Free Gently With the Painters by Alan Hunter Page A

door.’
    ‘But you can hear when they’re having a row?’
    ‘Blimey, yes! You can hear them all right.’ The publican made an expressive snatching motion with his head. ‘But you can’t really hear what they’re saying, not unless you open the top and listen. It’s just a grumbling sound, you get me? Like someone had stirred up a nest of hornets.’
    ‘Was that how it was on Monday night?’
    ‘That’s how it was, and a blessed sight worse. You wouldn’t believe how they carry on – and they don’t drink enough to be anything but sober.’
    Gently pulled down a chair and reversed it for himself – not, like Johnson, to bring him luck, but because he preferred to lean on the back. From up the stairs one could hear the faint squeaking of the beer engine, but of the conversation in the bar not even a murmur filtered through.
    ‘You say that it was worse on Monday night?’
    ‘A blessed sight worse, that’s what I said.’
    The publican also pulled down a chair and, rather awkwardly, emulated Gently.
    ‘Mind you, it started off quietly enough – rather surprised me, it did, at first. As a rule they’re pretty well warmed up by eight, which is just about the time when the regulars come in. But last Monday – no; they were like a lot of lambs. They must be mending their ways, I think. Of course, there was a grumble or two now and then, but that wasn’t anything to what we’re used to.’
    ‘How long did it last?’
    ‘The best part of the evening. There was a darts match in the bar between us and the Bunch of Grapes. Well, they were just coming up to the final throw-off when we heard them letting fly down here in the cellar.’
    ‘What time would that be?’
    ‘Oh, well after nine. We’d had the news on the wireless and then turned it off again. It was just after I’d handed down another tray of drinks – I hadn’t hardly latched the door up when they was at it, hammer and tongs.’
    ‘Who was making all the noise?’
    ‘There you are, I wouldn’t know. But that bloke they call Aymas was bawling as loud as any. Then Mrs Johnson’s voice, I heard that once or twice, and I could hear Mr Mallows as though he were trying to quieten them down.’
    ‘How long did it go on?’
    ‘Up to closing, or thereabouts. Spoiled the darts match it did, they couldn’t concentrate through that. We switched the wireless on again, turning it up to kill the noise, but every time the music stopped you could hear them rumbling away.’
    Gently rocked his chair thoughtfully – this was a slightly different picture! Mallows had definitely tried to give him an impression of something more pacific. It was lively, he’d admitted, but no more so than other meetings. Nothing out of the way had happened – nothing for Gently to poke his nose into …
    ‘Who else was serving in the bar?’
    ‘Dolly, of course. And she’s my stepdaughter.’
    ‘She heard what was going on down here?’
    ‘The whole bar heard it – even the deaf ones.’
    ‘I’d like to speak to her, if you’ll send her down.’
    Dolly was a buxom-figured redhead and she had a pretty, dimpled face. She came down carrying a glass of beer to which no doubt she had just been treated. Gently motioned to the other chair. She sat down, carefully smoothing her skirt.
    ‘You knew Mrs Johnson, did you, Dolly?’
    She nodded and sipped at her glass of beer.
    ‘Did you ever have occasion to speak to her?’
    ‘Of course I did. I knew the lot of them.’
    ‘What did you think of her, as a person?’
    ‘I dunno … she was queer, in a way. Sometimes she made a lot of fuss of me, other times I was so much dirt.’
    ‘Did you ever meet her outside the pub?’
    ‘Not to speak to nor nothing like that. She’d give me a smile if we met in the street … but only when she hadn’t got anyone with her.’
    ‘What sort of people did she use to have with her?’
    ‘Oh, that lot mostly, one or another of them. She liked Mr Mallows and the dark boy, Aymas, but