Read Online The Case Of William Smith by Patricia Wentworth - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Wentworth
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said, ‘Yes — you told me. I wondered how far it went. You see, it’s obvious that you must remember quite a lot-reading, writing, arithmetic. What else?’
He said, ‘Yes, I never thought about that. That sort of thing is all there. The usual history and geography seem to have stuck — schoolboy Latin — maths. I learnt German in the camps, and I rubbed up my French a whole lot. You know, that’s one reason I don’t think I’m William Smith, because he left school at fourteen and he wouldn’t have learned French or Latin. Mine weren’t anything to boast about, but I did learn them.’
‘And the piano?’
He laughed.
‘You heard me!’
‘You were picking out a tune. Do you know what it was?’
‘Well, it was trying to be Auld Lang Syne.’
‘Why?’
He gazed at her.
‘I don’t know — it just came into my head. When you come to think of it, it’s odd to remember tunes and forget people, isn’t it? There must be people I used to know walking around, and I might bump into them and never know them. That gives you an odd feeling. I used to think about it a lot and wonder if I should run into any of them, but it never happened until the other day.’
Katharine put down her cup.
‘You met someone — the other day — who knew you?’
He nodded.
‘The night I was hit over the head. It was the chap Abbott from Scotland Yard, the one who picked me up and brought me home.
‘He knew you?’
‘Well, sort of half and half. He said we’d been at a do together at the Luxe before the war, and I danced a lot with a girl in a gold dress who seems to have struck him all of a heap — which, I expect, is why he remembered me. But when it came down to names he couldn’t get any farther than Bill. You know, I always had a feeling that the William part of my name was all right.’
‘But he must remember some of the other people who were there.’
‘He says he doesn’t. It’s a long time ago — he’ll have been at hundreds of shows since then. You know how it is — things get run together in your mind. Look here, I could make toast at this fire if you’d like some.’
They made toast.
William ate a hearty tea. Afterwards he told Katharine that painting the duck black by accident had given him a very good idea for a really black bird, and which did she think would be the best name — the Rookie Raven, or the Kee Kaw Krow.
When she said she liked the Krow best he demanded pencil and paper and produced sketches. He sat on the hearthrug with a block propped against his knee, his fair hair sticking up on end, and a fiercely concentrated expression on his face. He was, for the moment, apparently quite inaccessible to anything except Krow. Yet when Katharine said idly, ‘What made you think of the Wurzel Dogs?’ he answered her at once in an abstracted voice,
‘Oh, I had a dog called Wurzel once.’
She almost stopped breathing. She let a little time go by, then she said in the same gentle voice,
‘When was that?’
He said, ‘I was ten,’ and came to with a start. ‘Oh, I say — I remembered that!’
‘Yes, you did.’
He was staring at her, intent and strained.
‘I remembered it then, but I don’t now. I’m only remembering that I remembered it.’
She said quickly, ‘Don’t try like that. It came when you were thinking about something else. I’m sure it won’t come when you’re trying.’
He nodded.
‘No — things don’t, do they?’ He leaned over and laid the sketches on her knee. ‘Look — what do you think of those?’
He had drawn every conceivable aspect of the Krow — the solemn, the rampant, the jaunty, the belligerent, the predatory. To each of them he had managed to impart the vitality which made all his creatures seem alive even in the wood.
‘They’re very good indeed.’
He said, ‘Wait a bit,’ took them back, and plunged again.
His hand just touched hers as it gathered the papers. It shook a little. He stopped it almost at once, but it showed
He said, ‘Yes, I never thought about that. That sort of thing is all there. The usual history and geography seem to have stuck — schoolboy Latin — maths. I learnt German in the camps, and I rubbed up my French a whole lot. You know, that’s one reason I don’t think I’m William Smith, because he left school at fourteen and he wouldn’t have learned French or Latin. Mine weren’t anything to boast about, but I did learn them.’
‘And the piano?’
He laughed.
‘You heard me!’
‘You were picking out a tune. Do you know what it was?’
‘Well, it was trying to be Auld Lang Syne.’
‘Why?’
He gazed at her.
‘I don’t know — it just came into my head. When you come to think of it, it’s odd to remember tunes and forget people, isn’t it? There must be people I used to know walking around, and I might bump into them and never know them. That gives you an odd feeling. I used to think about it a lot and wonder if I should run into any of them, but it never happened until the other day.’
Katharine put down her cup.
‘You met someone — the other day — who knew you?’
He nodded.
‘The night I was hit over the head. It was the chap Abbott from Scotland Yard, the one who picked me up and brought me home.
‘He knew you?’
‘Well, sort of half and half. He said we’d been at a do together at the Luxe before the war, and I danced a lot with a girl in a gold dress who seems to have struck him all of a heap — which, I expect, is why he remembered me. But when it came down to names he couldn’t get any farther than Bill. You know, I always had a feeling that the William part of my name was all right.’
‘But he must remember some of the other people who were there.’
‘He says he doesn’t. It’s a long time ago — he’ll have been at hundreds of shows since then. You know how it is — things get run together in your mind. Look here, I could make toast at this fire if you’d like some.’
They made toast.
William ate a hearty tea. Afterwards he told Katharine that painting the duck black by accident had given him a very good idea for a really black bird, and which did she think would be the best name — the Rookie Raven, or the Kee Kaw Krow.
When she said she liked the Krow best he demanded pencil and paper and produced sketches. He sat on the hearthrug with a block propped against his knee, his fair hair sticking up on end, and a fiercely concentrated expression on his face. He was, for the moment, apparently quite inaccessible to anything except Krow. Yet when Katharine said idly, ‘What made you think of the Wurzel Dogs?’ he answered her at once in an abstracted voice,
‘Oh, I had a dog called Wurzel once.’
She almost stopped breathing. She let a little time go by, then she said in the same gentle voice,
‘When was that?’
He said, ‘I was ten,’ and came to with a start. ‘Oh, I say — I remembered that!’
‘Yes, you did.’
He was staring at her, intent and strained.
‘I remembered it then, but I don’t now. I’m only remembering that I remembered it.’
She said quickly, ‘Don’t try like that. It came when you were thinking about something else. I’m sure it won’t come when you’re trying.’
He nodded.
‘No — things don’t, do they?’ He leaned over and laid the sketches on her knee. ‘Look — what do you think of those?’
He had drawn every conceivable aspect of the Krow — the solemn, the rampant, the jaunty, the belligerent, the predatory. To each of them he had managed to impart the vitality which made all his creatures seem alive even in the wood.
‘They’re very good indeed.’
He said, ‘Wait a bit,’ took them back, and plunged again.
His hand just touched hers as it gathered the papers. It shook a little. He stopped it almost at once, but it showed
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