Wynne-Wilson?'
''Mrs.,' sir?' asked Lewis slowly.
Morse threw an interested, inquisitive look at his sergeant. 'Go on!'
'Well, I'd noticed from the start she wasn't wearing a wedding ring. As you did, of course.'
'Of course.'
'But I couldn't see any, you know, any mark of any ring like you'd normally have, wouldn't you? A sort of, you know, pale ring of skin, son of thing, where the ring had been--before she took it off.'
'Not a particularly fluent sentence that, Lewis, if I may say so.'
'But you noticed that, too?'
'Me? Your eyesight's far better than mine.'
'Makes you wonder, though.'
'You reckon she was making it op--about her mar-riage?'
'Wouldn't surprise me, sir.'
'And apart from that T'
'She seemed a pretty good witness. Her mind's pretty sharp. She got you weighed up all right.'
'Yees... So you don't think she was making anything else up T'
'No. Do you?'
'Lew-is! When will you learn. She's a phoney. She's a phoney from A to Z.'
Lewis's look now was one of semi-exasperation. 'Them you go again! I think you're far too qtfick--'
'Let me tell you something. She just about takes the bis-cuit, that woman--give or take one or two congenitally compulsive liars we've had in the past.'
Lewis shook his head sadly as Morse continued: 'Wedding ring? You're right. Odds strongly against her having worn one recently. Not necessarily the same as not being married though, is it? Suggestive, though, yes. Sug- gestive that she might be telling a few other fibs as well.'
'Such as?'
'Well, it was obvious she wasn't deaf at all. She heard everything I said. Easy. Kein Problem.'
'She didn't hear me.'
'She didn't want to hear you, Lewis.'
'If you say so, sir.'
'What about her eyesight? Kept telling us, didn't she, that she couldn't see half as well as she used to? But that didn't stop her giving us a detailed description of the woman who came to visit Mc Clure. She knew she'd got a ring in one of her nostrils--at twenty-odd yards, Lewis! And the only reason she couldn't tell us if she'd got two rings in her nose was because she saw her in profite like she sees everyone in profile coming in through that trance.'
'Why don't you think she was making all that up, too, sir that description she gave?'
'Good point.' Morse looked down at the carpet briefly. 'But I don't think so; that bit rang Irue to me. In fact, I reckon it was the only thing of any value she did come up with.'
'What about--?'
'Lewis! She's a phoney. She's not even been a nurse-- let alone a matron or whatever you call 'em.'
'How can you say that?'
'You heard her--we both heard her. Mini-skirt up to mid-tibia--remember me saying that? Mid-tibia? Your tib- ia's below your knee, Lewis. You know that. But she doesn't.'
'Unless she's deaf, and misheard--'
'She's not deaf,! told you that. She just doesn't know her tibia from her fibula, that's all. Never been near a nursing manual in her life.'
'And you deliberately tricked her about that?'
'And, Lewis--most important of all--she claims she's an Archers addict, but she doesn't even know when the omni bus edition comes on on a Sunday morning. Huh!'
'I wouldn't know--'
'She's a Walter Mitty sort of woman. She lives in a world of fantasy. She tells herself things so many times-- tells other people things so many times---at she thinks they're true. And for her they are true.'
