All Fall Down

CHAPTER FOUR

The next morning, after a very late breakfast, Ellis took easel and paintbox, and set off towards Matt Baildon’s. In reply to Gilkison’s comments, he announced his intention of sitting in a place from which he could keep the house under observation and see if Gilkison’s friend Mr. Josh Nelder put in an appearance.

Gilkison sniffed. “There’s nothing to paint there,” he said. “Even a lunatic like you couldn’t pretend he wanted to paint Matt Baildon’s place.”

“I shall sit by the crossroads and idealise the view.”

“You’ll need to.”

“I’ll be quite happy. I’ll fall into converse with the villagers, and probably learn facts of great importance. Besides,” Ellis added in afterthought, “you forget, I’m not on duty. I’m on holiday. Why shouldn’t I cultivate my harmless hobby?”

All the same, when he came to the place, Ellis had to admit to himself that Gilkison was right. The only view which anyone could at all plausibly wish to set on paper was from the far side of the crossroads about a hundred yards below Baildon’s house: and from this point it was not possible to keep watch on the gate. One could see anyone who approached the gate, but not whether he went in. Ellis noted, however, that there was a small side gate, opening into the road that led down to the main part of the village.

Still, none of this mattered. All he wanted was to sit in the sun, with a pretext for observing what went on and for getting into conversation with passers-by. Not that Ellis was ever diffident about starting a conversation. But country people, he had found, were invariably curious to look over the shoulder of anyone who was sketching, and regarded him as a species of skilled but harmless lunatic. They would therefore talk to him even more freely than in their own homes or in a pub, watching, hypnotised, the quick brushes at work. Ellis, if he had ever taken the trouble, could have done good work. He had the knack of producing a quick and lively impression, and he worked fast. This had the double advantage of holding anyone who was watching, since the pointing grew before his eyes, and of enabling Ellis to get enough down on paper to justify a far longer session, leaving him free to observe whatever he wanted.

This morning, however, he was on holiday. Gilkison’s breakfast speculations over the presence of his trade rival Ellis refused to take seriously. He promised to keep a lookout, but in such terms as to draw upon himself an acidulated rebuke for frivolity. Now, having established that he could not in any case see whether anyone went in the Baildon front gate, or came out of it, he dismissed the matter from his mind, and considered the singularly unpromising scene before him.

With broad self-parody—in which he usually indulged when his spirits were high—Ellis put his head on one side, screwed up his eyes, surveyed the flat field, the ugly clump of trees, the crossroads, the open laneway that cut past Matt Baildon’s side door, then the sky, placid almost to fatuity, that beamed above. The scene had no element of colour or composition: it was just an agglomeration. The only way to treat it, he decided, was with a sensational vulgarity. Ellis uttered a sudden high cackle, and started to mix his colours, talking vigorously to himself as he worked.

It was as well that he was content to be out of doors in the sun, and expected nothing from the morning; for nothing resulted from it. Nobody came to look at what he was doing, except a small boy and girl, who stood behind him, sniffing monotonously, and, when he asked them whether they had a pocket handkerchief, stared and made no reply. He saw no sign of Josh Nelder, nor of anyone else who looked as if he might be calling on Matt Baildon. A man, pushing a woman in a bathchair, might possibly have gone in, since he came back again. Equally well, he might not.

It was five to one by the time Ellis decided that he had done enough. Chuckling to himself, he packed up, and went back to the Plume of Feathers.

Gilkison was not to be seen. He did not come in till nearly a quarter past, by which time Ellis was sitting down to a large plate of cold lamb and a pint of the local beer.

“M’m’m. Si’ down.” Ellis’s mouth was full. “Make yourself at home. I knew you’d feel awkward if I waited.”

Gilkison sat down. His severe features wore an expression of faint disgust, which meant either that he was preoccupied, or that things weren’t going quite as he wished. He pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped his forehead.

“Sweating, I see.” Ellis nodded approval. “Excellent. Do you good.”

“My dear Ellis. One of your many depraved heresies.”

“You ought to like this lovely, warm weather. After your musty shop.”

“It is not musty,” Gilkison said decisively.

“It smells musty. You ought to be thankful for the heat. We get so little of it.”

“I don’t mind it. It’s uncomfortable for walking, that’s all.”

“Obvious remedy—don’t walk. Sit down, like me. What were you walking for?”

“For one thing, I wanted to try and find out where Nelder was staying.”

“Tut. A one-track mind. Did you?”

“He isn’t at either pub.”

“He may be in lodgings.”

“My dear Ellis. I’m not an imbecile. The possibility had crossed my mind.”

“Sayings of the week. ‘I am not an imbecile. Mr. Paul Gilkison.’ Well—how did you go about to locate the estimable Mr. Nelder? No. Don’t tell me. I know. You went about and said you wanted lodgings.”

“A very natural procedure. Ellis—for God’s sake! don’t make such a noise. What is there to guffaw at in that?”

“You!” crowed Ellis. “You, going from cottage to cottage and saying you wanted lodgings. If you could only see yourself. Did you wear gloves, by any chance? No? You should have. That would have finished it.”

“If you would have the goodness——”

“It’s a damned good job we’re not here on business. You’d have queered every conceivable pitch. Look at yourself, man! You, dressed like that, talking the way you talk, mincing up cottage paths and saying you want lodgings. Now, if I did it, they might believe it. I’m dirty enough, and I know the way to talk to them. They could only think I was mad, and they think that already. But you——”

“If you’d have the goodness to let me finish, instead of braying and gabbling——”

“Your vocabulary’s improving. Good! You’ll have quite a neat turn of phrase by the time I’ve done with you. Well—go on—what is it you want to say?”

“Naturally, I did not pretend I wanted lodgings for myself. I said our old housekeeper had had an operation, and I wanted to find a nice quiet place where she’d be well looked after.”

“Yes,” said Ellis, after a pause. “Yes. That’s in character. That’s not bad. You’re coming on, Gilk.” Ellis leaned over, and patted him affectionately on the arm.

“Kind of you to say so,” Gilkison said, with a wary eye on the greasy knife.

“Always encourage the learner. Praise where praise is due. Works wonders. You didn’t find Nelder?”

“No.”

“He’s not staying here, then?”

“It appears not. But there are a number of villages around where he might stay. I took the bus to two of them, but drew blank. I’ll have another try this afternoon.”

“You have a certain pertinacity one can’t but admire. Misguided, perhaps: even stupid. But let that pass.” Ellis handed him the mint sauce. “No? Well, well.” He poured himself a second lavish dose. “Why do you attach so much importance to the appearance of the fellow Nelder?”

“I know him. He’s not the sort of man to come all this way for nothing.”

“I grant you that. But what he’s come for may have nothing to do with our suave and courteous friend up the road. There may be a score of shady opportunities in the neighbourhood, which we know nothing about.”

“There may. But I have the strongest feeling that he’s here on some business to do with Baildon. Otherwise, why did he rush away as soon as he heard my voice?”

“A sensitive ear, maybe.”

“Ellis—really—this prep school repartee——”

“Is there no other person or place in the neighbourhood that might interest him? Are you certain of that?”

“There’s a junk shop on the Moreton road that has a few books, but I’ve never found anything there worth bothering about. Anyway, he hadn’t been there. The books were thick with dust, and the man told me nobody’d turned them over since “Friday week.”

“Someone’s died, or is selling his library—or his gramophone records. Is Nelder interested in records?”

“Not that I know of. He might be. Anything he might make a dishonest penny on interests him.”

“He knows something you don’t know. Or he was just passing through, and wanted a drink.”

“Nobody passes through here. It isn’t on the way to anywhere.”

Ellis yawned.

“I’m tired of Nelder.”

“Sorry to bore you with my affairs.”

“Hoity toity. Do you know what I’m going to do?”

“Retire, and plunge in hoggish slumber.”

“Coarsely worded, but correct. I advise you to do the same. Wake me at tea time.”