Gently North-West Read Online Free PDF

stirred.
    ‘Ay, is it you?’ she said when Gently entered. ‘I canna wish ye a very quid mornin’. As I’ve been tellin’ Mr Geoffrey, we talked it up – we talked it up.’
    ‘Oh I don’t know,’ Gently said, looking round for the tea-pot. ‘It’s much about what I expected. You’re never dry for long in these parts.’
    ‘It’s no’ the rain, Mr Gently,’ Mrs McFie said tartly. ‘What goes up must come down, there’s no goin’ against that. No, it’s just us talkin’ of the Hill in a fliskish sort o’ way – it doesna do. There’s ay some trouble for idle folk to talk up.’
    ‘We’ve offended the wee folk,’ Geoffrey said. ‘Seems there’s been an accident, George.’
    ‘Oh,’ Gently said, pouring tea. ‘Sorry to hear it. I hope nobody was hurt.’
    ‘That’s very likely,’ Mrs McFie said. ‘Wi’ half the polis from Balmagussie out here – an’ an ambulance, what’s more – an’ the Inspector laddie in plain clothes. No, no, they wouldna be shankin’ around up there for just nothin’. They’re thick as fleas up the paths – they’ll find it more damp than dry, I’m thinkin’.’
    ‘Up the paths,’ Gently said, staring. ‘What paths are those, Mrs McFie?’
    ‘Why the Forestry paths, what else? It’s up at the Stane McMorris found him.’
    ‘Hrrumph! Hrrumph!’ Geoffrey coughed. ‘Judges’ Rules, George, Judges’ Rules. As Mrs McFie is pointing out, the accident happened up the path we were asking about last night. Coincidence, what?’
    Gently said nothing.
    ‘It’s not a coincidence,’ Mrs McFie said. ‘There’s such a thing as talkin’ up trouble, and ye winna persuade me out o’ that.’
    Gently poured and stirred tea and took a long, scalding sip. He glanced at Geoffrey; Geoffrey nodded delicately and gave a judicial flick of the eyebrow.
    ‘Mrs McFie,’ he said. ‘Are you sure it’s this Mr Dunglass who’s met with an accident?’
    ‘Ay,’ Mrs McFie said. ‘And how should I not be sure, when I had it from my ain cousin?’
    ‘Your own cousin?’
    ‘Ay, Johnny Dalgirdy, that’s been gardener at the Lodge since the Major’s time. He lives in the wee bit cottage across the road – my mother’s uncle’s wife was a Maisie Dalgirdy.’
    ‘And when did the accident happen?’
    ‘Ye may weel ask that, Mr Kelling. Donald Dunglass went off in his car last night and says he’s away to Balmagussie.’
    ‘But he was found by the Stane.’
    ‘Ay. McMorris found him – that’s Andy McMorris, the Forestry man. He was goin’ his round of the fences, ye ken – I daresay that would be early on.’
    ‘But what would Dunglass be doing up there?’
    Mrs McFie wagged her gingery tresses. ‘No doubt the polis are askin’ that question, but Johnny didna ken the answer. Of course, Donald Dunglass owns the braeside – lock and stock, down to Halfstarvit – it’s all lease-work wi’ the Forestry, though ye canna exactly say them nay – but what he’d be doin’ up there after dark is something ye maun ask Donnie.’
    ‘Have they found his car?’
    ‘I dinna ken that.’
    ‘Do you know the make?’
    ‘Ay – American. One of those over-risen sort of vehicles, like a patty-pan wi’ four wheels.’
    Tim,’ Geoffrey said. ‘This Donald Dunglass. I know a Dunglass at my club. He’d be a big, broad-shouldered type, would he – red hair, and a beard?’
    ‘Nothin’ o’ that sort,’ Mrs McFie said. ‘He’s just a Glesca body, is Donald Dunglass. No but the average run, ye ken, and I doubt if his chin would manage a beard.’
    ‘I’m perhaps confusing him with someone else,’ Geoffrey said. ‘But I’m certain my man comes from these parts. Does his description suggest anyone to you?’
    ‘Ay,’ Mrs McFie said. ‘Robert the Bruce.’
    Breakfast was a sombre, thoughtful meal, despite Mrs McFie’s real oatmeal porridge. The rain kept tumbling down outside and the wrack drifted steadily over the braes. An occasional figure, clutching its