Gently North-West by Alan Hunter Read Free Book Online

his own hands, dragged two of the chairs up to front the desk, flicked the seats with his handkerchief and waved his visitors to them. He was a tall, lean, gangling man who threw a stoop into all his movements, and whose very large hands, with very long fingers, fluttered vaguely when he spoke. He had a long skull and a longer jaw and lank, colourless cheeks, and his hair, bushy but cut short, was a curious pepper-and-salt mixture. Though he was probably younger than Gently his face suggested he was far older; yet his odd, springy motions had an air incongruously youthful. He took the seat Purdy had vacated.
    ‘Well,’ he said, laying his palms together. ‘First, an apology about the lighting. I hear the line is down at Glen Liffin, so we’re gettin’ no current this side of the river. There’s been a deal of rain, you ken – sometimes it starts the rocks movin’.’ He gave Gently a sly glance. ‘Ay,’ he said. ‘Well, that’s that. Now we come to your own business. What were those two names, again?’
    Gently repeated them and Blayne wrote them down, his large fingers travelling slowly; then he added their London addresses and the address of the cottage. When he’d finished writing he remained staring at the paper.
    ‘Ay,’ he said. ‘Miss Brenda Merryn – a bonnie name. And
Mr
Gently.’
    ‘That’s correct,’ Gently said.
    ‘Oh, correct right enough,’ Blayne agreed hastily. ‘A proper modesty becomes a man – there’s no two opinions about that – and in a manner you were leaving Rome behind you when you set foot across the Wall. Ay,
Mr
Gently I have it down here. It’ll be so on the record.’
    Gently chuckled. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I was just stressing I was on holiday.’
    ‘And you’ve a perfect right, man,’ Blayne said. ‘You won’t want to be concerned in our up-the-glen affairs. But well, we’re not all that remote here from the likes o’ papers and the telly and what with one thing and t’ other – I knew fine who you were.’
    ‘Ah, fame,’ Brenda said.
    ‘It makes no difference,’ Gently said. ‘As you said, I’ve left Rome behind me. I’m just a private citizen in Strathtudlem.’
    ‘No, no, not quite that either,’ Blayne said, sawing his hands. ‘You can’t stop bein’ who you are, man, by changin’ banks at the Tweed. And here am I with a wee bit homicide, and you come knockin’ at the door – you can’t just be
Mr
Gently – a whiff of the Yard must step in with you.’
    ‘Then it’ll be a small whiff,’ Gently said. ‘I’m here merely with information.’
    ‘Ay, and that’s a rare enough item,’ Blayne said. ‘I’m obliged to you – obliged. But I’ll put it this way: holiday or no – north of the Border or no – the likes of you will be for havin’ the facts of any wee murder you run against. You’ll be seein’, thinkin’, wonderin’ where a private citizen won’t – and coming up with your own notions – how far am I out?’
    ‘You’re not out at all,’ Brenda said. ‘That’s a perfect picture of George on holiday.’
    ‘So I’m thinkin’,’ Blayne said. ‘I was listenin’ to him talkin’ to Mary Dunglass. And now he’ll be half-way into the case, just by hearin’ her rant for a couple of minutes – and if you ken she has guilty knowledge, man,’ he said to Gently, ‘there’s information I’d be glad to have from you.’
    Gently hunched a shoulder. ‘I couldn’t tell that. I don’t have details of the affair. She implied there was more than one killer and that she understood the motive.’
    ‘Ay, that’s no’ new,’ Blayne said, sounding disappointed. ‘That’s just what the lady’s inclined to believe. And if it’s the fact of the matter – I don’t ken – there’ll be small credit for Alistair Blayne. But if the lady was involved, now—’
    ‘She’s involved,’ Brenda said. ‘Personal opinion – one bitch of another.’
    Blayne nodded seriously. ‘That’s my notion too, lass. But