“God help us,” Bradstreet said, “if we’ve two murderers to watch out for in this little place.”
“God help us indeed. And God helps those that help themselves. Let’s get on with it, Bradder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It was about ten minutes to nine, and Ellis was sitting in the middle of a hedge. It was a wide hedge, less a hedge than a mound, which rose, dipped, and rose again before spilling in furze bushes into a field. Ellis sat in the dip, so placed that he could command the road leading to Rattray’s house, and guard against being seen by bending down his head whenever anyone passed. The mound rose behind him, with its furze bushes, and protected him from being seen from behind.
He had been keeping his vigil for over half an hour now, and it was not easy. Midges, made lively by the recent rain, came out of the bushes and the grass, and attacked Elks vigorously. Slapping and swearing softly, he remembered his gibes at Gilkison in the garden of the inn, and ruefully admitted that nemesis had fallen on him. He dared not smoke, lest a wisp in the still air betray him. There was nothing to do but endure. The grass was still damp in the hollow, too, and it covered invisible but exploratory brambles and sprigs of furze. Grinning at his own exasperation, Ellis remained at his self-appointed post.
Voices came down the road, and a girl went by with a soldier. They must be old friends, Ellis decided; for the village was humming over Eunice’s death, and mothers would keep a tight hold on their girls for weeks to come, even if the murderer were caught. To them, the possibility, the sudden revelation of danger in the familiar spot, would weigh heavier than any reasoning based on a removal of the cause.
A bicycle went by, so swiftly that he hardly heard it till it had passed. A small boy came in the other direction, walking on the grass at the road’s edge. If he had not been singing quietly to himself, Ellis would not have heard him.
Then, after maybe five minutes’ silence, came a quick step. Ellis bent forward, all attention. The steps came near, and he saw in the gap the figure he was looking for. He let her go by, then, with a nimbleness’ startling in one of his build, he climbed down, and ran after her.
Lightly though he ran on the grass, she heard him, and whipped round. Her eyes flashed through the glasses. Slowing to a walk, he came up to her, and caught her by the arm.
“Oh no, my dear.”
Joan Baildon struggled fiercely to shake off his hand.
“Let me go,” she cried. “Let me go, do you hear!”
Her face was white: there were large dark rings under her eyes. She fought him with hysterical strength.
“I will. At once. The moment you promise to go home.”
“I shan’t. Let me go! You’ve no right to stop me.”
“We all do things we’ve no right to do. Go back, my dear. You can’t do any good, and you may be in danger. No: it’s not the least use. I’m stronger than you.”
“I’ll call for help,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Again, no good. I represent the law. Be sensible, there’s a good girl. I’m stopping you for your own good. Come on: I’ll take you home.”
She stood rigid for a few seconds, straining mechanically away from him. Then she all but collapsed, and he had to hold her up. She shuddered, and shook herself.
“All right?”
She nodded, and, apathetically, allowed him to lead her up the road. They went along in silence. A labourer, coming out of a side turning, stared in surprise, and Ellis heard him stand to look after them.
Joan pulled her arm away.
“You needn’t hold on to me.”
“You’d rather I didn’t come any further with you?”
“You needn’t. All right. If you must have it, I would rather go by myself.”
“You shall.” He stood away from her. “Go straight in. You’re safe at home.”
“Safe!”
It was impossible to describe the scorn, the anger and the despair that rang in her voice. Ellis started, and watched her go up the road, his face twisted with pity. Then he turned, and made his way back towards his hiding-place.
He did not get there. Prepared for the encounter though he was, he felt his heart give a sudden jump of excitement as he saw the broad-shouldered figure of David Rattray approaching. Rattray wore a macintosh: and, as he came near, Ellis was shocked by his face. The eyes had a meaningless glitter, the face was so drawn that the man looked ten years older: and, while the cheeks were congested as in a fever, the rest of the skin was pale, with hard white lines drawn from nose to mouth.
At the sight of Ellis, Rattray began to cry out thickly, beginning when he was still too far for Ellis to hear what he said.
“——in my house again, badgering a helpless woman with your damned questions,” Ellis heard. “Is no place sacred to you? Do what you will to me, but leave her alone. This is not English justice.”
For the moment Ellis wondered if he had been drinking.
“I haven’t been near your house,” he said, “since you last saw me there.”
“You or another of your gang. What does it matter? I say—I say to you——” He began to shout, gesticulating stiffly with his arm. “Ask me what you like, but leave my wife out of it, for God’s sake, or it will be the worse for you.”
“Hush. Not so loud. You’ll bring out half the village.”
“What I have to say can be said anywhere. And it will be, soon.”
“Good,” Ellis said heartily. “You invite me to ask you a question. I’ve one or two. Hi! hi! wait a minute.”
Rattray had put down his head, and made to go past him. Ellis got in his way. Rattray suddenly danced in the roadway, waving his arms.
“Let me pass! Let me pass! I have no more time for you or your like. Let me pass!”
“Answer my questions first.”
Rattray became very quiet. His eyes almost closed.
“Mr. McKay. I am a strong man. I advise you not to anger me.”
“I haven’t the least desire to anger you. You told me a minute ago that I might question you but not your wife. I don’t want to ask her any questions at all. I want to ask you one or two. That’s all.”
Rattray said nothing. He stood, leaning slightly forward with an animal attentiveness which Ellis found far more alarming than his frenzy.
Rattray pursed up his mouth so tightly that the shape of his teeth showed through his upper lip.
“I decline to tell you. It’s no business of yours.”
They stood, confronting one another. All at once everything changed for Ellis. He felt mounting in him the kind of fear that makes one hit out wildly at whatever threatens one, and he had no sooner felt it, than it changed to a consciousness of mastery and of knowledge so clear that he trembled, not with fear but with awe.
He pointed slowly at Rattray, glaring at him with all the power of his eyes.
“Paper is not the usual thing to plug a corpse’s nostrils with, Rattray, but cotton wool. They used cotton wool for your mother, didn’t they?”
The breath whistled in Rattray’s teeth. He uttered a high humming noise. Giving no warning, he sprang forward, and drove a furious right to Ellis’s solar plexus. With a grunt that was almost a yelp, Ellis doubled up and collapsed on his face, aware, as he fell, of Rattray’s bulk speeding past him and away.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
The next thing Ellis knew was that he was being sick, and kind but clumsy hands were holding him. He opened his eyes, and saw Bradstreet’s face, moonish with concern, bent over his own.
“Are you all right?” Bradstreet asked.
Ellis nodded. “Sod winded me,” he jerked out.
“What happened? Did you try to stop him?”