BY Agatha Christie - THE SEVEN DIALS MYSTERY
Seven clocks tick ominously in a
suicide's room, and a dying friend whose
last words are "seven dials" lead dapper
Jimmy Thesiger and his irrepressible
friend "Bundle" Brent to a Soho club.
There they learn of the Seven Dials
Society, seven masked conspirators who
meet in a secret room to talk about
stealing scientific secrets—and about
hushing up both the murders.
AGATHA CHRISTIE
THE SEVEN
DIALS
MYSTERY
Complete and Unabridged
^u^
Q
ULVERSCROFT
Leicester
First published 1929
151492
First Large Print Edition
published March 1984
by arrangement with
Collins, London & Glasgow
and
Dodd, Mead & Company, Inc.
New York
© 1929 by Dodd Mead & Company Inc.
British Library CIP Data
Christie, Agatha
The seven dials mystery.--Large print ed.
(Ulverscroft large print series: mystery) 1. Title
823'.912[F] PR6005.H66
ISBN 0-7089-1097-1
TorDntS^
^.-bllc
. ibrary
DEER r^,.* CRANCH_
Published by IF . A. Thorpe (Publishing) Ltd.
Anstey, Leicestershire
Printed and Bound in Great Britain by
T. J. Press (Padstow) Ltd., Padstow, Cornwall
MAY 7 1985
	Contents
1	On Early Rising
2	Concerning Alarum Clocks
3	The Joke that Failed
4	A Letter
5	The Man in the Road
6	Seven Dials Again
7	Bundle Pays a Call
8	Visitors for Jimmy
9	Plans
10	Bundle Visits Scotland Yard
11	Dinner With Bill
12	Inquiries at Chimneys
13	The Seven Dials Club
14	The Meeting of the Seven Dials
15	The Inquest
16	The House Party at the Abbey
17	After Dinner
18	Jimmy's Adventures
19	Bundle's Adventures
20	Loraine's Adventures
21	The Recovery of the Formula
22	The Countess Radzky's Story
23	Superintendent Battle in Charge
24	Bundle Wonders
25	Jimmy Lays His Plans	284
26	Mainly About Golf	299
27	Nocturnal Adventure	306
28	Suspicions	315
29	Singular Behaviour of George
	Lomax	327
30	An Urgent Summons	340
31	The Seven Dials	353
32	Bundle is Dumbfounded	363
33	Battle Explains	369
34	Lord Caterham Approves	386
1


On Early Rising | THAT amiable youth. Jimmy Thesiger,
came racing down the big staircase at
A. Chimneys two steps at a time. So precipitate
was his descent that he collided with
Tredwell, the stately butler, just as the latter
was crossing the hall bearing a fresh supply of
hot coffee. Owing to the marvellous presence
of mind and masterly agility of Tredwell, no
casualty occurred.
"Sorry," apologised Jimmy. "I say, Tredwell, am I the last down?"
"No, sir. Mr. Wade has not come down
yet."
"Good," said Jimmy, and entered the
breakfast-room.
The room was empty save for his hostess, and her reproachful gaze gave Jimmy the
same feeling of discomfort he always
experienced on catching the eye of a defunct
codfish exposed on a fishmonger's slab. Yet, hang it all, why should the woman look at
1
him like that? To come down at a punctual
nine-thirty when staying in a country house
simply wasn't done. To be sure, it was now a
quarter past eleven which was, perhaps, the
outside limit, but even then——
"Afraid I'm a bit late. Lady Coote. What?"
"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Lady Coote
in a melancholy voice.
As a matter of fact, people being late for
breakfast worried her very much. For the first
ten years of her married life. Sir Oswald
Coote (then plain Mr.) had, to put it baldly,
raised hell if his morning meal were even a
half-minute later than eight o'clock. Lady
Coote had been disciplined to regard
unpunctuality as a deadly sin of the most
unpardonable nature. And habit dies hard.
Also, she was an earnest woman, and she
could not help asking herself what possible
good these young people would ever do in the
world without early rising. As Sir Oswald so
often said, to reporters and others: "I
attribute my success entirely to my habits of
early rising, frugal living, and methodical
habits."
Lady Coote was a big, handsome woman in
a tragic sort of fashion. She had large, dark,
mournful eyes and a deep voice. An artist
2
looking for a model for "Rachel mourning for
her children" would have hailed Lady Coote
with delight. She would have done well, too,
in melodrama, staggering through the falling
snow as the deeply wronged wife of the
villain.
She looked as though she had some terrible
secret sorrow in her life, and yet if the truth
be told. Lady Coote had had no trouble in her
life whatever, except the meteoric rise to
prosperity of Sir Oswald. As a young girl she
had been a jolly flamboyant creature, very
much in love with Oswald Coote, the
aspiring young man in the bicycle shop next
to her father's hardware store. They had lived
very happily, first in a couple of rooms, and
then in a tiny house, and then in a larger
house, and then in successive houses of
increasing magnitude, but always within a
reasonable distance of "the Works," until
now Sir Oswald had reached such an
eminence that he and "the Works" were no
longer interdependent, and it was his
pleasure to rent the very largest and most
magnificent mansions available all over
England. Chimneys was a historic place, and
in renting it from the Marquis of Caterham
for two years. Sir Oswald felt that he had
3
attained the top notch of his ambition.
Lady Coote was not nearly so happy about
it. She was a lonely woman. The principal
relaxation of her early married life had been
talking to "the girl"--and even when "the
girl" had been multiplied by three, conversation
with her domestic staff had still
been the principal distraction of Lady
Coote's day. Now, with a pack of housemaids,
a butler like an archbishop, several
footmen of imposing proportions, a bevy of
scuttling kitchen and scullery maids, a
terrifying foreign chef with a "temperament,"
and a housekeeper of immense proportions
who alternately creaked and rustled when she
moved. Lady Coote was as one marooned on
a desert island.
She sighed now, heavily, and drifted out
through the open window, much to the relief
of Jimmy Thesiger, who at once helped
himself to more kidneys and bacon on the
strength of it.
Lady Coote stood for a few moments
tragically on the terrace and then nerved
herself to speak to MacDonald, the head
gardener, who was surveying the domain over
which he ruled with an autocratic eye.
MacDonald was a very chief and prince
4
among head gardeners. He knew his place--
which was to rule. And he ruled--despotically.
Lady Coote approached him nervously.
"Good-morning, MacDonald."
"Good-morning, malady."
He spoke as head gardeners should speak--
mournfully, but with dignity--like an
emperor at a funeral.
"I was wondering--could we have some of
those late grapes for dessert tonight?"
"They*re no fit for picking yet," said
MacDonald.
He spoke kindly but firmly.
"Oh!" said Lady Coote.
She plucked up courage.
"Oh! but I was in the end house yesterday,
and I tasted one and they seemed very good."
MaeDonald looked at her, and she blushed.
She was made to feel that she had taken an
unpardonable liberty. Evidently the late
Marchioness of Caterham had never
committed such a solecism as to enter one of
her own hothouses and help herself to grapes.
"If you had given orders, m'lady, a bunch
should have been cut and sent in to you,"
said MacDonald severely.
"Oh, thank you," said Lady Coote. "Yes, I
will do that another time."
5
"But they're no properly fit for picking
yet."
"No," murmured Lady Coote, "no, I
suppose not. We'd better leave it then."
MacDonald maintained a masterly silence.
Lady Coote nerved herself once more.
"I was going to speak to you about the
piece of lawn at the back of the rose garden. I
wondered if it could be used as a bowling
green. Sir Oswald is very fond of a game of
bowls."
"And why not?" thought Lady Coote to
herself. She had been instructed in her
history of England. Had not Sir Francis
Drake and his knightly companions been
playing a game of bowls when the Armada
was sighted? Surely a gentlemanly pursuit
and one to which MacDonald could not
reasonably object. But she had reckoned
without the predominant trait of a good head
gardener, which is to oppose any and every
suggestion made to him.
"Nae doot it could be used for that
purpose," said MacDonald non-comittally.
He threw a discouraging flavour into the
remark, but its real object was to lure Lady
Coote on to her destruction.
"If it was cleared up and—er—cut—and—
6
er--all that sort of thing," she went on hopefully.

"Aye," said MacDonald slowly. "It could
be done. But it would mean taking William
from the lower border."
"Oh!" said Lady Coote doubtfully. The
words "lower border" conveyed absolutely
nothing to her mind--except a vague
suggestion of a Scottish song--but it was clear
that to MacDonald they constituted an
insuperable objection.
"And that would be a pity," said
MacDonald.
"Oh, of course," said Lady Coote. "It would" And wondered why she agreed so
fervently.
MacDonald looked at her very hard.
"Of course," he said, "if it's your orders, m'lady----"
He left it like that. But his menacing tone
was too much for Lady Coote. She
capitulated at once.
"Oh, no," she said. "I see what you mean, MacDonald. N--no--William had better get
on with the lower border."
"That's what I thocht meself, m'lady."
"Yes," said Lady Coote. "Yes. Certainly."
7
"I thocht you'd agree, m'lady," said
MacDonald.
"Oh, certainly," said Lady Coote again.
MacDonald touched his hat and moved
away.
Lady Coote sighed unhappily and looked
after him. Jimmy Thesiger, replete with
kidneys and bacon, stepped out on to the
terrace beside her and sighed in quite a
different manner.
"Topping morning, eh?" he remarked.
"Is it?" said Lady Coote absently. "Oh,
yes, I suppose it is. I hadn't noticed."
"Where are the others? Punting on the
lake?"
"I expect so. I mean, I shouldn't wonder if
they were."
Lady Coote turned and plunged abruptly
into the house. Tredwell was just examining
the coffee pot.
"Oh, dear," said Lady Coote. "Isn't Mr.Mr.——"
"Wade,
m'lady?"
"Yes, Mr. Wade. Isn't he down yet^
"No, m'lady."
"It's very late."
"Yes, m'lady."
8
"Oh, dear. I suppose he will come down sometime, Tredwell?"
"Oh, undoubtedly, m'lady. It was eleventhirty
yesterday morning when Mr. Wade
came down, m'lady."
Lady Coote glanced at the clock. It was
now twenty minutes to twelve. A wave of
human sympathy rushed over her.
"It's very hard luck on you, Tredwell.
Having to clear and then get lunch on the
table by one o'clock."
"I am accustomed to the ways of young
gentlemen, m'lady."
The reproof was dignified, but unmistakable.
So might a prince of the Church
reprove a Turk or an infidel who had
unwittingly committed a solecism in all good
faith.
Lady Coote blushed for the second time
that morning. But a welcome interruption
occurred. The door opened and a serious,
spectacled young man put his head in.
"Oh, there you are. Lady Coote. Sir
Oswald was asking for you."
"Oh, I'll go to him at once, Mr. Bateman."
Lady Coote hurried out.
Rupert Bateman, who was Sir Oswald's
private secretary, went out the other way,
SDM2 9
through the window where Jimmy Thesiger
was still lounging amiably.
<( 'Morning, Pongo," said Jimmy. "I
suppose I shall have to go and make myself
agreeable to those blasted girls. You
coming?"
Bateman shook his head and hurried along
the terrace and in at the library window.
Jimmy grinned pleasantly at his retreating
back. He and Bateman had been at school
together, when Bateman had been a serious,
spectacled boy, and had been nicknamed
Pongo for no earthly reason whatever.
Pongo, Jimmy reflected, was very much the
same sort of ass now that he had been then.
The words "Life is real, life is earnest" might
have been written specially for him.
Jimmy yawned and strolled slowly down to
the lake. The girls were there, three of
them—just the usual sort of girls, two with
dark shingled heads and one with a fair
shingled head. The one that giggled most was
(he thought) called Helen—and there was
another called Nancy—and the third one was,
for some reason, addressed as Socks. With
them were his two friends. Bill Eversleigh
and Ronny Devereux, who were employed in
10
a purely ornamental capacity at the Foreign
Office.
"Hallo," said Nancy (or possibly Helen).
"It's Jimmy. Where's what's his name?"
"You don't mean to say," said Bill
Eversleigh, "that Gerry Wade's not up yet?
Something ought to be done about it."
"If he's not careful," said Ronny
Devereux, "he'll miss his breakfast altogether
one day—find it's lunch or tea instead when
he rolls down."
"It's a shame," said the girl called Socks.
"Because it worries Lady Coote so. She gets
more and more like a hen that wants to lay an
egg and can't. It's too bad."
"Let's pull him out of bed," suggested Bill.
"Come on. Jimmy."
"Oh! let's be more subtle than that," said
the girl called Socks. Subtle was a word of
which she was rather fond. She used it a great
deal.
"I'm not subtle," said Jimmy. "I don't
know how."
"Let's get together and do something about
it to-morrow morning," suggested Ronny
vaguely. "You know, get him up at seven.
Stagger the household. Tredwell loses his
false whiskers and drops the tea urn. Lady
11
Coote has hysterics and faints in Bill's armsBill being the weight carrier. Sir Oswald says
"Ha!" and steel goes up a point and five
eighths. Pongo registers emotion by throwing
down his spectacles and stamping on them."
"You don't know Gerry," said Jimmy.
"I daresay enough cold water might wake
him—judiciously applied, that is. But he'd
only turn over and go to sleep again."
"Oh! we must think of something more
subtle than cold water," said Socks.
"Well, what?" asked Ronny bluntly. And
nobody had any answer ready.
"We ought to be able to think of
something," said Bill. "Who's got any
brains?"
"Pongo," said Jimmy. "And here he is,
rushing along in a harried manner as usual.
Pongo was always the one for brains. It's
been his misfortune from his youth upwards.
Let's turn Pongo on to it."
Mr. Bateman listened patiently to a
somewhat incoherent statement. His attitude
was that of one poised for flight. He delivered
his solution without loss of time.
"I should suggest an alarum clock," he said
briskly. "I always use one myself for fear of
oversleeping. I find that early tea brought in
12
in a noiseless manner is sometimes powerless
to awaken one."
He hurried away.
"An alarum clock." Ronny shook his head.
^One alarum clock. It would take about a
dozen to disturb Gerry Wade."
"Well, why not?" Bill was Hushed and
earnest. "I've got it. Let's all go into Market
Basing and buy an alarum clock each."
There was laughter and discussion. Bill and
Ronny went off to get hold of cars. Jimmy
was deputed to spy upon the dining-room.
He returned rapidly.
"He's there right enough. Making up for
lost time and wolfing down toast and
marmalade. How are we going to prevent him
coming along with us?"
It was decided that Lady Coote must be
approached and instructed to hold him in
play. Jimmy and Nancy and Helen fulfilled
this duty. Lady Coote was bewildered and
apprehensive.
"A rag? You will be careful, won't you, my
dears? I mean, you won't smash the furniture
and wreck things or use too much water.
We've got to hand this house over next week,
you know. I shouldn't like Lord Caterham to
think——"
13
Bill, who had returned from the garage, broke in reassuringly.
"That's all right. Lady Coote. Bundle
Brent--Lord Caterham's daughter--is a great
friend of mine. And there's nothing she'd
stick at--absolutely nothing! You can take it
from me. And anyway there's not going to be
any damage done. This is quite a quiet
affair."
"Subtle," said the girl called Socks.
Lady Coote went sadly along ,the terrace
just as Gerald Wade emerged from the
breakfast-room. Jimmy Thesiger was a fair,
cherubic young man, and all that could be
said of Gerald Wade was that he was fairer
and more cherubic, and that his vacuous
expression made Jimmy's face quite intelligent
by contrast.
" 'Morning, Lady Coote," said Gerald
Wade. "Where are all the others?"
"They've all gone to Market Basing," said
Lady Coote.
"What for?"
"Some joke," said Lady Coote in her deep, melancholy voice.
"Rather early in the morning for jokes,"
said Mr. Wade.
14
"It's not so very early in the morning," said
Lady Coote pointedly.
"I'm afraid I was a bit late coming down,"
said Mr. Wade with engaging frankness. "It's
an extraordinary thing, but wherever I
happen to be staying, I'm always last to be
down."
"Very extraordinary," said Lady Coote.
"I don't know why it is," said Mr. Wade,
meditating. "I can't think, I'm sure."
"Why don't you just get up?" suggested
Lady Coote.
"Oh!" said Mr. Wade. The simplicity of
the solution rather took him aback.
Lady Coote went on earnestly.
"I've heard Sir Oswald say so many times
that's there's nothing for getting a young man
on in the world like punctual habits."
"Oh, I know," said Mr. Wade. "And I
have to when I'm in town. I mean, I have to
be round at the jolly old Foreign Office by
eleven o'clock. You mustn't think I'm always
a slacker. Lady Coote. I say, what awfully
jolly flowers you've got down in that lower
border. I can't remember the names of them,
but we've got some at home—those mauve
thingummybobs. My sister's tremendously
keen on gardening."
15
Lady Coote was immediately diverted. Her
wrongs rankled within her.
"What kind of gardeners do you have?"
"Oh just one. Rather an old fool, I believe.
Doesn't know much, but he does what he's
told. And that's a great thing, isn't it?"
Lady Coote agreed that it was with a depth
of feeling in her voice that would have been
invaluable to her as an emotional actress.
They began to discourse on the iniquities of
gardeners.
Meanwhile the expedition was doing well.
The principal emporium of Market Basing
had been invaded and the sudden demand for
alarum clocks was considerably puzzling the
proprietor.
"I wish we'd got Bundle here," murmured
Bill. "You know her, don't you. Jimmy? Oh,
you'd like her. She's a splendid girl—a real
good sport—and mark you, she's got brains
too. You know her, Ronny?"
Ronny shook his head.
"Don't know Bundle? Where have you
been vegetating? She's simply it."
"Be a bit more subtle. Bill," said Socks.
"Stop blethering about your lady friends and
get on with the business."
16
Mr. Murgatroyd, owner of Murgatroyd's
Stores, burst into eloquence.
"If you'll allow me to advise you. Miss, I
should say—not the 7/11 one. It's a good
clock—I'm not running it down, mark you,
but I should strongly advise this kind at 10/6.
Well worth the extra money. Reliability, you
understand. I shouldn't like you to say
afterwards——"
It was evident to everybody that Mr.
Murgatroyd must be turned off like a tap.
"We don't want a reliable clock," said
Nancy.
"It's got to go for one day, that's all," said
Helen.
"We don't want a subtle one," said Socks.
"We want one with a good loud ring."
"We want——" began Bill, but was unable
to finish, because Jimmy, who was of a
mechanical turn of mind, had at last grasped
the mechanism. For the next five minutes the
shop was hideous with the loud raucous
ringing of many alarum clocks.
In the end six excellent starters were
selected.
"And I'll tell you what," said Ronny
handsomely, "I'll get one for Pongo. It was
his idea, and it's a shame that he should be
17
out of it. He shall be represented among those
present."
"That's right," said Bill. "And I'll take an
extra one for Lady Coote. The more the
merrier. And she's doing some of the spade
work. Probably gassing away to old Gerry
now."
Indeed at this precise moment Lady Coote
was detailing a long story about MacDonald
and a prize peach and enjoying herself very
much.
The clocks were wrapped up and paid for.
Mr. Murgatroyd watched the cars drive away
with a puzzled air. Very spirited the young
people of the upper classes nowadays, very
spirited indeed, but not at all easy to
understand. He turned with relief to attend to
the vicar's wife, who wanted a new kind of
dripless teapot.
18
2
Concerning Alarum Clocks
" ^^ T OW where shall we put them?"
^^j Dinner was over. Lady Coote
-1- ^1 had been once more detailed for
duty. Sir Oswald had unexpectedly come to
the rescue by suggesting bridge—not that
suggesting is the right word. Sir Oswald, as
became one of "Our Captains of Industry"
(No. 7 of Series I), merely expressed a
preference and those around him hastened to
accommodate themselves to the great man^s
wishes.
Rupert Bateman and Sir Oswald were
partners against Lady Coote and Gerald
Wade, which was a very happy arrangement.
Sir Oswald played bridge, like he did
everything else, extremely well, and liked a
partner to correspond. Bateman was as
efficient a bridge player as he was a secretary.
Both of them confined themselves strictly to
the matter in hand, merely uttering in curt
short barks, "Two no trumps," "Double,"
19
"Three spades." Lady Coote and Gerald
Wade were amiable and discursive, and the
young man never failed to say at the
conclusion of each hand, "I say, partner, you
played that simply splendidly," in tones of
simple admiration which Lady Coote found
both novel and extremely soothing. They also
held very good cards.
The others were supposed to be dancing to
the wireless in the big ballroom. In reality
they were grouped around the door of Gerald
Wade's bedroom, and the air was full of
subdued giggles and the loud ticking of
clocks.
"Under the bed in a row," suggested
Jimmy in answer to Bill's question.
"And what shall we set them at? What
time, I mean? All together so that there's one
glorious what not, or at intervals?"
The point was hotly disputed. One party
argued that for a champion sleeper like Gerry
Wade the combined ringing of eight alarum
clocks was necessary. The other party argued
in favour of steady and sustained effort.
In the end the latter won the day. The
clocks were set to go off one after the other,
starting at 6.30 a.m.
20
"And I hope," said Bill virtuously, "that
this will be a lesson to him."
"Hear, hear," said Socks.
The business of hiding the clocks was just
being begun when there was a sudden alarm.
"Hist," cried Jimmy. "Somebody's coming
up the stairs."
There was a panic.
"It's all right," said Jimmy. "It's only
Pongo."
Taking advantage of being dummy, Mr.
Bateman was going to his room for a handkerchief.
He paused on his way and took in
the situation at a glance. He then made a
comment, a simple and practical one.
"He will hear them ticking when he goes to
bed."
The conspirators looked at each other.
"What did I tell you?" said Jimmy in a
reverent voice. "Pongo always did have
brains!"
The brainy one passed on.
"It's true," admitted Ronny Devereux, his
hand on one side. "Eight clocks all ticking at
once do make a devil of a row. Even old
Gerry, ass as he is, couldn't miss it. He'll
guess something's up."
"I wonder if he is," said Jimmy Thesiger.
21
"Is what?"
"Such an ass as we all think."
Ronny stared at him.
"We all know old Gerald."
"Do we?" said Jimmy. "I've sometimes
thought that--well, that it isn't possible for
anyone to be quite the ass old Gerry makes
himself out to be."
They all stared at him. There was a serious
look on Ronny's face.
"Jimmy," he said, "you've got brains."
"A second Pongo," said Bill encouragingly.

"Well, it just occurred to me, that's all,"
said Jimmy, defending himself.
"Oh! don't let's all be subtle," cried Socks.
"What are we to do about these clocks?"
"Here's Pongo coming back again. Let's
ask him," suggested Jimmy.
Pongo, urged to bring his great brain to
bear upon the matter, gave his decision.
"Wait till he's gone to bed and got to sleep.
Then enter the room very quietly and put the
clocks down on the floor."
"Little Pongo's right again," said Jimmy.
"On the word one all park clocks, and then
we'll go downstairs and disarm suspicion."
Bridge was still proceeding--with a slight
22
difference. Sir Oswald was now playing with
his wife and was conscientiously pointing out
to her the mistakes she had made during the
play of each hand. Lady Coote accepted
reproof good-humouredly, and with a
complete lack of any real interest. She
reiterated, not once, but many times:
"I see, dear. It's so kind of you to tell me."
And she continued to make exactly the
same errors.
At intervals, Gerald Wade said to Pongo:
"Well played, partner, jolly well played."
Bill Eversleigh was making calculations
with Ronny Devereux.
"Say he goes to bed about twelve—what do
you think we ought to give him—about an
hour?"
He yawned.
"Curious thing—three in the morning is
my usual time for bye-bye, but to-night, just
because I know we've got to sit up a bit, I'd
give anything to be a mother's boy and turn
in right away."
Everyone agreed that they felt the same.
"My dear Maria," rose the voice of Sir
Oswald in mild irritation, "I have told you
over and over again not to hesitate when you
23
are wondering whether to finesse or not. You
give the whole table information."
Lady Coote had a very good answer to
this—namely that as Sir Oswald was dummy,
he had no right to comment on the play of the
hand. But she did not make it. Instead she
smiled kindly, leaned her ample chest well
forward over the table, and gazed firmly into
Gerald Wade's hand where he sat on her
right.
Her anxieties lulled to rest by perceiving
the queen, she played the knave and took the
trick and proceeded to lay down her cards.
"Four tricks and the rubber," she
announced. "I think I was very lucky to get
four tricks there."
"Lucky," murmured Gerald Wade, as he
pushed back his chair and came over to the
fireside to join the others. "Lucky, she calls
it. That woman wants watching."
Lady Coote was gathering up notes and
silver.
"I know I'm not a good player," she
announced in a mournful tone which
nevertheless held an undercurrent of pleasure
in it. "But I'm really very lucky at the game."
"You'll never be a bridge player, Maria,"
said Sir Oswald.
24
FR1;"No, dear," said Lady Coote. "I know I
shan't. You're always telling me so. And I do
try so hard."
"She does," said Gerald Wade sotto voce. "There's no subterfuge about it. She'd put
her head right down on your shoulder if she
couldn't see into your hand any other way."
"I know you try," said Sir Oswald. "It's
just that you haven't any card sense."
"I know, dear," said Lady Coote. "That's
what you're always telling me. And you owe
me another ten shillings, Oswald."
"Do I?" Sir Oswald looked surprised.
"Yes. Seventeen hundred--eight pounds
ten. You've only given me eight pounds."
"Dear me," said Sir Oswald. "My
mistake."
Lady Coote smiled at him sadly and took
up the extra ten shilling note. She was very
fond other husband, but she had no intention
of allowing him to cheat her out of ten
shillings.
Sir Oswald moved over to a side table and
became hospitable with whisky and soda. It
was half past twelve when general goodnights
were said.
Ronny Devereux, who had the room next
door to Gerald Wade's was told off to report
SDM3 25
progress. At a quarter to two he crept round
tapping at doors. The party, pyjamaed and
dressing-gowned, assembled with various
scuffles and giggles and low whispers.
"His light went out about twenty minutes
ago," reported Ronny in a hoarse whisper. "I
thought he'd never put it out. I opened the
door just now and peeped in, and he seems
sound off. What about it?"
Once more the clocks were solemnly
assembled. Then another difficulty arose.
"We can't all go barging in. Make no end
of a row. One person's got to do it and the
others can hand him the whatnots from the
door."
Hot discussion then arose as to the proper
person to be selected.
The three girls were rejected on the
grounds that they would giggle. Bill
Eversleigh was rejected on the grounds of his
height, weight and heavy tread, also for his
general clumsiness, which latter clause he
fiercely denied. Jimmy Thesiger and Ronny
Devereux were considered possibles, but in
the end an overwhelming majority decided in
favour of Rupert Bateman.
"Pongo's the lad," agreed Jimmy.
"Anyway, he walks like a cat—always did.
26
And then, if Gerry should waken up, Pongo
will be able to think of some rotten silly thing
to say to him. You know, something plausible
that'll calm him down and not rouse his
suspicions."
"Something subtle," suggested the girl
Socks thoughtfully.
"Exactly," said Jimmy.
Pongo performed his job neatly and
efficiently. Cautiously opening the bedroom
door, he disappeared into the darkness inside
bearing the two largest clocks. In a minute or
two he reappeared on the threshold and two
more were handed to him and then again
twice more. Finally he emerged. Everyone
held their breath and listened. The
rhythmical breathing of Gerald Wade could
still be heard, but drowned, smothered and
buried beneath the triumphant, impassioned
ticking of Mr. Murgatroyd's eight alarum
clocks.
27
3

The Joke that Failed
"^-T^WELVE o'clock," said Socks
despairingly.
T
The joke--as a joke--had not gone
off any too well. The alarum clocks, on the
other hand, had performed their part. They had gone off--with a vigour and elan that
could hardly have been surpassed and which
had sent Roddy Devereux leaping out of
bed with a confused idea that the day of
judgment had come. If such had been the
effect in the room next door, what must it
have been at close quarters? Ronny hurried
out in the passage and applied his ear to the
crack of the door.
He expected profanity--expected it confidently
and with intelligent anticipation. But
he heard nothing at all. That is to say, he
heard nothing of what he expected. The
clocks were ticking all right--ticking in a
loud, arrogant, exasperating manner. And
presently another went off, ringing with a
28
crude, deafening note that would have
aroused acute irritation in a deaf man.
There was no doubt about it; the clocks had
performed their part faithfully. They did all
and more than Mr. Murgatroyd had claimed
for them. But apparently they had met their
match in Gerald Wade.
The syndicate was inclined to be
despondent about it.
"The lad isn't human," grumbled Jimmy
Thesiger.
"Probably thought he heard the telephone
in the distance and rolled over and went to
sleep again," suggested Helen (or possibly
Nancy).
"It seems to me very remarkable," said
Rupert Bateman seriously. "I think he ought
to see a doctor about it."
"Some disease of the eardrums,"
suggested Bill hopefully.
"Well, if you ask me," said Socks, "I think
he's just spoofing us. Of course they woke
him up. But he's just going to do us down by
pretending that he didn't hear anything."
Everyone looked at Socks with respect and
admiration.
"It's an idea," said Bill.
- "He's subtle, that's what it is," said Socks.
29
"You'll see, he'll be extra late for breakfast
this morning—just to show us."
And since the clock now pointed to some
minutes past twelve the general opinion was
that Sock's theory was a correct one. Only
Ronny Devereux demurred.
"You forget, I was outside the door when
the first one went off. Whatever old Gerry
decided to do later, the first one must have
surprised him. He'd have let out something
about it. Where did you put it, Pongo?"
"On a little table close by his ear," said Mr.
Bateman.
"That was thoughtful of you, Pongo," said
Ronny. "Now, tell me." He turned to Bill.
"If a whacking great bell started ringing
within a few inches of your ear at half past six
in the morning, what would you say about
it?"
"Oh, Lord," said Bill. "I should say——"
He came to a stop.
"Of course you would," said Ronny. "So
would I. So would anyone. What they call the
natural man would emerge. Well, it didn't.
So I say that Pongo is right—as usual—and
that Gerry has got an obscure disease of the
eardrums."
30
"It's now twenty" past twelve," said one
of the other girls sadly.
"I say," said Jimmy slowly, "that's a bit
beyond anything, isn't it? I mean a joke's a
joke. But this is carrying it a bit far. It's a
shade hard on the Cootes."
Bill stared at him.
"What are you getting at?"
"Well," said Jimmy. "Somehow or otherit's not like old Gerry."
He found it hard to put into words just
what he meant to say. He didn't want to say
too much, and yet—— He saw Ronny looking
at him. Ronny was suddenly alert.
It was at that moment Tredwell came into
the room and looked round him hesitatingly.
"I thought Mr. Bateman was here," he
explained apologetically.
"Just gone out this minute through the
window," said Ronny. "Can I do anything?"
Tredwell's eyes wandered from him to
Jimmy Thesiger and then back again. As
though singled out, the two young men left
the room with him. Tredwell closed the
dining-room door carefully behind him.
"Well," said Ronny. "What's up?"
"Mr. Wade not having yet come down, sir,
31
I took the liberty of sending Williams up to
his room."
"Yes?"
"Williams has just come running down
in a great state of agitation, sir." Tredwell
paused--a pause of preparation. "I am afraid, sir, the poor young gentleman must have died
in his sleep."
Jimmy and Ronny stared at him.
"Nonsense," cried Ronny at last. "It's--
it's impossible. Gerry----" His face worked
suddenly. "I'll--I'll run up and see. That fool
Williams may have made a mistake."
Tredwell stretched out a detaining hand.
With a queer, unnatural feeling of detachment, Jimmy realised that the butler had the
whole situation in hand.
"No, sir, Williams has made no mistake. I
have already sent for Dr. Cartwright, and in
the meantime I have taken the liberty of
locking the door, preparatory to informing
Sir Oswald of what has occurred. I must now
find Mr. Bateman."
Tredwell hurried away. Ronny stood like a
man dazed.
"Gerry," he muttered to himself.
Jimmy took his friend by the arm and
steered him out through a side door on to a
32
secluded portion of^he terrace. He pushed
him down on to a seat.
"Take it easy, old son," he said kindly.
"You'll get your wind in a minute."
But he looked at him rather curiously. He
had had no idea that Ronny was such a friend
of Gerry Wade's.
"Poor old Gerry," he said thoughtfully. "If
ever a man looked fit, he did."
Ronny nodded.
"All that clock business seems so rotten
now," went on Jimmy. "It's odd, isn't it, why
farce so often seems to get mixed up with
tragedy?"
He was talking more or less at random, to
give Ronny time to recover himself. The
other moved restlessly.
"I wish that doctor would come. I want to
know——"
"Know what?"
"What he-died of."
Jimmy pursed up his lips.
"Heart?" he hazarded.
Ronny gave a short, scornful laugh.
"I say, Ronny," said Jimmy.
"Well?"
Jimmy found a difficulty in going on.
"You don't mean—you aren't thinking—I
33
mean, you haven't got it into your head that--- that, well, I mean he wasn't biffed on the
head or anything? Tredwell's locking the
door and all that."
It seemed to Jimmy that his words deserved
an answer, but Ronny continued to stare
straight out in front of him.
Jimmy shook his head and relapsed into
silence. He didn't see that there was anything
to do except just wait. So he waited.
It was Tredwell who disturbed them.
"The doctor would like to see you two
gentlemen in the library, if you please, sir."
Ronny sprang up. Jimmy followed him.
Dr. Cartwright was a thin, energetic young
man with a clever face. He greeted them with
a brief nod. Pongo, looking more serious
and spectacled than ever, performed introductions.

"I understand you were a great friend of
Mr. Wade's," the doctor said to Ronny.
"His greatest friend."
"H'm. Well, this business seems straightforward
enough. Sad, though. He looked a
healthy young chap. Do you know if he was
in the habit of taking stuff to make him
sleep?"
34
"Make him sleepy Ronny stared. "He
always slept like a top."
"You never heard him complain of sleeplessness?"

"Never."
"Well, the facts are simple enough.
There'll have to be an inquest, I'm afraid,
nevertheless."
"How did he die?"
"There's not much doubt, I should say an
overdose of chloral. The stuff was by his bed.
And a bottle and glass. Very sad, these things
are."
It was Jimmy who asked the question
which he felt was trembling on his friend's
lips, and yet which the other could somehow
or other not get out.
"There's no question of--foul play?"
The doctor looked at him sharply.
"Why do you say that? Any cause to
suspect it, eh?"
Jimmy looked at Ronny. If Ronny knew
anything now was the time to speak. But to
his astonishment Ronny shook his head.
"No cause whatever," he said clearly.
"And suicide-eh?"
"Certainly not."
35
Ronny was emphatic. The doctor was not
so clearly convinced.
"No troubles that you know of? Money
troubles? A woman?"
Again Ronny shook his head.
"Now about his relations. They must be
notified."
"He's got a sister—a half-sister rather.
Lives at Deane Priory. About twenty miles
from here. When he wasn't in town Gerry
lived with her."
"H'm," said the doctor. "Well, she must
be told."
"I'll go," said Ronny. "It's a rotten job,
but somebody's got to do it." He looked at
Jimmy. "You know her, don't you?"
"Slightly. I've danced with her once or
twice."
"Then we'll go in your car. You don't
mind, do you? I can't face it alone."
"That's all right," said Jimmy reassuringly.
"I was going to suggest it myself. I'll go and
get the old bus cranked up."
He was glad to have something to do.
Ronny's manner puzzled him. What did he
know or suspect? And why had he not voiced
his suspicions, if he had them, to the doctor.
Presently the two friends were skimming
36
along in Jimmy's car with a cheerful
disregard for such things as speed limits.
"Jimmy," said Ronny at last, "I suppose
you're about the best pal I have—now."
"Well," said Jimmy, "what about it?"
He spoke gruffly.
"There's something I'd like to tell you.
something you ought to know."
"About Gerry Wade?"
"Yes, about Gerry Wade."
Jimmy waited.
"Well?" he inquired at last.
"I don't know that I ought to," said Ronny.
"Why?"
"I'm bound by a kind of promise."
"Oh! Well then, perhaps you'd better not."
There was silence.
"And yet, I'd like—— You see. Jimmy,
your brains are better than mine."
"They could easily be that," said Jimmy
unkindly.
"No, I can't," said Ronny suddenly.
"All right," said Jimmy. "Just as you like."
After a long silence, Ronny said:
"What's she like?"
"Who?"
"This girl. Gerry's sister."
Jimmy was silent for some minutes, then he
37
said in a voice that had somehow or other
altered:
"She's all right. In fact—well, she's a
corker."
"Gerry was very devoted to her, I knew.
He often spoke other."
"She was very devoted to Gerry. It—it's
going to hit her hard."
"Yes, a nasty job."
They were silent till they reached Deane
Priory.
Miss Loraine, the maid told them, was in
the garden. Unless they wanted to see Mrs.
Coker——
Jimmy was eloquent that they did not want
to see Mrs. Coker.
"Who's Mrs. Coker?" asked Ronny as they
went round into the somewhat neglected
garden.
"The old trout who lives with Loraine."
They had stepped out into a paved walk. At
the end of it was a girl with two black
spaniels. A small girl, very fair, dressed in
shabby old tweeds. Not at all the girl that
Ronny had expected to see. Not, in fact,
Jimmy's usual type.
Holding one dog by the collar, she came
down the pathway to meet them.
38
"How do you do," she said. "You mustn't
mind Elizabeth. She's just had some puppies
and .she's very suspicious."
She had a supremely natural manner and,
as she looked up smiling, the faint wild rose
flush deepened in her cheeks. Her eyes were a
very dark blue—like cornflowers.
Suddenly they widened—was it with alarm?
As though, already, she guessed.
Jimmy hastened to speak.
"This is Ronny Devereux, Miss Wade.
You must often have heard Gerry speak of
him."
"Oh, yes." She turned a lovely, warm,
welcoming smile on him. "You've both been
staying at Chimneys, haven't you? Why
didn't you bring Gerry over with you?"
"We—er—couldn't," said Ronny, and then
stopped.
Again Jimmy saw the look of fear flash into
her eyes.
"Miss Wade," he said, "I'm afraid-I
mean, we've got bad news for you."
She was on the alert in a moment.
"Gerry?"
"Yes-Gerry. He's——"
She stamped her foot with sudden passion.
"Oh! tell me—tell me——" She turned
39
suddenly on Ronny. "You'll tell me."
Jimmy felt a pang of jealousy, and in that
moment he knew what up to now he had
hesitated to admit to himself. He knew why
Helen and Nancy and Socks were just "girls"
to him and nothing more.
He only half heard Ronny's voice saying
gravely:
"Yes, Miss Wade, I'll tell you. Gerry is
dead."
She had plenty of pluck. She gasped and
drew back, but in a minute or two she was
asking eager, searching questions. How?
When?
Ronny answered her as gently as he could.
"Sleeping draught? Gerry?"
The incredulity in her voice was plain.
Jimmy gave her a glance. It was almost a
glance of warning. He had a sudden feeling
that Loraine in her innocence might say too
much.
In his turn he explained as gently as
possible the need for an inquest. She
shuddered. She declined their offer of taking
her back to Chimneys with them, but
explained she would come over later. She had
a two-seater of her own.
40
"But I want to be'-be alone a little first,"
she said piteously.
"I know," said Ronny.
"That's all right," said Jimmy.
They looked at her, feeling awkward and
helpless.
"Thank you both ever so much for
coming."
They drove back in silence and there was
something like constraint between them.
"My God! that girl's plucky," said Ronny
once.
Jimmy agreed.
"Gerry was my friend," said Ronny. "It's
up to me to keep an eye on her."
"Oh! rather. Of course."
They said no more.
On returning to Chimneys Jimmy was
waylaid by a tearful Lady Coote.
"That poor boy," she kept repeating.
"That poor boy."
Jimmy made all the suitable remarks he
could think of.
Lady Coote told him at great length various
details about the decease of various dear
friends others. Jimmy listened with a show of
sympathy and at last managed to detach
himself without actual rudeness.
SDM 4 41
He ran lightly up the stairs. Ronny was just
emerging from Gerald Wade's room. He
seemed taken aback at the sight of Jimmy.
"I've been in to see him," he said. "Are
you going in?"
"I don't think so," said Jimmy, who was a
healthy young man with a natural dislike to
being reminded of death.
"I think all his friends ought to."
"Oh! do you?" said Jimmy, and registered
to himself an impression that Ronny
Devereux was damned odd about it all.
"Yes. It's a sign of respect."
Jimmy sighed, but gave in.
"Oh! very well," he said, and passed in,
setting his teeth a little.
There were white flowers arranged on the
coverlet, and the room had been tidied and
set to rights.
Jimmy gave one quick, nervous glance at
the still, white face. Could that be cherubic,
pink Gerry Wade? That still peaceful figure.
He shivered.
As he turned to leave the room, his glance
swept the mantelshelf and he stopped in
astonishment. The alarm clocks had been
ranged along it neatly in a row.
42
He went out sharply. Ronny was waiting
for him.
"Looks very peaceful and all that. Rotten
luck on him," mumbled Jimmy.
Then he said:
"I say, Ronny, who arranged all those
clocks like that in a row?"
"How should I know? One of the servants,
I suppose."
"The funny thing is," said Jimmy, "that
there are seven of them, not eight. One of
them's missing. Did you notice that?"
Ronny made an inaudible sound.
"Seven instead of eight," said Jimmy,
frowning. "I wonder why."
43
4
A Letter
" Y NCONSIDERATE, that's what I call
| it," said Lord Caterham.
JL He spoke in a gentle, plaintive voice
and seemed pleased with the adjective he had
found.
"Yes, distinctly inconsiderate. I often find
these self-made men are inconsiderate. Very
possibly that is why they amass such large
fortunes."
He looked mournfully out over his
ancestral acres, of which he had today
regained possession.
His daughter. Lady Eileen Brent, known to
her friends and society in general as
"Bundle," laughed.
"You'll certainly never amass a large
fortune," she observed dryly, "though you
didn't do so badly out of old Coote, sticking
him for this place. What was he like?
Presentable?"
"One of those large men," said Lord
44
ft
Caterham, shuddering slightly, "with a red
square face and iron-grey hair. Powerful, you
know. What they call a forceful personality.
The kind of man you'd get if a steamroller
were turned into a human being."
"Rather tiring?" suggested Bundle
sympathetically.
"Frightfully tiring, full of all the most
depressing virtues like sobriety and punctuality.
I don't know which are the worst,
powerful personalities or earnest politicians. I
do so prefer the cheerful inefficient."
"A cheerful inefficient wouldn't have been
able to pay you the price you asked for this
old mausoleum," Bundle reminded him.
Lord Caterham winced.
"I wish you wouldn't use that word, Bundle. We were just getting away from the
subject."
"I don't see why you're so frightfully
sensitive about it," said Bundle. "After all,
people must die somewhere."
"They needn't die in my house," said Lord
Caterham.
"I don't see why not. Lots of people have.
Masses of stuffy old great grandfathers and
grandmothers."
"That's different," said Lord Caterham.
45
"Naturally I expect Brents to die here--they
don't count. But I do object to strangers. And
I especially object to inquests. The thing will
become a habit soon. This is the second. You
remember all that fuss we had four years ago?
For which, by the way, I hold George Lomax
entirely to blame."
"And now you're blaming poor old steamroller
Coote. I'm sure he was quite as
annoyed about it as anyone."
"Very inconsiderate," said Lord Caterham
obstinately. "People who are likely to do that
sort of thing oughtn't to be asked to stay. And
you may say what you like. Bundle, I don't
like inquests. I never have and I never shall."
"Well, this wasn't the same sort of thing as
the last one," said Bundle soothingly. "I
mean, it wasn't a murder."
"It might have been--from the fuss that
thickhead of an inspector made. He's never
got over that business four years ago. He
thinks every death that takes place here must
necessarily be a case of foul play fraught with
grave political significance. You've no idea
the fuss he made. I've been hearing about it
from Tredwell. Tested everything imaginable
for finger-prints. And of course they only
found the dead man's own. The clearest case
46
imaginable—though whether it was suicide or
accident is another matter."
"I met Gerry Wade once," said Bundle.
"He was a friend of Bill's. You'd have liked
him. Father, I never saw anyone more
cheerfully inefficient than he was."
"I don't like anyone who comes and dies in
my house on purpose to annoy me," said
Lord Caterham obstinately.
"But I certainly can't imagine anyone
murdering him," continued Bundle. "The
idea's absurd."
"Of course it is," said Lord Caterham. "Or
would be to anyone but an ass like Inspector
Raglan."
"I daresay looking for finger-prints made
him feel important," said Bundle soothingly.
"Anyway, they brought it in 'Death by
misadventure,' didn't they?"
Lord Caterham acquiesced.
"They had to show some consideration for
the sister's feelings."
"Was there a sister? I didn't know."
"Half-sister, I believe. She was much
younger. Old Wade ran away with her
mother—he was always doing that sort of
thing. No woman appealed to him unless she
belonged to another man."
47
"I'm glad there's one bad habit you haven't
got," said Bundle.
"I've always led a very respectable Godfearing
life," said Lord Caterham. "It seems
extraordinary, considering how little harm I
do to anybody, that I can't be let alone. If
only——"
He stopped as Bundle made a sudden
excursion through the window.
"MacDonald," called Bundle in a clear,
autocratic voice.
The emperor approached. Something that
might possibly have been taken for a smile
of welcome tried to express itself on his
countenance, but the natural gloom of
gardeners dispelled it.
"Your ladyship?" said MacDonald.
"How are you?" said Bundle.
"I'm no verra grand," said MacDonald.
"I wanted to speak to you about the
bowling green. It's shockingly overgrown.
Put someone on to it, will you?"
MacDonald shook his head dubiously.
"It would mean taking William from the
lower border, m'lady."
"Damn the lower border," said Bundle.
"Let him start at once. And MacDonald——"
"Yes, m'lady?"
48
"Let's have some ®if those grapes in from
the far house. I know it's the wrong time to
cut them because it always is, but I want
them all the same. See?"
Bundle re-entered the library.
"Sorry, Father," she said. "I wanted to
catch MacDonald. Were you speaking?"
"As a matter of fact I was," said Lord
Caterham. "But it doesn't matter. What were
you saying to MacDonald?"
"Trying to cure him of thinking he's God
Almighty. But that's an impossible task. I
expect the Cootes have been bad for him.
MacDonald wouldn't care one hoot, or even
two hoots, for the largest steam-roller that
ever was. What's Lady Coote like?"
Lord Caterham considered the question.
"Very like my idea of Mrs. Siddons," he
said at last. "I should think she went in a lot
for amateur theatricals. I gather she was very
upset about the clock business."
"What clock business?"
"Tredwell has just been telling me. It
seems the houseparty had some joke on. They
bought a lot of alarum clocks and hid them
about this young Wade's room. And then, of
course, the poor chap was dead. Which made
the whole thing rather beastly."
49
Bundle nodded.
"Tredwell told me something else rather
odd about the clocks," continued Lord
Caterham, who was now quite enjoying
himself. "It seems that somebody collected
them all and put them in a row on the
mantelpiece after the poor fellow was dead."
"Well, why not?" said Bundle.
"I don't see why not myself," said Lord
Caterham. "But apparently there was some
fuss about it. No one would own up to having
done it, you see. All the servants were
questioned and swore they hadn't touched
the beastly things. In fact, it was rather a
mystery. And then the coroner asked
questions at the inquest, and you know how
difficult it is to explain things to people of
that class."
"Perfectly foul," agreed Bundle.
"Of course," said Lord Caterham, "it's
very difficult to get the hang of things
afterwards. I didn't quite see the point of half
the things Tredwell told me. By the way,
Bundle, the fellow died in your room."
Bundle made a grimace.
"Why need people die in my room?" she
asked with some indignation.
"That's just what I've been saying," said
50
Lord Caterham, in triumph. "Inconsiderate.
Everybody's damned .inconsiderate nowadays."

"Not that I mind," said Bundle valiantly.
"Why should I?"
"I should," said her father. "I should mind
very much. I should dream things, you
know--spectral hands and clanking chains."
"Well," said Bundle. "Great Aunt Louisa
died in your bed. I wonder you don't see her Spock hovering over you."
"I do sometimes," said Lord Caterham, shuddering. "Especially after lobster."
"Well, thank heaven I'm not superstitious,"
declared Bundle.
Yet that evening, as she sat in front of her
bedroom fire, a slim, pyjamaed figure, she
found her thoughts reverting to that cheery, vacuous young man, Gerry Wade. Impossible
to believe that anyone so full of the joy of
living could deliberately have committed
suicide. No, the other solution must be the
right one. He had taken a sleeping draught
and by a pure mistake had swallowed an
overdose. That was possible. She did not
fancy that Gerry Wade had been overburdened
in an intellectual capacity.
Her gaze shifted to the mantelpiece and she
51
began thinking about the story of the clocks.
Her maid had been full of that, having
just been primed by the second housemaid.
She had added a detail which apparently
Tredwell had not thought worth while
retailing to Lord Caterham, but which had
piqued Bundle's curiosity.
Seven clocks had been neatly ranged on the
mantelpiece; the last and remaining one had
been found on the lawn outside, where it had
obviously been thrown from the window.
Bundle puzzled over that point now. It
seemed such an extraordinarily purposeless
thing to do. She could imagine that one of the
maids might have tidied the clocks and then,
frightened by the inquisition into the matter,
have denied doing so. But surely no maid
would have thrown a clock into the garden.
Had Gerry Wade done so when its first
sharp summons woke him? But no, that again
was impossible. Bundle remembered hearing
that his death must have taken place in the
early hours of the morning, and he would
have been in a comatose condition for some
time before that.
Bundle frowned. This business of the
clocks was curious. She must get hold of Bill
Eversleigh. He had been there, she knew.
52
To think was to act with Bundle. She got
up and went over to the writing desk. It was
an inlaid affair with a lid that rolled back.
Bundle sat down at it, pulled a sheet of
notepaper towards her and wrote.
dear bill,----
She paused to pull out the lower part of
the desk. It had stuck half-way, as she
remembered it often did. Bundle tugged at it
impatiently but it did not move. She recalled
that on a former occasion an envelope had
been pushed back with it and had jammed it
for the time being. She took a thin paperknife
and slipped it into the narrow crack.
She was so far successful that a corner of
white paper showed. Bundle caught hold of it
and drew it out. It was the first sheet of a
letter, somewhat crumpled.
It was the date that first caught Bundle's
eye. A big flourishing date that leaped out
from the paper. Sept. 21st.
"September 21st," said Bundle slowly. "Why, surely that was----"
She broke off. Yes, she was sure of it. The
22nd was the day Gerry Wade was found
dead. This, then, was a letter he must have
been writing on the very evening of the
tragedy.
53
Bundle smoothed it out and read it. It was
unfinished.
"my darling loraine,—! will be down
on Wednesday. Am feeling awfully fit and
rather pleased with myself all round. It will
be heavenly to see you. Look here, do forget
what I said about that Seven Dials business. I
thought it was going to be more or less of a
joke—but it isn't—anything but. I'm sorry I
ever said anything about it—it's not the kind
of business kids like you ought to be mixed
up in. So forget about it, see?
"Something else I wanted to tell you—but
I'm so sleepy I can't keep my eyes open.
"Oh, about Lurcher; I think——"
Here the letter broke off.
Bundle sat frowning. Seven Dials. Where
was that? Some rather slummy district of
London, she fancied. The words Seven Dials
reminded her of something else, but for the
moment she couldn't think of what. Instead
her attention fastened on two phrases. "Am
feeling awfully fit . . ." and "I'm so sleepy I
can't keep my eyes open."
That didn't fit in. That didn't fit in at all.
For it was that very night that Gerry Wade
54
had taken such a heavy dose of chloral that he
never woke again. And if what he had written
in that letter were true, why should he have
taken it?
Bundle shook her head. She looked round
the room and gave a slight shiver. Supposing
Gerry Wade were watching her now. In this
room he had died . . .
She sat very still. The silence was unbroken
save for the ticking of her little gold clock.
That sounded unnaturally loud and important.

Bundle glanced towards the mantelpiece. A
vivid picture rose before her mind's eye. The
dead man lying on the bed, and seven clocks
ticking on the mantelpiece--ticking loudly, ominously . . . ticking . . . ticking . . .
55
5
The Man in the Road
"T^ATHER," said Bundle, opening the
r^ door of Lord Caterham's special sancJL
turn and putting her head in, "I'm
going up to town in the Hispano. I can't
stand the monotony down here any longer."
"We only got home yesterday," complained
Lord Caterham.
"I know. It seems like a hundred years. I'd
forgotten how dull the country could be."
"I don't agree with you," said Lord
Caterham. "It's peaceful, that's what it is--
peaceful. And extremely comfortable. I
appreciate getting back to Tredwell more
than I can tell you. That man studies my
comfort in the most marvellous manner.
Somebody came round only this morning to
know if they could hold a tally for girl guides
here----"
"A rally," interrupted Bundle.
"Rally or tally--it's all the same. Some silly
word meaning nothing whatever. But it
56
would have put me in a very awkward
position—having to refuse—in fact, I
probably shouldn't have refused. But
Tredwell got me out of it. I've forgotten what
he said—something damned ingenious which
couldn't hurt anybody's feelings and which
knocked the idea on the head absolutely."
"Being comfortable isn't enough for me,"
said Bundle. "I want excitement."
Lord Caterham shuddered.
"Didn't we have enough excitement four
years ago?" he demanded plaintively.
"I'm about ready for some more," said
Bundle. "Not that I expect I shall find any in
town. But at any rate I shan't dislocate my
jaw with yawning."
"In my experience," said Lord Caterham,
"people who go about looking for trouble
usually find it." He yawned. "All the same,"
he added, "I wouldn't mind running up to
town myself."
"Well, come on," said Bundle. "But be
quick, because I'm in a hurry."
Lord Caterham, who had begun to rise
from his chair, paused.
"Did you say you were in a hurry?" he
asked suspiciously.
"In the devil of a hurry," said Bundle.
SDM5 57
"That settles it," said Lord Caterham.
"I'm not coming. To be driven by you in the
Hispano when you're in a hurry—no, it's not
fair on any elderly man. I shall stay here."
"Please yourself," said Bundle, and
withdrew.
Tredwell took her place.
"The vicar, my lord, is most anxious to see
you, some unfortunate controversy having
arisen about the status of the Boys' Brigade."
Lord Caterham groaned.
"I rather fancied, my lord, that I had heard
you mention at breakfast that you were
strolling down to the village this morning to
converse with the vicar on the subject."
"Did you tell him so?" asked Lord
Caterham eagerly.
"I did, my lord. He departed, if I may say
so, hot foot. I hope I did right, my lord?"
"Of course you did, Tredwell. You are
always right. You couldn't go wrong if you
tried."
Tredwell smiled benignly and withdrew.
Bundle meanwhile was sounding the
Klaxon impatiently before the lodge gates,
while a small child came hastening out with
all speed from the lodge, admonishment from
her mother following her.
58
"Make haste, Katfe. That be her ladyship
in a mortal hurry as always."
It was indeed characteristic of Bundle to be
in a hurry, especially when driving a car. She
had skill and nerve and was a good driver,
had it been otherwise her reckless pace would
have ended in disaster more than once.
It was a crisp October day, with a blue sky
and a dazzling sun. The sharp tang of the air
brought the blood to Bundle's cheeks and
filled her with the zest of living.
She had that morning sent Gerald Wade's
unfinished letter to Loraine Wade at Deane
Priory, enclosing a few explanatory lines.
The curious impression it had made upon her
was somewhat dimmed in the daylight, yet it
still struck her as needing explanation. She
intended to get hold of Bill Eversleigh
sometime and extract from him fuller details
of the house-party which had ended so
tragically. In the meantime, it was a lovely
morning and she felt particularly well and the
Hispano was running like a dream.
Bundle pressed her foot down on the
accelerator and the Hispano responded at
once. Mile after mile vanished, traffic was
few and far between and Bundle had a clear
stretch of road in front of her.
59
And then, without any warning whatever, a
man reeled out of the hedge and on to the
road right in front of the car. To stop in time
was out of the question. With all her might
Bundle wrenched at the steering wheel and
swerved out to the right. The car was nearly
in the ditch—nearly, but not quite. It was a
dangerous manoeuvre, but it succeeded.
Bundle was almost certain that she had
missed the man.
She looked back and felt a sickening
sensation in the middle of her anatomy. The
car had not passed over the man, but
nevertheless it must have struck him in
passing. He was lying face downwards on the
road, and he lay ominously still.
Bundle jumped out and ran back. She had
never yet run over anything more important
than a stray hen. The fact that the accident
was hardly her fault did not weigh with her at
the minute. The man had seemed drunk, but
drunk or not, she had killed him. She was
quite sure she had killed him. Her heart
beat sickeningly in great pounding thumps,
sounding right up in her ears.
She knelt down by the prone figure and
turned him very gingerly over. He neither
groaned nor moaned. He was young, she saw,
60
rather a pleasant-faced young man, well
dressed and wearing a small toothbrush
moustache.
There was no external mark of injury that
she could see, but she was quite positive that
he was either dead or dying. His eyelids
flickered and the eyes half opened. Piteous
eyes, brown and suffering, like a dog's. He
seemed to be struggling to speak. Bundle
bent right over.
"Yes," she said. "Yes?"
There was something he wanted to say, she
could see that. Wanted to say badly. And she
couldn't help him, couldn't do anything.
At last the words came, a mere sighing
breath:
"Seven Dials . . . tell ..."
"Yes," said Bundle again. It was a name he
was trying to get out—trying with all his
failing strength. "Yes. Who am I to tell?"
" Tell.. . Jimmy Thesiger ..." He got it out
at last, and then, suddenly, his head fell back
and his body went limp.
Bundle sat back on her heels, shivering
from head to foot. She could never have
imagined that anything so awful could have
happened to her. He was dead—and she had
killed him.
61
She tried to pull herself together. What
must she do now? A doctor—that was her first
thought. It was possible—just possible—that
the man might only be unconscious, not
dead. Her instinct cried out against the
possibility, but she forced herself to act upon
it. Somehow or other she must get him into
the car and take him to the nearest doctors. It
was a deserted stretch of country road and
there was no one to help her.
Bundle, for all her slimness, was strong.
She had muscles of whipcord. She brought
the Hispano as close as possible, and then,
exerting all her strength, she dragged and
pulled the inaminate figure into it. It was a
horrid business, and one that made her set
her teeth, but at last she managed it.
Then she jumped into the driver's seat and
started off. A couple of miles brought her into
a small town and on inquiry she was quickly
directed to the doctor's house.
Dr. Cassell, a kindly, middle-aged man,
was startled to come into his surgery and find
a girl there who was evidently on the verge of
collapse.
Bundle spoke abruptly.
"I—I think I've killed a man. I ran over
him. I brought him along in the car. He's
62
outside now. I--I was driving too fast, I
suppose. I've always driven too fast."
The doctor cast a practised glance over her.
He stepped over to the shelf and poured
something into a glass. He brought it over to
her.
"Drink this down," he said, "and you'll
feel better. You've had a shock."
Bundle drank obediently and a tinge of
colour came into her pallid face. The doctor
nodded approvingly.
"That's right. Now I want you to sit
quietly here. I'll go out and attend to things.
After I've made sure there's nothing to be
done for the poor fellow, I'll come back and
we'll talk about it."
He was away some time. Bundle watched
the clock on the mantelpiece. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour, twenty
minutes--would he never come?
Then the door opened and Dr. Cassell
reappeared. He looked different--Bundle
noticed that at once--grimmer and at the
same time more alert. There was something
else in his manner that she did not quite
understand, a suggestion of repressed excitement.

"Now then, young lady," he said. "Let's
63
have this out. You ran over this man, you say.
Tell me just how the accident happened?"
Bundle explained to the best of her ability.
The doctor followed her narrative with keen
attention.
"Just so; the car didn't pass over his
body?"
"No. In fact, I thought I'd missed him
altogether."
"He was reeling, you say?"
"Yes, I thought he was drunk."
"And he came from the hedge?"
"There was a gate just there, I think. He
must have come through the gate."
The doctor nodded, then he leaned back in
his chair and removed his pincenez.
"I've no doubt at all," he said, "that you're
a very reckless driver, and that you'll
probably run over some poor fellow and do
for him one of these days--but you haven't
done it this time."
"But----"
"The car never touched him. This man was
shot:9
64
6
Seven Dials Again
BJNDLE stared at him. And very slowly
the world, which for the last three
quarters of an hour had been upside
down, shifted till it stood once more the right
way up. It was quite two minutes before
Bundle spoke, but when she did it was no
longer the panic-stricken girl but the real
Bundle, cool, efficient and logical.
"How could he be shot?" she said.
"I don't know how he could," said the
doctor dryly. "But he was. He's got a rifle
bullet in him all right. He bled internally,
that's why you didn't notice anything."
Bundle nodded.
"The question is," the doctor continued,
"who shot him? You saw nobody about?"
Bundle shook her head.
"It's odd," said the doctor. "If it was an
accident, you'd expect the fellow who did it
would come running to the rescue—unless
65
just possibly he didn't know what he'd
done."
"There was no one about," said Bundle.
"On the road, that is."
"It seems to me," said the doctor, "that the
poor lad must have been running—the bullet
got him just as he passed through the gate
and he came reeling on to the road in
consequence. You didn't hear a shot?"
Bundle shook her head.
"But I probably shouldn't anyway," she
said, "with the noise of the car."
"Just so. He didn't say anything before he
died?"
"He muttered a few words."
"Nothing to throw light on the tragedy?"
"No. He wanted something—I don't know
what—told to a friend of his. Oh! yes, and he
mentioned Seven Dials."
"H'm," said Doctor Cassell. "Not a likely
neighbourhood for one of his class. Perhaps
his assailant came from there. Well, we
needn't worry about that now. You can leave
it in my hands. I'll notify the police. You
must, of course, leave your name and address,
as the police are sure to want to question you.
In fact, perhaps you'd better come round to
66
the police station with me now. They might
say I ought to have detained you."
They went together in Bundle's car. The
police inspector was a slow-speaking man. He
was somewhat overawed by Bundle's name
and address when she gave it to him, and he
took down her statement with great care.
"Lads!" he said. "That's what it is. Lads
practising! Cruel stupid, them young varmints
are. Always loosing off at birds with no
consideration for anyone as may be the other
side of a hedge."
The doctor thought it a most unlikely
solution, but he realised that the case would
soon be in abler hands and it did not seem
worth while to make objections.
"Name of deceased?" asked the sergeant,
moistening his pencil.
"He had a card-case on him. He appears to
have been a Mr. Ronald Devereux, with an
address in the Albany."
Bundle frowned. The name Ronald
Devereux awoke some chord of remembrance.
She was sure she had heard it before.
It was not until she was half-way back to
Chimneys in the car that it came to her. Of
course! Ronny Devereux. Bill's friend in the
67
Foreign Office. He and Bill and—yes—Gerald
Wade.
As this last realisation came to her. Bundle
nearly went into the hedge. First Gerald
Wade—then Ronny Devereux. Gerry Wade's
death might have been natural—the result of
carelessness—but Ronny Devereux's surely
bore a more sinister interpretation.
And then Bundle remembered something
else. Seven Dials! When the dying man had
said it, it had seemed vaguely familiar. Now
she knew why. Gerald Wade had mentioned
Seven Dials in that last letter of his written to
his sister on the night before his death. And
that again connected up with something else
that escaped her.
Thinking all these things over. Bundle had
slowed down to such a sober pace that
nobody would have recognised her. She
drove the car round to the garage and went in
search of her father. .
Lord Caterham was happily reading a
catalogue of a forthcoming sale of rare
editions and was immeasurably astonished to
see Bundle.
"Even you," he said, "can't have been to
London and back in this time."
68
"I haven't been to London," said Bundle.
"I ran over a man."
"What?"
"Only I didn't really. He was shot."
"How could he have been?"
"I don't know how he could have been, but
he was."
"But why did you shoot him?"
"7 didn't shoot him."
"You shouldn't shoot people," said Lord
Caterham in a tone of mild remonstrance.
"You shouldn't really. I daresay some of
them richly deserve it—but all the same it
will lead to trouble."
"I tell you I didn't shoot him."
"Well, who did?"
"Nobody knows," said Bundle.
"Nonsense," said Lord Caterham. "A man
can't be shot and run over without anyone
having done it."
"He wasn't run over," said Bundle.
"I thought you said he was."
"I said I thought I had."
"A tyre burst, I suppose," said Lord
Caterham. "That does sound like a shot. It
says so in detective stories."
"You really are perfectly impossible,
69
Father. You don't seem to have the brains of
a rabbit."
"Not at all," said Lord Caterham. "You
come in with a wildly impossible tale about
men being run over and shot and I don't
know what, and then you expect me to know
all about it by magic."
Bundle sighed wearily.
"Just attend," she said. "I'll tell you all
about it in words of one syllable."
"There," she said when she had
concluded. "Now have you got it?"
"Of course. I understand perfectly now. I
can make allowances for your being a little
upset, my dear. I was not far wrong when I
remarked to you before starting out that
people looking for trouble usually found it. I
am thankful," finished Lord Caterham with a
slight shiver, "that I stayed quietly here."
He picked up the catalogue again.
"Father, where is Seven Dials?"
"In the East End somewhere, I fancy. I
have frequently observed buses going thereor do I mean Seven Sisters? I have never been
there myself, I'm thankful to say. Just as well,
because I don't fancy it is the sort of spot I
should like. And yet, curiously enough, I
70
seem to have heard of it in some connection
just lately."
"You don't know a Jimmy Thesiger, do
you?"
Lord Caterham was now engrossed in his
catalogue once more. He had made an effort
to be intelligent on the subject of Seven
Dials. This time he made hardly any effort at
all.
"Thesiger," he murmured vaguely.
"Thesiger. One of the Yorkshire Thesigers?"
"That's what I'm asking you. Do attend,
Father. This is important."
Lord Caterham made a desperate effort to
look intelligent without really having to give
his mind to the matter.
"There are some Yorkshire Thesigers," he
said earnestly. "And unless I am mistaken
some Devonshire Thesigers also. Your Great
Aunt Selina married a Thesiger."
"What good is that to me?" cried Bundle.
Lord Caterham chuckled.
"It was very little good to her, if I
remember rightly."
"You're impossible," said Bundle, rising.
"I shall have to get bold of Bill."
"Do, dear," said her father absently as he
71
turned a page. "Certainly. By all means.
Quite so."
Bundle rose to her feet with an impatient
sigh.
"I wish I could remember what that letter
said," she murmured, more to herself than
aloud. "I didn't read it very carefully.
Something about a joke, that the Seven Dials
business wasn't a joke."
Lord Caterham emerged suddenly from his
catalogue.
"Seven Dials?" he said. "Of course. I've
got it now."
"Got what?"
"I know why it sounded so familiar.
George Lomax has been over. Tredwell failed
for once and let him in. He was on his way up
to town. It seems he's having some political
party at the Abbey next week and he got a
warning letter."
"What do you mean by a warning letter?"
"Well, I don't really know. He didn't go
into details. I gather it said 'Beware' and
'Trouble is at hand,' and all those sort of
things. But anyway it was written from Seven
Dials, I distinctly remember his saying so. He
was going up to town to consult Scotland
Yard about it. You know George?"
72
Bundle nodded. She was well acquainted
with that public-spirited Cabinet Minister,
George Lomax, His Majesty's permanent
Under Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs,
who was shunned by many because of his
inveterate habit of quoting from his public
speeches in private. In allusion to his bulging
eyeballs, he was known to many—Bill
Eversleigh among others—as Codders.
"Tell me," she said, "was Codders
interested at all in Gerald Wade's death?"
"Not that I ever heard of. He may have
been, of course."
Bundle said nothing for some minutes. She
was busily engaged in trying to remember the
exact wording of the letter she had sent on to
Loraine Wade, and at the same time she was
trying to picture the girl to whom it had been
written. What sort of a girl was this to whom,
apparently, Gerald Wade was so devoted?
The more she thought over it, the more it
seemed to her that it was an unusual letter for
a brother to write.
"Did you say the Wade girl was Gerry's
half-sister?" she asked suddenly.
"Well, of course, strictly speaking, I
suppose she isn't—wasn't, I mean—his sister
at all."
SDM6 73
"But her name's Wade?"
"Not really. She wasn't old Wade's child.
As I was saying, he ran away with his second
wife, who was married to a perfect blackguard.
I suppose the Courts gave the rascally
husband the custody of the child, but he certainly
didn't avail himself of the privilege. Old
Wade got very fond of the child and insisted
that she should he called by his name."
"I see," said Bundle. "That explains it."
"Explains what?"
"Something that puzzled me about that
letter."
"She's rather a pretty girl, I believe," said
Lord Caterham. "Or so I've heard."
Bundle went upstairs thoughtfully. She had
several objects in view. First she must find
this Jimmy Thesiger. Bill, perhaps, would be
helpful there. Ronny Devereux had been a
friend of Bill's. If Jimmy Thesiger was a
friend of Ronny's, the chances were that Bill
would know him too. Then there was the
girl, Loraine Wade. It was possible that she
could throw some light on the problem of
Seven Dials. Evidently Gerry Wade had said
something to her about it. His anxiety that
she should forget the fact had a sinister
suggestion.
74
7
Bundle Pays a Call
GETTING hold of Bill presented few
difficulties. Bundle motored up to
town on the following morning—this
time without adventures on the way—and
rang him up. Bill responded with alacrity,
and made various suggestions as to lunch, tea,
dinner and dancing. All of which suggestions
Bundle turned down as made.
"In a day or two, I'll come and frivol with
you. Bill. But for the moment I'm up on
business."
"Oh," said Bill. "What a beastly bore."
"It's not that kind," said Bundle. "It's
anything but boring. Bill, do you know
anyone called Jimmy Thesiger?"
"Of course. So do you."
"No, I don't," said Bundle.
"Yes, you do. You must. Everyone knows
old Jimmy."
"Sorry," said Bundle. "Just for once I
don't seem to be everyone."
75
soon, she must have a meeting with Bill. In
the meantime——
"Bill?"
"Hullo."
"I might dine with you to-morrow night."
"Good, and we'll dance afterwards. I've got
a lot^tff talk to you about. As a matter of
fact I've been rather hard hit—the foulest
luck——"
"Well, tell me about it to-morrow," said
Bundle, cutting him short rather unkindly.
"In the meantime, what is Jimmy Thesiger's
address?"
"Jimmy Thesiger?"
"That's what I said."
"He's got rooms in Jermyn Street—do I
mean Jermyn Street or the other one?"
"Bring that class A brain to bear upon it."
"Yes, Jermyn Street. Wait a bit and I'll
give you the number."
There was a pause.
"Are you there still?"
"I'm always there."
"Well, one never knows with these dashed
telephones. The number is 103. Got it?"
"103. Thank you. Bill."
"Yes, but, I say—what do you want it for?
You said you didn't know him."
78
"I don't, but I shall in half an hour."
"You're going round to his rooms?"
"Quite right, Sherlock."
"Yes, but, I say--well, for one thing he
won't be up."
"Won't be up?"
"I shouldn't think so. I mean, who would if
they hadn't got to? Look at it that way.
You've no idea what an effort it is for me to
get here at eleven every morning, and the fuss
Codders makes if I'm behind time is simply
appalling. You haven't the least idea. Bundle, what a dog's life this is----"
"You shall tell me all about it tomorrow
night," said Bundle hastily.
She slammed down the receiver and took
stock of the situation. First she glanced at the
clock. It was five and twenty minutes to
twelve. Despite Bill's knowledge of his
friend's habits, she inclined to the belief that
Mr. Thesiger would by now be in a fit state
to receive visitors. She took a taxi to 103
Jermyn Street.
The door was opened by a perfect example
of the retired gentleman's gentleman. His
face, expressionless and polite, was such a
face as may be found by the score in that
particular district of London.
79
"Will you come this way, madam?"
He ushered her upstairs into an extremely
comfortable sitting-room containing leathercovered
arm-chairs of immense dimensions.
Sunk in one of those monstrosities was
another girl, rather younger than Bundle. A
small, fair girl, dressed in black.
"What name shall I say, madam?"
"I won't give any name," said Bundle. "I
just want to see Mr. Thesiger on important
business."
The grave gentleman bowed and withdrew,
shutting the door noiselessly behind him.
There was a pause.
"It's a nice morning," said the fair girl
timidly.
"It's an awfully nice morning," agreed
Bundle.
There was another pause.
"I motored up from the country this
morning," said Bundle, plunging once more
into speech. "And I thought it was going to
be one of those foul fogs. But it wasn't."
"No," said the other girl. "It wasn't." And
she added: "I've come up from the country
too."
Bundle eyed her more attentively. She had
been slightly annoyed at finding the other
80
there. Bundle belonged to the energetic order
of people who liked "to get on with it," and
she foresaw that the second visitor would
have to be disposed of and got rid of before
she could broach her own business. It was not
a topic she could introduce before a stranger.
Now, as she looked more closely, an extraordinary
idea rose in her brain. Could it be?
Yes, the girl was in deep mourning; her
black, silk-clad ankles showed that. It was a
long shot, but Bundle was convinced that her
idea was right. She drew a long breath.
"Look here," she said, "are you by any
chance Loraine Wade?"
Loraine's eyes opened wide.
"Yes, I am. How clever of you to know.
We've never met, have we?"
Bundle shook her head.
"I wrote to you yesterday, though. I'm
Bundle Brent."
"It was so very kind of you to send me
Gerry's letter," said Loraine. "I've written to
thank you. I never expected to see you here."
"I'll tell you why I'm here," said Bundle.
"Did you know Ronny Devereux?"
Loraine nodded.
"He came over the day that Gerry--you
know. And he's been to see me two or three
81
times since. He was one of Gerry's greatest
friends."
"I know. Well-he's dead." ^
Loraine's lips parted in surprise.
"Dead! But he always seemed so fit."
Bundle narrated the events of the preceding
day as briefly as possible. A look of fear and
horror came into Loraine's face.
"Then it is true. It is true."
"What's true?"
"What I've thought—what I've been
thinking all these weeks. Gerry didn't die a
natural death. He was killed."
"You've thought that, have you?"
"Yes. Gerry would never have taken
things to make him sleep." She gave the little
ghost of a laugh. "He slept much too well to
need them. I always thought it queer. And he
thought so too—I know he did."
"Who?"
"Ronny. And now this happens. Now he's
killed too." She paused and then went on:
"That's what I came for to-day. That letter of
Gerry's you sent me—as soon as I read it, I
tried to get hold of Ronny, but they said he
was away. So I thought I'd come and see
Jimmy—he was Ronny's other great friend. I
82
thought perhaps he'cTtell me what I ought to
do."
"You mean——" Bundle paused. "About—
Seven Dials."
Loraine nodded.
"You see——" she began.
But at that moment Jimmy Thesiger
entered the room.
83
-^^^\,. ,.^^v--- ,'<
A '- . .;. /.-. t-.-:: '.. - '
. " "':.€^
8----a^M ff^P" /
'^i€I:®ffy^S,
w^tesQ..-l ;Visitors
for Jimmy ^
WE must at this point go back to
some twenty minutes earlier, to a
moment when Jimmy Thesiger, emerging from the mists of sleep, was
conscious of a familiar voice speaking
unfamiliar words.
His sleep-ridden brain tried for a moment
to cope with the situation, but failed. He
yawned and rolled over again.
"A young lady, sir, has called to see you."
The voice was implacable. So prepared
was it to go on repeating the statement
indefinitely that Jimmy resigned himself to
the inevitable. He opened his eyes and
blinked.
"Eh, Stevens?" he said. "Say that again."
"A young lady, sir, has called to see you."
"Oh!" Jimmy strove to grasp the situation.
"Why?"
"I couldn't say, sir."
84
"No, I suppose not. No," he thought it
over. "I suppose you couldn't."
Stevens swooped down upon a tray by the
bedside.
"I will bring you some fresh tea, sir. This is
cold."
"You think that I ought to get up
and—er—see the lady?"
Stevens made no reply, but he held his back
very stiff and Jimmy read the signs correctly.
"Oh! very well," he said. "I suppose I'd
better. She didn't give her name?"
"No, sir."
"M'm. She couldn't be by any possible
chance my Aunt Jemima, could she? Because
if so, I'm damned if I'm going to get up."
"The lady, sir, could not possibly be
anyone's aunt, I should say, unless the
youngest of a large family."
"Aha," said Jimmy. "Young and lovely. Is
she—what kind is she?"
"The young lady, sir, is most undoubtedly
strictly comme il faut, if I may use the
expression."
"You may use it," said Jimmy graciously.
"Your French pronunciation, Stevens, if I
may say so, is very good. Much better than
mine."
85
"I am gratified to hear it, sir. I have lately
been taking a correspondence course in
French."
"Have you really? You're a wonderful
chap, Stevens."
Stevens smiled in a superior fashion and
left the room. Jimmy lay trying to recall the
names of any young and lovely girls strictly
comme il faut who might be likely to come
and call upon him.
Stevens re-entered with fresh tea, and as
Jimmy sipped it he felt a pleasurable
curiosity.
"You've given her the paper and all that, I
hope, Stevens," he said.
"I supplied her with the Morning Post and
Punch, sir."
A ring at the bell took him away. In a few
minutes he returned.
"Another young lady, sir."
"What?"
Jimmy clutched his head.
"Another young lady; she declines to give
her name, sir, but says her business is
important."
Jimmy stared at him.
"This is damned odd, Stevens. Damned
86
odd. Look here, why time did I come home
last night?"
"Just upon five o'clock, sir."
"And was I—er—how was I?"
"Just a little cheerful, sir—nothing more.
Inclined to sing 'Rule Britannia'."
"What an extraordinary thing," said
Jimmy. " 'Rule Britannia,' eh? I cannot
imagine myself in a sober state ever singing
'Rule Britannia.' Some latent patriotism must
have emerged under the stimulus of—er—just
a couple too many. I was celebrating at the
'Mustard and Cress,' I remember. Not nearly
such an innocent spot as it sounds, Stevens."
He paused. "I was wondering——"
"Yes, sir?"
"I was wondering whether under the
aforementioned stimulus I had put an
advertisement in a newspaper asking for a
nursery governess or something of that sort."
Stevens coughed.
"Two girls turning up. It looks odd. I shall
eschew the 'Mustard and Cress' in future.
That's a good word, Stevens— eschew— I met
it in a crossword the other day and took a
fancy to it."
Whilst he was talking Jimmy was rapidly
apparelling himself. At the end of ten
87
minutes he was ready to face his unknown
guests. As he opened the door of his sittingroom
the first person he saw was a dark, slim
girl who was totally unknown to him. She
was standing by the mantelpiece, leaning
against it. Then his glance went on to the big
leather-covered arm-chair, and his heart
missed a beat. Loraine!
It was she who rose and spoke first a little
nervously.
"You must be very surprised to see me. But
I had to come. 1*11 explain in a minute. This
is Lady Eileen Brent."
"Bundle—that's what I'm usually known
as. You've probably heard of me from Bill
Eversleigh."
"Oh, rather, of course I have," said Jimmy,
endeavouring to cope with the situation. "I
say, do sit down and let's have a cocktail or
something."
But both girls declined.
"As a matter of fact," continued Jimmy,
"I'm only just out of bed."
"That's what Bill said," remarked Bundle.
"I told him I was coming round to see you,
and he said you wouldn't be up."
"Well, I'm up now," said Jimmy
encouragingly.
88
"It's about Gerry," said Loraine. "And
now about Ronny——"
"What do you mean by 'and now about
Ronny'?"
"He was shot yesterday."
"What?" cried Jimmy.
Bundle told her story for the second time.
Jimmy listened like a man in a dream.
"Old Ronny—shot," he murmured. "What
is this damned business?"
He sat down on the edge of a chair,
thinking for a minute or two, and then spoke
in a quiet, level voice.
"There's something I think I ought to tell
you."
"Yes," said Bundle encouragingly.
"It was on the day Gerry Wade died. On
the way over to break the news to you"—he
nodded at Loraine—"in the car Ronny said
something to me. That is to say, he started to
tell me something. There was something he
wanted to tell me, and he began about it, and
then he said he was bound by a promise and
couldn't go on."
"Bound by a promise," said Loraine
thoughtfully.
"That's what he said. Naturally I didn't
press him after that. But he was odd—darned
SDM7 89
odd—all through. I got the impression then
that he suspected—well, foul play. I thought
he'd tell the doctor so. But no, not even a
hint. So I thought I'd been mistaken. And
afterwards, with the evidence and all—well, it
seemed such a very clear case. I thought my
suspicions had been all bosh."
"But you think Ronny still suspected?"
asked Bundle.
Jimmy nodded.
"That's what I think now. Why, none of us
have seen anything of him since. I believe he
was playing a lone hand—trying to find out
the truth about Gerry's death, and what's
more, I believe he did find out. That's why
the devils shot him. And then he tried to send
word to me, but could only get out those two
words."
"Seven Dials," said Bundle, and shivered a
little.
"Seven Dials," said Jimmy gravely. "At
any rate we've got that to go on with."
Bundle turned to Loraine.
"You were just going to tell me——"
"Oh! yes. First, about the letter." She
spoke to Jimmy. "Gerry left a letter. Lady
Eileen——"
"Bundle."
90
"Bundle found if." She explained the
circumstances in a few words.
Jimmy listened, keenly interested. This
was the first he had heard of the letter.
Loraine took it from her bag and handed it to
him. He read it, then looked across at her.
"This is where you can help us. What was
it Gerry wanted you to forget?"
Loraine's brows wrinkled a little in
perplexity.
"It's so hard to remember exactly now. I
opened a letter of Gerry's by mistake. It was
written on cheap sort of paper, I remember, and very illiterate handwriting. It had some
address in Seven Dials at the head of it. I
realised it wasn't for me, so I put it back in
the envelope without reading it."
"Sure?" asked Jimmy very gently.
Loraine laughed for the first time.
"I know what you think, and I admit that
women are curious. But, you see, this didn't
even look interesting. It was a kind of list of
names and dates."
"Names and dates," said Jimmy thoughtfully.

"Gerry didn't seem to mind much,"
continued Loraine. "He laughed. He asked
me if I had ever heard of the Mafia, and then
91
said it would be queer if a society like the
Mafia started in England—but that that kind
of secret society didn't take on much with
English people. 'Our criminals," he said,
'haven't got a picturesque imagination1."
Jimmy pursed up his lips into a whistle.
"I'm beginning to see," he said. "Seven
Dials must be the headquarters of some secret
society. As he says in his letter to you, he
thought it rather a joke to start with. But
evidently it wasn't a joke—he says as much.
And there's something else: his anxiety that
you should forget what he'd told you. There
can be only one reason for that—if that
society suspected that you had any knowledge
of its activity, you too would be in danger.
Gerald realised the peril, and he was terribly
anxious—for you."
He stopped, then he went on quietly:
"I rather fancy that we're all going to be in
danger—if we go on with this."
"If—?" cried Bundle indignantly.
"I'm talking of you two. It's different for
me. I was poor old Ronny's pal." He looked
at Bundle. "You've done your bit. You've
delivered the message he sent me. No^for
God's sake keep out of it, you and Loraine."
Bundle looked questioningly at the other
92
girl. Her own mind was definitely made up,
but she gave no indication of it just then. She
had no wish to push Loraine Wade into a
dangerous undertaking.
But Loraine's small face was alight at once
with indignation.
"You say that! Do you think for one minute
I'd be contented to keep out of it—when they
killed Gerry—my own dear Gerry, the best
and dearest and kindest brother any girl ever
had. The only person belonging to me I had
in the whole world!"
Jimmy cleared his throat uncomfortably.
Loraine, he thought, was wonderful, simply
wonderful.
"Look here," he said awkwardly. "You
mustn't say that. About being alone in the
world—all that rot. You've got lots of
friends—only too glad to do what they can.
See what I mean?"
It is possible that Loraine did, for she
suddenly blushed, and to cover her confusion
began to talk nervously.
"That's settled," she said. "I'm going to
help. Nobody's going to stop me."
"And so am I, of course," said Bundle.
They both looked at Jimmy.
"Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, quite so."
93
They looked at him inquiringly.
"I was just wondering," said Jimmy, "how
we were going to begin."
94
9
Plans
JIMMY'S words lifted the discussion at
once into a more practical sphere.
"All things considered," he said, "we
haven't got much to go on. In fact, just the
words Seven Dials. As a matter of fact I don't
even know exactly where Seven Dials is. But,
anyway, we can't very well comb out the
whole of that district, house by house."
"We could," said Bundle.
"Well, perhaps we could eventually—
though I'm not so sure. I imagine it's a wellpopulated
area. But it wouldn't be very
subtle."
The word reminded him of the girl
Socks and he smiled.
"Then, of course, there's the part of the
country where Ronny was shot. We could
nose around there. But the police are
probably doing everything we could do, and
doing it much better."
"What I like about you," said Bundle
95
sarcastically, "is your cheerful and optimistic
disposition."
"Never mind her. Jimmy," said Loraine
softly. "Go on."
"Don't be so impatient," said Jimmy to
Bundle. "All the best sleuths approach a case
this way, by eliminating unnecessary and
unprofitable investigation. I'm coming now
to the third alternative—Gerald's death. Now
that we know it was murder—by the way, you
do both believe that, don't you?"
"Yes," said Loraine.
"Yes," said Bundle.
"Good. So do I. Well, it seems to me that
there we do stand some faint chance. After
all, if Gerry didn't take the chloral himself,
someone must have got into his room and put
it there—dissolved it in the glass of water, so
that when he woke up he drank it off. And
of course left the empty box or bottle or
whatever it was. You agree with that?"
"Ye-es," said Bundle slowly. "But——"
"Wait. And that someone must have been
in the house at the time. It couldn't very well
have been someone from outside."
"No," agreed Bundle, more readily this
time.
"Very well. Now, that narrows down
96
things considerably. To begin with. I
suppose a good many of the servants are
family ones—they're your lot, I mean."
"Yes," said Bundle. "Practically all the
staff stayed when we let it. All the principal
ones are there still—of course there have been
changes among the under servants."
"Exactly—that's what I am getting at.
y<oM"—he addressed Bundle—"must go into
all that. Find out when new servants were
engaged—what about footmen, for instance?"
"One of the footmen is new. John, his
name is."
"Well, make inquiries about John. And
about any others who have only come
recently."
"I suppose," said Bundle slowly, "it must
have been a servant. It couldn't have been
one of the guests?"
"I don't see how that's possible."
"Who were there exactly?"
"Well, there were three girls—Nancy and
Helen and Socks——"
"Socks Daventry? I know her."
"May have been. Girl who was always
saying things were subtle."
"That's Socks all right. Subtle is one other
words."
97
"And then there was Gerry Wade and me
and Bill Eversleigh and Ronny. And, of
course. Sir Oswald and Lady Coote. Oh! and
Pongo."
"Who's Pongo?"
"Chap called Bateman--secretary to old
Coote. Solemn sort of cove but very
conscientious. I was at school with him."
"There doesn't seem anything very
suspicious there," remarked Loraine.
"No, there doesn't," said Bundle. "As you
say, we'll have to look amongst the servants.
By the way, you don't suppose that clock
being thrown out of the window had
anything to do with it."
"A clock thrown out of the window," said
Jimmy, staring. It was the first he had heard
of it.
"I can't see how it can have anything to do
with it," said Bundle. "But it's odd somehow.
There seems no sense in it."
"I remember," said Jimmy slowly. "I went
in to--to see poor old Gerry, and there were
the clocks ranged along the mantelpiece. I
remember noticing there were only seven--
not eight."
He gave a sudden shiver and explained
himself apologetically.
98
"Sorry. But somehow those clocks have
always given me the shivers. I dream of them
sometimes. I'd hate to go into that room in
the dark and see them there in a row."
"You wouldn't be able to see them if it was
dark," said Bundle practically. "Not unless
they had luminous dials—Oh!" She gave a
sudden gasp and the colour rushed into her
cheeks. "Don't you see? Seven Dials!"
The others looked at her doubtfully, but
she insisted with increasing vehemence.
"It must be. It can't be a coincidence."
There was a pause.
"You may be right," said Jimmy Thesiger
at last. "It's—it's dashed odd."
Bundle started questioning him eagerly.
"Who bought the clocks?"
"All of us."
"Who thought of them?"
"All of us."
"Nonsense, somebody must have thought
of them first."
"It didn't happen that way. We were
discussing what we could do to get Gerry up,
and Pongo said an alarum clock, and
somebody said one would be no good, and
somebody else—Bill Eversleigh, I think—said
why not get a dozen. And we all said good egg
99
Bl
and hoofed off to get them. We got one each
and an extra one for Pongo and one for Lady
Coote—just out of the generosity of our
hearts. There was nothing premeditated
about it—it just happened."
Bundle was silenced, but not convinced.
Jimmy proceeded to sum up methodically.
"I think we can say we're sure of certain
facts. There's a secret society, with points of
resemblance to the Mafia, in existence. Gerry
Wade came to know about it. At first he
treated it as rather a joke—as an absurdity,
shall we say. He couldn't believe in its being
really dangerous. But later something
happened to convince him, and then he got
the wind up in earnest. I rather fancy he must
have said something to Ronny Devereux
about it. Anyway, when he was put out of the
way> Ronny suspected, and he must have
known enough to get on the same track
himself. The unfortunate thing is that we've
got to start quite from the outer darkness. We
haven't got the knowledge the other two
had."
"Perhaps that's an advantage," said
Loraine coolly. "They won't suspect us and
therefore they won't be trying to put us out of
the way."
100
"I wish I felt sure about that," said Jimmy
in a worried voice. "You know, Loraine, old
Gerry himself wanted you to keep out of it.
Don't you think you could——?"
"No, I couldn't," said Loraine. "Don't
let's start discussing that again. It's only a
waste of time."
At the mention of the word time. Jimmy's
eyes rose to the clock and he uttered an
exclamation of astonishment. He rose and
opened the door.
"Stevens."
"Yes, sir?"
"What about a spot of lunch, Stevens?
Could it be managed?"
"I anticipated that it would be required,
sir. Mrs. Stevens has made preparations
accordingly."
"That's a wonderful man," said Jimmy,
as he returned, heaving a sigh of relief.
"Brain, you know. Sheer brain. He takes
correspondence courses. I sometimes wonder
if they'd do any good to me."
"Don't be silly," said Loraine.
Stevens opened the door and proceeded to
bring in a most recherche meal. An omelette
was followed by quails and the very lightest
thing in souffles.
101
"Why are men so happy when they're
single," said Loraine tragically. "Why are
they so much better looked after by other
people than by us?"
"Oh! but that's rot, you know," said
Jimmy. "I mean, they're not. How could they
be? I often think——"
He stammered and stopped. Loraine
blushed again.
Suddenly Bundle let out a whoop and both
the others started violently.
"Idiot," said Bundle. "Imbecile. Me, I
mean. I knew there was something I'd
forgotten."
"What?"
"You know Codders—George Lomax, I
mean?"
"I've heard of him a good deal," said
Jimmy. "From Bill and Ronny, you know."
"Well, Codders is giving some sort of dry
party next week—and he's had a warning
letter from Seven Dials."
"What?" cried Jimmy excitedly, leaning
forward. "You can't mean it?"
"Yes, I do. He told Father about it. Now
what do you think that points to?"
Jimmy leant back in his chair. He thought
rapidly and carefully. At last he spoke. His
102
speech was briefs and to the point.
"Something's going to happen at that
party," he said.
"That's what I think," said Bundle.
"It all fits in," said Jimmy almost dreamily.
He turned to Loraine.
"How old were you when the war was on?"
he asked unexpectedly.
"Nine—no, eight."
"And Gerry, I suppose, was about twenty.
Most lads of twenty fought in the war. Gerry
didn't."
"No," said Loraine, after thinking a
minute or two. "No, Gerry wasn't a soldier. I
don't know why."
"I can tell you why," said Jimmy. "Or at
least I can make a very shrewd guess. He was
out of England from 1915 to 1918. I've taken
the trouble to find that out. And nobody
seems to know exactly where he was. I think
he was in Germany."
The colour rose in Loraine's cheeks. She
looked at Jimmy with admiration.
"How clever of you."
"He spoke German well, didn't he?"
"Oh, yes, like a native."
"I'm sure I'm right. Listen, you two. Gerry
Wade was at the Foreign Office. He appeared
103
to be the same sort of amiable idiot—excuse
the term, but you know what I mean—as Bill
Eversleigh and Ronny Devereux. A purely
ornamental excrescence. But in reality he was
something quite different. I think Gerry
Wade was the real thing. Our secret service is
supposed to be the best in the world. I think
Gerry Wade was pretty high up in that
service. And that explains everything! I
remember saying idly that last evening at
Chimneys that Gerry couldn't be quite such
an ass as he made himself out to be."
"And if you're right?" said Bundle,
practical as ever.
"Then the thing's bigger than we thought.
This Seven Dials business isn't merely
criminal—it's international. One thing's
certain, somebody has got to be at this houseparty
of Lomax's."
Bundle made a slight grimace.
"I know George well—but he doesn't like
me. He'd never think of asking me to a
serious gathering. All the same, I might——"
She remained a moment lost in thought.
"Do you think I might work it through
Bill?" asked Jimmy. "He's bound to be there
as Codder's right hand man. He might bring
me along somehow or other."
104
"I don't see why not," said Bundle.
"You'll have to prime Bill and make him say
the right things. He's incapable of thinking of
them for himself."
"What do you suggest?" asked Jimmy
humbly.
"Oh! it's quite easy. Bill describes you as
a rich young man—interested in politics,
anxious to stand for Parliament. George will
fall at once. You know what these political
parties are: always looking for new, rich
young men. The richer Bill says you are, the
easier it will be to manage."
"Short of being described as Rothschild, I
don't mind," said Jimmy.
"Then I think that's practically settled. I'm
dining with Bill to-morrow night, and I'll get
a list of who is to be there. That will be
useful."
"I'm sorry you can't be there," said Jimmy.
"But on the whole I think it's all for the
best."
"I'm not so sure I shan't be there," said
Bundle. "Codders hates me like poison—but
there are other ways."
She became meditative.
"And what about me?" asked Loraine in a
small, meek voice.
SDM8 105
"You're not on in this act," said Jimmy
instantly. "See? After all, we've got to have
someone outside to—er——"
"To what?" said Loraine.
Jimmy decided not to pursue this tack. He
appealed to Bundle.
"Look here," he said, "Loraine must keep
out of this, mustn't she?"
"I certainly think she'd better."
"Next time," said Jimmy kindly.
"And suppose there isn't a next time?" said
Loraine.
"Oh, there probably will be. Not a doubt of
it."
"I see. I'm just to go home and—wait."
"That's it," said Jimmy, with every
appearance of relief. "I thought you'd
understand."
"You see," explained Bundle, "three of us
forcing our way in might look rather
suspicious. And you would be particularly
difficult. You do see that, don't you?"
"Oh, yes," said Loraine.
"Then it's settled—you do nothing," said
Jimmy.
"I do nothing," said Loraine meekly.
Bundle looked at her in sudden suspicion.
The tameness with which Loraine was taking
106
it seemed hardly natyral. Loraine looked at
her. Her eyes were blue and guileless. They
met Bundle's without a quiver even of the
lashes. Bundle was only partly satisfied. She
found the meekness of Loraine Wade highly
suspicious.
107
10
Bundle Visits Scotland Yard
NOW it may be said at once that in the
foregoing conversation each one of
the three participants had, as it were,
held something in reserve. That "Nobody
tells everything" is a very true motto.
It may be questioned, for instance, if
Loraine Wade was perfectly sincere in her
account of the motives which had led her to
seek out Jimmy Thesiger.
In the same way, Jimmy Thesiger himself
had various ideas and plans connected with
the forthcoming party at George Lomax's
which he had no intention of revealing
to—say. Bundle.
And Bundle herself had a fully-fledged plan
which she proposed to put into immediate
execution and which she had said nothing
whatever about.
On leaving Jimmy Thesiger's rooms, she
drove to Scotland Yard, where she asked to
see Superintendent Battle.
108
Superintendent Battle was rather a big
man. He worked almost entirely on cases of a
delicate political nature. On such a case he
had come to Chimneys four years ago, and
Bundle was frankly trading on his remembering
this fact.
After a short delay, she was taken along
several corridors and into the Superintendent's
private room. Battle was a stolidlooking
man with a wooden face. He looked
supremely unintelligent and more like a
commissionaire than a detective.
He was standing by the window when she
entered, gazing in an expressionless manner
at some sparrows.
"Good-afternoon, Lady Eileen," he said.
"Sit down, won't you?"
"Thank you," said Bundle. "I was afraid
you mightn't remember me."
"Always remember people," said Battle.
He added: "Got to in my job."
"Oh!" said Bundle, rather damped.
"And what can I do for you?" inquired the
Superintendent.
Bundle came straight to the point.
"I've always heard that you people at
Scotland Yard have lists of all secret societies
109
and things like that that are ^formed in
London."
"We try to keep up to date," s^id Superintendent
Battle cautiously.
"I suppose a great many of tr^em aren't
really dangerous."
"We've got a very good rule to g q by," said
Battle. "The more they talk, the ^gs they'll
do. You'd be surprised how well ^at works
out."
"And I've heard that very oft^n you let
them go on?"
Battle nodded.
"That's so. Why shouldn't a^ man call
himself a Brother of Liberty and n^gg^ twice a
week in a cellar and talk abou^ rivers of
blood--it won't hurt either him or\ yg ^nd if
there is any trouble any time, we k^now where
to lay our hands on him."
"But sometimes, I suppose," s^d Bundle
slowly, "a society may be more dangerous
than anyone imagines?"
"Very unlikely," said Battle.
"But it might happen," persisfe^d Bundle.
"Oh, it mighty admitted t^e Superintendent.

There was a moment or two's silence. Then
Bundle said quietly:
110
"Superintendent Battle, ecu) a list of secret societies t^ headquarters in Seven Dials? ' ,
It was Superintendent Batt^' had never been seen to disp^L
Bundle could have sworn ^ moment his eyelids flickered >! taken aback. Only for a mOU'
\^\\
He was his usual wooden s^
"Strictly speaking. Lady ^\ such place as Seven Dials n0^ "No?" V^81 "No. Most of it is pulled ^l
It was rather a low quarter ^(l respectable and high class P0^1^^ all a romantic spot to po^l ^^J
r . . -.1 ji'S. N,r ^mysterious
secret societies.
"Oh!" said Bundle, rather \ "But all the same I should ^
to know what put that neigh(
your head. Lady Eileen." \ "Have I got to tell you?"
"Well, it saves trouble, 4
know where we are, so to sp^i
Bundle hesitated for a iniWt;
"There was a man shot y^
slowly. "I thought I had run
"Mr. Ronald Devereux?"
Ill
"You know about it, of course. Why has
there been nothing in the papers?"
"Do you really want to know that. Lady
Eileen?"
"Yes, please."
"Well, we just thought we should like to
have a clear twenty-four hours--see? It will be
in the papers tomorrow."
"Oh!" Bundle studied him, puzzled.
What was hidden behind that immovable
face? Did he regard the shooting of Ronald
Devereux as an ordinary crime or as an
extraordinary one?
"He mentioned Seven Dials when he was
dying," said Bundle slowly.
"Thank you," said Battle. "I'll make a note
of that."
He wrote a few words on the blotting pad
in front of him.
Bundle started on another tack.
"MrT'Lomax, I understand, came to see
you yesterday about a threatening letter he
had had."
"He did."
"And that was written from Seven Dials?"
"It had Seven Dials written at the top of it, I believe."
112
Bundle felt as though she was battering
hopelessly on a locked door.
"If you'll let me advise you. Lady
Eileen——"
"I know what you're going to say."
"I should go home and—well, think no
more about these matters."
"Leave it to you, in fact?"
"Well," said Superintendent Battle, "after
all, we are the professionals."
"And I'm only an amateur? Yes, but you
forget one thing—1 mayn't have your
knowledge and skill—but I have one
advantage over you. I can work in the dark."
She thought that the Superintendent
seemed a little taken aback, as though the
force of her words struck home.
"Of course," said Bundle, "if you won't
give me a list of secret societies——"
"Oh! I never said that. You shall have a list
of the whole lot."
..- .*•*.;,
He went to the door, put his head through
and called out something, then came back to
his chair. Bundle, rather unreasonably, felt
baffled. The ease with which he acceded to
her request seemed to her suspicious. He was
looking at her now in a placid fashion.
"Do you remember the death of Mr.
113
Gerald Wade?" she asked abruptly.
"Down at your place, wasn't it? Took an
overdraught of sleeping mixture."
"His sister says he never took things to
make him sleep."
"Ah!" said the Superintendent. "You'd be
surprised what a lot of things there are that
sisters don't know."
Bundle again felt baffled. She sat in silence
till a man came in with a typewritten sheet of
paper, which he handed to the Superintendent.

"Here you are," said the latter when the
other had left the room. "The Blood Brothers
of St. Sebastian. The Wolf Hounds. The
Comrades of Peace. The Comrades Club.
The Friends of Oppression. The Children of
Moscow. The Red Standard Bearers. The
Herrings. The Comrades of the Fallen--and
half a dozen more."
He handed it to her with a distinct twinkle
in his eye.
"You give it to me," said Bundle, "because
you know it's not going to be the slightest use
to me. Do you want me to leave the whole
thing alone?"
"I should prefer it," said Battle. "You
see--if you go messing round all these
114
places--well, ifs going to give us a lot of
trouble."
"Looking after me, you mean?"
"Looking after you. Lady Eileen."
Bundle had risen to her feet. Now she stood
undecided. So far the honours lay with
Superintendent Battle. Then she remembered
one slight incident, and she based a last
appeal upon it.
"I said just now that an amateur could do
some things which a professional couldn't.
You didn't contradict me. That's because
you're an honest man. Superintendent Battle.
You knew I was right."
"Go on," said Battle quickly.
"At Chimneys you let me help. Won't you
let me help now?"
Battle seemed to be turning the thing over
in his mind. Emboldened by his silence, Bundle continued.
"You know pretty well what I'm like, Superintendent Battle. I butt into things. I'm a Nosy Parker. I don't want to get in your
way or to try and do things that you're doing
and can do a great deal better. But if there's a
chance for an amateur, let me have it."
Again there was a pause, and then Superintendent
Battle said quietly:
115
"You couldn't have spoken fairer than you
have done. Lady Eileen. But I'm just going
to say this to you. What you propose is
dangerous. And when I say dangerous, I
mean dangerous."
"I've grasped that," said Bundle. "I'm not
a fool."
"No," said Superintendent Battle. "Never
knew a young lady who was less so. What I'll
do for you. Lady Eileen, is this. I'll just give
you one little hint. And I'm doing it because I
never have thought much of the motto 'Safety
First.' In my opinion half the people who
spend their lives avoiding being run over by
buses had much better be run over and put
safely out of the way. They're no good."
This remarkable utterance issuing from the
conventional lips of Superintendent Battle
quite took Bundle's breath away.
"What was the hint you were going to give
me?" she asked at last.
"You know Mr. Eversleigh, don't you?"
"Know Bill? Why, of course. But
what——"
"I think Mr. Bill Eversleigh will be able to
tell you all you want to know about Seven
Dials."
"Bill knows about it? Bill?"
116
"I didn't say that.^Not at all. But I think,
being a quick-witted young lady, you'll get
what you want from him.
"And now," said Superintendent Battle
firmly, "I'm not going to say another word."
117
11
Dinner With Bill
BUNDLE set out to keep her appointment
with Bill on the following
evening full of expectation.
Bill greeted her with every sign of elation.
"Bill really is rather nice," thought Bundle
to herself. "Just like a large, clumsy dog
that wags its tail when it's pleased to see
you."
The large dog was uttering short staccato
yelps of comment and information.
"You look tremendously fit. Bundle. I
can't tell you how pleased I am to see you.
I've ordered oysters--you do like oysters,
don't you? And how's everything? What did
you want to go mouldering about abroad so
long? Were you having a very gay time?"
"No, deadly," said Bundle. "Perfectly
foul. Old diseased colonels creeping about
in the sun, and active, wizened spinsters
running libraries and churches."
"Give me England," said Bill. "I bar
118
this foreign business—except Switzerland.
Switzerland's all right. I'm thinking of going
this Christmas. Why don't you come along?"
"I'll think of it," said Bundle. "What have
you been doing with yourself lately. Bill?"
It was an incautious query. Bundle had
merely made it out of politeness and as a
preliminary to introducing her own topics of
conversation. It was, however, the opening
for which Bill had been waiting.
"That's just what I've been wanting to tell
you about. You're brainy. Bundle, and I want
your advice. You know that musical show,
'Damn Your Eyes'?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm going to tell you about one of
the dirtiest pieces of work imaginable. My
God! the theatrical crowd. There's a girl—a
Yankee girl—a perfect stunner——"
Bundle's heart sank. The grievances of
Bill's lady friends were always interminable—
they went on and on and there was no
stemming them.
"This girl. Babe St. Maur her name is——"
"I wonder how she got that name?" said
Bundle sarcastically.
Bill replied literally.
"She got it out of Who's Who. Opened it
119
and jabbed her finger down on a page without
looking. Pretty nifty, eh? Her real name's
Goldschmidt or Abrameier— something quite
impossible."
"Oh, quite," agreed Bundle.
"Well, Babe St. Maur is pretty smart. And
she's got muscles. She was one of the eight
girls who made the living bridge——"
"Bill," said Bundle desperately. "I went to
see Jimmy Thesiger yesterday morning."
"Good old Jimmy," said Bill. "Well, as I
was telling you. Babe's pretty smart. You've
got to be nowadays. She can put it over on
most theatrical people. If you want to live, be
high-handed, that's what Babe says. And
mind you, she's the goods all right. She can
act—it's marvellous how that girl can act.
She'd not much chance in 'Damn Your
Eyes'—just swamped in a pack of goodlooking
girls. I said why not try the legitimate
stage—you know, Mrs. Tanqueray—that sort
of stuff—but Babe just laughed——"
"Have you seen Jimmy at all?"
"Saw him this morning. Let me see, where
was I? Oh, yes, I hadn't got to the rumpus
yet. And mind you it was jealousy—sheer,
spiteful jealousy. The other girl wasn't a
120
patch on Babe for looks and she knew it. So
she went behind her back——"
Bundle resigned herself to the inevitable
and heard the whole story of the unfortunate
circumstances which had led up to Babe St.
Maur's summary disappearance from the cast
of "Damn Your Eyes." It took a long time.
When Bill finally paused for breath and
sympathy. Bundle said:
"You're quite right. Bill, it's a rotten
shame. There must be a lot of jealousy
about——"
"The whole theatrical world's rotten with
it."
"It must be. Did Jimmy say anything to
you about coming down to the Abbey next
week?"
For the first time. Bill gave his attention to
what Bundle was saying.
"He was full of a long rigmarole he wanted
me to stuff Codders with. About wanting to
stand in the Conservative interest. But you
know. Bundle, it's too damned risky."
"Stuff," said Bundle. "If George does find
him out, he won't blame you. You'll just have
been taken in, that's all."
"That's not it at all," said Bill. "I mean it's
too damned risky for Jimmy. Before he knows
SDM 9 121
where he is, he'll be parked down somewhere
like Tooting West, pledged to kiss babies
and make speeches. You don't know how
thorough Codders is and how frightfully
energetic."
"Well, we'll have to risk that," said
Bundle. "Jimmy can take care of himself all
right."
"You don't know Codders," repeated Bill.
"Who's coming to this party. Bill? Is it
anything very special?"
"Only the usual sort of muck. Mrs.
Macatta for one."
"The M.P.?"
"Yes, you know, always going off the deep
end about Welfare and Pure Milk and Save
the Children. Think of poor Jimmy being
talked to by her."
"Never mind Jimmy. Go on telling me."
"Then there's a Hungarian, what they call
a Young Hungarian. Countess something unpronounceable.
She's all right."
He swallowed as though embarrassed, and
Bundle observed that he was crumbling his
bread nervously.
"Young and beautiful?" she inquired
delicately.
"Oh, rather."
122
"I didn't know Ge6rge went in for female
beauty much."
"Oh, he doesn't. She runs baby feeding in
Buda Pesth—something like that. Naturally
she and Mrs. Macatta want to get together."
"Who else?"
"Sir Stanley Digby——"
"The Air Minister?"
"Yes. And his secretary, Terence
O'Rourke. He's rather a lad, by the way—or
used to be in his flying days. Then there's a
perfectly poisonous German chap called Herr
Eberhard. I don't know who he is, but we're
all making the hell of a fuss about him. I've
been twice told off to take him out to lunch,
and I can tell you. Bundle, it was no joke.
He's not like the Embassy chaps, who are all
very decent. This man sucks in soup and eats
peas with a knife. Not only that, but the brute
is always biting his finger-nails—positively
gnaws at them."
"Pretty foul."
"Isn't it? I believe he invents things—something
of the kind. Well, that's all. Oh, yes. Sir
Oswald Coote."
"And Lady Coote?"
"Yes, I believe she's coming too."
Bundle sat lost in thought for some
123
minutes. Bill's list was suggestive, but she
hadn't time to think out various possibilities
just now. She must get on to the next point.
"Bill," she said, "what's all this about
Seven Dials?"
Bill at once looked horribly embarrassed.
He blinked and avoided her glance.
"I don't know what you mean," he said.
"Nonsense," said Bundle. "I was told you
know all about it."
"About what?"
This was rather a poser. Bundle shifted her
ground.
"I don't see what you want to be so
secretive for," she complained.
"Nothing to be secretive about. Nobody
goes there much now. It was only a craze."
This sounded puzzling.
"One gets so out of things when one is
away," said Bundle in a sad voice.
"Oh, you haven't missed much," said Bill.
"Everyone went there just to say they had
been. It was boring really, and, my God, you
can get tired of fried fish."
"Where did everyone go?"
"To the Seven Dials Club, of course," said
Bill, staring. "Wasn't that what you were
asking about?"
124
"I didn't know u by that name," said
Bundle.
"Used to be a slummy sort of district round
about Tottenham Court Road way. It's all
pulled down and cleaned up now. But
the Seven Dials Club keeps to the old
atmosphere. Fried fish and chips. General
squalor. Kind of East End stunt, but awfully
handy to get at after a show."
"It's a night club, I suppose," said Bundle.
"Dancing and all that?"
"That's it. Awfully mixed crowd. Not a
posh affair. Artists, you know, and all sorts of
odd women and a sprinkling of our lot. They
say quite a lot of things, but I think that that's
all bunkum myself, just said to make the
place go."
"Good," said Bundle. "We'll go there tonight."

"Oh! I shouldn't do that," said Bill. His
embarrassment had returned. "I tell you it's
played out. Nobody goes there now."
"Well, we're going."
"You wouldn't care for it. Bundle. You
wouldn't really."
"You're going to take me to the Seven
Dials Club and nowhere else. Bill. And I
125
should like to know why you are so unwilling?"

"I? Unwilling?"
"Painfully so. What's the guilty secret?"
"Guilty secret?"
"Don't keep repeating what I say. You do it
to give yourself time."
"I don't," said Bill indignantly. "It's
only----"
"Well? I know there's something. You
never can conceal anything."
"I've got nothing to conceal. It's only----"
"Well?"
"It's a long story----You see, I took Babe
St. Maur there one night----"
"Oh! Babe St. Maur again."
"Why not?"
"I didn't know it was about her----" said
Bundle, stifling a yawn.
"As I say, I took Babe there. She rather
fancied a lobster. I had a lobster under my
arm----"
The story went on----When the lobster had
been finally dismembered in a struggle
between Bill and a fellow who was a rank
outsider. Bundle brought her attention back
to him.
"I see," she said. "And there was a row?"
126
"Yes, but it was my lobster. I'd bought it
and paid for it. I had a perfect right——"
"Oh, you had, you had," said Bundle
hastily. "But I'm sure that's all forgotten
now. And I don't care for lobsters anyway. So
let's go."
"We may be raided by the police. There's a
room upstairs where they play baccarat."
"Father will have to come and bail me out,
that's all. Come on. Bill."
Bill still seemed rather reluctant, but
Bundle was adamant, and they were soon
speeding to their destination in a taxi.
The place, when they got to it, was much as
she imagined it would be. It was a tall house
in a narrow street, 14 Hunstanton Street, she
noted the number.
A man whose face was strangely familiar
opened the door. She thought he started
slightly when he saw her, but he greeted Bill
with respectful recognition. He was a tall
man, with fair hair, a rather weak, anaemic
face and slightly shifty eyes. Bundle puzzled
to herself where she could have seen him
before.
Bill had recovered his equilibrium now and
quite enjoyed doing showman. They danced
in the cellar, which was very full of smoke—
127
so much so that you saw everyone through a
blue haze. The smell of fried fish was almost
overpowering.
On the wall were rough charcoal sketches,
some of them executed with real talent.
The company was extremely mixed. There
were portly foreigners, opulent Jewesses, a
sprinkling of the really smart, and several
ladies belonging to the oldest profession in
the world.
Soon Bill led Bundle upstairs. There the
weak-faced man was on guard, watching all
those admitted to the gambling room with
a lynx eye. Suddenly recognition came to
Bundle.
"Of course," she said. "How stupid of me.
It's Alfred, who used to be second footman at
Chimneys. How are you, Alfred?"
"Nicely, thank you? your ladyship."
"When did you kave Chimneys, Alfred?
Was it long before we got back?"
"It was a about a month ago, m'lady. I got a
chance of bettering myself, and it seemed a
pity not to take it."
"I suppose they pay you very well here,"
remarked Bundle.
"Very fair, m'lady."
Bundle passed in. It seemed to her that in
128
this room the real "life of the club was
exposed. The stakes were high, she saw that
at once, and the people gathered round the
two tables were of the true type. Hawk-eyed,
haggard, with the gambling fever in their
blood.
She and Bill stayed there for about half an
hour. Then Bill grew restive.
"Let's get out of this place. Bundle, and go
on dancing."
Bundle agreed. There was nothing to be
seen here. They went down again. They
danced for another half-hour, had fish and
chips, and then Bundle declared herself ready
to go home.
"But it's so early," Bill protested.
"No, it isn't. Not really. And, anyway, I've
got a long day in front of me tomorrow?"
"What are you going to do?"
"That depends," said Bundle mysteriously.
"But I can tell you this. Bill, the grass is not
going to grow under my feet."
"It never does," said Mr. Eversleigh.
129
12
Inquiries at Chimneys
BUNDLE'S temperament was certainly
not inherited from her father, whose
prevailing characteristic was a wholly
amiable inertia. As Bill Eversleigh had very
justly remarked, the grass never did grow
under Bundle's feet.
On the morning following her dinner with
Bill, Bundle woke full of energy. She had
three distinct plans which she meant to put
into operation that day, and she realised that
she was going to be slightly hampered by the
limits of time and space.
Fortunately she did not suffer from the
affliction of Gerry Wade, Ronny Devereux
and Jimmy Thesiger—that of not being able
to get up in the morning. Sir Oswald Coote
himself would have had no fault to find with
her on the score of early rising. At half-past
eight Bundle had breakfasted and was on her
way to Chimneys in the Hispano.
130
Her father seemed* mildly pleased to see
her.
"I never know when you're going to turn
up," he said. "But this will save me ringing
up, which I hate. Colonel Melrose was here
yesterday about the inquest."
Colonel Melrose was Chief Constable of
the county, and an old friend of Lord
Caterham.
"You mean the inquest on Ronny
Devereux? When is it to be?"
"To-morrow. Twelve o'clock. Melrose will
call for you. Having found the body, you'll
have to give evidence, but he said you needn't
be at all alarmed."
"Why on earth should I be alarmed?"
"Well, you know," said Lord Caterham
apologetically, "Melrose is a bit oldfashioned."
"Twelve
o'clock," said Bundle. "Good. I
shall be here, if I'm still alive."
"Have you any reason to anticipate not
being alive?"
"One never knows," said Bundle. "The
strain of modern life—as the newspapers
say."
"Which reminds me that George Lomax
131
asked me to come over to the Abbey next
week. I refused, of course."
"Quite right," said Bundle. "We don't
want you mixed up in any funny business."
"Is there going to be any funny business?"
asked Lord Caterham with a sudden awakening
of interest.
"Well--warning letters and all that, you
know," said Bundle.
"Perhaps George is going to be
assassinated," said Lord Caterham hopefully. "What do you think. Bundle--perhaps I'd
better go after all."
"You curb your bloodthirsty instincts and
stay quietly at home," said Bundle. "I'm
going to talk to Mrs. Howell."
Mrs. Howell was the housekeeper, that
dignified, creaking lady who had struck such
terror to the heart of Lady Coote. She had no
terrors for Bundle, whom, indeed, she always
called Miss Bundle, a relic of the days when
Bundle had stayed at Chimneys, a longlegged,
impish child, before her father had
succeeded to the title.
"Now, Howelly," said Bundle, "let's have
a cup of rich cocoa together, and let me hear
all the household news."
She gleaned what she wanted without
132
much difficulty, making mental notes as
follows:
"Two new scullery maids--village girls--
doesn't seem much there. New third housemaid--head
housemaid's niece. That sounds
all right. Howelly seems to have bullied poor
Lady Coote a good deal. She would."
"I never thought the day would come
when I should see Chimneys inhabited by
strangers. Miss Bundle."
"Oh! one must go with the times," said
Bundle. "You'll be lucky, Howelly, if you
never see it converted into desirable flats with
use of superb pleasure grounds."
Mrs. Howell shivered all down her reactionary
aristocratic spine.
"I've never seen Sir Oswald Coote,"
remarked Bundle.
"Sir Oswald is no doubt a very clever
gentleman," said Mrs. Howell distantly.
Bundle gathered that Sir Oswald had not
been liked by his staff.
"Of course, it was Mr. Bateman who saw to
everything," continued the housekeeper. "A
very efficient gentleman. A very efficient
gentleman indeed, and one who knew the
way things ought to be done."
Bundle led the talk on to the topic of
133
Gerald Wade's death. Mrs. Howell was only
too willing to talk about it, and was full of
pitying ejaculations about the poor young
gentleman, but Bundle gleaned nothing new.
Presently she took leave of Mrs. Howell and
came downstairs again, where she promptly
rang for Tredwell.
"Tredwell, when did Alfred leave?"
"It would be about a month ago now, my
lady."
"Why did he leave?"
"It was by his own wish, my lady. I believe
he has gone to London. I was not dissatisfied
with him in any way. I think you will find the
new footman, John, very satisfactory. He
seems to know his work and to be most
anxious to give satisfaction."
"Where did he come from?"
"He had excellent references, my lady. He
had lived last with Lord Mount Vernon."
"I see," said Bundle thoughtfully.
She was remembering that Lord Mount
Vernon was at present on a shooting trip in
East Africa.
"What's his last name, Tredwell?"
"Bower, my lady."
Tredwell paused for a minute or two and
then, seeing that Bundle had finished, he
134
quietly left the room. Bundle remained lost in
thought.
John had opened the door to her on her
arrival that day, and she had taken particular
notice of him without seeming to do so.
Apparently he was the perfect servant, well
trained, with an expressionless face. He had,
perhaps, a more soldierly bearing than most
footmen and there was something a little odd
about the shape of the back of his head.
But these details, as Bundle realised, were
hardly relevant to the situation. She sat
frowning down at the blotting paper in front
of her. She had a pencil in her hand and was
idly tracing the name Bower over and over
again.
Suddenly an idea struck her and she
stopped dead, staring at the word. Then she
summoned Tredwell once more.
"Tredwell, how is the name Bower spelt?"
"B-A-U-E-R, my lady."
"That's not an English name."
"I believe he is of Swiss extraction, my
lady."
"Oh! That's all, Tredwell, thank you."
Swiss extraction? No. German! That
martial carriage, that flat back to the head.
135
And he had come to Chimneys a fortnight
before Gerry Wade's death.
Bundle rose to her feet. She had done all
she could here. Now to get on with things!
She went in search of her father.
"I'm off again," she said. "I've got to go
and see Aunt Marcia."
"Got to see Marcia?" Lord Caterham's
voice was full of astonishment. "Poor child, how did you get let in for that?"
"Just for once," said Bundle, "I happen to
be going of my own free will."
Lord Caterham looked at her in puzzlement.
That anyone could have a genuine
desire to face his redoubtable sister-in-law
was quite incomprehensible to him. Marcia, Marchioness of Caterham, the widow of his
late brother Henry, was a very prominent
personality. Lord Caterham admitted that
she had made Henry an admirable wife and
that but for her in all probability he would
never have held the office of Secretary of
State for Foreign Affairs. On the other hand,
he had always looked upon Henry's death as a
merciful release.
It seemed to him that Bundle was foolishly
putting her head into the lion's mouth.
"Oh! I say," he said. "You know, I
136
FR1;shouldn't do that. Xou don't know what it
may lead to."
"I know what I hope it's going to lead to,"
said Bundle. "I'm all right. Father, don't you
worry about me."
Lord Caterham sighed and settled himself
more comfortably in his chair. He went back
to his perusal of the Field. But in a minute or
two Bundle suddenly put her head in again.
"Sorry," she said. "But there's one other
thing I wanted to ask you. What is Sir Oswald
Coote?"
"I told you--a steamroller."
"I don't mean your personal impression of
him. How did he make his money--trouser
buttons or brass beds or what?"
"Oh, I see. He's steel. Steel and iron. He's
got the biggest steel works, or whatever you
call it, in England. He doesn't, of course, run
the show personally now. It's a company or
companies. He got me in as a director of
something or other. Very good business for
me--nothing to do except go down to the city
once or twice a year to one of those hotel
places--Cannon Street or Liverpool Street--
and sit round a table where they have very
nice new blotting paper. Then Coote or some
clever Johnny makes a speech simply
SDM 10 137
bristling with figures, but fortunately you
needn't listen to it--and I can tell you, you
often get a jolly good lunch out of it."
Uninterested in Lord Caterham's lunches,
Bundle had departed again before he had
finished speaking. On the way back to
London, she tried to piece together things to
her satisfaction.
As far as she could see, steel and infant
welfare did not go together. One of the two, then, was just padding--presumably the
latter. Mrs. Macatta and the Hungarian
countess could be ruled out of court. They
were camouflage. No, the pivot of the whole
thing seemed to be the unattractive Herr
Eberhard. He did not seem to be the type of
man whom George Lomax would normally
invite. Bill had said vaguely that he invented.
Then there was the Air Minister, and Sir
Oswald Coote, who was steel. Somehow that
seemed to hang together.
Since it was useless speculating further, Bundle abandoned the attempt and concentrated
on her forthcoming interview with
Lady Caterham.
The lady lived in a large gloomy house in
one of London's higher class squares. Inside
it smelt of sealing wax, bird seed and slightly
138
decayed flowers. LacTy Caterham was a large
woman--large in every way. Her proportions
were majestic, rather than ample. She had a
large beaked nose, wore gold rimmed pincenez
and her upper lip bore just the faintest
suspicion of a moustache.
She was somewhat surprised to see her
niece, but accorded her a frigid cheek, which
Bundle duly kissed.
"This is quite an unexpected pleasure,
Eileen," she observed coldly.
"We've only just got back. Aunt Marcia."
"I know. How is your father? Much as
usual?"
Her tone conveyed disparagement. She had
a poor opinion of Alastair Edward Brent,
ninth Marquis of Caterham. She would have
called him, had she known the term, a "poor
fish."
"Father is very well. He's down at
Chimneys."
"Indeed. You know, Eileen, I never
approved of the letting of Chimneys. The
place is in many ways a historical monument.
It should not be cheapened."
"It must have been wonderful in Uncle
Henry's day," said Bundle with a slight sigh.
139
"Henry realised his responsibilities," said
Henry's widow.
"Think of the people who stayed there,"
went on Bundle ecstatically. "All the
principal statesmen of Europe."
Lady Caterham sighed.
"I can truly say that history has been made
there more than once," she observed. "If
only your father——"
She shook her head sadly.
"Politics bore Father," said Bundle, "and
yet they are about the most fascinating study
there is, I should say. Especially if one knew
about them from the inside."
She made this extravagantly untruthful
statement of her feelings without even a
blush. Her aunt looked at her with some
surprise.
"I am pleased to hear you say so," she said.
"I always imagined, Eileen, that you cared
for nothing but this modern pursuit of
pleasure."
"I used to," said Bundle.
"It is true that you are still very young,"
said Lady Caterham thoughtfully. "But with
your advantages, and if you were to marry
suitably, you might be one of the leading
political hostesses of the day."
140
Bundle felt slightly alarmed. For a moment
she feared that her aunt might produce a
suitable husband straight away.
"But I feel such a fool," said Bundle. "I
mean, I know so little."
"That can easily be remedied," said Lady
Caterham briskly. "I have any amount of
literature I can lend you."
"Thank you. Aunt Marcia," said Bundle,
and proceeded hastily to her second line of
attack.
"I wondered if you knew Mrs. Macatta,
Aunt Marcia?"
"Certainly I know her. A most estimable
woman with a brilliant brain. I may say that
as a general rule I do not hold with women
standing for Parliament. They can make their
influence felt in a more womanly fashion."
She paused, doubtless to recall the womanly
/ T in which she had forced a reluctant 4 into the political arena and the access which had crowned his '^ut still, times change. And ^a is doing is of truly ^ - ,^ < r the utmost value
"\? .^?' --^
^ .^ ^v ^ ^ ~^ay say, true
' ,<-' ^ <\" ^ -
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Bundle gave a rather dismal sigh.
"She's going to be at a house-party at
George Lomax's next week. He asked Father,
who, of course, won't go, but he never
thought of asking me. Thinks I'm too much
of an idiot, I suppose."
It occurred to Lady Caterham that her
niece was really wonderfully improved. Had
she, perhaps, had an unfortunate love affair?
An unfortunate love affair, in Lady
Caterham's opinion, was often highly
beneficial to young girls. It made them take
life seriously.
"I don't suppose George Lomax realises for
a moment that you have—shall we say, grown
up? Eileen dear" she said, "I must have a few
words with him."
"He doesn't like me," said Bundle. "I
know he won't ask me."
"Nonsense," said Lady Caterham. "I shall
make a point of it. I knew George Lomax
when he was so high." She indicated a quite
impossible height. "He will be only too
pleased to do me a favour. And he will be
sure to see for himself that it is vitally
important that the present-day young girls of
our own class should take an intelligent
interest in the welfare of their country."
142
Bundle nearly said: "Hear, hear," but
checked herself.
"I will find you some literature now," said
Lady Caterham, rising.
She called in a piercing voice: "Miss
Connor."
A very neat secretary with a frightened
expression came running. Lady Caterham
gave her various directions. Presently Bundle
was driving back to Brook Street with an
armful of the driest-looking literature
imaginable.
Her next proceeding was to ring up Jimmy
Thesiger. His first words were full of
triumph.
"I've managed it," he said. "Had a lot of
trouble with Bill, though. He'd got it into his
thick head that I should be a lamb among
wolves. But I made him see sense at last. I've
got a lot of thingummybobs now and I'm
studying them. You know, blue books and
white papers. Deadly dull—but one must do
the thing properly. Have you ever heard of
the Santa Fe boundary dispute?"
"Never," said Bundle.
"Well, I'm taking special pains with that. It
went on for years and was very complicated.
143
I'm making it my subject. Nowadays one has
to specialise."
"I've got a lot of the same sort of things,"
said Bundle. "Aunt Marcia gave them to
me."
"Aunt who?"
"Aunt Marcia--Father's sister-in-law.
She's very political. In fact she's going to get
me invited to George's party."
"No? Oh, I say, that will be splendid."
There was a pause and then Jimmy said:
"I say, I don't think we'd better tell
Loraine that--eh?"
"Perhaps not."
"You see, she mayn't like being out of it.
And she really must be kept out of it."
"Yes."
"I mean you can't let a girl like that run
into danger!"
Bundle reflected that Mr. Thesiger was
slightly deficient in tact. The prospect of her running into danger did not seem to give him
any qualms whatever.
"Have you gone away?" asked Jimmy.
"No, I was only thinking."
"I see. I say, are you going to the inquest
tomorrow?"
"Yes, are you?"
144
"Yes. By the way, it's in the evening
papers. But tucked away in a corner.
Funny--I should have thought they'd have
made rather a splash about it."
"Yes-so should I."
"Well," said Jimmy, "I must be getting on
with my task. I've just got to where Bolivia
sent us a Note."
"I suppose I must get on with my little
lot," said Bundle. "Are you going to swot at
it all the evening?"
"I think so. Are you?"
"Oh, probably. Goodnight."
They were both liars of the most unblushing
order. Jimmy Thesiger knew
perfectly well that he was taking Loraine
Wade out to dinner.
As for Bundle, no sooner had she rung off
than she attired herself in various nondescript
garments belonging, as a matter of fact, to her
maid. And having donned them she sallied
out on foot deliberating whether bus or tube
would be the best route by which to reach the
Seven Dials Club.
145
13
The Seven Dials Club
BUNDLE reached 14 Hunstanton Street
about six p.m. At that hour, as she
rightly judged, the Seven Dials Club
was a dead spot. Bundle's aim was a simple
one. She intended to get hold of the exfootman
Alfred. She was convinced that once
she had got hold of him the rest would be
easy. Bundle had a simple autocratic method
of dealing with retainers. It seldom failed,
and she saw no reason why it should fail now.
The only thing of which she was not
certain was how many people inhabited the
club premises. Naturally she wished to
disclose her presence to as few people as
possible.
Whilst she was hesitating as to her best line
of attack, the problem was solved for her in a
singularly easy fashion. The door of No. 14
opened and Alfred himself came out.
"Good-afternoon, Alfred," said Bundle
pleasantly.
146
Alfred jumped.
"Oh! good-afternoon, your ladyship. I—I
didn't recognise your ladyship just for a
moment."
Paying a tribute in her own mind to her
maid's clothing. Bundle proceeded to
business.
"I want a few words with you, Alfred.
Where shall we go?"
"Well—really, my lady—I don't know—it's
not what you might call a nice part round
here—I don't know, I'm sure——"
Bundle cut him short.
"Who's in the club?"
"No one at present, my lady."
"Then we'll go in there."
Alfred produced a key and opened the
door. Bundle passed in. Alfred, troubled and
sheepish, followed her. Bundle sat down and
looked straight at the uncomfortable Alfred.
"I suppose you know," she said crisply,
"that what you're doing here is dead against
the law?"
Alfred shifted uncomfortably from one foot
to the other.
"It's true as we've been raided twice," he
admitted. "But nothing compromising was
147
found, owing to the neatness of Mr.
Mosgorovsky's arrangements."
"I'm not talking of the gambling only,"
said Bundle. "There's more than that—probably
a great deal more than you know. I'm
going to ask you a direct question, Alfred,
and I should like the truth, please. How much
were you paid for leaving Chimneys?"
Alfred looked twice round the cornice as
though seeking for inspirations, swallowed
three or four times, and then took the
inevitable course of a weak will opposed to a
strong one.
"It was this way, your ladyship. Mr.
Mosgorovsky, he come with a party to visit
Chimneys on one of the show days. Mr.
Tredwell, he was indisposed like—an
ingrowing toe-nail as a matter of fact—so it
fell to me to show the parties over. At the end
of the tour, Mr. Mosgorovsky, he stays
behind the rest, and after giving me
something handsome, he falls into
conversation."
"Yes," said Bundle encouragingly.
"And the long and the short of it was," said
Alfred, with a sudden acceleration of his
narrative, "that he offers me a hundred
pound down to leave that instant minute and
148
to look after this liere club. He wanted
someone as was used to the best families—to
give the place a tone, as he put it. And, well,
it seemed flying in the face of providence to
refuse—let along that the wages I get here are
just three times what they were as second
footman."
"A hundred pounds," said Bundle.
"That's a very large sum, Alfred. Did they
say anything about who was to fill your place
at Chimneys?"
"I demurred a bit, my lady, about leaving
at once. As I pointed out, it wasn't usual
and might cause inconvenience. But Mr.
Mosgorovsky he knew of a young chap—been
in good service and ready to come any
minute. So I mentioned his name to Mr.
Tredwell and everything was settled pleasant
like."
Bundle nodded. Her own suspicions had
been correct and the modus operandi was
much as she had thought it to be. She essayed
a further inquiry.
"Who is Mr. Mosgorovsky?"
"Gentleman as runs this club. Russian
gentleman. A very clever gentleman too."
Bundle abandoned the getting of infor-
149
mation for the moment and proceeded to
other matters.
"A hundred pounds is a very large sum of
money, Alfred."
"Larger than I ever handled, my lady,"
said Alfred with simple candour.
"Did you never suspect that there was
something wrong?"
"Wrong, my lady?"
"Yes. I'm not talking about the gambling. I
mean something far more serious. You don't
want to be sent to penal servitude, do you,
Alfred?"
"Oh, Lord! my lady, you don't mean it?"
"I was at Scotland Yard the day before
yesterday," said Bundle impressively. "I
heard some very curious things. I want you to
help me, Alfred, and if you do, well—if things
go wrong, I'll put in a good word for you."
"Anything I can do, I shall be only too
pleased, my lady. I mean, I would anyway."
"Well, first," said Bundle, "I want to go all
over this place—from top to bottom."
Accompanied by a mystified and scared
Alfred, she made a very thorough tour of
inspection. Nothing struck her eye till she
came to the gaming room. There she noticed
150
an inconspicuous door in a corner, and the
door was locked.
Alfred explained readily.
"That's used as a getaway, your ladyship.
There's a room and a door on to a staircase
what comes out in the next street. That's the
way the gentry goes when there's a raid."
"But don't the police know about it?"
"It's a cunning door, you see, my lady.
Looks like a cupboard, that's all."
Bundle felt a rising excitement.
"I must get in here," she said.
Alfred shook his head.
"You can't, my lady; Mr. Mosgorovsky, he
has the key."
"Well," said Bundle, "there are other
keys."
She perceived that the lock was a perfectly
ordinary one which probably could be easily
unlocked by the key of one of the other doors.
Alfred, rather troubled, was sent to collect
likely specimens. The fourth that Bundle
tried fitted. She turned it, opened the door
and passed through.
She found herself in a small, dingy apartment.
A long table occupied the centre of the
room with chairs ranged round it. There was
no other furniture in the room. Two built-in
151
cupboards stood on either side of the fireplace.
Alfred indicated the nearer one with a
nod.
"That's it," he explained.
Bundle tried the cupboard door, but it was
locked, and she saw at once that this lock was
a very different affair. It was of the patent
kind that would only yield to its own key.
" 'Ighly ingenious, it is," explained Alfred. "It looks all right when opened. Shelves, you
know, with a few ledgers and that on 'em.
Nobody'd ever suspect, but you touch the
right spot and the whole thing swings open."
Bundle had turned round and was surveying
the room thoughtfully. The first thing
she noticed was that the door by which they
had entered was carefully fitted round with
baize. It must be completely soundproof.
Then her eyes wandered to the chairs. There
were seven of them, three each side and one
rather more imposing in design at the head of
the table.
Bundle's eyes brightened. She had found
what she was looking for. This, she felt
sure, was the meeting place of the secret
organisation. The place was almost perfectly
planned. It looked so innocent--you could
reach it just by stepping through the gaming
152
room, or you could arrive there by the secret
entrance—and any secrecy, any precautions
were easily explained by the gaming going on
in the next room.
Idly, as these thoughts passed through her
mind, she drew a finger across the marble of
the mantelpiece. Alfred saw and misinterpreted
the action.
"You won't find no dirt, not to speak of,"
he said. "Mr. Mosgorovsky, he ordered the
place to be swept out this morning, and I did
it while he waited."
"Oh!" said Bundle, thinking very hard.
"This morning, eh?"
"Has to be done sometimes," said Alfred.
"Though the room's never what you might
call used."
Next minute he received a shock.
"Alfred," said Bundle, "you've got to find
me a place in this room where I can hide."
Alfred looked at her in dismay.
"But it's impossible, my lady. You'll get
me into trouble and I'll lose my job."
"You'll lose it anyway when you go to
prison," said Bundle unkindly. "But as a
matter of fact, you needn't worry, nobody
will know anything about it."
"And there ain't no place," wailed Alfred.
153
SDM 11
"Look round for yourself, your ladyship, if
you don't believe me."
Bundle was forced to admit that there was
something in this argument. But she had the
true spirit of one undertaking adventures.
"Nonsense," she said with determination.
"There has got to be a place."
"But there ain't one," wailed Alfred.
Never had a room shown itself more
unpropitious for concealment. Dingy blinds
were drawn down over the dirty window
panes, and there were no curtains. The
window sill outside, which Bundle examined,
was about four inches wide! Inside the room
there were the table, the chairs and the
cupboards.
The second cupboard had a key in the lock.
Bundle went across and pulled it open. Inside
were shelves covered with an odd assortment
of glasses and crockery.
"Surplus stuff as we don't use," explained
Alfred. "You can see for yourself, my lady,
there's no place here as a cat could hide."
But Bundle was examining the shelves.
"Flimsy work," she said. "Now then,
Alfred, have you got a cupboard downstairs
where you could shove all this glass? You
have! Good. Then get a tray and start to carry
154
it down at once. Hurry—there's no time to
lose."
"You can't, my lady. And it's getting late,
too. The cooks will be here any minute now."
"Mr. Mosgo—whatnot doesn't come till
later, I suppose?"
"He's never here much before midnight.
But oh, my lady——"
"Don't talk so much, Alfred," said Bundle.
"Get that tray. If you stay here arguing, you
will get into trouble."
Doing what is familiarly known as
"wringing his hands," Alfred departed.
Presently he returned with a tray, and having
by now realised that his protests were useless,
he worked with a nervous energy quite
surprising.
As Bundle had seen, the shelves were easily
detachable. She took them down, ranged
them upright against the wall, and then
stepped in.
"H'm," she remarked. "Pretty narrow. It's
going to be a tight fit. Shut the door on me
carefully, Alfred—that's right. Yes, it can be
done. Now I want a gimlet."
"A gimlet, my lady?"
"That's what I said."
"I don't know——"
155
"Nonsense, you must have a gimlet—perhaps
you've got an auger as well. If you
haven't got what I want, you'll have to go out
and buy it, so you'd better try hard to find the
right thing."
Alfred departed and returned presently
with quite a creditable assortment of tools.
Bundle seized what she wanted and
proceeded swiftly and efficiently to bore a
small hole at the level of her right eye. She
did this from the outside so that it should be
less noticeable, and she dared not make it too
large lest it should attract attention.
"There, that'll do," she remarked at last.
"Oh, but, my lady, my lady——"
"Yes?"
"But they'll find you—if they should open
the door."
"They won't open the door," said Bundle.
"Because you are going to lock it and take the
key away."
"And if by any chance Mr. Mosgorovsky
should ask for the key?"
"Tell him it's lost," said Bundle briskly.
"But nobody's going to worry about this
cupboard—it's only here to attract attention
from the other one and make a pair. Go on,
Alfred, someone might come at any time.
156
Lock me in and take the key and come and let
me out when everyone's gone."
"You'll be taken bad, my lady. You'll
faint——"
"I never faint," said Bundle. "But you
might as well get me a cocktail. I shall
certainly need it. Then lock the door of the
room again—don't forget—and take all the
door keys back to their proper doors. And
Alfred—don't be too much of a rabbit.
Remember, if anything goes wrong, I'll see
you through."
"And that's that," said Bundle to herself
when, having served the cocktail, Alfred had
finally departed.
She was not nervous lest Alfred's nerve
should fail and he should give her away. She
knew that his sense of self-preservation was
far too strong for that. His training alone
helped him to conceal private emotions
beneath the mask of a well-trained servant.
Only one thing worried Bundle. The
interpretation she had chosen to put upon the
cleaning of the room that morning might be
all wrong. And if so—Bundle sighed in
the narrow confines of the cupboard. The
prospect of spending long hours in it for
nothing was not attractive.
157
14
,M.t i.;


The Meeting of the Seven Dials
IT would be as well to pass over the
sufferings of the next four hours as quickly
as possible. Bundle found her position extremely
cramped. She had judged that the
meeting, if meeting there was to be, would
take place at a time when the club was in full
swing--somewhere probably between the
hours of midnight and two a.m.
She was just deciding that it must be at
least six o'clock in the morning when a
welcome sound came to her ears, the sound of
the unlocking of a door.
In another minute the electric light was
switched on. The hum of voices, which had
come to her for a minute or two, rather like
the far-off roar of sea waves, ceased as
suddenly as it had begun, and Bundle heard
the sound of a bolt being shot. Clearly
someone had come in from the gaming
room next door, and she paid tribute to
the thoroughness with which the communi158
eating door had been rendered soundproof.
In another minute the intruder came into
her line of vision--a line of vision that was
necessarily somewhat incomplete but which
yet answered its purpose. A tall man, broadshouldered
and powerful looking, with a long
black beard. Bundle remembered having seen
him sitting at one of the baccarat tables on the
preceding night.
This, then, was Alfred's mysterious
Russian gentleman, the proprietor of the
club, the sinister Mr. Mosgorovsky. Bundle's
heart beat faster with excitement. So little did
she resemble her father that at this minute
she fairly gloried in the extreme discomfort of
her position.
The Russian remained for some minutes
standing by the table, stroking his beard.
Then he drew a watch from his pocket and
glanced at the time. Nodding his head as
though satisfied, he again thrust his hand into
his pocket and, pulling out something that
Bundle could not see, he moved out of her
line of vision.
When he reappeared again, she could
hardly help giving a gasp of surprise.
His face was now covered by a mask--but
hardly a mask in the conventional sense. It
159
was not shaped to the face. It was a mere
piece of material hanging in front of the
features like a curtain in which two slits were
pierced for the eyes. In shape it was round
and on it was the representation of a clock
face, with the hands pointing to six o'clock.
"The Seven Dials!" said Bundle to herself.
And at that minute there came a new
sound—seven muffled taps.
Mosgorovsky strode across to where
Bundle knew was the other cupboard door.
She heard a sharp click, and then the sound of
greetings in a foreign tongue.
Presently she had a view of the newcomers.
They also wore clock masks, but in their
case the hands were in a different positionfour o'clock and five o'clock respectively.
Both men were in evening dress—but with a
difference. One was an elegant, slender young
man wearing evening clothes of exquisite cut.
The grace with which he moved was foreign
rather than English. The other man could be
better described as wiry and lean. His clothes
fitted him sufficiently well, but no more, and
Bundle guessed at his nationality even before
she heard his voice.
"I reckon we're the first to arrive at this
little meeting."
160
A full pleasant voice with a slight American
drawl, and an inflection of Irish behind it.
The elegant young man said in good, but
slightly stilted English:
"I had much difficulty in getting away tonight.
These things do not always arrange
themselves fortunately. I am not, like No. 4
here, my own master."
Bundle tried to guess at his nationality.
Until he spoke, she had thought he might be
French, but the accent was not a French one.
He might possibly, she thought, be an
Austrian, or a Hungarian, or even a Russian.
The American moved to the other side of
the table, and Bundle heard a chair being
pulled out.
"One o'clock's being a great success," he
said. "I congratulate you on taking the risk."
Five o'clock shrugged his shoulders.
"Unless one takes risks----" He left the
sentence unfinished.
Again seven taps sounded and Mosgorovsky
moved across to the secret door.
She failed to catch anything definite for
some moments since the whole company
were out of sight, but presently she heard the
bearded Russian's voice upraised.
"Shall we begin proceedings?"
161
He himself came round the table and took
the seat next to the arm-chair at the top.
Sitting thus, he was directly facing Bundle's
cupboard. The elegant five o'clock took the
place next to him. The third chair that side
was out of Bundle's sight, but the American,
No. 4, moved into her line of vision for a
moment or two before he sat down.
On the near side of the table also, only two
chairs were visible, and as she watched a hand
turned the second—really the middle
chair—down. And then with a swift
movement, one of the newcomers brushed
past the cupboard and took the chair opposite
Mosgorovsky. Whoever sat there had, of
course, their back directly turned to
Bundle—and it was at that back that Bundle
was staring with a good deal of interest, for it
was the back of a singularly beautiful woman
very much decollete.
It was she who spoke first. Her voice was
musical, foreign—with a deep seductive note
in it. She was glancing towards the empty
chair at the head of the table.
"So we are not to see No. 7 to-night?" she
said. "Tell me, my friends, shall we ever see
him?"
"That's darned good," said the American.
162
"Darned good! As for seven o'clock-- I'm beginning to believe there is no such person."
"I should not advise you to think that, my
friend," said the Russian pleasantly.
There was a silence--rather an uncomfortable
silence. Bundle felt.
She was still staring as though fascinated at
the beautiful back in front other. There was a
tiny black mole just below the right shoulder
blade that enhanced the whiteness of the skin.
Bundle felt that at last the term "beautiful
adventuress," so often read, had a real
meaning for her. She was quite certain that
this woman had a beautiful face--a dark
Slavonic face with passionate eyes.
She was recalled from her imaginings by
the voice of the Russian, who seemed to act as
master of ceremonies.
"Shall we get on with our business? First to
our absent comrade! No. 2!"
He made a curious gesture with his hand
towards the turned down chair next to the
woman, which everyone present imitated, turning to the chair as they did so.
"I wish No. 2 were with us to-night," he
continued. "There are many things to be
done. Unsuspected difficulties have arisen."
163
"Have you had his report?" It was the
American who spoke.
"As yet—I have nothing from him." There
was a pause. "I cannot understand it."
"You think it may have—gone astray?"
"That is—a possibility."
"In other words," said five o'clock softly,
"there is—danger."
He spoke the word delicately—and yet with
relish.
The Russian nodded emphatically.
"Yes—there's danger. Too much is getting
known about us—about this place. I know of
several people who suspect." He added
coldly: "They must be silenced."
Bundle felt a little cold shiver pass down
her spine. If she were to be found, would she
be silenced? She was recalled suddenly to
attention by a word.
"So nothing has come to light about
Chimneys?"
Mosgorovsky shook his head.
"Nothing."
Suddenly No. 5 leant forward.
"I agree with Anna; where is our
president—No. 7? He who called us into
being. Why do we never see him?"
164
"No. 7," said the Russian, "has his own
ways of working."
"So you always say."
"I will say more," said Mosgorovsky.
"I pity the man—or woman—who comes up
against him."
There was an awkward silence.
"We must get on with our business," said
Mosgorovsky quietly. "No. 3, you have the
plans of Wyvern Abbey?"
Bundle strained her ears. So far she had
neither caught a glimpse of No. 3, nor had
she heard his voice. She heard it now and
recognised it as unmistakable. Low, pleasant,
indistinct—the voice of a well-bred Englishman.
"I've
got them here, sir."
Some papers were shoved across the
table. Everyone bent forward. Presently
Mosgorovsky raised his head again.
"And the list of guests?"
"Here."
The Russian read them.
"Sir Stanley Digby. Mr. Terence
O'Rourke. Sir Oswald and Lady Coote. Mr.
Bateman. Countess Anna Radzky. Mrs.
Macatta. Mr. James Thesiger——" He
paused and then asked sharply:
165
"Who is Mr. James Thesiger?"
The American laughed.
"I guess you needn't worry any about him.
The usual complete young ass."
The Russian continued reading.
"Herr Eberhard and Mr. Eversleigh. That
completes the list."
"Does it?" said Bundle silently. "What
about that sweet girl. Lady Eileen Brent?"
"Yes, there seems nothing to worry about
there," said Mosgorovsky. He looked across
the table. "I suppose there's no doubt
whatever about the value of Eberhard's
invention?"
Three o'clock made a laconic British reply.
"None whatever."
"Commercially it should be worth
millions," said the Russian. "And internationally—well,
one knows only too well the
greed of nations."
Bundle had an idea that behind his mask he
was smiling unpleasantly.
"Yes," he went on. "A gold mine."
"Well worth a few lives," said No. 5
cynically, and laughed.
"But you know what inventors are," said
the American. "Sometimes these darned
things won't work."
166
"A man like Sir Oswald Coote will have
made no mistake," said Mosgorovsky.
"Speaking as an aviator myself," said No.
5, "the thing is perfectly feasible. It has been
discussed for years—but it needed the genius
of Eberhard to bring it to fruition."
"Well," said Mosgorovsky, "I don't think
we need discuss matters any further. You
have all seen the plans. I do not think our
original scheme can be bettered. By the way,
I hear something about a letter of Gerald
Wade's that has been found—a letter that
mentions this organisation. Who found it?"
"Lord Cunningham's daughter—Lady
Eileen Brent."
"Bauer should have been on to that," said
Mosgorovsky. "It was careless of him. Who
was the letter written to?"
"His sister, I believe," said No. 3.
"Unfortunate," said Mosgorovsky. "But it
cannot be helped. The inquest on Ronald
Devereux is to-morrow. I suppose that has
been arranged for?"
"Reports as to local lads having been
practising with rifles have been spread
everywhere," said the American.
"That should be all right then. I think
there is nothing further to be said. I think we
167
must all congratulate our dear one o'clock
and wish her luck in the part she has to play."
"Hurrah!" cried No. 5. "To Anna!"
All hands flew out in the same gesture
which Bundle had noticed before.
"To Anna!"
One o'clock acknowledged the salutation
with a typically foreign gesture. Then she
rose to her feet and the others followed suit.
For the first time. Bundle caught a glimpse of
No. 3 as he came to put Anna's cloak round
her—a tall, heavily built man.
Then the party filed out through the secret
door. Mosgorovsky secured it after them. He
waited a few moments and then Bundle heard
him unbolt the other door and pass through,
after extinguishing the electric light.
It was not until two hours later that a white
and anxious Alfred came to release Bundle.
She almost fell into his arms and he had to
hold her up.
"Nothing!" said Bundle. "Just stiff, that's
all. Here, let me sit down."
"Oh, Gord, my lady, it's been awful."
"Nonsense," said Bundle. "It all went off
splendidly. Don't get the wind up now it's all
over. It might have gone wrong, but thank
goodness it didn't."
168
"Thank goodness, as you say, my lady. Fve
been in a twitter all the evening. They're a
funny crowd, you know."
"A damned funny crowd," said Bundle,
vigorously massaging her arms and legs. "As
a matter of fact, they're the sort of crowd I
always imagined until to-night only existed in
books. In this life, Alfred, one never stops
learning."
SDM 12
169

15
The Inquest
BUNDLE reached home about six a.m.
She was up and dressed by half past
nine, and rang up Jimmy Thesiger on
the telephone.
The promptitude of his reply somewhat
surprised her, till he explained that he was
going down to attend the inquest.
"So am I," said Bundle. "And I've got a lot
to tell you."
"Well, suppose you let me drive you down
and we can talk on the way. How about
that?"
"All right. But allow a bit extra because
you'll have to take me to Chimneys. The
Chief Constable's picking me up there."
"Why?"
"Because he's a kind man," said Bundle.
"So am I," said Jimmy. "Very kind."
"Oh! you—you're an ass," said Bundle. "I
heard somebody say so last night."
"Who?"
170
"To be strictly accurate—a Russian Jew.
No, it wasn't. It was——"
But an indignant protest drowned her
words.
"I may be an ass," said Jimmy. "I daresay I
am—but I won't have Russian Jews saying so.
What were you doing last night. Bundle?"
"That's what I'm going to talk about," said
Bundle. "Good-bye for the moment."
She rang off in a tantalising manner which
left Jimmy pleasantly puzzled. He had the
highest respect for Bundle's capabilities,
though there was not the slightest trace of
sentiment in his feeling towards her.
"She's been up to something," he opined,
as he took a last hasty drink of coffee.
"Depend upon it, she's been up to
something."
Twenty minutes later, his little two-seater
drew up before the Brook Street house and
Bundle, who had been waiting, came tripping
down the steps. Jimmy was not ordinarily an
observant young man, but he noticed that
there were black rings round Bundle's eyes
and that she had all the appearance of having
had a late night the night before.
"Now then," he said, as the car began to
171
nose her way through the suburbs, "what
dark deeds have you been up to?"
"I'll tell you," said Bundle. "But don't
interrupt until I've finished."
It was a somewhat long story, and Jimmy
had all he could do to keep sufficient
attention on the car to prevent an accident.
When Bundle had finished he sighed—then
looked at her searchingly.
"Bundle?"
"Yes?"
"Look here, you're not pulling my leg?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm sorry," apologised Jimmy, "but it
seems to me as though I'd heard it all
before—in a dream, you know."
"I know," said Bundle sympathetically.
"It's impossible," said Jimmy, following
out his own train of thought. "The beautiful
foreign adventuress, the international gang,
the mysterious No. 7, whose identity nobody
knows—I've read it all a hundred times in
books."
"Of course yon have. So have I. But it's no
reason why it shouldn't really happen."
"I suppose not," admitted Jimmy.
"After all—1 suppose fiction is founded on
172
the truth. I mean unless things did happen,
people couldn't think of them."
"There is something in what you say,"
agreed Jimmy. "But all the same I can't help
pinching myself to see if I'm awake."
"That's how I felt."
Jimmy gave a deep sigh.
"Well, I suppose we are awake. Let me see, a Russian, an American, an Englishman--a
possible Austrian or Hungarian--and the
lady who may be any nationality--for choice
Russian or Polish--that's a pretty representative
gathering."
"And a German," said Bundle. "You've
forgotten the German."
"Oh!" said Jimmy slowly. "You think----?"
"The absent No. 2. No. 2 is Bauer--our
footman. That seems to me quite clear from
what they said about expecting a report
which hadn't come in--though what there
can be to report about Chimneys, I can't
think."
"It must be something to do with Gerry
Wade's death," said Jimmy. "There's
something there we haven't fathomed yet.
You say they actually mentioned Bauer by
name?"
Bundle nodded.
173
"They blamed him for not having found
that letter."
"Well, I don't see what you could have
clearer than that. There's no going against it.
You'll have to forgive my first incredulity,
Bundle—but you know, it was rather a tall
story. You say they knew about my going
down to Wyvern Abbey next week?"
"Yes, that's when the American—it was
him, not the Russian—said they needn't
worry—you were only the usual kind of ass."
"Ah!" said Jimmy. He pressed his foot
down on the accelerator viciously and the car
shot forward. "I'm very glad you told me
that. It gives me what you might call a
personal interest in the case."
He was silent for a minute or two and then
he said:
"Did you say that German inventor's name
was Eberhard?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Wait a minute. Something's coming back
to me. Eberhard, Eberhard—yes, I'm sure
that was the name."
"Tell me."
"Eberhard was a Johnny who'd got some
patent process he applied to steel. I can't put
the thing properly because I haven't got the
174
scientific knowledges-but I know the result
was that it became so toughened that a wire
was as strong as a steel bar had previously
been. Eberhard had to do with aeroplanes and
his idea was that the weight would be so
enormously reduced that flying would be
practically revolutionised—the cost of it, I
mean. I believe he offered his invention to the
German Government, and they turned it
down, pointed out some undeniable flaw in
it—but they did it rather nastily. He set
to work and circumvented the difficulty,
whatever it was, but he'd been offended by
their attitude and swore they shouldn't have
his ewe lamb. I always thought the whole
thing was probably bunkum, but now—it
looks differently."
"That's it," said Bundle eagerly. "You
must be right. Jimmy. Eberhard must have
offered his invention to our Government.
They've been taking, or are going to take, Sir
Oswald Coote's expert opinion on it. There's
going to be an unofficial conference at the
Abbey. Sir Oswald, George, the Air Minister
and Eberhard. Eberhard will have the plans
or the process or whatever you call it——"
"Formula," suggested Jimmy. "I think
'formula' is a good word myself."
175
"He'll have the formula with him, and the
Seven Dials are out to steal the formula. I
remember the Russian saying it was worth
millions."
"I suppose it would be," said Jimmy.
"And well worth a few lives—that's what
the other man said."
"Well, it seems to have been," said Jimmy,
his face clouding over. "Look at this damned
inquest to-day. Bundle, are you sure Ronny
said nothing else?"
"No," said Bundle. "Just that. Seven Dials.
Tell Jimmy Thesiger. That's all he could get
out, poor lad."
"I wish we knew what he knew," said
Jimmy. "But we've found out one thing. I
take it that the footman, Bauer, must almost
certainly have been responsible for Gerry's
death. You know. Bundle——"
"Yes?"
"Well, I'm a bit worried sometimes. Who's
going to be the next one! It really isn't the
sort of business for a girl to be mixed up in."
Bundle smiled in spite of herself. It
occurred to her that it had taken Jimmy a
long time to put her in the same category as
Loraine Wade.
176
"It's far more likefy to be you than me,"
she remarked cheerfully.
"Hear, hear," said Jimmy. "But what
about a few casualties on the other side for a
change? I'm feeling rather bloodthirsty this
morning. Tell me. Bundle, would you
recognise any of these people if you saw
them?"
Bundle hesitated.
"I think I should recognise No. 5," she said
at last. "He's got a queer way of speaking—a
kind of venomous, lisping way—that I think
I'd know again."
"What about the Englishman?"
Bundle shook her head.
"I saw him least—only a glimpse—and he's
got a very ordinary voice. Except that he's a
big man, there's nothing much to go by."
"There's the woman, of course,"
continued Jimmy. "She ought to be easier.
But then, you're not likely to run across her.
She's probably puttmg in the dirty work,
being taken out to dinner by amorous
Cabinet Ministers and getting State secrets
out of them when they've had a couple. At
least, that's how it's done in books. As a
matter of fact, the only Cabinet Minister I
177
know drinks hot water with a dash of lemon
in it."
"Take George Lomax, for instance, can
you imagine him being amorous with
beautiful foreign women?" said Bundle with
a laugh.
Jimmy agreed with her criticism.
"And now about the man of mystery—No.
7," went on Jimmy. "You've no idea who he
could be?"
"None whatever."
"Again—by book standard, that is—he
ought to be someone we all know. What
about George Lomax himself?"
Bundle reluctantly shook her head.
"In a book it would be perfect," she agreed.
"But knowing Codders——" And she gave
herself up to sudden uncontrollable mirth.
"Codders, the great criminal organiser," she
gasped. "Wouldn't it be marvellous?"
Jimmy agreed that it would. Their
discussion had taken some time and his
driving had slowed down involuntarily once
or twice. They arrived at Chimneys, to find
Colonel Melrose already there waiting.
Jimmy was introduced to him and they all
three proceeded to the inquest together.
As Colonel Melrose had predicted, the
178
whole affair was very simple. Bundle gave her
evidence. The doctor gave his. Evidence was
given of rifle practice in the neighbourhood.
A verdict of death by misadventure was
brought in.
After the proceedings were over. Colonel
Melrose volunteered to drive Bundle back to
Chimneys, and Jimmy Thesiger returned to
London.
For all his light-hearted manner. Bundle's
story had impressed him profoundly. He set
his lips closely together.
"Ronny, old boy," he murmured, "I'm
going to be up against it. And you're not here
to join in the game."
Another thought flashed into his mind.
Loraine! Was she in danger?
After a minute or two's hesitation, he went
over to the telephone and rang her up.
"It's me—Jimmy. I thought you'd like to
know the result of the inquest. Death by
misadventure."
"Oh, but——"
"Yes, but I think there's something behind
that. The coroner had had a hint. Someone's
at work to hush it up. I say, Loraine——"
"Yes?"
"Look here. There's—there's some funny
179
business going about. You'll be very careful,
won't you? For my sake."
He heard the quick note of alarm that
sprang into her voice.
"Jimmy—but then it's dangerous—for
you."
He laughed.
"Oh, that's all right. I'm the cat that had
nine lives. Bye-bye, old thing."
He rang off and remained a minute or two
lost in thought. Then he summoned Stevens.
"Do you think you could go out and buy
me a pistol, Stevens?"
"A pistol, sir?"
True to his training, Stevens betrayed no
hint of surprise.
"What kind of a pistol would you be
requiring?"
"The kind where you put your finger on
the trigger and the thing goes on shooting
until you take it off again."
"An automatic, sir."
"That's it," said Jimmy. "An automatic.
And I should like it to be a blue-nosed one—if
you and the shopman know what that is. In
American stories, the hero always takes his
blue-nosed automatic from his hip pocket."
180
Stevens permitted himself a faint, discreet
smile.
"Most American gentlemen that I have
known, sir, carry something very different in
their hip pockets," he observed.
Jimmy Thesiger laughed.
181
16
The House Party at the Abbey
BUNDLE drove over to Wyvern Abbey
just in time for tea on Friday
afternoon. George Lomax came forward
to welcome her with considerable empressement.
"My dear Eileen," he said, "I can't tell you
how pleased I am to see you here. You must
forgive my not having invited you when I
asked your father, but to tell the truth I never
dreamed that a party of this kind would
appeal to you. I was both--er--surprised
and--er--delighted when Lady Caterham
told me of your--er--interest in--er--
politics."
"I wanted to come so much," said Bundle
in a simple, ingenuous manner.
"Mrs. Macatta will not arrive till the later
train," explained George. "She was speaking
at a meeting in Manchester last night. Do you
know Thesiger? Quite a young fellow, but a
remarkable grasp of foreign politics. One
182
would hardly suspect it from his appearance."

"I know Mr. Thesiger," said Bundle, and
she shook hands solemnly with Jimmy, who
she observed had parted his hair in the
middle in the endeavour to add earnestness to
his expression.
"Look here," said Jimmy in a low hurried
voice, as George temporarily withdrew. "You
mustn't be angry, but I've told Bill about our
little stunt."
"Bill?" said Bundle, annoyed.
"Well, after all," said Jimmy, "Bill is one
of the lads, you know. Ronny was a pal of his
and so was Gerry."
"Oh! I know," said Bundle.
"But you think it's a pity? Sorry."
"Bill's all right, of course. It isn't that,"
said Bundle. "But he's--well. Bill's a born
blunderer."
"Not mentally very agile?" suggested
Jimmy. "But you forget one thing--Bill's got
a very hefty fist. And I've an idea that a hefty
fist is going to come in handy."
"Well, perhaps you're right. How did he
take it?"
"Well, he clutched his head a good bit,
but--1 mean the facts took some driving
183
home. But by repeating the thing patiently in
words of one syllable I at last got it into his
thick head. And, naturally, he's with us to the
death, as you might say."
George reappeared suddenly.
"I must make some introductions, Eileen.
This is Sir Stanley Digby—Lady Eileen
Brent. Mr. O'Rourke." The Air Minister
was a little round man with a cheerful smile.
Mr. O'Rourke, a tall young man with
laughing blue eyes and a typical Irish face,
greeted Bundle with enthusiasm.
"And I thinking it was going to be a dull
political party entirely," he murmured in an
adroit whisper.
"Hush," said Bundle. "I'm politicalvery
political."
"Sir Oswald and Lady Coote you know,"
continued George.
"We've never actually met," said Bundle,
smiling.
She was mentally applauding her father's
descriptive powers.
Sir Oswald took her hand in an iron grip
and she winced slightly.
Lady Coote, after a somewhat mournful
greeting, had turned to Jimmy Thesiger, and
appeared to be registering something closely
184
akin to pleasure. Despite his reprehensible
habit of being late for breakfast. Lady Coote
had a fondness for this amiable, pink-faced
young man. His air of irrepressible good
nature fascinated her. She had a motherly
wish to cure him of his bad habits and form
him into one of the world's workers.
Whether, once formed, he would be as
attractive was a question she had never asked
herself. She began now to tell him of a very
painful motor accident which had happened
to one of her friends.
"Mr. Bateman," said George briefly, as
one who would pass on to better things.
A serious, pale-faced young man bowed.
"And now," continued George, "I must
introduce you to Countess Radzky."
Countess Radzky had been conversing with
Mr. Bateman. Leaning very far back on the
sofa, with her legs crossed in a daring
manner, she was smoking a cigarette in an
incredibly long turquoise-studded holder.
Bundle thought she was one of the most
beautiful women she had ever seen. Her eyes
\ were very large and blue, her hair was coal
black, she had a matte skin, the slightly
flattened nose of the Slav, and a sinuous,
slender body. Her lips were reddened to a
SDM )3
185
degree with which Bundle was sure Wyvern
Abbey was totally unacquainted.
She said eagerly: "This is Mrs. Macatta--
yes?"
On George's replying in the negative and
introducing Bundle, the countess gave her a
careless nod, and at once resumed her
conversation with the serious Mr. Bateman.
Bundle heard Jimmy's voice in her ear:
"Pongo is absolutely fascinated by the
lovely Slav," he said. "Pathetic, isn't it?
Come and have some tea."
They drifted once more into the
neighbourhood of Sir Oswald Coote.
"That's a fine place of yours. Chimneys,"
remarked the great man.
"I'm glad you liked it," said Bundle
meekly.
"Wants new plumbing," said Sir Oswald.
"Bring it up to date, you know."
He ruminated for a minute or two.
"I'm taking the Duke of Alton's place.
Three years. Just while I'm looking round for
a place of my own. Your father couldn't sell if
he wanted to, I suppose?"
Bundle felt her breath taken away. She
had a nightmare vision of England with
innumerable Cootes in innumerable counter186
«
parts of Chimneys—all, be it understood,
with an entirely new system of plumbing
installed.
She felt a sudden violent resentment which,
she told herself, was absurd. After all,
contrasting Lord Caterham with Sir Oswald
Coote, there was no doubt as to who would
go to the wall. Sir Oswald had one of those
powerful personalities which make all those
with whom they come in contact appear
faded. He was, as Lord Caterham had said, a
human steamroller. And yet, undoubtedly, in
many ways. Sir Oswald was a stupid man.
Apart from his special line of knowledge and
his terrific driving force, he was probably
intensely ignorant. A hundred delicate
appreciations of life which Lord Caterham
could and did enjoy were a sealed book to Sir
Oswald.
Whilst indulging in these reflections
Bundle continued to chat pleasantly. Herr
Eberhard, she heard, had arrived, but was
lying down with a nervous headache. This
was told her by Mr. O'Rourke, who managed
to find a place by her side and keep it.
Altogether, Bundle went up to dress in a
pleasant mood of expectation, with a slight
nervous dread hovering in the background
187
whenever she thought of the imminent arrival
of Mrs. Macatta. Bundle felt that dalliance
with Mrs. Macatta was going to prove no
primrose path.
Her first shock was when she came down,
demurely attired in a black lace frock, and
passed along the hall. A footman was
standing there--at least a man dressed as a
footman. But that square, burly figure lent
itself badly to the deception. Bundle stopped
and stared.
"Superintendent Battle," she breathed.
"That's right. Lady Eileen."
"Oh!" said Bundle uncertainly. "Are you
here to--to----?"
"Keep an eye on things."
"I see."
"That warning letter, you know," said the
Superintendent, "fairly put the wind up Mr.
Lomax. Nothing would do for him but that I
should come down myself."
"But don't you think----" began Bundle,
and stopped. She hardly liked to suggest to
the Superintendent that his disguise was not a
particularly efficient one. He seemed to have
"police officer" written all over him, and
Bundle could hardly imagine the most un188
suspecting criminal failing to be put on his
guard.
"You think," said the Superintendent
stolidly, "that I might be recognised?"
"I did think so—yes——" admitted Bundle.
Something that might conceivably have
been intended for a smile crossed the
woodenness of Superintendent Battle's
features.
"Put them on their guard, eh? Well, Lady
Eileen, why not?"
"Why not?" echoed Bundle—rather
stupidly, she felt.
Superintendent Battle was nodding his
head slowly.
"We don't want any unpleasantness, do
we?" he said. "Don't want to be too
clever—just show any light-fingered gentry
that may be about—well, just show them that
there's somebody on the spot, so to speak."
Bundle gazed at him in some admiration.
She could imagine that the sudden
appearance of so renowned a personage
as Superintendent Battle might have a
depressing effect on any scheme and the
hatchers of it.
"It's a great mistake to be too clever,"
Superintendent Battle was repeating. "The
189
great thing is not to have any unpleasantness
this weekend."
Bundle passed on, wondering how many of
her fellow guests had recognised or would
recognise the Scotland Yard detective. In the
drawing-room George was standing with a
puckered brow and an orange envelope in his
hand.
"Most vexatious," he said. "A telegram
from Mrs. Macatta to say she will be unable
to be with us. Her children are suffering from
mumps."
Bundle's heart gave a throb of relief.
"I especially feel this on your account, Eileen," said George kindly. "I know how
anxious you were to meet her. The Countess
too will be sadly disappointed."
"Oh, never mind," said Bundle. "I should
hate it if she'd come and given me mumps."
"A very distressing complaint," agreed
George. "But I do not think that infection
could be carried that way. Indeed, I am sure
that Mrs. Macatta would have run no risk of
that kind. She is a most highly principled
woman, with a very real sense of her
responsibilities to the community. In these
days of national stress, we must all take into
account----"
190
On the brink of embarking on a speech, George pulled himself up short.
"But it must be for another time," he said.
"Fortunately there is no hurry in your case.
But the Countess, alas, is only a visitor to our
shores."
"She's a Hungarian, isn't she?" said
Bundle, who was curious about the Countess.
"Yes. You have heard, no doubt, of the
Young Hungarian party. The Countess is a
leader in that party. A woman of great
wealth, left a widow at an early age, she has
devoted her money and her talents to the
public service. She has especially devoted
herself to the problem of infant mortality--a
terrible one under present conditions in
Hungary. I--Ah! here is Herr Eberhard."
The German inventor was younger than
Bundle had imagined him. He was probably
not more than thirty-three or four. He was
boorish and ill at ease, and yet his personality
was not an unpleasing one. His blue eyes
were more shy than furtive, and his more
unpleasant mannerisms, such as the one that
Bill had described of gnawing his fingernails,
arose, she thought, more from nervousness
than from any other cause. He was thin and
191
weedy in appearance and looked anaemic and
delicate.
He conversed rather awkwardly with
Bundle in stilted English and they both
welcomed the interruption of the joyous Mr.
O'Rourke. Presently Bill bustled in—there is
no other word for it. In the same such way
does a favoured Newfoundland make his
entrance, and at once came over to Bundle.
He was looking perplexed and harassed.
"Hullo, Bundle. Heard you'd got here.
Been kept with my nose to the grindstone all
the blessed afternoon or I'd have seen you
before."
"Cares of State heavy to-night?" suggested
O'Rourke sympathetically.
Bill groaned.
"I don't know what your fellow's like," he
complained. "Looks a good-natured, tubby
little chap. But Codders is absolutely
impossible. Drive, drive, drive, from
morning to night. Everything you do is
wrong, and everything you haven't done you
ought to have done."
"Quite like a quotation from the prayer
book," remarked Jimmy, who had just
strolled up.
Bill glanced at them reproachfully.
192
"Nobody knows," ne said pathetically,
"what I have to put up with."
"Entertaining the Countess, eh?"
suggested Jimmy. "Poor Bill, that must: have
been a sad strain to a woman haterr like
yourself."
"What's this?" asked Bundle.
"After tea," said Jimmy with a grin, , "the
Countess asked Bill to show her roun« d the
interesting old place."
"Well, I couldn't refuse, could 1?"^ said
Bill, his countenance assuming a bricc;k-red
tint.
Bundle felt faintly uneasy. She knew,, only
too well, the susceptibility of Mr. Wiilliam
Eversleigh to female charms. In the harnds of
a woman like the Countess, Bill would be as
wax. She wondered once more whaether
Jimmy Thesiger had been wise to takoe Bill
into their confidence.
"The Countess," said Bill, "is a very
charming woman. And no end intelligent.
You should have seen her going roun»d the
house. All sorts of questions she asked. "
"What kind of questions?" asked Blundle
suddenly.
Bill was vague.
"Oh! I don't know. About the history of it.
193
And old furniture. And—oh! all sorts of
things."
At that moment the Countess swept into
the room. She seemed a shade breathless. She
was looking magnificent in a close-fitting
black velvet gown. Bundle noticed how Bill
gravitated at once into her immediate
neighbourhood. The serious, spectacled
young man joined him.
"Bill and Pongo have both got it badly,"
observed Jimmy Thesiger with a laugh.
Bundle was by no means so sure that it was
a laughing matter.
194
17
After Dinner
GEORGE was not a believer in modern
innovations. The Abbey was innocent
of anything so up to date as central
heating. Consequently, when the ladies
entered the drawing-room after dinner, the
temperature of the room was woefully
inadequate to the needs of modern evening
clothes. The fire that burnt in the wellfurnished
steel grate became as a magnet.
The three women huddled round it.
"Brrrrrrrrrr!" said the Countess, a fine,
exotic foreign sound.
"The days are drawing in," said Lady
Coote, and drew a flowered atrocity of a scarf
closer about her ample shoulders.
"Why on earth doesn't George have the
house properly heated?" said Bundle.
"You English, you never heat your
houses," said the Countess.
She took out her long cigarette holder and
began to smoke.
195
"That grate is old-fashioned," said Lady
Coote. "The heat goes up the chimney instead
of into the room."
"Oh!" said the Countess.
There was a pause. The Countess was so
plainly bored by her company that conversation
became difficult.
"It's funny," said Lady Coote, breaking
the silence, "that Mrs. Macatta's children
should have mumps. At least, I don't mean
exactly funny----"
"What," said the Countess, "are mumps?"
Bundle and Lady Coote started simultaneously
to explain. Finally, between them,
they managed it.
"I suppose Hungarian children have it?"
asked Lady Coote.
"Eh?" said the Countess.
"Hungarian children. They suffer from
it?"
"I do not know," said the Countess. "How
should I?"
Lady Coote looked at her in some surprise.
"But I understood that you worked----"
"Oh, that!" The Countess uncrossed her
legs, took her cigarette holder from her
mouth and began to talk rapidly.
"I will tell you some horrors," she said.
196
"Horrors that I have seen. Incredible! You
would not believe!"
And. she was as good as her word. She
talked fluently and with a graphic power of
description. Incredible scenes of starvation
and misery were painted by her for the
benefit of her audience. She spoke of Buda
Pesth shortly after the war and traced its
vicissitudes to the present day. She was
dramatic, but she was also, to Bundle's mind, a little like a gramophone record. You turned
her on, and there you were. Presently, just as
suddenly, she would stop.
Lady Coote was thrilled to the marrow--
that much was clear. She sat with her mouth
slightly open and her large, sad, dark eyes
fixed on the Countess. Occasionally, she
interpolated a comment of her own.
"One of my cousins had three children
burned to death. Awful, wasn't it?"
The Countess paid no attention. She went
on and on. And she finally stopped as suddenly
as she had begun.
"There!" she said. "I have told you. We
have money--but no organisation. It is
organisation we need."
Lady Coote sighed.
'I've heard my husband say that nothing
"T».
197
can be done without regular methods. He
attributes his own success entirely to that. He
declares he would never have got on without
them."
She sighed again. A sudden fleeting vision
passed before her eyes of a Sir Oswald who
had not got on in the world. A Sir Oswald
who retained, in all essentials, the attributes
of that cheery young man in the bicycle shop.
Just for a second it occurred to her how much
pleasanter life might have been for her if Sir
Oswald had not had regular methods.
By a quite understandable association of
ideas she turned to Bundle.
"Tell me. Lady Eileen," she said, "do you
like that head gardener of yours?"
"MacDonald? Well——" Bundle hesitated.
"One couldn't exactly like MacDonald," she
explained apologetically. "But he's a firstclass
gardener."
"Oh! I know he is," said Lady Coote.
She looked enviously at Bundle, who
appeared to approach the task of keeping
MacDonald in his place so lightheartedly.
"I'd just adore a high-toned garden," said
the Countess dreamily.
Bundle stared, but at that moment a
diversion occurred. Jimmy Thesiger entered
198
the room and spoke directly to her in a
strange, hurried voice.
"I say, will you come and see those
etchings now? They're waiting for you."
Bundle left the room hurriedly. Jimmy
close behind her.
"What etchings?" she asked, as the
drawing-room door closed behind her.
"No etchings," said Jimmy. "I'd got to say
something to get hold of you. Come on. Bill
is waiting for us in the library. There's
nobody there."
Bill was striding up and down the library,
clearly in a very perturbed state of mind.
"Look here," he burst out, "I don't like
this."
"Don't like what?"
"You being mixed up in this. Ten to one
there's going to be a rough house and
then——"
He looked at her with a kind of pathetic
dismay that gave Bundle a warm and
comfortable feeling.
"She ought to be kept out of it, oughtn't
she. Jimmy?"
He appealed to the other.
"I've told her so," said Jimmy.
199
"Dash it all. Bundle, I mean—someone
might get hurt."
Bundle turned round to Jimmy.
"How much have you told him?"
"Oh! everything."
"I haven't got the hang of it all yet,"
confessed Bill. "You in that place in Seven
Dials and all that." He looked at her
unhappily. "I say. Bundle, I wish you
wouldn't."
"Wouldn't what?"
"Get mixed up in these sort of things."
"Why not?" said Bundle. "They're
exciting."
"Oh, yes—exciting. But they may be
damnably dangerous. Look at poor old
Ronny."
"Yes," said Bundle. "If it hadn't been for
your friend Ronny, I don't suppose I should
ever have got what you call 'mixed up' in this
thing. But I am. And it's no earthly use your
bleating about it."
"I know you're the most frightful sport,
Bundle, but——"
"Cut out the compliments. Let's make
plans."
To her relief. Bill reacted favourably to
the suggestion.
200
FR1;"You're right aboufthe formula," he said.
"Eberhard's got some sort of formula with
him, or rather Sir Oswald has. The stuff has
been tested out at his works--very secretly
and all that. Eberhard has been down there
with him. They're all in the study now--
what you might call coming down to brass
tacks."
"How long is Sir Stanley Digby staying?"
asked Jimmy.
"Going back to town tomorrow."
"H'm," said Jimmy. "Then one thing's
quite clear. If, as I suppose. Sir Stanley will
be taking the formula with him, any funny
business there's going to be will be tonight."
"I suppose it will."
"Not a doubt of it. That narrows the thing
down very comfortably. But the bright lads
will have to be their very brightest. We must
come down to details. First of all, where
will the sacred formula be to-night? Will
Eberhard have it, or Sir Oswald Coote?"
"Neither. I understand it's to be handed
over to the Air Minister this evening, for him
to take to town to-morrow. In that case
O'Rourke will have it. Sure to."
"Well, there's only one thing for it. If we
believe someone's going to have a shot at
SDM 14 20 1
pinching that paper, we've got to keep watch
to-night, Bill, my boy."
Bundle opened her mouth as though to
protest, but shut it again without speaking.
"By the way," continued Jimmy, "did I
recognise the commissionaire from Harrods
in the hall this evening, or was it our old
friend Lestrade from Scotland Yard?"
"Scintillating, Watson," said Bill.
"I suppose," said Jimmy, "that we are
rather butting in on his preserves."
"Can't be helped," said Bill. "Not if we
mean to see this thing through."
"Then it's agreed," said Jimmy. "We
divide the night into two watches?"
Again Bundle opened her mouth, and again
shut it without speaking.
"Right you are," agreed Bill. "Who'll take
first duty?"
"Shall we spin for it?"
"Might as well."
"All right. Here goes. Heads you first and I
second. Tails, vice versa."
Bill nodded. The coin spun in the air.
Jimmy bent to look at it.
"Tails," he said.
"Damn," said Bill. "You get first half and
probably any fun that's going."
202
"Oh, you never lyiow," said Jimmy.
"Criminals are very uncertain. What time
shall I wake you? Three-thirty?"
"That's about fair, I think."
And now, at last. Bundle spoke:
"What about w<??" she asked.
"Nothing doing. You go to bed and sleep."
"Oh!" said Bundle. "That's not very
exciting."
"You never know," said Jimmy kindly.
"You may be murdered in your sleep whilst
Bill and I escape scot-free."
"Well, there's always that possibility. Do
you know. Jimmy, I don't half like the look of
that countess. I suspect her."
"Nonsense," cried Bill hotly. "She's
absolutely above suspicion."
"How do you know?" retorted Bundle.
"Because I do. Why, one of the fellows at
the Hungarian Embassy vouched for her."
"Oh!" said Bundle, momentarily taken
aback by his fervour.
"You girls are all the same," grumbled
Bill. "Just because she's a jolly good-looking
woman——"
Bundle was only too well acquainted with
this unfair masculine line of argument.
"Well, don't you go and pour confidences
203
into her shell-pink ear," she remarked. "I'm
going to bed. I was bored stiff in the drawingroom
and I'm not going back."
She left the room. Bill looked at Jimmy.
"Good old Bundle," he said. "I was afraid
we might have trouble with her. You know
how keen she is to be in everything. I think
the way she took it was just wonderful."
"So did I," said Jimmy. "It staggered me."
"She's got some sense. Bundle has. She
knows when a thing's plumb impossible. I
say. Oughtn't we to have some lethal
weapons? Chaps usually do when they're
going on this sort of stunt."
"I have a blue-nosed automatic," said
Jimmy with gentle pride. "It weighs several
pounds and looks most murderous. I'll lend it
to you when the time comes."
Bill looked at him with respect and envy.
"What made you think of getting that?" he
said.
"I don't know," said Jimmy carelessly. "It
just came to me."
"I hope we shan't go and shoot the wrong
person," said Bill with some anxiety.
"That would be unfortunate," said Mr.
Thesiger gravely.
204
18
Jimmy's Adventures
OUR chronicle must here split into
three separate and distinct portions.
The night was to prove an eventful
one and each of the three persons involved
saw it from his or her own individual angle.
We will begin with that pleasant and
engaging youth, Mr. Jimmy Thesiger, at a
moment when he has at last exchanged final
good-nights with his fellow conspirator. Bill
Eversleigh.
"Don't forget," said Bill, "three a.m. If
you're still alive, that is," he added kindly.
"I may be an ass," said Jimmy, with
rancorous remembrance of the remark
Bundle had repeated to him, "but I'm not
nearly so much of an ass as I look."
"That's what you said about Gerry Wade,"
said Bill slowly. "Do you remember? And
that very night he——"
"Shut up, you damned fool," said Jimmy.
"Haven't you got any tact?"
205
"Of course I've got tact," said Bill. "I'm a
budding diplomatist. All diplomatists have
tact."
"Ah!" said Jimmy. "You must be still in
what they call the larval stage."
"I can't get over Bundle," said Bill,
reverting abruptly to a former topic. "I
should certainly have said that she'd
be—well, difficult. Bundle's improved. She's
improved very much."
"That's what your Chief was saying," said
Jimmy. "He said he was agreeably
surprised."
"I thought Bundle was laying it on a bit
thick myself," said Bill. "But Codders is such
an ass he'd swallow anything. Well, nightnight.
I expect you'll have a bit of a job
waking me when the times comes—but stick
to it."
"It won't be much good if you've taken a
leaf out of Gerry Wade's book," said Jimmy
maliciously.
Bill looked at him reproachfully.
"What the hell do you want to go and make
a chap uncomfortable for?" he demanded.
"You're only getting your own back," said
Jimmy. "Toddle along."
206
ft
But Bill lingered. He stood uncomfortably,
first on one foot and then on the other.
"Look here," he said.
"Yes?"
"What I mean to say is—well, I mean you'll
be all right and all that, won't you? It's all
very well ragging, but when I think of poor
old Gerry—and then poor old Ronny——"
Jimmy gazed at him in exasperation. Bill
was one of those who undoubtedly meant
well, but the result of his efforts would not be
described as heartening.
"I see," he remarked, "that I shall have to
show you Leopold."
He slipped his hand into the pocket of the
dark blue suit into which he had just changed
and held out something for Bill's inspection.
"A real, genuine, blue-nosed automatic,"
he said with modest pride.
"No. I say," said Bill, "is it really?"
He was undoubtedly impressed.
"Stevens, my man, got him for me.
Warranted clean and methodical in his
habits. You press the button and Leopold
does the rest."
"Oh!" said Bill. "I say. Jimmy?"
"Yes?"
"Be careful, won't you? I mean, don't go
207
loosing that thing off at anybody. Pretty
awkward if you shot old Digby walking in his
sleep."
"That's all right," said Jimmy. "Naturally,
I want to get value out of Leopold now I've
bought him, but I'll curb my bloodthirsty
instincts as far as possible."
"Well, night-night," said Bill for the
fourteenth time, and this time really did
depart.
Jimmy was left alone to take up his vigil.
Sir Stanley Digby occupied a room at the
extremity of the west wing. A bathroom
adjoined it on one side, and on the other
a communicating door led into a smaller
room, which was tenanted by Mr. Terence
O'Rourke. The doors of these three rooms
gave on to a short corridor. The watcher had
a simple task. A chair placed inconspicuously
in the shadow of an oak press just where the
corridor ran into the main gallery formed a
perfect vantage ground. There was no other
way into the west wing, and anyone going to
or from it could not fail to be seen. One
electric light was still on.
Jimmy ensconced himself comfortably,
crossed his legs and waited. Leopold lay in
readiness across his knee.
208
He glanced at his watch. It was twenty
minutes to one--just an hour since the household
had retired to rest. Not a sound broke
the stillness, except for the far-off ticking of a
clock somewhere.
Somehow or other. Jimmy did not much
care for that sound. It recalled things. Gerald Wade--and those seven ticking clocks on the
mantelpiece. . . . Whose hand had placed
them there, and why? He shivered.
It was a creepy business, this waiting. He
didn't wonder that things happened at
spiritualistic seances. Sitting in the gloom,
one got all worked up--ready to start at the
least sound. And unpleasant thoughts came
crowding in on a fellow.
Ronny Devereux! Ronny Devereux and
Gerry Wade! Both young, both full of life and
energy, ordinary, jolly, healthy young men.
And now, where were they? Dank earth . . .
worms getting them. . . . Ugh! why couldn't
he put these horrible thoughts out of his
mind?
He looked again at his watch. Twenty
minutes past one only. How the time
crawled.
Extraordinary girl. Bundle! Fancy having
the nerve and the daring actually to get into
209
the midst of that Seven Dials place. Why
hadn't he the nerve and initiative to think of
that? He supposed because the thing was so
fantastic.
No. 7. Who the hell could No. 7 be? Was
he, perhaps, in the house at this minute?
Disguised as a servant. He couldn't, surely,
be one of the guests. No, that was impossible.
But then, the whole thing was impossible. If
he hadn't believed Bundle to be essentially
truthful—well, he would have thought she
had invented the whole thing.
He yawned. Queer, to feel sleepy, and yet
at the same time strung up. He looked again
at his watch. Ten minutes to two. Time was
getting on.
And then, suddenly, he held his breath and
leaned forward, listening. He had heard
something.
The minutes went past. . . . There it was
again. The creak of a board. . . . But it came
from downstairs somewhere. There it was
again! A slight, ominous creak. Somebody
was moving slealthily about the house.
Jimmy sprang noiselessly to his feet. He
crept silently to the head of the staircase.
Everything seemed perfectly quiet. Yet he
was quite certain he had really heard that
210
stealthy sound. It was not imagination.
Very quietly and cautiously he crept down
the staircase, Leopold clasped tightly in his
right hand. Not a sound in the big hall. If he
had been correct in assuming that the muffled
sound came from directly beneath him, then
it must have come from the library.
Jimmy stole to the door of it, listened, but
heard nothing; then, suddenly flinging open
the door, he switched on the lights.
Nothing! The big room was flooded with
light. But it was empty.
Jimmy frowned.
"I could have sworn——" he murmured to
himself.
The library was a large room with three
windows which opened on to the terrace.
Jimmy strode across the room. The middle
window was unlatched.
He opened it and stepped out on to the
terrace, looking from end to end of it.
Nothing!
"Looks all right," he murmured to himself.
"And yet——"
He remained for a minute lost in thought.
Then he stepped back into the library.
Crossing to the door, he locked it and put the
key in his pocket. Then he switched off the
211
light. He stood for a minute listening, then
crossed softly to the open window and stood
there, Leopold ready in his hand.
Was there, or was there not, a soft patter of
feet along the terrace? No—his imagination.
He grasped Leopold tightly and stood
listening. . . .
In the distance a stable clock chimed two.
212
19
Bundle's Adventures
BUNDLE BRENT was a resourceful
girl—she was also a girl of imagination.
She had foreseen that Bill, if not
Jimmy, would make objections to her
participation in the possible dangers of the
night. It was not Bun/die's idea to waste time
in argument. She had^laid her own plans and
made her own arrangements. A glance from
her bedroom window shortly before dinner
had been highly satisfactory. She had known
that the grey walls of the Abbey were
plentifully adorned with ivy, but the ivy
outside her window was particularly solid
looking and would present no difficulties to
one of her athletic propensities.
She had no fault to find with Bill's and
Jimmy's arrangements as far as they went.
But in her opinion they did not go far
enough. She offered no criticism, because she
intended to see to that side of things herself.
Briefly, while Jimmy and Bill were devoting
213
themselves to the inside of the Abbey, Bundle
intended to devote her attentions to the
outside.
Her own meek acquiescence in the tame
role assigned to her gave her an infinity of
pleasure, though she wondered scornfully
how either of the two men could be so easily
deceived. Bill, of course, had never been
famous for scintillating brain power. On the
other hand, he knew, or should know, his
Bundle. And she considered that Jimmy
Thesiger, though only slightly acquainted
with her, ought to have known better than to
imagine that she could be so easily and
summarily disposed of.
Once in the privacy of her own room,
Bundle set rapidly to work. First she
discarded her evening dress and the
negligible trifle which she wore beneath it,
and started again, so to speak, from the
foundations. Bundle had not brought her
maid with her, and she had packed herself.
Otherwise, the puzzled Frenchwoman might
have wondered why her lady took a pair of
riding breeches and no further equine
equipment.
Arrayed in riding breeches, rubber-soled
shoes, and a dark-coloured pullover. Bundle
214
was ready for the fray. She glanced at the
time. As yet, it was only half past twelve. Too
early by far. Whatever was going to happen
would not happen for some time yet. The
occupants of the house must all be given time
to get off to sleep. Half past one was the time
fixed by Bundle for the start of operations.
She switched off her light and sat down
by the window to wait. Punctually at the
appointed moment, she rose, pushed up the
sash and swung her leg over the sill. The
night was a fine one, cold and still. There was
starlight but no moon.
She found the descent very easy. Bundle
and her two sisters had run wild in the park at
Chimneys as small children, and they could
all climb like cats. Bundle arrived on a
flower-bed, rather breathless, but quite
unscathed.
She paused a minute to take stock of her
plans. She knew that the rooms occupied by
the Air Minister and his secretary were in the
west wing, that was the opposite side of the
house from where Bundle was now standing.
A terrace ran along the south and west side of
the house, ending abruptly against a walled
fruit garden.
Bundle stepped out of her flower-bed and
215
turned the corner of the house to where the
terrace began on the south side. She crept
very quietly along it, keeping close to the
shadow of the house. But, as she reached the
second corner, she got a shock, for a man was
standing there, with the clear intention of
barring her way.
The next instant she had recognised him.
"Superintendent Battle! You did give me a
fright!"
"That's what I'm here for," said the Superintendent
pleasantly.
Bundle looked at him. It struck her now, as
so often before, how remarkably little
camouflage there was about him. He was
large and solid and noticeable. He was,
somehow, very English. But of one thing
Bundle was quite sure. Superintendent Battle
was no fool.
"What are you really doing here?" she
asked, still in a whisper.
"Just seeing," said Battle, "that nobody's
about who shouldn't be."
"Oh!" said Bundle, rather taken aback.
"You, for instance. Lady Eileen. I don't
suppose you usually take a walk at this time
of night."
216
"Do you mean," said Bundle slowly, "that
you want me to go back?"
Superintendent Battle nodded approvingly.
"You're very quick. Lady Eileen. That's
just what I do mean. Did you—er—come out
of a door, or the window?"
"The window. It's easy as anything
climbing down this ivy."
Superintendent Battle looked up at it
thoughtfully.
"Yes," he said. "I should say it would be."
"And you want me to go back?" said
Bundle. "I'm rather sick about that. I wanted
to go round on to the west terrace."
"Perhaps you won't be the only one who'll
want to do that," said Battle.
"Nobody could miss seeing you," said
Bundle rather spitefully.
The Superintendent seemed rather pleased
than otherwise.
"I hope they won't," he said. "No
unpleasantness. That's my motto. And if
you'll excuse me, Lady Eileen, I think it's
time you were going back to bed."
The firmness of his tone admitted <of no
parley. Rather crestfallen. Bundle retraced
her steps. She was half-way up the ivy when a
SDMl, 217
sudden idea occurred to her, and she nearly
relaxed her grip and fell.
Supposing Superintendent Battle suspected
her.
There had been something—yes, surely
there had been something in his manner that
vaguely suggested the idea. She couldn't help
laughing as she crawled over the sill into her
bedroom. Fancy the solid Superintendent
suspecting her\
Though she had so far obeyed Battle's
orders as to return to her room. Bundle had
no intention of going to bed and sleeping.
Nor did she think that Battle had really
intended her to do so. He was not a man
to except impossibilities. And to remain
quiescent when something daring and
exciting might be going on was a sheer
impossibility to Bundle.
She glanced at her watch. It was ten
minutes to two. After a moment or two of
irresolution, she cautiously opened her door.
Not a sound. Everything was still and
peaceful. She stole cautiously along the
passage.
Once she halted, thinking she heard a board
creak somewhere, but then convinced that
she was mistaken, she went on again. She was
218
now in the main corridor, making her way to
the west wing. She reached the angle of intersection
and peered cautiously round--then
she stared in blank surprise.
The watcher's post was empty. Jimmy
Thesiger was not there.
Bundle stared in complete amazement.
What had happened? Why had Jimmy left
his post? What did it mean?
And at that moment she heard a clock strike
two.
She was still standing there, debating what
to do next, when suddenly her heart gave a
leap and then seemed to stand still.
The door handle of Terence O'Rourke's room
was slowly turning.
Bundle watched, fascinated. But the door
did not open. Instead the knob returned
slowly to its original position. What did it
mean?
Suddenly Bundle came to a resolution.
Jimmy, for some unknown reason, had
deserted his post. She must get hold of Bill.
Quickly and noiselessly. Bundle fled along
the way she had come. She burst unceremoniously
into Bill's room.
"Bill, wake up! Oh, do wake up!"
219
It was an urgent whisper she sent forth, but
there came no response to it.
"Bill," breathed Bundle.
Impatiently she switched on the lights, and
then stood dumbfounded.
The room was empty, and the bed had not
even been slept in.
Where then was Bill?
Suddenly she caught her breath. This was
not Bill's room. The dainty negligee thrown
over a chair, the feminine knick-knacks on the
dressing-table, the black velvet evening dress
thrown carelessly over a chair—— Of course,
in her haste she had mistaken the doors. This
was the Countess Radzky's room.
But where, oh where, was the countess?
And just as Bundle was asking herself this
question, the silence of the night was
suddenly broken, and in no uncertain
manner.
The clamour came from below. In an
instant Bundle had sped out of the Countess's
room and downstairs. The sounds came from
the library—a violent crashing of chairs being
overturned.
Bundle rattled vainly at the library door. It
was locked. But she could clearly hear the
struggle that was going on within—the
220
panting and scuffing, curses in manly tones,
the occasional crash as some light piece of
furniture came into the line of battle.
And then, sinister and distinct, breaking
the peace of the night for good and all, two
shots in rapid succession.
221
20
Loraine's Adventures
ORAINE Wade sat up in bed and
switched on the light. It was exactly ten
.J minutes to one. She had gone to bed
early—at half past nine. She possessed the
useful art of being able to wake herself up at
the required time, so she had been able to
enjoy some hours of refreshing sleep.
L°
Two dogs slept in the room with her, and
one of these now raised his head and looked at
her inquiringly.
"Quiet, Lurcher," said Loraine, and the
big animal put his head down again
obediently, watching her from between his
shaggy eyelashes.
It is true that Bundle had once doubted the
meekness of Loraine Wade, but that brief
moment of suspicion had passed. Loraine had
seemed so entirely reasonable, so willing to
be kept out of everything.
And yet, if you studied the girl's face, you
saw that there was strength of purpose in the
222
small, resolute jaw and the lips that closed
together so firmly.
Loraine rose and dressed herself in a tweed
coat and skirt. Into one pocket of the coat she
dropped an electric torch. Then she opened
the drawer other dressing table and took out
a small ivory-handled pistol—almost a toy in
appearance. She had bought it the day before
at Harrods and she was very pleased with it.
She gave a final glance round the room to
see if she had forgotten anything, and at that
moment the big dog rose and came over to
her, looking up at her with pleading eyes and
wagging his tail.
Loraine shook her head.
"No, Lurcher. Can't go. Missus can't take
you. Got to stay here and be a good boy."
She dropped a kiss on the dog's head, made
him lie down on his rug again, and then
slipped noiselessly out of the room, closing
the door behind her.
She let herself out of the house by a side
door and made her way round to the garage,
where her little two-seater car was in
readiness. There was a gentle slope, and she
let the car run silently down it, not starting
the engine till she was some way from the
house. Then she glanced at the watch on her
223
arm and pressed her foot down on the
accelerator.
She left the car at a spot she had previously
marked down. There was a gap there in the
fencing that she could easily get through. A
few minutes later, slightly muddy, Loraine
stood inside the grounds of Wyvern Abbey.
As noiselessly as possible, she made her
way towards the venerable ivy-covered
building. In the distance a stable clock
chimed two.
Loraine's heart beat faster as she drew near
to the terrace. There was no one about—no
sign of life anywhere. Everything seemed
peaceful and undisturbed. She reached the
terrace and stood there, looking about her.
Suddenly, without the least warning,
something from above fell with a flop almost
at her feet. Loraine stooped to pick it up. It
was a brown paper packet, loosely wrapped.
Holding it, Loraine looked up.
There was an open window just above her
head, and even as she looked a leg swung over
it and a man began to climb down the ivy.
Loraine waited for no more. She took to her
heels and ran, still clasping the brown paper
packet.
Behind her, the noise of a struggle
224
suddenly broke out. A hoarse voice: "Lemme
go"; another that she knew well: "Not if I
know it—ah, you would, would you?"
Still Loraine ran—blindly, as though panicstricken—right
round the corner of the
terrace—and slap into the arms of a large,
solidly built man.
"There, there," said Superintendent Battle
kindly.
Loraine was struggling to speak.
"Oh, quick!—oh, quick! They're killing
each other. Oh, do be quick!"
There was a sharp crack of a revolver
shot—and then another.
Superintendent Battle started to run.
Loraine followed. Back round the corner of
the terrace and along to the library window.
The window was open.
Battle stooped and switched on an electric
torch. Loraine was close beside him, peering
over his shoulder. She gave a little sobbing
gasp.
On the threshold of the window lay Jimmy
Thesiger in what looked like a pool of blood.
His right arm lay dangling in a curious
position.
Loraine gave a sharp cry.
225
"He's dead," she wailed. "Oh, JimmyJimmy--he's
dead!"
"Now, now," said Superintendent Battle soothingly. "Don't you take on so. The young
gentleman isn't dead, I'll be bound. See if
you can find the lights and turn them on."
Loraine obeyed. She stumbled across the
room, found the switch by the door and
pressed it down. The room was flooded with
light. Superintendent Battle uttered a sigh of
relief.
"It's all right--he's only shot in the right
arm. He's fainted through loss of blood.
Come and give me a hand with him."
There was a pounding on the library door.
Voices were heard, asking, expostulating, demanding.
Loraine looked doubtfully at it.
"Shall I----?"
"No hurry," said Battle. "We'll let them in
presently. You come and give me a hand."
Loraine came obediently. The Superintendent
had produced a large, clean pockethandkerchief
and was neatly bandaging the
wounded man's arm. Loraine helped him.
"He'll be all right," said the Superintendent.
"Don't you worry. As many lives as cats, these young fellows. It wasn't the loss of
226
blood knocked him out either. He must have
caught his head a crack on the floor as he
fell."
Outside the knocking on the door had
become tremendous. The voice of George
Lomax, furiously upraised, came loud and
distinct:
"Who is in there? Open the door at once."
Superintendent Battle sighed.
"I suppose we shall have to," he said. "A
pity."
His eyes darted round, taking in the scene.
An automatic lay by Jimmy's side. The
Superintendent picked it up gingerly,
holding it very delicately, and examined it.
He grunted and laid it on the table. Then he
stepped across and unlocked the door.
Several people almost fell into the room.
Nearly everybody said something at the same
minute. George Lomax, spluttering with
obdurate words which refused to come with
sufficient fluency, exclaimed:
"The—the—the meaning of this? Ah! It's
you. Superintendent, what's happened? I
say—what has—happened?"
Bill Eversleigh said: "My God! Old
Jimmy!" and stared at the limp figure on the
ground.
227
Lady Coote, clad in a resplendent purple
dressing gown, cried out: "The poor boy!"
and swept past Superintendent Battle to bend
over the prostrate Jimmy in a motherly
fashion.
Bundle said: "Loraine!"
Herr Eberhard said: "Gott im Himmel!"
and other words of that nature.
Sir Stanley Digby said: "My God, what's
all this?"
A housemaid said: "Look at the blood,"
and screamed with pleasureable excitement.
A footman said: "Lor!"
The butler said, with a good deal more
bravery in his manner than had been noticeable
a few minutes earlier: "Now then, this
won't do!" and waved away under-servants.
The efficient Mr. Rupert Bateman said to
George: "Shall we get rid of some of these
people, sir?"
Then they all took fresh breath.
"Incredible!" said George Lomax. "Battle,
what has happened?"
Battle gave him a look, and George's
discreet habits assumed their usual sway.
"Now then," he said, moving to the door,
"everyone go back to bed, please. There's
been a--er----"
228
"A little accident;' said Superintendent
Battle easily.
"A—er—an accident. I shall be much
obliged if everyone will go back to bed."
Everyone was clearly reluctant to do so.
"Lady Coote—please——"
"The poor boy," said Lady Coote in a
motherly fashion.
She rose from a kneeling position with
great reluctance. And as she did so. Jimmy
stirred and sat up.
"Hallo!" he said thickly. "What's the
matter?"
He looked round him vacantly for a minute
or two and then intelligence returned to his
eye.
"Have you got him?" he demanded
eagerly.
"Got who?"
"The man. Climbed down the ivy. I was by
the window there. Grabbed him and we had
no end of a set-to——"
"One of those nasty, murderous cat
burglars," said Lady Coote. "Poor boy."
Jimmy was looking round him.
"I say—I'm afraid we—er—have made
rather a mess of things. Fellow was as strong
as an ox and we went fairly waltzing around."
229
The condition of the room was clear proof
of this statement. Everything light and
breakable within a range of twelve feet that
could be broken had been broken.
"And what happened then?"
But Jimmy was looking round for something.

"Where's Leopold? The pride of the bluenosed
automatics?"
Battle indicated the pistol on the table.
"Is this yours, Mr. Thesiger?"
"That's right. That's little Leopold. How
many shots have been fired?"
"One shot."
Jimmy looked chagrined.
"I'm disappointed in Leopold," he
murmured. "I can't have pressed the button
properly, or he'd have gone on shooting."
"Who shot first?"
"I did, I'm afraid," said Jimmy. "You see, the man twisted himself out of my grasp
suddenly. I saw him making for the window
and I closed my finger down on Leopold and
let him have it. He turned in the window and
fired at me and--well, I suppose after that I
took the count."
He rubbed his head rather ruefully.
But Sir Stanley Digby was suddenly alert.
230
"Climbing down the ivy, you said? My
God, Lomax, you don't think they've got
away with it?"
He rushed from the room. For some
curious reason nobody spoke during his
absense. In a few minutes Sir Stanley
returned. His round, chubby face was white
as death.
"My God, Battle," he said, "they've got it.
O'Rourke's fast asleep—drugged, I think. I
can't wake him. And the papers have
vanished."
231
21
The Recovery of the Formula
(< Tp\ER liebe Gott!" said Herr Eberhard
| J in a whisper.
^-^ His face had gone chalky white.
George turned a face of dignified reproach
on Battle.
"Is this true. Battle? I left all arrangements
in your hands."
The rock-like quality of the Superintendent
showed out well. Not a muscle of his face
moved.
"The best of us are defeated sometimes, sir," he said quietly.
"Then you mean--you really mean--that
the document is gone?"
But to everyone's intense surprise Superintendent
Battle shook his head.
"No, no, Mr. Lomax, it's not so bad as you
think. Everything's all right. But you can't
lay the credit for it at my door. You've got to
thank this young lady."
He indicated Loraine, who stared at him in
232
surprise. Battle stepped across to her and
gently took the brown paper parcel which she
was till clutching mechanically.
"I think, Mr. Lomax," he said, "that you
will find what you want here."
Sir Stanley Digby, quicker in action than
George, snatched at the package and tore it
open, investigating its contents eagerly. A
sigh of relief escaped him and he mopped his
brow. Herr Eberhard fell upon the child of
his brain and clasped it to his heart, whilst a
torrent of German burst from him.
Sir Stanley turned to Loraine, shaking her
warmly by the hand.
"My dear young lady," he said, "we are
infinitely obliged to you, I am sure."
"Yes, indeed," said George. "Though
I-er——"
He paused in some perplexity, staring at a
young lady who was a total stranger to him.
Loraine looked appealingly at Jimmy, who
came to the rescue.
"Er—this is Miss Wade," said Jimmy.
"Gerald Wade's sister."
"Indeed," said George, shaking her
warmly by the hand. "My dear Miss Wade, I
must express my deep gratitude to you for
SDM 16 233
what you have done. I must confess that I do
not quite see——"
He paused delicately and four of the
persons present felt that explanations were
going to be fraught with much difficulty.
Superintendent Battle came to the rescue.
"Perhaps we'd better not go into that just
now, sir," he suggested tactfully.
The efficient Mr. Bateman created a
further diversion.
"Wouldn't it be wise for someone to see to
O'Rourke? Don't you think, sir, that a doctor
had better be sent for?"
"Of course," said George. "Of course.
Most remiss of us not to have thought of it
before." He looked towards Bill. "Get Dr.
Cartwright on the telephone. Ask him to
come. Just hint, if you can, that—er—
discretion should be observed."
Bill went off on his errand.
"I will come up with you, Digby," said
George. "Something, possibly, could be
done—measures should, perhaps, be taken—
whilst awaiting the arrival of the doctor."
He looked rather helplessly at Rupert
Bateman. Efficiency always makes itself felt.
It was Pongo who was really in charge of the
situation.
234
"Shall I come up with you, sir?"
George accepted the offer with relief. Here, he felt, was someone on whom he could lean.
He experienced that sense of complete trust
in Mr. Bateman's efficiency which came to
all those who encountered that excellent
young man.
The three men left the room together. Lady
Coote, murmuring in deep rich tones: "The
poor young fellow. Perhaps I could do something----"
hurried after them.
"That's a very motherly woman," observed
the Superintendent thoughtfully. "A very
motherly woman. I wonder----"
Three pairs of eyes looked at him inquiringly.

"I was wondering," said Superintendent
Battle slowly, "where Sir Oswald Coote may
be."
"Oh!" gasped Loraine. "Do you think he's
been murdered?"
Battle shook his head at her reproachfully.
"No need for anything so melodramatic,"
he said. "No-I rather think----"
He paused, his head on one side, listening--one large hand raised to enjoin
silence.
In another minute they all heard what his
235
sharper ears had been the first to notice.
Footsteps coming along the terrace outside.
They rang out clearly with no kind of
subterfuge about them. In another minute the
window was blocked by a bulky figure which
stood there regarding them and who conveyed, in an odd way, a sense of dominating
the situation.
Sir Oswald, for it was he, looked slowly
from one face to another. His keen eyes took
in the details of the situation. Jimmy, with his
roughly bandaged arm; Bundle, in her somewhat
anomalous attire; Loraine, a perfect
stranger to him. His eyes came last to Superintendent
Battle. He spoke sharply and
crisply:
"What's been happening here, officer?"
"Attempted robbery, sir."
"Attempted--eW
"Thanks to this young lady. Miss Wade, the thieves failed to get away with it."
"Ah!" he said again, his scrutiny ended.
"And now, officer, what about thisY9
He held out a small Mauser pistol which he
carried delicately by the butt.
"Where did you find that. Sir Oswald?"
"On the lawn outside. I presume it must
have been thrown down by one of the thieves
236
as he took to his heelS. I've held it carefully, as I thought you might wish to examine it for
fingerprints."
"You think of everything. Sir Oswald,"
said Battle.
He took the pistol from the other, handling
it with equal care, and laid it down on the
table beside Jimmy's Colt.
"And now, if you please," said Sir Oswald, "I should like to hear exactly what occurred."
Superintendent Battle gave a brief resume
of the events of the night. Sir Oswald frowned
thoughtfully.
"I understand," he said sharply. "After
wounding and disabling Mr. Thesiger, the
man took to his heels and ran, throwing away
the pistol as he did so. What I cannot
understand is why no one pursued him."
"It wasn't till we heard Mr. Thesiger's
story that we knew there was anyone to
pursue," remarked Superintendent Battle
dryly.
"You didn't--er--catch sight of him
making off as you turned the corner of the
terrace?"
"No, I missed him by just about forty
seconds, I should say. There's no moon and
he'd be invisible as soon as he'd left the
237
terrace. He must have leapt for it as soon as
he'd fired the shot."
"H'm," said Sir Oswald. "I still think that a search should have been organised.
Someone else should have been posted----"
"There are three of my men in the
grounds," said the Superintendent quietly.
"Oh!" Sir Oswald seemed rather taken
aback.
"They were to hold and detain anyone
attempting to leave the grounds."
"And yet--they haven't done so?"
"And yet they haven't done so," agreed
Battle gravely.
Sir Oswald looked at him as though
something in the words puzzled him. He said
sharply:
'"Are you telling me all that you know,
Superintendent Battle?"
"All that I know--yes. Sir Oswald. What I
think is a different matter. Maybe I think
some rather curious things--but until thinking's
got you somewhere it's no use talking
about it."
"And yet," said Sir Oswald slowly, "I
should like to know what you think. Superintendent
Battle."
"For one thing, sir, I think there's a lot too
238
ft
much ivy about this place—excuse me, sir,
you've got a bit on your coat—yes, a great
deal too much ivy. It complicates things."
Sir Oswald stared at him, but any reply he
might have contemplated making was
arrested by the entrance of Rupert Bateman.
"Oh, there you are. Sir Oswald. I'm so
glad. Lady Coote has just discovered that you
were missing—and she has been insisting
upon it that you had been murdered by the
thieves. I really think. Sir Oswald, that you
had better come to her at once. She is terribly
upset."
"Maria is an incredibly foolish woman,"
said Sir Oswald. "Why should I be
murdered? I'll come with you, Bateman."
He left the room with his secretary.
"That's a very efficient young man," said
Battle, looking after them. "What's his
name—Bateman?"
Jimmy nodded.
"Bateman—Rupert," he said. "Commonly
known as Pongo. I was at school with him."
"Were you? Now, that's interesting, Mr.
Thesiger. What was your opinion of him in
those days?"
"Oh, he was always the same sort of ass."
239
"I shouldn't have thought," said Battle
mildly, "that he was an ass."
"Oh, you know what I mean. Of course he
wasn't really an ass. Tons of brains and
always swotting at things. But deadly serious.
No sense of humour."
"Ah!" said Superintendent Battle. "That's
a pity. Gentlemen who have no sense of
humour get to taking themselves too
seriously—and that leads to mischief."
"I can't imagine Pongo getting into
mischief," said Jimmy. "He's done extremely
well for himself so far—dug himself in with
old Coote and looks like being a permanency
in the job."
"Superintendent Battle," said Bundle.
"Yes, Lady Eileen?"
"Don't you think it very odd that Sir
Oswald didn't say what he was doing
wandering about in the garden in the middle
of the night?"
"Ah!" said Battle. "Sir Oswald's a great
man—and a great man always knows better
than to explain unless an explanation is
demanded. To rush into explanations and
excuses is always a sign of weakness. Sir
Oswald knows that as well as I do. He's not
going to come in explaining and apologising—
240
not he. He just stalks in and hauls me over the
coals. He's a big man. Sir Oswald."
Such a warm admiration sounded in the
Superintendent's tones that Bundle pursued
the subject no further.
"And now," said Superintendent Battle,
looking round with a slight twinkle in his eye,
"now that we're together and friendly like—I
should like to hear just how Miss Wade
happened to arrive on the scene so pat."
"She ought to be ashamed of herself," said
Jimmy. "Hood-winking us all as she did."
"Why should I be kept out of it all?" cried
Loraine passionately. "I never meant to
be—no, not the very first day in your rooms
when you both explained how the best thing
for me to do was to stay quietly at home and
keep out of danger. I didn't say anything, but
I made up my mind then."
"I half suspected it," said Bundle. "You
were so surprisingly meek about it. I might
have known you were up to something."
"I thought you were remarkably sensible,"
said Jimmy Thesiger.
"You would. Jimmy dear," said Loraine.
"It was easy enough to deceive you."
"Thank you for these kind words," said
Jimmy. "Go on, and don't mind me."
241
"When you rang up and said there might
be danger, I was more determined than
ever," went on Loraine. "I went to Harrods
and I bought a pistol. Here it is."
She produced the dainty weapon, and
Superintendent Battle took it from her and
examined it.
"Quite a deadly little toy. Miss Wade," he
said. "Have you had much—er—practice
with it?"
"None at all," said Loraine. "But I thought
if I took it with me—well, that it would give
me a comforting feeling."
"Quite so," said Battle gravely.
"My idea was to come over here and see
what was going on. I left the car in the road
and climbed through the hedge and came up
to the terrace. I was just looking about me
when—plop—something fell right at my feet.
I picked h up and then looked to see where it
could have come from. And then I saw the
man climbing down the ivy and I ran."
"Just so," said Battle. "Now, Miss Wade,
can you describe that man at all?"
The girl shook her head.
"It was too dark to see much. I think he
was a big man—but that's about all."
"And now you, Mr. Thesiger." Battle
242
ft
turned to him. "You struggled with the
man—can you tell me anything about him?"
"He was a pretty hefty individual—that's
all I can say. He gave a few hoarse whispers—
that's when I had him by the throat. He said
'Lemme go, guvnor,' something like that."
"An uneducated man, then?"
"Yes, I suppose he was. He spoke like
ft k
one."
"I still don't quite understand about the
packet," said Loraine. "Why should he
throw it down as he did? Was it because it
hampered him climbing?"
"No," said Battle. "I've got an entirely
different theory about that. That packet. Mis
Wade, was deliberately thrown down to
you—or so I believe."
"To mer'
"Shall we say—to the person the thief
thought you were."
"This is getting very involved," said
Jimmy.
"Mr. Thesiger, when you came into this
room, did you switch on the light at all?"
"Yes."
"And there was no one in the room?"
"No one at all."
"But previously you thought you heard
243
someone moving about down here?"
"Yes."
"And then, after trying the window, you
switched off the light again and locked the
door?"
Jimmy nodded.
Superintendent Battle looked slowly round
him. His glance was arrested by a big screen
of Spanish leather which stood near one of
the bookcases.
Brusquely he strode across the room and
looked behind it.
He uttered a sharp ejaculation, which
brought the three young people quickly to his
side.
Huddled on the floor, in a dead faint, lay
the Countess Radzky.
244
22

The Countess Radzky's Story
<HE Countess's return to consciousness
was very different from that of Jimmy
Thesiger. It was more prolonged and
infinitely more artistic.
T
Artistic was Bundle's word. She had been
zealous in her ministrations--largely consisting
of the application of cold water--
and the Countess had instantly responded,
passing a white, bewildered hand across her
brow and murmuring faintly.
It was at this point that Bill, at last relieved
from his duties with telephone and doctors, had come bustling into the room and had
instantly proceeded to make (in Bundle's
opinion) a most regrettable idiot of himself.
He had hung over the Countess with a
concerned and anxious face and had
addressed a series of singularly idiotic
remarks to her:
"I say. Countess. It's all right. It's really all
right. Don't try to talk. It's bad for you. Just
245
lie still. You'll be all right in a minute. It'll all
come back to you. Don't say anything till you're
quite all right. Take your time. Just lie still
and close your eyes. You'll remember everything
in a minute. Have another sip of water.
Have some brandy. That's the stuff. Don't
you think. Bundle, that some brandy . . .?"
"For God's sake. Bill, leave her alone,"
said Bundle crossly. "She'll be all right."
And with an expert hand she flipped a good
deal of cold water on to the exquisite makeup
of the Countess's face.
The Countess flinched and sat up. She
looked considerably more wide awake.
"Ah!" she murmured. "I am here. Yes, I
am here."
"Take your time," said Bill. "Don't talk
till you feel quite all right again."
The Countess drew the folds of a very
transparent negligee closer around her.
"It is coming back to me," she murmured.
"Yes, it is coming back."
She looked at the little crowd grouped
around her. Perhaps something in the
attentive faces struck her as unsympathetic.
In any case she smiled deliberately up at the
one face which clearly displayed a very
opposite emotion.
246
"Ah, my big Englishman," she said very
softly, "do not distress yourself. All is well
with me."
"Oh! I say, but are you sure?" demanded
Bill anxiously.
"Quite sure." She smiled at him
reassuringly. "We Hungarians, we have
nerves of steel."
A look of intense relief passed over Bill's
face. A fatuous look settled down there
instead—a look which made Bundle earnestly
long to kick him.
"Have some water," she said coldly.
The Countess refused water. Jimmy,
kindlier to beauty in distress, suggested a
cocktail. The Countess reacted favourably to
this suggestion. When she had swallowed it,
she looked round once more, this time with a
livelier eye.
"Tell me, what has happened?" she
demanded briskly.
"We were hoping you might be able to tell
us that," said Superintendent Battle.
The Countess looked at him sharply. She
seemed to become aware of the big, quiet
man for the first time.
"I went to your room," said Bundle. "The
247
bed hadn't been slept in and you weren't
there."
She paused--looking accusingly at the
Countess. The latter closed her eyes and
nodded her head slowly.
"Yes, yes, I remember it all now. Oh, it
was horrible!" She shuddered. "Do you want
me to tell you?"
Superintendent Battle said, "If you please"
at the same moment that Bill said, "Not if
you don't feel up to it."
The Countess looked from one to the other,
but the quiet, masterful eye of Superintendent
Battle won the game.
"I could not sleep," began the Countess.
"The house--it oppressed me. I was all, as
you say, on wires, the cat on the hot bricks. I
knew that in the state I was in it was useless
to think of going to bed. I walked about my
room. I read. But the books placed there did
not interest me greatly. I thought I would
come down here and find something more
absorbing."
"Very natural," said Bill.
"Very often done, I believe," said Battle.
"So as soon as the idea occurred to me. I
left my room and came down. The house was
very still----"
248
"Excuse me," interrupted the Superintendent, "but can you give me an idea of the time
when this occurred?"
"I never know the time," said the Countess
superbly, and swept on with her story.
"The house was very quiet. One could even
hear the little mouse run, if there had
been one. I come down the stairs--very
quietly----"
"Very quietly?"
"Naturally I do not want to disturb the
household," said the Countess reproachfully.
"I come in here. I go into this corner and I
search the shelves for a suitable book."
"Having, of course, switched on the light?"
"No, I did not switch on the light. I had,
you see, my little electric torch with me.
With that, I scanned the shelves."
"Ah!" said the Superintendent.
"Suddenly," continued the Countess
dramatically, "I hear something. A stealthy
sound. A muffled footstep. I switch out my
torch and listen. The footsteps draw nearer- stealthy, horrible footsteps. I shrink behind
the screen. In another minute the door opens
and the light is switched on. The man--the
burglar is in the room."
"Yes, but I say----" began Mr. Thesiger.
SDM 17 249
A large-sized foot pressed his, and realising
that Superintendent Battle was giving him a
hint. Jimmy shut up.
"I nearly died of fear," continued the
Countess. "I tried not to breathe. The man
waited for a minute, listening. Then, still
with that horrible, stealthy tread——"
Again Jimmy opened his mouth in protest,
and again shut it.
"——he crossed to the window and peered
out. He remained there for a minute or two,
then he recrossed the room and turned out
the lights again, locking the door. I am
terrified. He is in the room, moving stealthily
about in the dark. Ah, it is horrible. Suppose
he should come upon me in the dark! In
another minute I hear him again by the
window. Then silence. I hope that perhaps he
may have gone out that way. As the minutes
pass and I hear no further sound, I am almost
sure that he has done so. Indeed I am in
the very act of switching on my torch
and investigating when—prestissimo!—it all
begins."
"Yes?"
"Ah! But it was terrible—never-never
shall I forget it! Two men trying to murder
each other. Oh, it was horrible! They reeled
250
about the room, and furniture crashed in
every direction. I thought, too, that I heard a
woman scream--but that was not in the
room. It was outside somewhere. The
criminal had a hoarse voice. He croaked
rather than spoke. He kept saying 'Lemme
go--lemme go.' The other man was a gentleman.
He had a cultured, English voice."
Jimmy looked gratified.
"He swore--mostly," continued the
Countess.
"Clearly a gentleman," said Superintendent
Battle.
"And then," continued the Countess, "a
flash and a shot. The bullet hit the bookcase
beside me. I--I suppose I must have fainted."
She looked up at Bill. He took her hand and
patted it.
"You poor dear," he said. "How rotten for
you."
"Silly idiot," thought Bundle.
Superintendent Battle had moved on swift
noiseless feet over to the bookcase a little to
the right of the screen. He bent down, searching. Presently he stooped and picked
something up.
"It wasn't a bullet. Countess," he said.
"It's the shell of the cartridge. Where were
251
you standing when you fired, Mr. Thesiger?"
Jimmy took up a position by the window.
"As nearly as I can see, about here."
Superintendent Battle placed himself in the
same spot.
"That's right," he agreed. "The empty
shell would throw right rear. It's a .455. I
don't wonder the Countess thought it was a
bullet in the dark. It hit the bookcase about a
foot from her. The bullet itself grazed the
window frame and we'll find it outside tomorrow—unless
your assailant happens to be
carrying it about in him."
Jimmy shook his head regretfully.
"Leopold, I fear, did not cover himself
with glory," he remarked sadly.
The Countess was looking at him with
most flattering attention.
"Your arm!" she exclaimed. "It is all tied
up! Was it you then——?"
Jimmy made her a mock bow.
"I'm so glad I've got a cultured, English
voice," he said. "And I can assure you that I
wouldn't have dreamed of using the language
I did if I had had any suspicion that a lady
was present."
"I did not understand all of it," the
Countess hastened to explain. "Although I
252
had an English governess when I was
young----"
"It wasn't the sort of thing she'd be likely
to teach you," agreed Jimmy. "Kept you
busy with your uncle's pen, and the umbrella
of the gardener's niece. I know the sort of
stuff."
"But what has happened?" asked the
Countess. "That is what I want to know. I
demand to know what has happened."
There was a moment's silence whilst everybody
looked at Superintendent Battle.
"It's very simple," said Battle mildly.
"Attempted robbery. Some political papers
stolen from Sir Stanley Digby. The thieves
nearly got away with them, but thanks to this
young lady"--he indicated Loraine--"they
didn't."
The Countess flashed a glance at the
girl--rather an odd glance.
"Indeed," she said coldly.
"A very fortunate coincidence that she
happened to be there," said Superintendent
Battle, smiling.
The Countess gave a little sigh and half
closed her eyes again.
"It is absurd, but I still feel extremely
faint," she murmured.
253
"Of course you do," cried Bill. "Let me
help you up to your room. Bundle will come
with you."
"It is very kind of Lady Eileen," said the
Countess, "but I should prefer to be alone. I
am really quite all right. Perhaps you will just
help me up the stairs?"
She rose to her feet, accepted Bill's arm
and, leaning heavily on it, went out of the
room. Bundle followed as far as the hall but, the Countess reiterating her assurance--with
some tartness--that she was quite all right,
she did not accompany them upstairs.
But as she stood watching the Countess's
graceful form, supported by Bill, slowly
mounting the stairway, she stiffened
suddenly to acute attention. The Countess's
negligee, as previously mentioned, was thin--
a mere veil of orange chiffon. Through it
Bundle saw distinctly below the right
shoulder blade a small black mole.
With a gasp. Bundle swung impetuously
round to where Superintendent Battle was
just emerging from the library. Jimmy and
Loraine had preceded him.
"There," said Battle. "I've fastened the
window and there will be a man on duty outside.
And I'll lock this door and take the key.
254
In the morning we'llMo what the French call
reconstruct the crime-- Yes, Lady Eileen,
what is it?"
"Superintendent Battle, I must speak to
you--at once."
"Why, certainly, I----"
George Lomax suddenly appeared. Dr. Cartwright by his side.
"Ah, there you are. Battle. You'll be
relieved to hear that there's nothing seriously
wrong with O'Rourke."
"I never thought there would be much
wrong with Mr. O'Rourke," said Battle.
"He's had a strong hypodermic administered
to him," said the doctor. "He'll wake
perfectly all right in the morning. Perhaps a
bit of a head, perhaps not. Now then, young
man, let's look at this bullet wound of
yours."
"Come on, nurse," said Jimmy to Loraine.
"Come and hold the basin or my hand.
Witness a strong man's agony. You know the
stunt."
Jimmy, Loraine and the doctor went off
together. Bundle continued to throw agonised
glances in the direction of Superintendent
Battle, who had been buttonholed by George.
The Superintendent waited patiently till a
255
pause occurred in George's loquacity. He
then swiftly took advantage of it.
"I wonder, sir, if I might have a word
privately with Sir Stanley? In the little study
at the end there."
"Certainly," said George. "Certainly. I'll
go and fetch him at once."
He hurried off upstairs again. Battle drew
Bundle swiftly into the drawing-room and
shut the door.
"Now, Lady Eileen, what is it?"
"I'll tell you as quickly as I can--but it's
rather long and complicated."
As concisely as she could. Bundle related
her introduction to the Seven Dials Club and
her subsequent adventures there. When she
had finished. Superintendent Battle drew a
long breath. For once, his facial woodenness
was laid aside.
"Remarkable," he said. "Remarkable. I
wouldn't have believed it possible--even for
you. Lady Eileen. I ought to have known
better."
"But you did give me a hint. Superintendent
Battle. You told me to ask Bill
Eversleigh."
"It's dangerous to give people like you a
256
hint. Lady Eileen. I-never dreamt of your
going to the lengths you have."
"Well, it's all right. Superintendent Battle.
My death doesn't lie at your door."
"Not yet, it doesn't," said Battle grimly.
He stood as though in thought, turning
things over in his mind. "What Mr. Thesiger
was about, letting you run into danger like
that, I can't think," he said presently.
"He didn't know till afterwards," said
Bundle. "I'm not a complete mug. Superintendent
Battle. And, anyway, he's got his
hands full looking after Miss Wade."
"Is that so?" said the Superintendent.
"Ah!"
He twinkled a little.
"I shall have to detail Mr. Eversleigh to
look after you. Lady Eileen."
"Bill!" said Bundle contemptuously. "But,
Superintendent Battle, you haven't heard the
end of my story. The woman I saw there- Anna--No. 1. Yes, No. 1 is the Countess
Radzky."
And rapidly she went on to describe her
recognition of the mole.
To her surprise the Superintendent
hemmed and hawed.
"A mole isn't much to go upon. Lady
I 257
Eileen. Two women might have an identical
mole very easily. You must remember that
the Countess Radzky is a very well-known
figure in Hungary."
"Then this isn't the real Countess Radzky.
I tell you I'm sure this is the same woman I
saw there. And look at her to-night—the way
we found her. I don't believe she ever fainted
at all."
"Oh, I shouldn't say that. Lady Eileen.
That empty shell striking the bookcase beside
her might have frightened any woman half
out of her wits."
"But what was she doing there anyway?
One doesn't come down to look for a book
with an electric torch."
Battle scratched his cheek. He seemed
unwilling to speak. He began to pace up and
down the room, as though making up his
mind. At last he turned to the girl.
"See here. Lady Eileen, I'm going to trust
you. The Countess's conduct is suspicious. I
know that as well as you do. It's very
suspicious—but we've got to go carefully.
There mustn't be any unpleasantness with
the Embassies. One has got to be sure."
"I see. If you were sure . . ."
"There's something else. During the war,
258
Lady Eileen, there was a great outcry about
German spies being left at large. Busybodies
wrote letters to the papers about it. We paid
no attention. Hard words didn't hurt us. The
small fry were left alone. Why? Because
through them, sooner or later, we got the big
fellow—the man at the top."
"You mean?"
"Don't bother about what I mean. Lady
Eileen. But remember this. / know all about
the Countess. And I want her let alone."
"And now," added Superintendent Battle
ruefully, "I've got to think of something to
say to Sir Stanley Digby!"
259
23
Superintendent Battle in Charge
IT was ten o'clock on the following
morning. The sun poured in through the
windows of the library, where Superintendent
Battle had been at work since six. On
a summons from him, George Lomax, Sir
Oswald Coote and Jimmy Thesiger had just
joined him, having repaired the fatigues of
the night with a substantial breakfast.
Jimmy's arm was in a sling, but he bore little
other trace of the night's affray.
The Superintendent eyed all three of them
benevolently, somewhat with the air of a
kindly curator explaining a museum to little
boys. On the table beside him were various
objects, neatly labelled. Amongst them
Jimmy recognised Leopold.
"Ah, Superintendent," said George, "I
have been anxious to know how you have
progressed. Have you caught the man?"
"He'll take a lot of catching, he will," said
the Superintendent easily.
260
His failure in that respect did not appear to
rankle with him.
George Lomax did not look particularly
well pleased. He detested levity of any kind.
"I've got everything taped out pretty
clearly," went on the detective.
He took up two objects from the table.
"Here we've got the two bullets. The
largest is a .455, fired from Mr. Thesiger's
Colt automatic. Grazed the window sash and
I found it embedded in the trunk of that cedar
tree. This little fellow was fired from the
Mauser .25. After passing through Mr.
Thesiger's arm, it embedded itself in this
arm-chair here. As for the pistol itself--"
"Well?" said Sir Oswald eagerly. "Any
fingerprints?"
Battle shook his head.
"The man who handled it wore gloves," he
said slowly.
"A pity," said Sir Oswald.
"A man who knew his business would wear
gloves. Am I right in thinking. Sir Oswald, that you found this pistol just about twenty
yards from the bottom of the steps leading up
to the terrace?"
Sir Oswald stepped to the window.
"Yes, almost exactly, I should say."
261
<<I don't want to find fault, but it would
have been wiser on your part, sir, to leave it
exactly as you found it."
"I am sorry," said Sir Oswald stiffly.
"Oh, it doesn't matter. I've been able to
reconstruct things. There were your footprints, you see, leading up from the bottom of
the garden, and a place where you had
obviously stopped and stooped down, and a
kind of dent in the grass which was highly
suggestive. By the way, what was your theory
of the pistol being there?"
"I presumed that it had been dropped by
the man in his flight."
Battle shook his head.
"Not dropped. Sir Oswald. There are two
points against that. To begin with, there are
only one set of footprints crossing the lawn
just there--your own."
"I see," said Sir Oswald thoughtfully.
"Can you be sure of that. Battle?" put in
George.
"Quite sure, sir. There are one other set of
tracks crossing the lawn. Miss Wade's, but p
they are a good deal farther to the left."
He paused, and then went on: "And there's
the dent in the ground. The pistol must have
262
struck the ground with some force. It all
points to its having been thrown."
"Well, why not?" said Sir Oswald. "Say
the man fled down the path to the left. He'd
leave no footprints on the path and he'd hurl
the pistol away from him into the middle of
the lawn, eh, Lomax?"
George agreed by a nod of the head.
"It's true that he'd leave no footprints on
the path," said Battle, "but from the shape of
the dent and the way the turf was cut, I don't
think the pistol was thrown from that
direction. I think it was thrown from the
terrace here."
"Very likely," said Sir Oswald. "Does it
matter. Superintendent?"
"Ah, yes. Battle," broke in George. "Is it—
er—strictly relevant?"
"Perhaps not, Mr. Lomax. But we like to
get things just so, you know. I wonder now if
one of you gentlemen would take the pistol
and throw it. Will you. Sir Oswald? That's
very kind. Stand just here in the window.
Now fling it into the middle of the lawn."
Sir Oswald complied, sending the pistol
flying through the air with a powerful sweep
of his arm. Jimmy Thesiger drew near with
breathless interest. The Superintendent
263
lumbered off after it like a well-trained
retriever. He reappeared with a beaming face.
"That's it, sir. Just the same kind of mark.
Although, by the way, you sent it a good ten
yards farther. But then, you're a very powerfully
built man, aren't you. Sir Oswald?
Excuse me, I thought I heard someone at the
door."
The Superintendent's ears just have been
very much sharper than anyone else's.
Nobody else had heard a sound, but Battle
was proved right, for Lady Coote stood
outside, a medicine glass in her hand.
"Your medicine, Oswald," she said,
advancing into the room. "You forgot it after
breakfast."
"I'm very busy, Maria," said Sir Oswald.
"I don't want my medicine."
"You would never take^f it is wasn't for
me," said his wife serenely, advancing upon
him. "You're just like a naughty little boy.
Drink it up now."
And meekly, obediently, the great steel
magnate drank it up!
Lady Coote smiled sadly and sweetly at
everyone.
"Am I interrupting you? Are you very
busy? Oh, look at those revolvers. Nasty,
264
noisy, murdering things. To think, Oswald, that you might have been shot by the burglar
last night."
"You must have been alarmed when you
found he was missing. Lady Coote," said
Battle.
"I didn't think of it at first," confessed
Lady Coote. "This poor boy here's--she
indicated Jimmy--"being shot--and everything
so dreadful, but so exciting. It wasn't
till Mr. Bateman asked me where Sir Oswald
was that I remembered he'd gone out half an
hour before for a stroll."
"Sleepless, eh. Sir Oswald?" asked Battle.
"I am usually an excellent sleeper," said
Sir Oswald. "But I must confess that last
night I felt unusually restless. I thought the
night air would do me good."
"You came out through this window, I
suppose?"
Was it his fancy, or did Sir Oswald hesitate
for a moment before replying?
"Yes."
"In your pumps too," said Lady Coote,
"instead of putting thick shoes on. What
would you do without me to look after you?"
She shook her head sadly.
SDM18 265
"I thinks Maria, if you don't mind leaving
^—^e have still a lot to discuss."
"I (snow, dear, I'm just going."
La^y Coote withdrew, carrying the empty
med*pme glass as though it were a goblet out
of w^ich she had just administered a death
potion.
"^ell, Battle," said George Lomax, "it all
seeir»s clear enough. Yes, perfectly clear. The
man fires a shot, disabling Mr. Thesiger,
^ln^ away the weapon, runs along the
terrace and down the gravel path."
"^here he ought to have been caught by
"^y <iaen," put in Battle.
"^our men, if I may say so. Battle, seem to
hav^ been singularly remiss. They didn't see
Mis^ Wade come in. If they could miss her
com^g in, they could easily miss the thief
go"^ out."
Superintendent Battle opened his mouth to
8^%, then seemed to think better of it.
Jim^y Thesiger looked at him curiously. He
wou^d have given a lot to know just what was
in Superintendent Battle's mind.
"Must have been a champion runner," was
a^ ^e Scotland Yard man contented himself
wit^ saying.
«•
^ow do you mean. Battle?"
266
"Just what I say. Air. Lomax. I was round
the corner of the terrace myself not fifty
seconds after the shot was fired. And for a
man to run all that distance towards me and
get round the corner of the path before I
appeared round the side of the house—well,
as I say, he must have been a champion
runner."
"I am at a loss to understand you. Battle.
You have some idea of your own which I have
not yet—er—grasped. You say the man did
not go across the lawn, and now you hint——
What exactly do you hint? That the man did
not go down the path? Then in your opinion—
er—where did he go?"
For answer. Superintendent Battle jerked
an eloquent thumb upwards.
"Eh?" said George.
The Superintendent jerked harder than
ever. George raised his head and looked at the
ceiling.
"Up there," said Battle. "Up the ivy
again."
"Nonsense, Superintendent. What you are
suggesting is impossible."
"Not at all impossible, sir. He'd done it
once. He could do it twice."
"I don't mean impossible in that sense. But
267
if the man wanted to escape, he'd never bolt
back into the house."
"Safest place for him, Mr. Lomax."
"But Mr. O'Rourke's door was still locked
on the inside when we came to him."
"And how did you get to him? Through Sir
Stanley's room. That's the way our man
went. Lady Eileen tells me she saw the door
knob of Mr. O'Rourke's room move. That
was when our friend was up there the first
time. I suspect the key was under Mr.
O'Rourke's pillow. But his exit is clear
enough the second time--through the communicating
door and through Sir Stanley's
room, which, of course, was empty. Like
everyone else. Sir Stanley is rushing
downstairs to the library. Our man's got a
clear course."
"And where did he go then?"
Superintendent Battle shrugged his burly
shoulders and became evasive.
"Plenty of ways open. Into an empty room
on the other side of the house and down the
ivy again--out through a side door--or, just
possibly, if it was an inside job, he--well,
stayed in the house."
George looked at him in shocked surprise.
"Really, Battle, I should--I should feel it
268
very deeply if one of my servants--er--I have
the most perfect reliance on them--it would
distress me very much to have to suspect----"
"Nobody's asking you to suspect anyone,
Mr. Lomax. I'm just putting all the possibilities
before you. The servants may be all
right--probably are."
"You have disturbed me," said George.
"You have disturbed me greatly."
His eyes appeared more protuberant than
ever.
To distract him. Jimmy poked delicately at
a curious blackened object on the table.
"What's this?" he asked.
"That's exhibit Z," said Battle. "The last
of our little lot. It is, or rather it has been, a
glove."
He picked it up, the charred relic, and
manipulated it with pride.
"Where did you find it?" asked Sir Oswald.
Battle jerked his head over his shoulder.
"In the grate--nearly burnt, but not quite.
Queer, looks as though it had been chewed by
a dog."
"It might possibly be Miss Wade's,"
suggested Jimmy. "She has several dogs."
The Superintendent shook his head.
"This isn't a lady's glove--no, not even the
269
large kind of loose glove ladies wear
nowadays. Fit it on, sir, a moment."
He adjusted the blackened object over
Jimmy's hand.
"You see—it's large even for you."
"Do you attack importance to this
discovery?" inquired Sir Oswald coldly.
"You never know. Sir Oswald, what's
going to be important or what isn't."
There was a sharp tap at the door and
Bundle entered.
"I'm so sorry," she said apologetically.
"But Father has just rung up. He says I must
come home because everybody is worrying
him."
She paused.
"Yes, my dear Eileen?" said George
encouragingly, perceiving that there was
more to come.
"I wouldn't have interrupted you—only
that I thought it might perhaps have
something to do with all this. You see, what
has upset Father is that one of our footmen is
missing. He went out last night and hasn't
come back."
"What is the man's name?" It was Sir
Oswald who took up the cross-examination.
"John Bauer."
270
"An Englishman?"
<<I believe he calls himself a Swiss--but I
think he's a German. He speaks English
perfectly, though."
"Ah!" Sir Oswald drew in his breath with a
long, satisfied hiss. "And he has been at
Chimneys--how long?"
"Just under a month."
Sir Oswald turned to the other two.
"Here is our missing man. You know,
Lomax, as well as I do, that several foreign
Governments are after the thing. I remember
the man now perfectly--tall, well-drilled
fellow. Came about a fortnight before we left.
A clever move. Any new servants here would
be closely scrutinised, but at Chimneys, five
miles away----" He did not finish the
sentence.
"You think the plan was laid so long
beforehand?"
"Why not? There are millions in that
formula, Lomax. Doubtless Bauer hoped to
get access to my private papers at Chimneys, and to learn something of forthcoming
arrangements from them. It seems likely that
he may have had an accomplice in this
house--someone who put him wise to the lie of the land and who saw to the doping of
271
O'Rourke. But Bauer was the man Miss
Wade saw climbing down the ivy—the big,
powerful man."
He turned to Superintendent Battle.
"Bauer was your man. Superintendent.
And, somehow or other, you let him slip
through your fingers."
272
24
Bundle Wonders
THERE was no doubt that Superintendent
Battle was taken aback. He
fingered his chin thoughtfully.
"Sir Oswald is right. Battle," said George.
"This is the man. Any hope of catching
him?"
"There may be, sir. It certainly looks- well, suspicious. Of course the man may turn
up again--at Chimneys, I mean."
"Do you think it likely?"
"No, it isn't," confessed Battle. "Yes, it
certainly looks as though Bauer were the
man. But I can't quite see how he got in and
out of these grounds unobserved."
"I have already told you my opinion of the
two men you posted," said George. "Hopelessly
inefficient--I don't want to blame
you. Superintendent, but----" His pause was
eloquent.
"Ah, well," said Battle lightly, "my
shoulders are broad."
I 273
He shook his head and sighed.
"I must get to the telephone at once.
Excuse me, gentlemen. I'm sorry, Mr.
Lomax—I feel I've rather bungled this
business. But it's been puzzling, more
puzzling than you know."
He strode hurriedly from the room.
"Come into the garden," said Bundle to
Jimmy. "I want to talk to you."
They went out together through the
window. Jimmy stared down at the lawn,
frowning.
"What's the matter?" asked Bundle.
Jimmy explained the circumstances of the
pistol throwing.
"I'm wondering," he ended, "what was in
old Battle's mind when he got Coote to throw
the pistol. Something, I'll swear. Anyhow, it
landed up about ten yards farther than it
should have done. You know. Bundle,
Battle's a deep one."
"He's an extraordinary man," said Bundle.
"I want to tell you about last night."
She retailed her conversation with the
Superintendent. Jimmy listened attentively.
"So the Countess is No. I," he said
thoughtfully. "It all hangs together very well.
No. 2—Bauer—comes over from Chimneys.
274
He climbs up into O'Rourke's room,
knowing that O'Rourke has had a sleeping
draught administered to him—by the Countess
somehow or other. The arrangement is that he
is to throw down the papers to the Countess,
who will be waiting below. Then she'll nip
back through the library and up to her room.
IfBauer's caught leaving the grounds, they'll
find nothing on him. Yes, it was a good
plan—but it went wrong. No sooner is the
Countess in the library than she hears me
coming and has to jump behind the screen.
Jolly awkward for her, because she can't warn
her accomplice. No. 2 pinches the papers,
looks out of the window, sees, as he thinks,
the Countess waiting, pitches the papers
down to her and proceeds to climb down the
ivy, where he finds a nasty surprise in the
shape of me waiting for him. Pretty nervy
work for the Countess waiting behind her
screen. All things considered, she told a
pretty good story. Yes, it all hangs together
very well."
"Too well," said Bundle decidedly.
"Eh?" said Jimmy, surprised.
"What about No. 7—No. 7, who never
appears, but lives in the background. The
Countess and Bauer? No, it's not so simple as
275
that. Bauer was here last night, yes. But he
was only here in case things went wrong--as
they have done. His part is the part of scapegoat;
to draw all attention from No. 7--the
boss."
"I say. Bundle," said Jimmy anxiously,
"you haven't been reading too much sensational
literature, have you?"
Bundle threw him a glance of dignified
reproach.
"Well," said Jimmy, "I'm not yet like the
Red Queen. I can't believe six impossible
things before breakfast."
"It's after breakfast," said Bundle.
"Or even after breakfast. We've got a
perfectly good hypothesis which fits the
facts--and you won't have it at any price,
simply because, like the old riddle, you want
to make things more difficult."
"I'm sorry," said Bundle, "but I cling
passionately to a mysterious No. 7 being a
member of the house-party."
"What does Bill think?"
"Bill," said Bundle coldly, "is impossible."

"Oh!" said Jimmy. "I suppose you've told
him about the Countess? He ought to be
276
warned. Heaven knows what he'll go blabbing
about otherwise."
"He won't hear a word against her," said
Bundle. "He's—oh, simply idiotic. I wish
you'd drive it home to him about that mole."
"You forget I wasn't in the cupboard," said
Jimmy. "And anyway I'd rather not argue
with Bill about his lady friend's mole. But
surely he can't be such an ass as not to see
that everything fits in?"
"He's every kind of ass," said Bundle
bitterly. "You made the greatest mistake,
Jimmy, in ever telling him at all."
"I'm sorry," said Jimmy. "I didn't see it at
the time—but I do now. I was a fool, but dash
it all, old Bill——"
"You know what foreign adventuresses
are," said Bundle. "How they get hold of
one."
"As a matter of fact, I don't," said Jimmy.
"One has never tried to get hold of me." And
he sighed.
For a moment or two there was silence.
Jimmy was turning things over in his mind.
The more he thought about them the more
unsatisfactory they seemed.
"You say that Battle wants the Countess let
alone," he said at last.
277
"Yes."
"The idea being that through her he will
get at someone else?"
Bundle nodded.
Jimmy frowned deeply as he tried to see
where this led. Clearly Battle had some very
definite idea in his mind.
"Sir Stanley Digby went up to town early
this morning, didn't he?" he said.
"Yes."
"O'Rourke with him?"
"Yes, I think so."
"You don't think—no, that's impossible."
"What?"
"That O'Rourke can be mixed up in this in
any way."
"It's possible," said Bundle thoughtfully.
"He's got what one calls a very vivid
personality. No, it wouldn't surprise me ifon, to tell the truth, nothing would surprise
me! In fact, there's only one person I'm really
sure isn't No. 7."
"Who's that?"
"Superintendent Battle."
"Oh! I thought you were going to say
George Lomax."
"Ssh, here he comes."
George was, indeed, bearing down upon
278
them in an unmistakable manner. Jimmy
made an excuse and slipped away. George sat
down by Bundle.
"My dear Eileen, must you really leave
us?"
"Well, Father seems to have got the wind
up rather badly. I think I'd better go home
and hold his hand."
"This little hand will indeed be
comforting," said George, taking it and
pressing it playfully. "My dear Eileen, I
understand your reasons and I honour you for
them. In these days of changed and unsettled
conditions——"
"He's off," thought Bundle desperately.
"——when family life is at a premium—all
the old standards falling!—It becomes our
class to set an example to show that we, at
least, are unaffected by modern conditions.
They call us the Die Hards—I am proud
of the term—1 repeat I am proud of the
term! There are things that should die
hard—dignity, beauty, modesty, the sanctity
of family life, filial respect—who dies if these
shall live? As I was saying, my dear Eileen, I
envy you the privileges of your youth. Youth!
What a wonderful thing! What a wonderful
word! And we do not appreciate it until we
279
grow to—er—maturer years. I confess, my
dear child, that I have in the past been
disappointed by your levity. I see now it was
but the careless and charming levity of a
child. I perceive now the serious and earnest
beauty of your mind. You will allow me, I
hope, to help you with your reading?"
"Oh, thank you," said Bundle faintly.
"And you must never be afraid of me again.
I was shocked when Lady Caterham told me
that you stood in awe of me. I can assure you
that I am a very humdrum sort of person."
The spectacle of George being modest
struck Bundle spellbound. George continued:
"Never be shy with me, dear child. And do
not be afraid of boring me. It will be a great
delight to me to—if I may say so—form your
budding mind. I will be your political
mentor. We have never needed young women
of talent and charm in the Party more than
we need them to-day. You may well be
destined to follow in the footsteps of your
aunt, Lady Caterham."
This awful prospect knocked Bundle out
completely. She could only stare helplessly at
George. This did not discourage him—on the
contrary. His main objection to women was
that they talked too much. It was seldom that
280
he found what he considered a really good
listener. He smiled benignly at Bundle.
"The butterfly emerging from the
chrysalis. A wonderful picture. I have a very
interesting work on political economy. I will
look it out now, and you can take it to
Chimneys with you. When you have finished
it, I will discuss it with you. Do not hesitate
to write to me if any point puzzles you. I have
many public duties, but by unsparing work I
can always make time for the affairs of my
friends. I will look for the book."
He strode away. Bundle gazed after him
with a dazed expression. She was roused by
the unexpected advent of Bill.
"Look here," said Bill. "What the hell was
Codders holding your hand for?"
"It wasn't my hand," said Bundle wildly.
"It was my budding mind."
"Don't be an ass. Bundle."
"Sorry, Bill, but I'm a little worried. Do
you remember saying that Jimmy ran a grave
risk coming down here?"
"So he does," said Bill. "It's frightfully
hard to escape from Codders once he's got
interested in you. Jimmy will be caught in the
toils before he knows where he is."
"It's not Jimmy who's caught—it's me,'
sDMi9 281
said Bundle wildly. "I shall have to meet
endless Mrs. Macattas, and read political
pconomy and discuss it with George, and
heaven knows where it will end!"
Bill whistled.
"Poor old Bundle. Been laying it on a bit
ttiick, haven't you?"
"I must have done. Bill, I feel horribly
entangled."
"Never mind," said Bill consolingly.
"George doesn't really believe in women
standing for Parliament, so you won't have to
stand up on platforms and talk a lot of junk,
of kiss dirty babies in Bermondsey. Come
and have a cocktail. It's nearly lunch time."
Bundle got up and walked by his side
obediently"And I do so hate politics," she murmured
piteously"Of course you do. So do all sensible
neople. It's only people like Codders and
pongo who take them seriously and revel in
them. But all the same," said Bill, reverting
suddenly to a former point, "you oughtn't to
let Codders hold your hand."
"Why on earth not?" said Bundle. "He's
known me all my life."
"Well I don't like it."
282
/^ok at
"Virtuous William-Oh, I say, V
Superintendent Battle." a side
They were just passing in through of the
door. A cupboard-like room opened ou^ clubs,
little hallway. In it were kept golf ^res of
tennis racquets, bowls and other feat^le was
country house life. Superintendent Bat^arious
conducting a minute examination of v^hly at
golf clubs. He looked up a little sheepi^
Bundle's exclamation. /ndent
"Going to take up golf, Superint^
Battle?" ygy say
"I might do worse. Lady Eileen. Th^t one
it's never too late to start. And I've g^"
good quality that will tell at any game/
"What's that?" asked Bill. ^every-
"I don't know when I'm beaten. If ^ain!"
thing goes wrong, I turn to and start a^ face,
And with a determined look on his joined
Superintendent Battle came out and j'
them, shutting the door behind him.
283
25
Jimmy Lays His Plans
JIMMY THESIGER was feeling
depressed. Avoiding George, whom he
suspected of being ready to tackle him
on serious subjects, he stole quietly away
after lunch. Proficient as he was in details of
the Santa Fe boundary dispute, he had no
wish to stand an examination on it this
minute.
Presently what he hoped would happen
came to pass. Loraine Wade, also unaccompanied, strolled down one of the shady
garden paths. In a moment Jimmy was by her
side. They walked for some minutes in
silence and then Jimmy said tentatively:
"Loraine?"
"Yes?"
"Look here, I'm a bad chap at putting
things--but what about it? What's wrong
with getting a special licence and being
married and living together happy ever
afterwards?"
284
Loraine displayed no embarrassment at this
surprising proposal. Instead she threw back
her head and laughed frankly.
"Don't laugh at a chap," said Jimmy
reproachfully.
"I can't help it. You were so funny."
"Loraine—you are a little devil."
"I'm not. I'm what's called a thoroughly
nice girl."
"Only to those who don't know you—
who are taken in by your delusive appearance
of meekness and decorum."
"I like your long words."
"All out of crossword puzzles."
"So educative."
"Loraine, dear, don't beat about the bush.
Will you or won't you?"
Loraine's face sobered. It took on its
characteristic appearance of determination.
Her small mouth hardened and her little chin
shot out aggressively.
"No, Jimmy. Not while things are as they
are at present—all unfinished."
"I know we haven't done what we set out to
do," agreed Jimmy. "But all the same—well,
it's the end of a chapter. The papers are
safe at the Air Ministry. Virtue triumphant.
And—for the moment—nothing doing."
285
"So—let's get married?" said Loraine with
a slight smile.
"You've said it. Precisely the idea."
But again Loraine shook her head.
"No, Jimmy. Until this thing's rounded
up—until we're safe——"
"You think we're in danger?"
"Don't you?"
Jimmy's cherubic pink face clouded over.
"You're right," he said at last. "If that
extraordinary rigmarole of Bundle's is true—
and I suppose, incredible as it sounds, it must
be true—then we're not safe till we've settled
with-No. 7!"
"And the others?"
"No—the others don't count. It's No. 7
with his own ways of working that frightens
me. Because I don't know who he is or where
to look for him."
Lorained shivered.
"I've been frightened," she said in a low
voice. "Ever since Gerry's death. . . ."
"You needn't be frightened. There's
nothing for you to be frightened about. You
leave everything to me. I tell you, Loraine—
I'll get No. 7 yet. Once we get him—well, I
don't think there'll be much trouble with the
rest of the gang, whoever they are."
286
"If you get him—and suppose he gets
you?"
"Impossible," said Jimmy cheerfully. "I'm
much too clever. Always have a good opinion
of yourself—that's my motto."
"When I think of the things that might
have happened last night——" Loraine
shivered.
"Well, they didn't," said Jimmy. "We're
both here, safe and sound—though I must
admit my arm is confoundedly painful."
"Poor boy."
"Oh, one must expect to suffer in a good
cause. And what with my wounds and my
cheerful conversation, I've made a complete
conquest of Lady Coote."
"Oh! Do you think that important?"
"I've an idea it may come in useful."
"You've got some plan in your mind,
Jimmy. What is it?"
"The young hero never tells his plans,"
said Jimmy firmly. "They mature in the
dark."
"You are an idiot. Jimmy."
"I know. I know. That's what everyone
says. But I can assure you, Loraine, there's a
lot of brain-work going on underneath. Now
what about your plans? Got any?"
287
"Bundle has suggested that I should go to
Chimneys with her for a bit."
"Excellent," said Jimmy approvingly.
"Nothing could be better. I'd like an eye kept
on Bundle anyway. You never know what
mad thing she won't be up to next. She's so
frightfully unexpected. And the worst of it is,
she's so astonishingly successful. I tell you,
keeping Bundle out of mischief is a wholetime
job."
"Bill ought to look after her," suggested
Loraine.
"Bill's pretty busy elsewhere."
"Don't you believe it," said Loraine.
"What? Not the Countess? But the lad's
potty about her."
Loraine continued to shake her head.
"There's something there I don't quite
understand. But it's not the Countess with
Bill—it's Bundle. Why, this morning. Bill
was talking to me when Mr. Lomax came out
and sat down by Bundle. He took her hand or
something, and Bill was off like—like a
rocket."
"What a curious taste some people have,"
observed Mr. Thesiger. "Fancy anyone who
was talking to you wanting to do anything
else. But you surprise me very much,
288
Loraine. I thought our simple Bill was enmeshed
in the toils of the beautiful foreign
adventuress. Bundle thinks so, I know."
"Bundle may," said Loraine. "But I tell
you. Jimmy, it isn't so."
"Then what's the big idea?"
"Don't you think it possible that Bill is
doing a bit of sleuthing on his own?"
"Bill? He hasn't got the brains."
"I'm not so sure. When a simple, muscular
person like Bill does set out to be subtle, no
one ever gives him credit for it."
"And in consequence he can put in some
good work. Yes, there's something in that.
But all the same I'd never have thought it of
Bill. He's doing the Countess's little woolly
lamb to perfection. I think you're wrong, you
know, Loraine. The Countess is an extraordinarily
beautiful woman--not my type of
course," put in Mr. Thesiger hastily--"and
old Bill has always had a heart like an hotel."
Loraine shook her head, unconvinced.
"Well," said Jimmy, "have it your own
way. We seem to have more or less settled
things. You go back with Bundle to
Chimneys, and for heaven's sake keep her
from poking about in that Seven Dials place
289
again. Heaven knows what will happen if she
does."
Loraine nodded.
"And now," said Jimmy, "I think a few
words with Lady Coote would be advisable."
Lady Coote was sitting on a garden seat
doing wool-work. The subject was a disconsolate
and somewhat misshapen young
woman weeping over an urn.
Lady Coote made room for Jimmy by her
side, and he promptly, being a tactful young
man, admired her work.
"Do you like it?" said Lady Coote, pleased. "It was begun by my Aunt Selina the week
before she died. Cancer of the liver, poor
thing."
"How beastly," said Jimmy.
"And how is the arm?"
"Oh, it's feeling quite all right. Bit of a
nuisance and all that, you know."
"You'll have to be careful," said Lady
Coote in a warning voice. "I've known bloodpoisoning
set in--and in that case you might
lose your arm altogether."
"Oh! I say, I hope not."
"I'm only warning you," said Lady Coote.
"Where are you hanging out now?" inquired
Mr. Thesiger. "Town--or where?"
290
Considering that h& knew the answer to his
query perfectly well, he put the question with
a praiseworthy amount of ingenuousness.
Lady Coote sighed heavily.
"Sir Oswald has taken the Duke of Alton's
place. Letherbury. You know it, perhaps?"
"Oh, rather. Topping place, isn't it?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Lady Coote. "It's
a very large place, and gloomy, you know.
Rows of pictures galleries with such forbidding-looking
people. What they call Old
Masters are very depressing, I think. You
should have seen a little house we had in
Yorkshire, Mr. Thesiger. When Sir Oswald
was plain Mr. Coote. Such a nice lounge hall
and a cheerful drawing-room with an inglenook--a
white striped paper with a frieze of
wistaria I chose for it, I remember. Satin
stripe, you know, not moire. Much better taste, I always think. The dining-room faced
north-east, so we didn't get much sun in it,
but with a good bright scarlet paper and a set
of those comic hunting prints--why, it was as
cheerful as Christmas."
In the excitement of these reminiscences, Lady Coote dropped several little balls of
wool, which Jimmy dutifully retrieved.
"Thank you, my dear," said Lady Coote.
291
"Now, what was I saying? Oh—about housesyes, I do like a cheerful house. And choosing
things for it gives you an interest."
"I suppose Sir Oswald will be buying a
place of his own one of these days," suggested
Jimmy. "And then you can have it just as you
like."
Lady Coote shook her head sadly.
"Sir Oswald talks of a firm doing it—and
you know what that means."
"Oh! But they'd consult you!"
"It would be one of those grand placesall for the antique. They'd look down on the
things I call comfortable and homey. Not but
that Sir Oswald wasn't very comfortable and
satisfied in his home always, and I daresay his
tastes are just the same underneath. But
nothing will suit him now but the best! He's
got on wonderfully, and naturally he wants
something to show for it, but many's the time
I wonder where it will end."
Jimmy looked sympathetic.
"It's like a runaway horse," said Lady
Coote. "Got the bit between its teeth and
away it goes. It's the same with Sir Oswald.
He's got on, and he's got on, till he can't stop
getting on. He's one of the richest men in
England—but does that satisfy him? No, he
292
wants still more. He wants to be--I don't
know what he wants to be! I can tell you, it
frightens me sometimes!"
"Like the Persian Johnny," said Jimmy, "who went about wailing for fresh worlds to
conquer."
Lady Coote nodded acquiescence without
much knowing what Jimmy was talking
about.
"What I wonder is--will his stomach stand
it?" she went on tearfully. "To have him an
invalid--with his ideas--oh, it won't bear
thinking of."
"He looks very hearty," said Jimmy, consolingly.

"He's got something on his mind," said
Lady Coote. "Worried, that's what he is. /
know."
"What's he worried about?"
"I don't know. Perhaps something at the
works. It's a great comfort for him having
Mr. Bateman. Such an earnest young man--
and so conscientious."
"Marvellously conscientious," agreed
Jimmy.
"Oswald thinks a lot of Mr. Bateman's
judgment. He says that Mr. Bateman is
always right."
293
"That was one of his worst characteristics
years ago," said Jimmy feelingly.
Lady Coote looked slightly puzzled.
"That was an awfully jolly week-end I had
with you at Chimneys," said Jimmy. "I mean
it would have been awfully jolly if it hadn't
been for poor old Gerry kicking the bucket.
Jolly nice girls."
"I find girls very perplexing," said Lady
Coote. "Not romantic, you know. Why, I
embroidered some handkerchiefs for Sir
Oswald with my own hair when we were
engaged."
"Did you?" said Jimmy. "How marvellous.
But I suppose girls haven't got long
enough hair to do that nowadays."
"That's true," admitted Lady Coote. "But, oh, it shows in lots of other ways. I remember
when I was a girl, one of my--well, my young
men--picked up a handful of gravel, and a
girl who was with me said at once that he was
treasuring it because my feet had trodden on
it. Such a pretty idea, I thought. Though
it turned out afterwards that he was
taking a course of mineralogy--or do I mean
geology?--at a technical school. But I liked
the idea--and stealing a girl's handkerchief
and treasuring it--all those sort of things."
294
"Awkward if the girl wanted to blow her
nose," said the practical Mr. Thesiger.
Lady Coote laid down her wool-work and
looked searchingly but kindly at him.
"Come now," she said. "Isn't there some
nice girl that you fancy? That you'd like to
work and make a little home for?"
Jimmy blushed and mumbled.
"I thought you got on very well with one of
those girls at Chimneys that time--Vera
Daventry."
"Socks?"
"They do call her that," admitted Lady
Coote. "I can't think why. It isn't pretty."
"Oh, she's a topper," said Jimmy. "I'd like
to meet her again."
"She's coming down to stay with us next
weekend."
"Is she?" said Jimmy, trying to infuse a
large amount of wistful longing into the two
words.
"Yes. Would--would you like to come?"
"I would," said Jimmy heartily. "Thanks
ever so much. Lady Coote."
And reiterating fervent thanks, he left her.
Sir Oswald presently joined his wife. "What has that young Jackanapes been
295
boring you about?" he demanded. "I can't
stand that young fellow."
"He's a dear boy," said Lady Coote. "And
so brave. Look how he got wounded last
night."
"Yes, messing around where he'd no
business to be."
"I think you're very unfair, Oswald."
"Never done an honest day's work in his
life. A real waster if there ever was one. He'd
never get on if he had his way to make in the
world."
"You must have got your feet damp last
night," said Lady Coote. "I hope you won't
get pneumonia. Freddie Richards died of it
the other day. Dear me, Oswald, it makes my
blood run cold to think of you wandering
about with a dangerous burglar loose in the
grounds. He might have shot you. I've asked
Mr. Thesiger down for next week-end, by the
way."
"Nonsense," said Sir Oswald. "I won't
have that young man in my house, do you
hear, Maria?"
"Why not?"
"That's my business."
"I'm so sorry, dear," said Lady Coote
placidly. "I've asked him now, so it can't be
296
helped. Pick up that ball of pink wool, will
you, Oswald?"
Sir Oswald complied, his face black as
thunder. He looked at his wife and hesitated.
Lady Coote was placidly threading her wool
needle.
"I particularly don't want Thesiger down
next week-end," he said at last. "I've heard a
good deal about him from Bateman. He was
at school with him."
"What did Mr. Bateman say?"
"He'd no good to say of him. In fact, he
warned me very seriously against him."
"He did, did he?" said Lady Coote
thoughtfully.
"And I have the highest respect for
Bateman's judgment. I've never known him
wrong."
"Dear me," said Lady Coote. "What a
mess I seem to have made of things. Of
course, I should never have asked him if I had
known. You should have told me all this
before, Oswald. It's too late now."
She began to roll up her work very carefully.
Sir Oswald looked at her, made as if to
speak, then shrugged his shoulders. He
followed her into the house. Lady Coote,
walking ahead, wore a very faint smile on her
SDM20 297
fjace. She was fond of her husband, but
s)ie was also fond—in a quiet, unobtrusive,
^holly womanly manner—of getting her own
way.
298
26
Mainly About Golf
<<r | ^HAT friend of yours i^ a nice girl,
| Bundle," said Lord Caterham.
A Loraine had been at Chimneys for
nearly a week, and had earned the high
opinion of her host—mainly because of the
charming readiness she had shown to be
instructed in the science of the mashie shot.
Bored by his winter abroad. Lord
Caterham had taken up golf. He was an
execrable player and in consequence was
profoundly enthusiastic over the game. He
spent most of his mornings lofting mashie
shots over various shrubs and bushes—or,
rather, essaying to loft them, hacking large
bits out of the velvety turf and generally
reducing MacDonald to despair.
"We must lay out a little course," said
Lord Caterham, addressing a daisy. "A
sporting little course. Now then, just watch
this one. Bundle. Off the right knee, slow
back, keep the head still and use the wrists."
299
The ball, heavily topped, scudded across
the lawn and disappeared into the
unfathomed depths of a great bank of
rhododendrons.
"Curious," said Lord Caterham. "What
did I do then, I wonder? As I was saying,
Bundle, that friend of yours is a very nice
girl. I really think I am inducing her to take
quite an interest in the game. She hit some
excellent shots this morning—really quite as
good as I could do myself."
Lord Caterham took another careless swing
and removed an immense chunk of turf.
MacDonald, who was passing, retrieved it
and stamped it firmly back. The look he gave
Lord Caterham would have caused anyone
but an ardent golfer to sink through the earth.
"If MacDonald has been guilty of cruelty
to Cootes, which I strongly suspect," said
Bundle, "he's being punished now."
"Why shouldn't I do as I like in my own
garden?" demanded her father. "MacDonald
ought to be interested in the way my game is
coming on—the Scotch are a great golfing
nation."
"You poor old man," said Bundle. "You'll
never be a golfer—but at any rate it keeps you
out of mischief."
300
"Not at all," said Lord Caterham. "I did
the long sixth in five the other day. The pro
was very surprised when I told him about it."
"He would be," said Bundle.
"Talking ofCootes, Sir Oswald plays a fair
game—a very fair game. Not a pretty style—
too stiff. But straight down the middle every
time. But curious how the cloven hoof
shows—won't give you a six-inch putt! Makes
you put it in every time. Now I don't like
that."
"I suppose he's a man who likes to be
sure," said Bundle.
"It's contrary to the spirit of the game,"
said her father. "And he's not interested in
the theory of the thing either. Says he just
plays for exercise and doesn't bother about
style. Now, that secretary chap, Bateman, is
quite different. It's the theory interests him. I
was slicing badly with my spoon; and he said
it all came from too much right arm, and he
evolved a very interesting theory. It's all left
arm in golf—the left arm is the arm that
counts. He says he plays tennis left handed
but golf with ordinary clubs because there his
superiority with the left arm tells."
"And did he play very marvellously?"
inquired Bundle.
301
"No, he didn't," confessed Lord
Caterham. "But then he may have been off
his game. I see the theory all right and I think
there's a lot in it. Ah! Did you see that one,
Bundle? Right over the rhododendrons. A
perfect shot. Ah! If one could be sure of doing
that every time—— Yes, Tredwell, what is
it?"
Tredwell addressed Bundle.
"Mr. Thesiger would like to speak to you
on the telephone, my lady."
Bundle set off at full speed for the house,
yelling "Loraine, Loraine," as she did so.
Loraine joined her just as she was lifting the
receiver.
"Hallo, is that you. Jimmy?"
"Hallo. How are you?"
"Very fit, but a bit bored."
"How's Loraine?"
"She's all right. She's here. Do you want to
speak to her?"
"In a minute. I've got a lot to say. To begin
with, I'm going down to the Cootes for the
week-end," he said significantly. "Now, look
here. Bundle, you don't know how one gets
hold of skeleton keys, do you?"
"Haven't the foggiest. Is it really necessary
to take skeleton keys to the Cootes?"
302
"Well, I had a sort of idea they'd come in
handy. You don't know the sort of shop one
gets them at?"
"What you want is a kindly burglar friend
to show you the ropes."
"I do. Bundle, I do. And unfortunately I
haven't got one. I thought perhaps your
bright brain might grapple successfully with
the problem. But I suppose I shall have to fall
back upon Stevens as usual. He'll be getting
some funny ideas in his head soon about
me—first a blue-nosed automatic—and now
skeleton keys. He'll think I've joined the
criminal classes."
"Jimmy?" said Bundle.
"Yes?"
"Look here—be careful, won't you? I mean
if Sir Oswald finds you nosing around with
skeleton keys—well, I should think he could
be very unpleasant when he likes."
"Young man of pleasing appearance in the
dock! All right, I'll be careful. Pongo's the
fellow I'm really frightened of. He sneaks
around so on those flat feet of his. You never
hear him coming. And he always did have a
genius for poking his nose in where he wasn't
wanted. But trust to the boy hero."
303
"Well, I wish Loraine and I were going to
be there to look after you."
"Thank you, nurse. As a matter of fact,
though, I have a scheme."
"Yes?"
"Do you think you and Loraine might
have a convenient car breakdown near
Letherbury to-morow morning? Ifs not so
very far from you, is it."
"Forty miles. That's nothing."
"I thought it wouldn't be--to you! Don't
kill Loraine though. I'm rather fond of
Loraine. All right, then--somewhere round about quarter to half-past twelve."
"So that they invite us to lunch?"
"That's the idea. I say. Bundle, I ran into
that girl Socks yesterday, and what do you
think--Terence O'Rourke is going to be
down there this weekend!"
"Jimmy, do you think he----?"
"Well--suspect everyone, you know.
That's what they say. He's a wild lad, and
daring as they make them. I wouldn't put it
past him to run a secret society. He and the
Countess might be in this together. He was
out in Hungary last year."
"But he could pinch the formula any
time."
304
"That's just what he couldn't. He'd have to
do it under circumstances where he couldn't
be suspected. But the retreat up the ivy and
into his own bed—well, that would be rather
neat. Now for instructions. After a few polite
nothings to Lady Coote, you and Loraine are
to get hold of Pongo and O'Rourke by hook
or by crook and keep them occupied till lunch
time. See? It oughtn't to be difficult for a
couple of beautiful girls like you."
"You're using the best butter, I see."
"A plain statement of fact."
"Well, at any rate, your instructions are
duly noted. Do you want to talk to Loraine
now?"
Bundle passed over the receiver and
tactfully left the room.
305
27
Nocturnal Adventure
JIMMY THESIGER arrived at Letherbury
on a sunny autumn afternoon and
was greeted affectionately by Lady
Coote and with cold dislike by Sir Oswald.
Aware of the keen match-making eye of
Lady Coote upon him. Jimmy took pains to
make himself extremely agreeable to Socks
Daventry.
O'Rourke was there in excellent spirits. He
was inclined to be official and secretive about
the mysterious events at the Abbey, about
which Socks catechised him freely, but his
official reticence took a novel form—namely
that of embroidering the tale of events in such
a fantastic manner that nobody could possibly
guess what the truth might have been.
"Four masked men with revolvers? Is that
really so?" demanded Socks severely.
"Ah! I'm remembering now that there was
the round half-dozen of them to hold me
down and force the stuff down my throat.
306
Sure, and I thought it was poison, and I done
for entirely."
"And what was stolen, or what did they try
and steal?"
"What else but the crown jewels of Russia
that were brought to Mr. Lomax secretly to
deposit in the Bank of England."
"What a bloody liar you are," said Socks
without emotion.
"A liar, I? And the jewels brought over by
aeroplane with my best friend as pilot. This is
secret history I'm telling you. Socks. Will you
ask Jimmy Thesiger there if you don't believe
me. Not that I'd be putting any trust in what
he'd say."
"Is it true," said Socks, "that George
Lomax came down without his false teeth?
That's what I want to know."
"There were two revolvers," said Lady
Coote. "Nasty things. I saw them myself. It's
a wonder this poor boy wasn't killed."
"Oh, I was born to be hanged," said
Jimmy.
"I hear that there was a Russian countess
there of subtle beauty," said Socks. "And
that she vamped Bill."
"Some of the things she said about Buda
Pesth were too dreadful," said Lady Coote.
307
"I shall never forget them. Oswald, we must
send a subscription."
Sir Oswald grunted.
"I'll make a note of it. Lady Coote," said
Rupert Bateman.
"Thank you, Mr. Bateman. I feel one
ought to do something as a thank offering. I
can't imagine how Sir Oswald escaped being
shot—letting alone die of pneumonia."
"Don't be foolish, Maria," said Sir
Oswald.
"I've always had a horror of cat burglars,"
said Lady Coote.
"Think of having the luck to meet one face
to face. How thrilling!" murmured Socks.
"Don't you believe it," said Jimmy. "It's
damned painful." And he patted his right
arm gingerly.
"How is the poor arm?" inquired Lady
Coote.
"Oh, pretty well all right now. But it's
been the most confounded nuisance having to
do everything with the left hand. I'm no good
whatever with it."
"Every child should be brought up to be
ambidexterous," said Sir Oswald.
"Oh!" said Socks, somewhat out of her
depth. "Is that like seals?"
308
"Not amphibious," said Mr. Bateman.
"Ambidexterous means using either hand
equally well."
"Oh!" said Socks, looking at Sir Oswald
with respect. "Can you?"
"Certainly, I can write with either hand."
"But not with both at once?"
"That would not be practical," said Sir
Oswald shortly.
"No," said Socks thoughtfully. "I suppose
that would be a bit too subtle."
"It would be a grand thing now in a
Government department," observed Mr.
O'Rourke, "if one could keep the right hand
from knowing what the left hand was doing."
"Can you use both hands?"
"No, indeed. I'm the most right-handed
person that ever was."
"But you deal cards with your left hand,"
said the observant Bateman. "I noticed the
other night."
"Oh, but that's different entirely," said
Mr. O'Rourke easily.
A gong with a sombre note pealed out and
everyone went upstairs to dress for dinner.
After dinner Sir Oswald and Lady Coote,
Mr. Bateman and Mr. O'Rourke played
bridge and Jimmy passed a flirtatious evening
309
with Socks. The last words Jimmy heard as
he retreated up the staircase that night were
Sir Oswald saying to his wife:
"You'll never make a bridge player,
Maria."
And her reply:
"I know, dear. So you always say. You owe
Mr. O'Rourke another pound, Oswald.
That's right."
It was some two hours later that Jimmy
crept noiselessly (or so he hoped) down the
stairs. He made one brief visit to the diningroom
and then found his way to Sir Oswald's
study. There, after listening intently for a
minute or two, he set to work. Most of the
drawers of the desk were locked, but a
curiously shaped bit of wire in Jimmy's hand
soon saw to that. One by one the drawers
yielded to his manipulations.
Drawer by drawer he sorted through
methodically, being careful to replace everything
in the same order. Once or twice he
stopped to listen, fancying he heard some
distant sound. But he remained undisturbed.
The last drawer was looked through.
Jimmy now knew--or could have known had
he been paying attention--many interesting
details relating to steel; but he had found
310
I nothing of what he wanted—a reference to
r__ Herr EberharcTs invention or anything that
could give him a clue to the identity of the
mysterious No. 7. He had, perhaps, hardly
hoped that he would. It was an off-chance and
he had taken it—but he had not expected
much result—except by sheer luck.
He tested the drawers to make sure that he
had relocked them securely. He knew Rupert
Bateman's powers of minute observation and
glanced round the room to make sure that
he had left no incriminating trace of his
presence.
"That's that," he muttered to himself
softly. "Nothing there. Well, perhaps I'll
have better luck to-morrow morning—if the
girls only play up."
He came out of the study, closing the door
behind him and locking it. For a moment he
thought he heard a sound quite near him, but
decided he had been mistaken. He felt his
way noiselessly along the great hall. Just
enough light came from the high vaulted
windows to enable him to pick his way
without stumbling into anything.
Again he heard a soft sound—he heard it
quite certainly this time and without the
possibility of making a mistake. He was not
311
alone in the hall. Somebody else was there,
moving as stealthily as he was. His heart beat
suddenly very fast.
With a sudden spring he jumped to the
electric switch and turned on the lights. The
sudden glare made him blink—but he saw
plainly enough. Not four feet away stood
Rupert Bateman.
"My goodness, Pongo," cried Jimmy, "you
did give me a start. Slinking about like that in
the dark."
"I heard a noise," explained Mr. Bateman
severely. "I thought burglars had got in and I
came down to see."
Jimmy looked thoughtfully at Mr.
Bateman's rubber-soled feet.
"You think of everything, Pongo," he said
genially. "Even a lethal weapon."
His eye rested on the bulge in the other's
pocket.
"It's as well to be armed. One never knows
whom one may meet."
"I am glad you didn't shoot," said Jimmy.
"I'm a bit tired of being shot at."
"I might easily have done so," said Mr.
Bateman.
"It would be dead against the law if you
did," said Jimmy. "You've got to make quite
312
sure the beggar's house-breaking, you know,
before you pot at him. You mustn't jump to
conclusions. Otherwise you'd have to explain
why you shot a guest on a perfectly innocent
errand like mine."
"By the way, what did you come down
for?"
"I was hungry," said Jimmy. "I rather
fancied a dry biscuit."
"There are some biscuits in a tin by your
bed," said Rupert Bateman.
He was staring at Jimmy very intently
through his horn-rimmed spectacles.
"Ah! That's where the staff work has gone
wrong, old boy. There's a tin there with
"Biscuits for Starving Visitors' on it. But
when the starving visitor opened it—nothing
inside. So I just toddled down to the dining
room."
And
with a sweet, ingenuous smile. Jimmy
produced from his dressing-gown pocket a
handful of biscuits.
There was a moment's pause.
"And now I think I'll toddle back to bed,"
said Jimmy. "Night-night, Pongo."
With an affectation of nonchalance, he
mounted the staircase. Rupert Bateman
followed him. At the doorway of his room,
SDM 21 313
Jimmy paused as if to say good-night once
more.
"It's an extraordinary thing about these
biscuits," said Mr. Bateman. "Do you mind
if I just----?"
"Certainly, laddie, look for yourself."
Mr. Bateman strode across the room, opened the biscuit box and stared at its
emptiness.
"Very remiss," he murmured. "Well,
goodnight."
He withdrew. Jimmy sat on the edge of his
bed listening for a minute.
"That was a narrow shave," he murmured
to himself. "Suspicious sort of chap, Pongo.
Never seems to sleep. Nasty habit of his
prowling around with a revolver."
He got up and opened one of the drawers of
the dressing-table. Beneath an assortment of
ties lay a pile of biscuits.
"There's nothing for it," said Jimmy. "I
shall have to eat all the damned things. Ten
to one, Pongo will come prowling round in
the morning."
With a sigh, he settled down to a meal of
biscuits for which he had no inclination
whatever.
314
28
Suspicions
IT was just on the appointed hour of twelve
o'clock that Bundle and Loraine entered
the park gates, having left the Hispano at
an adjacent garage.
Lady Coote greeted the two girls with
surprise, but distinct pleasure, and immediately
pressed them to stay to lunch.
O'Rourke, who had been reclining in an
immense armchair, began at once to talk with
great animation to Loraine, who was listening
with half an ear to Bundle's highly technical
explanation of the mechanical trouble which
had affected the Hispano.
"And we said," ended Bundle, "how
marvellous that the brute should have broken
down just here! Last time it happened was on
a Sunday at a place called Little Speddlington
under the Hill. And it lived up to its name, I
can tell you."
"That would be a grand name on the
films," remarked O'Rourke.
315
"Birthplace of the simple country
maiden," suggested Socks.
"I wonder now," said Lady Coote, "where
Mr. Thesiger is?"
"He's in the billiard-room, I think," said
Socks. "I'll fetch him."
She went off, but had hardly gone a minute
when Rupert Bateman appeared upon the
scene, with the harassed and serious air usual
to him.
"Yes, Lady Coote? Thesiger said you
were asking for me. How do you do. Lady
Eileen----"
He broke off to greet the two girls, and
Loraine immediately took the field.
"Oh, Mr. Bateman! I've been wanting to
see you. Wasn't it you who was telling me
what to do for a dog when he is continually
getting sore paws?"
The secretary shook his head.
"It must have been someone else. Miss
Wade. Though, as a matter of fact, I do
happen to know----"
"What a wonderful man you are," interrupted
Loraine. "You know about everything."

"One should keep abreast of modern
316
knowledge," said Mr. Bateman seriously.
"Now about your dog's paws——"
Terence O'Rourke murmured sotto voce to
Bundle:
" Tis a man like that that writes all those
little paragraphs in the weekly papers. 'It is
not generally known that to keep a brass
fender uniformly bright, etc.;' 'The dorper
beetle is one of the most interesting
characters in the insect world;' 'The marriage
customs of the Fingalese Indians,' and so
on."
"General Information, in fact."
"And what more horrible two words could
you have?" said Mr. O'Rourke, and added
piously. "Thank the heavens above I'm an
educated man and know nothing whatever
upon any subject at all."
"I see you've got clock golf here," said
Bundle to Lady Coote.
"I'll take you on at it. Lady Eileen," said
O'Rourke.
"Let's challenge those two," said Bundle.
"Loraine, Mr. O'Rourke and I want to take
you and Mr. Bateman on at clock golf."
"Do play, Mr. Bateman," said Lady Coote,
as the secretary showed a momentary hesita-
317
tion. "I'm sure Sir Oswald doesn't want
you."
The four went out on the lawn.
"Very cleverly managed, what?" whispered
Bundle to Loraine. "Congratulations on our
girlish tact."
The round ended just before one o'clock,
victory going to Bateman and Loraine.
"But I think you'll agree with me,
partner," said Mr. O'Rourke, "that we
played a more sporting game."
He lagged a little behind with Bundle.
"Old Pongo's a cautious player—he takes
no risks. Now, with me it's neck or nothing.
And a fine motto through life, don't you
agree. Lady Eileen?"
"Hasn't it ever landed you in trouble?"
asked Bundle, laughing.
"To be sure it has. Millions of times.
But I'm still going strong. Sure, it'll take
the hangman's noose to defeat Terence
O'Rourke."
Just then Jimmy Thesiger strolled round
the corner of the house.
"Bundle, by all that's wonderful!" he
exclaimed.
"You've missed competing in the Autumn
Meeting," said O'Rourke.
318
"I'd gone for a stroll," said Jimmy.
"Where did these girls drop from?"
"We came on our flat feet," said Bundle.
"The Hispano let us down."
And she narrated the circumstances of the
breakdown.
Jimmy listened with sympathetic attention.
"Hard luck," he vouchsafed. "If it's going
to take some time, I'll run you back in my car
after lunch."
A gong sounded at that moment and they
all went in. Bundle observed Jimmy covertly.
She thought she had noticed an unusual note
of exultance in his voice. She had the feeling
that things had gone well.
After lunch they took a polite leave of Lady
Coote, and Jimmy volunteered to run them
down to the garage in his car. As soon as
they had started the same word burst
simultaneously from both girls' lips:
"Well?"
Jimmy chose to be provoking.
"Well?"
"Oh, pretty hearty, thanks. Slight
indigestion owing to over indulgence in dry
biscuits."
"But what has happened?"
"I tell you. Devotion to the cause made me
319
eat too many dry biscuits. But did our hero
flinch? No, he did not."
"Oh, Jimmy," said Loraine reproachfully,
and he softened.
"What do you really want to know?"
"Oh, everything. Didn't we do it well? I
mean, the way we kept Pongo and Terence
O'Rourke in play."
"I congratulate you on the handling of
Pongo. O'Rourke was probably a sitter—but
Pongo is made of other stuff. There's only
one word for that lad—it was in the Sunday
Newsbag crossword last week. Word of
ten letters meaning everywhere at once.
Ubiquitous. That describes Pongo down to
the ground. You can't go anywhere without
running into him—and the worst of it is you
never hear him coming."
"You think he's dangerous?"
"Dangerous? Of course he's not dangerous.
Fancy Pongo being dangerous. He's an ass.
But, as I said just now, he's an ubiquitous ass.
He doesn't even seem to need sleep like
ordinary mortals. In fact, to put it bluntly,
the fellow's a damn nuisance."
And, in a somewhat aggrieved manner,
Jimmy described the events of the previous
evening.
320
Bundle was not very sympathetic.
"I don't know what you think you're doing
anyway, mooching round here."
"No. 7," said Jimmy crisply. "That's what
I'm after. No. 7."
"And you think you'll find him in this
house?"
"I thought I might find a clue."
"And you didn't?"
"Not last night—no."
"But this morning," said Loraine, breaking
in suddenly. "Jimmy, you did find something
this morning. I can see it by your face."
"Well, I don't know if it is anything. But
during the course of my stroll——"
"Which stroll didn't take you far from the
house, I imagine."
"Strangely enough, it didn't. Round trip in
the interior, we might call it. Well, as I say, I
don't know whether there's anything in it or
not. But I found this."
With the celerity of a conjurer he produced
a small bottle and tossed it over to the girls. It
was half full of a white powder.
"What do you think it is?" asked Bundle.
"A white crystalline powder, that's what it
is," said Jimmy. "And to any reader of
detective fiction those words are both familiar
321
and suggestive. Of course, if it turns out to be
a new kind of patent tooth-powder, I shall be
chagrined and annoyed."
"Where did you find it?" asked Bundle
sharply.
"Ah!" said Jimmy, "that's my secret."
And from that point he would not budge in
spite of cajolery and insult.
"Here we are at the garage," he said.
"Let's hope the high-mettled Hispano has
not been subjected to any indignities."
The gentleman at the garage presented a
bill for five shillings and made a few vague
remarks about loose nuts. Bundle paid him
with a sweet smile.
"It's nice to know we all get money
for nothing sometimes," she murmured to
Jimmy.
The three stood together in the road, silent
for the moment as they each pondered the
situation.
"I know," said Bundle suddenly.
"Know what?"
"Something I meant to ask you—and nearly
forgot. Do you remember that glove that
Superintendent Battle found—the half-burnt
one?"
"Yes."
322
"Didn't you say that he tried it on your
hand?"
"Yes—it was a shade big. That fits in with
the idea of its being a big, hefty man who
wore it."
"That's not at all what I'm bothering
about. Never mind the size of it. George and
Sir Oswald were both there too, weren't
they?"
"Yes."
"He could have given it to either of them to
fit on?"
"Yes, of course——"
"But he didn't. He chose you. Jimmy,
don't you see what that means?"
Mr. Thesiger stared at her.
"I'm sorry. Bundle. Possibly the jolly old
brain isn't functioning as well as usual, but I
haven't the faintest idea what you're talking
about."
"Don't you see, Loraine?"
Loraine looked at her curiously, but shook
her head.
"Does it mean anything in particular?"
"Of course it does. Don't you see—Jimmy
had his right hand in a sling."
"By Jove, Bundle," said Jimmy slowly. "It
was rather odd now I come to think of it; its
323
being a left-hand glove, I mean. Battle never
said anything."
"He wasn't going to draw attention to it.
By trying it on you it might pass without
notice being drawn to it, and he talked about
the size just to put everybody off. But surely
it must mean that the man who shot at you
held the pistol in his left hand."
"So we've got to look for a left-handed
man," said Loraine thoughtfully.
"Yes, and I'll tell you another thing. That
was what Battle was doing looking through
the golf clubs. He was looking for a lefthanded
man's."
"By Jove," said Jimmy suddenly.
"What is it?"
"Well, I don't suppose there's anything in
it, but it's rather curious."
He retailed the conversation at tea the day
before.
"So Sir Oswald Coote is ambidexterous?"
said Bundle.
"Yes. And I remember now on that night at
Chimneys—you know, the night Gerry Wade
died—I was watching the bridge and thinking
idly how awkwardly someone was dealing—
and then realising that it was because they
324
were dealing with the left hand. Of course, it
must have been Sir Oswald."
They all three looked at each other.
Loraine shook her head.
"A man like Sir Oswald Coote! It's
impossible. What could he have to gain by
it?"
"It seems absurd," said Jimmy. "And
yet——"
"No. 7 has his own ways of working,"
quoted Bundle softly. "Supposing this is the
way Sir Oswald has really made his fortune?"
"But why stage all that comedy at the
Abbey when he'd had the formula at his own
works?"
"There might be ways of explaining that,"
said Loraine. "The same line of argument
you used about Mr. O'Rourke. Suspicion had
to be diverted from him and placed in
another quarter."
Bundle nodded eagerly.
"It all fits in. Suspicion is to fall on Bauer
and the Countess. Who on earth would ever
dream of suspecting Sir Oswald Coote?"
"I wonder if Battle does," said Jimmy
slowly.
Some chord of memory vibrated in
325
Bundle's mind. Superintendent Battle plucking
an ivy leaf of if the millionaire's coat. Had Battle suspected all the time?
326
29
Singular Behaviour of George Lomax
" A /^ R-LOMAX is here' myLord-"
(\/| Lord Caterham started violently,
jl v JL for, absorbed in the intricacies of
what not to do with the left wrist, he had not
heard the butler approach over the soft turf.
He looked at Tredwell more in sorrow than
in anger.
<<I told you at breakfast, Tredwell, that
I should be particularly engaged this
morning."
"Yes, my lord, but----"
"Go and tell Mr. Lomax that you have
made a mistake, that I am out in the village,
that I am laid up with the gout, or, if all else
fails, that I am dead."
"Mr. Lomax, my lord, has already caught
sight of your lordship when driving up the
drive."
Lord Caterham sighed deeply.
"He would. Very well, Tredwell, I am
coming."
327
In a manner highly characteristic. Lord
Caterham was always most genial when his
feelings were in reality the reverse. He
greeted George now with a heartiness quite
unparalleled.
"My dear fellow, my dear fellow.
Delighted to see you. Absolutely delighted.
Sit down. Have a drink. Well, well, this is
splendid!"
And having pushed George into a large
arm-chair, he sat down opposite him and
blinked nervously.
"I wanted to see you very particularly,"
said George.
"Oh!" said Lord Caterham faintly, and his
heart sank, whilst his mind raced actively
over all the dread possibilities that might lie
behind that simple phrase.
^Very particularly," said George with
heavy emphasis.
Lord Caterham's heart sank lower than
ever. He felt that something was coming
worse than anything he had yet thought of.
"Yes?" he said, with a courageous attempt
at nonchalance.
"Is Eileen at home?"
Lord Caterham felt reprieved, but slightly
surprised.
328
"Yes, yes," he said. "Bundle's here. Got
that friend others with her—the little Wade
girl. Very nice girl—very nice girl. Going to
be quite a good golfer one day. Nice easy
swing——"
He was chatting garrulously on when
George interrupted with ruthlessness:
"I am glad Eileen is at home. Perhaps I
might have an interview with her presently?"
"Certainly, my dear fellow, certainly."
Lord Caterham still felt very surprised, but
was still enjoying the sensation of reprieve.
"If it doesn't bore you."
"Nothing could bore me less," said
George. "I think, Caterham, if I may say so,
that you hardly appreciate the fact that Eileen
is grown up. She is no longer a child. She is a
woman, and, if I may say so, a very charming
and talented woman. The man who succeeds
in winning her love will be extremely lucky. I
repeat it—extremely lucky."
"Oh, I daresay," said Lord Caterham.
"But she's very restless, you know. Never
content to be in one place for more than two
minutes together. However, I dare say young
fellows don't mind that nowadays."
"You mean that she is not content to
stagnate. Eileen has brains, Caterham; she
sDM22 329
is ambitious. She interests herself in the
questions of the day, and brings her fresh and
vivid young intellect to bear upon them."
Lord Caterham stared at him. It occurred
to him that what was so often referred to as
"the strain of modern life" had begun to tell
upon George. Certainly his description of
Bundle seemed to Lord Caterham ludicrously
unlike.
"Are you sure you are feeling quite well?"
he asked anxiously.
George waved the inquiry aside impatiently.

"Perhaps, Caterham, you begin to have
some inkling of my purpose in visiting you
this morning. I am not a man to undertake
fresh responsibilities lightly. I have a proper
sense, I hope, of what is due to the position I
hold. I have given this matter my deep and
earnest consideration. Marriage, especially
at my age, is not to be undertaken without
full--er--consideration. Equality of birth, similarity of tastes, general suitability, and
the same religious creed--all these things are
necessary and the pros and cons have to be
weighed and considered. I can, I think, offer
my wife a position in society that is not to be
despised. Eileen will grace that position
330
admirably. By birth and breeding she is fitted
for it, and her brains and her acute political
sense cannot but further my career to our
mutual advantage. I am aware, Caterham,
that there is--er--some disparity in years. But
I can assure you that I feel full of vigour--in
my prime. The balance of years should be on
the husband's side. And Eileen has serious
tastes--an older man will suit her better than
some young jackanapes without either experience
or savoir-faire. I can assure you, my
dear Caterham, that I will cherish her--
er--exquisite youth, I will cherish it--er--it
will be appreciated. To watch the exquisite
flower of her mind unfolding--what a
privilege! And to think that I never
realised----"
He shook his head deprecatingly and Lord
Caterham, finding his voice with difficulty, said blankly:
"Do I understand you to mean--ah, my
dear fellow, you can't want to marry
Bundle?"
"You are surprised. I suppose to you it
seems sudden. I have your permission, then,
to speak to her?"
"Oh, yes," said Lord Caterham. "If it's
permission you want--of course you can. But
331
you know, Lomax, I really shouldn't if I were
you. Just go home and think it over like a
good fellow. Count twenty. All that sort of
thing. Always a pity to propose and make a
fool of yourself."
"I dare say you mean your advice kindly,
Caterham, though I must confess that you
put it somewhat strangely. But I have made
up my mind to put my fortune to the test. I
may see Eileen?"
"Oh, ifs nothing to do with me," said
Lord Caterham hastily; "Eileen settles her
own affairs. If she came to me to-morrow and
said she was going to marry the chauffeur, I
shouldn't make any objections. It's the only
way nowadays. Your children can make life
damned unpleasant if you don't give in to
them in every way. I say to Bundle, "Do as
you like, but don't worry me,' and really, on
the whole, she is amazingly good about it."
George stood up, intent upon his purpose.
"Where shall I find her?"
"Well, really, I don't know," said Lord
Caterham vaguely. "She might be anywhere.
As I told you just now, she's never in the
same place for two minutes together. No
repose."
"And I suppose Miss Wade will be with
332
her? It seems to me, Caterham, that the best
plan would be for you to ring the bell and ask
your butler to find her, saying that I wish to
speak to her for a few minutes."
Lord Caterham pressed the bell obediently.
"Oh, Tredwell," he said, when the bell was
answered, "just find her ladyship, will you?
Tell her Mr. Lomax is anxious to speak to
her in the drawing-room."
"Yes, my lord."
Tredwell withdrew. George seized Lord
Caterham's hand and wrung it warmly, much
to the latter's discomfort.
"A thousand thanks," he said. "I hope
soon to bring you good news."
He hastened from the room.
"Well," said Lord Caterham. "Well!"
And after a long pause:
"What has Bundle been up to?"
The door opened again.
"Mr. Eversleigh, my lord."
As Bill hastened in. Lord Caterham caught
his hand and spoke earnestly.
"Hullo, Bill. You're looking for Lomax, I
suppose? Look here, if you want to do a good
turn, hurry into the drawing-room and tell
him the Cabinet have called an immediate
meeting, or get him away somehow. It's
333
really not fair to let the poor devil make an ass
of himself all for some silly prank."
"I've not come for Codders," said Bill.
"Didn't know he was here. It's Bundle I want
to see. Is she anywhere about?"
"You can't see her," said Lord Caterham.
"Not just now, at any rate. George is with
her."
"Well—what does it matter?"
"I think it does rather," said Lord
Caterham. "He's probably spluttering
horribly at this minute, and we mustn't do
anything to make it worse for him."
"But what is he saying?"
"Heaven knows," said Lord Caterham. "A
lot of damned nonsense, anyway. Never say
too much, that was always my motto. Grab
the girl's hand and let events take their
course."
Bill stared at him.
"But look here, sir, I'm in a hurry. I must
talk to Bundle——"
"Well, I don't suppose you'll have to wait
long. I must confess I'm rather glad to have
you here with me—I suppose Lomax will
insist on coming back and talking to me when
it's all over."
334
"When what's all* over? What is Lomax
supposed to be doing?"
"Hush," said Lord Caterham. "He's
proposing."
"Proposing? Proposing what?"
"Marriage. To Bundle. Don't ask me why.
I suppose he's come to what they call the
dangerous age. I can't explain it any other
way."
"Proposing to Bundle? The dirty swine. At
his age."
Bill's face grew crimson.
"He says he's in the prime of life," said
Lord Caterham cautiously.
"He? Why, he's decrepit-senile! I——"
Bill positively choked.
"Not at all," said Lord Caterham coldly.
"He's five years younger than I am."
"Of all the damned cheek! Codders and
Bundle! A girl like Bundle! You oughtn't to
have allowed it."
"I never interfere," said Lord Caterham.
"You ought to have told him what you
thought of him."
"Unfortunately modern civilisation rules
that out," said Lord Caterham regretfully.
"In the Stone Age now—but, dear me, I
335
suppose even then I shouldn't be able to do
it--being a small man."
"Bundle! Bundle! Why, I've never dared to
ask Bundle to marry me because I knew she'd
only laugh. And George--a disgusting windbag, an unscrupulous, hypocritical old hotair
merchant--a foul, poisonous selfadvertiser----"
"Go
on," said Lord Caterham. "I am
enjoying this."
"My God!" said Bill simply and with
feeling. "Look here, I must be off."
"No, no, don't go. I'd much rather you
stayed. Besides, you want to see Bundle."
"Not now. This has driven everything else
out of my head. You don't know where
Jimmy Thesiger is by any chance? I believe
he was staying with the Cootes. Is he there
still?"
"I think he went back to town yesterday.
Bundle and Loraine were over there on
Saturday. If you'll only wait----"
But Bill shook his head energetically and
rushed from the room. Lord Caterham tiptoed
out into the hall, seized a hat and made a
hurried exit by the side door. In the distance he observed Bill streaking down the drive in
his car.
336
"That young man will have an accident,"
he thought.
Bill, however, reached London without any
mischance, and proceeded to park his car
in St. James's Square. Then he sought out
Jimmy Thesiger's rooms. Jimmy was at
home.
"Hullo, Bill. I say, what's the matter? You
don't look your usual bright little self."
"I'm worried," said Bill. "I was worried
anyway, and then something else turned up
and gave me a jolt."
"Oh!" said Jimmy. "How lucid! What's it
all about? Can I do anything?"
Bill did not reply. He sat staring at the
carpet and looking so puzzled and uncomfortable
that Jimmy felt his curiosity aroused.
"Has anything very extraordinary occurred,
William?" he asked gently.
"Something damned odd. I can't make
head or tail of it."
"The Seven Dials business?"
"Yes--the Seven Dials business. I got a
letter this morning."
"A letter? What sort of a letter?"
"A letter from Ronny Devereux's executors."

"Good lord! After all this time!"
337
"It seems he left instructions. If he was to
die suddenly, a certain sealed envelope was to
be sent to me exactly a fortnight after his
death."
"And they've sent it to you?"
"Yes."
"You've opened it?"
"Yes."
"Well-what did it say?"
Bill turned a glance upon him, such a
strange and uncertain one that Jimmy was
startled.
"Look here," he said. "Pull yourself
together, old man. It seems to have knocked
the wind out of you, whatever it is. Have a
drink."
He poured out a stiff whisky and soda
and brought it over to Bill, who took it
obediently. His face still bore the same dazed
expression.
"It's what's in the letter," he said. "I
simply can't believe it, that's all."
"Oh, nonsense," said Jimmy. "You must
get into the habit of believing six impossible
things before breakfast. I do it regularly. Now
then, let's hear all about it. Wait a minute."
He went outside.
"Stevens!"
338
"Yes, sir?"
"Just go out and get me some cigarettes,
will you? I've run out."
"Very good, sir."
Jimmy waited till he heard the front door
close. Then he came back into the sittingroom.
Bill was just in the act of setting down
his empty glass. He looked better, more
purposeful and more master of himself.
"Now then," said Jimmy. "I've sent
Stevens out so that we can't be overheard.
Are you going to tell me all about it?"
"It's so incredible."
"Then it's sure to be true. Come on, out
with it."
Bill drew a deep breath.
"I will. I'll tell you everything."
339
30
An Urgent Summons
L)RAINE, playing with a small and delectable
puppy, was somewhat surprised
when Bundle rejoined her after an absence
of twenty minutes, in a breathless state
and with an indescribable expression on her
face.
"Whoof," said Bundle, sinking on to a
garden seat. "Whoof."
"What's the matter?" asked Loraine,
looking at her curiously.
"George is the matter--George Lomax."
"What's he been doing?"
"Proposing to me. It was awful. He
spluttered and he stuttered, but he would go
through with it--he must have learnt it out of
a book, I think. There was no stopping him.
Oh, how I hate men who splutter! And,
unfortunately, I didn't know the reply."
"You must have known what you wanted
to do."
"Naturally I'm not going to marry an
340
apopleptic idiot like George. What I mean is,
I didn't know the correct reply from the book
of etiquette. I could only just say flatly: 'No,
I won't.' What I ought to have said was
something about being very sensible of the
honour he had done me and so on and so on.
But I got so rattled that in the end I jumped
out of the window and bolted."
"Really, Bundle, that's not like you."
"Well, I never dreamt of such a thing
happening. George—who I always thought
hated me—and he did too. What a fatal thing
it is to pretend to take an interest in a man's
pet subject. You should have heard the drivel
George talked about my girlish mind and the
pleasure it would be to form it. My mind! If
George knew one quarter of what was going
on in my mind, he'd faint with horror!"
Loraine laughed. She couldn't help it.
"Oh, I know it's my own fault. I let myself
in for this. There's Father dodging round
that rhododendron. Hallo, Father."
Lord Caterham approached with a hangdog
expression.
"Lomax gone, eh?" he remarked with
somewhat forced geniality.
"A nice business you let me in for," said
341
Bundle. "George told me he had your full
approval and sanction."
"Well," said Lord Caterham, "what did
you expect me to say? As a matter of fact, I
didn't say that at all, or anything like it."
"I didn't really think so," said Bundle. "I
assumed that George had talked you into a
corner and reduced you to such a state that
you could only nod your head feebly."
"That's very much what happened. How
did he take it? Badly?"
"I didn't wait to see," said Bundle. "I'm
afraid I was rather abrupt."
"Oh well," said Lord Caterham. "Perhaps
that was the best way. Thank goodness in the
future Lomax won't always be running over
as he has been in the habit of doing, worrying
me about things. Everything is for the best
they say. Have you seen my jigger anywhere?"

"A mashie shot or two would steady my
nerves, I think," said Bundle. "I'll take you
on for sixpence, Loraine."
An hour passed very peacefully. The three
returned to the house in a harmonious spirit.
A note lay on the hall table.
"Mr. Lomax left that for you, my lord,"
explained Tredwell. "He was much dis-
342
appointed to find that you had gone out."
Lord Caterham tore it open. He uttered a
pained ejaculation and turned upon his
daughter. Tredwell had retired.
"Really, Bundle, you might have made
yourself clear, I think."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, read this."
Bundle took it and read:
"my dear caterham,—I am sorry not to
have had a word with you. I thought I made it
clear that I wanted to see you again after my
interview with Eileen. She, dear child, was
evidently quite unaware of the feelings I
entertained towards her. She was, I am afraid,
much startled. I have no wish to hurry her in
any way. Her girlish confusion was very
charming, and I entertain an even higher
regard for her, as I much appreciate her
maidenly reserve. I must give her time to
become accustomed to the idea. Her very
confusion shows that she is not wholly
indifferent to me and I have no doubts of my
ultimate success.
"Believe me, dear Caterham,
"Your sincere friend,
"george lomax."
343
"Well," said Bundle. "Well, I'm damned!"
Words failed her.
"The man must be mad," said Lord
Caterham. "No one could write those things
about you. Bundle, unless they were slightly
touched in the head. Poor chap, poor chap.
But what persistence! I don't wonder he got
into the Cabinet. It would serve him right if
you did marry him. Bundle."
The telephone rang and Bundle moved
forward to answer it. In another minute
George and his proposal were forgotten, and
she was beckoning eagerly to Loraine. Lord
Caterham went off to his own sanctum.
"It's Jimmy," said Bundle. "And he's
tremendously excited about something."
"Thank goodness I've caught you," said
Jimmy's voice. "There's no time to be lost.
Loraine's there, too?"
"Yes, she's here."
"Well, look here, I haven't got time to
explain everything—in fact, I can't through
the telephone. But Bill has been round to see
me with the most amazing story you ever
heard. It it's true—well, if it's true, it's the
biggest scoop of the century. Now, look
here, this is what you've got to do. Come up
to town at once, both of you. Garage the car
344
somewhere and go straight to the Seven Dials
Club. Do you think that when you get there
you can get rid of that footman fellow?"
"Alfred? Rather. You leave that to me."
"Good. Get rid of him and watch out for
me and Bill. Don't show yourselves at the
windows, but when we drive up, let us in at
once. See?"
"Yes."
"That's all right then. Oh, Bundle, don't
let on that you're going up to town. Make
some other excuse. Say you're taking Loraine
home. How would that do?"
"Splendidly. I say. Jimmy, I'm thrilled to
the core."
"And you might as well make your will
before starting."
"Better and better. But I wish I knew what
it was all about."
"You will as soon as we meet. I'll tell you
this much. We're going to get ready the hell
of a surprise for No. 7!"
Bundle hung up the receiver and turned to
Loraine, giving her a rapid resume of the
conversation. Loraine rushed upstairs and
hurriedly packed her suitcase, and Bundle
put her head round her father's door.
"I'm taking Loraine home. Father."
SDM23 345
"Why? I had no idea she was going
today."
"They want her back," said Bundle
vaguely. "Just telephoned. Bye-bye."
"Here, Bundle, wait a minute. When will
you be home?"
"Don't know. Expect me when you see
me."
With this unceremonious exit Bundle
rushed upstairs, put a hat on, slipped into her
fur coat and was ready to start. She had
already ordered the Hispano to be brought
round.
The journey to London was without
adventure, except such as was habitually
provided by Bundle's driving. They left the
car at a garage and proceeded direct to the
Seven Dials Club.
The door was opened to them by Alfred.
Bundle pushed her way past him without
ceremony and Loraine followed,
"Shut the door, Alfred," said Bundle.
"Now, I've come here especially to do you a
good turn. The police are after you."
"Oh, my lady!"
Alfred turned chalk white.
"I've come to warn you because you did me
a good turn the other night," went on Bundle
346
rapidly. "There's a warrant out for Mr.
Mosgorovsky, and the best thing you can do
is to clear out of here as quick as you can. If
you're not found here, they won't bother
about you. Here's ten pounds to help you get
away somewhere."
In three minutes' time an incoherent and
badly scared Alfred had left 14 Hunstanton
Street with only one idea in his head—never
to return.
"Well, I've managed that all right," said
Bundle with satisfaction.
"Was it necessary to be so—well, drastic?"
Loraine demurred.
"It's safer," said Bundle. "I don't know
what Jimmy and Bill are up to, but we don't
want Alfred coming back in the middle of it
and wrecking everything. Hallo, here they
are. Well, they haven't wasted much time.
Probably watching round the corner to see
Alfred leave. Go down and open the door to
them, Loraine."
Loraine obeyed. Jimmy Thesiger alighted
from the driving seat.
"You stop there for a moment. Bill," he
said. "Blow the horn if you think anyone's
watching the place."
He ran up the steps and banged the door
347
behind him. He looked pink and elated.
"Hallo, Bundle, there you are. Now then, we've got to get down to it. Where's the key
of the room you got into last time?"
"It was one of the downstairs keys. We'd
better bring the lot up."
"Right you are, but be quick. Time's
short."
The key was easily found, the baize-lined
door swung back and the three entered. The
room was exactly as Bundle had seen it
before, with the seven chairs grouped round
the table. Jimmy surveyed it for a minute or
two in silence. Then his eye went to the two
cupboards.
"Which is the cupboard you hid in, Bundle?"
"This one."
Jimmy went to it and flung the door open.
The same collection of miscellaneous glassware
covered the shelves.
"We shall have to shift all this stuff," he
murmured. "Run down and get Bill, Loraine. There's no need for him to keep watch
outside any longer."
Loraine ran off.
"What are you going to do?" inquired
Bundle impatiently.
348
Jimmy was down on his knees, trying to
peer through the crack of the other cupboard
door.
"Wait till Bill comes and you shall hear the
whole story. This is his staff work--and a
jolly creditable bit of work it is. Hallo--
what's Loraine flying up the stairs for as
though she'd got a mad bull after her?"
Loraine was indeed racing up the stairs as
fast as she could. She burst in upon them
with an ashen face and terror in her eyes.
"Bill-Bill-Oh, Bundle-Bill!"
"What about Bill?"
Jimmy caught her by the shoulder.
"For God's sake, Loraine, what's happened?"

Loraine was still gasping.
"Bill--1 think he's dead--he's in the car
still--but he doesn't move or speak. I'm sure
he's dead."
Jimmy muttered an oath and sprang for
the stairs. Bundle behind him, her heart
pounding unevenly and an awful feeling of
desolation spreading over her.
Bill--dead? Oh, no! Oh, no! Not that.
Please God--not that.
Together she and Jimmy reached the car,
Loraine behind them.
349
Jimmy peered under the hood. Bill was
sitting as he had left him, leaning back. But
his eyes were closed and Jimmy's pull at his
arm brought no response.
"I can't understand it," muttered Jimmy.
"But he's not dead. Cheer up. Bundle. Look
here, we've got to get him into the house.
Let's pray to goodness no policeman comes
along. If anybody says anything, he's our sick
friend we're helping into the house."
Between the three of them they got Bill into
the house without much difficulty, and without
attracting much attention, save for an unshaven
gentleman, who said sympathetically:
"Genneman's 'ad a couple, I shee," and
nodded his head sapiently.
"Into the little back room downstairs," said
Jimmy. "There's a sofa there."
They got him safely on to the sofa and
Bundle knelt down beside him and took his
limp wrist in her hand.
"His pulse is beating," she said. "What is
the matter with him?"
"He was all right when I left him just
now," said Jimmy. "I wonder if someone's
managed to inject some stuff into him. It
would be easily done—just a prick. The man
might have been asking him the time.
350
There's only one tnmg for it. I must get a
doctor at once. You stay here and look after
him."
He hurried to the door, then paused.
"Look here—don't be scared, either of you.
But I'd better leave you my revolver. I
mean—just in case. I'll be back just as soon as
I possibly can."
He laid the revolver down on the little table
by the sofa, then hurried off. They heard the
front door bang behind him.
The house seemed very still now. The two
girls stayed motionless by Bill. Bundle still
kept her finger on his pulse. It seemed to be
beating very fast and irregularly.
"I wish we could do something," she
whispered to Loraine. "This is awful."
Loraine nodded.
"I know. It seems ages since Jimmy went
and yet it's only a minute and a half."
"I keep hearing things," said Bundle.
"Footsteps and boards creaking upstairs—
and yet I know it's only imagination."
"I wonder why Jimmy left us the
revolver," said Loraine. "There can't really
be danger."
"If they could get Bill——" said Bundle
and stopped.
351
Loraine shivered.
"I know—but we're in the house. Nobody
can get in without our hearing them. And
anyway we've got the revolver."
Bundle turned her attention back again to
Bill.
"I wish I knew what to do. Hot coffee. You
give them that sometimes."
"I've got some smelling-salts in my bag,"
said Loraine. "And some brandy. Where is
it? Oh, I must have left it in the room
upstairs."
"I'll get it," said Bundle. "They might do
some good."
She sped quickly up the stairs, across the
gaming room and through the open door into
the meeting place. Loraine's bag was lying on
the table.
As Bundle stretched out her hand to take it,
she heard a noise from behind her. Hidden
behind the door a man stood ready with a
sand-bag in his hand. Before Bundle could
turn her head, he had struck.
With a faint moan. Bundle slipped down,
an unconscious heap, upon the floor.
352
31
The Seven Dials
VERY slowly Bundle returned to consciousness.
She was aware of a dark, spinning blackness, the centre of which
was a violent, throbbing ache. Punctuating
this were sounds. A voice that she knew very
well saying the same thing over and over
again.
The blackness span less violently. The ache
was now definitely located as being in
Bundle's own head. And she was sufficiently
herself to take an interest in what the voice
was saying.
"Darling, darling Bundle. Oh, darling
Bundle. She's dead; I know she's dead. Oh,
my darling. Bundle, darling, darling Bundle. I
do love you so. Bundle--darling--darling----"
Bundle lay quite still with her eyes shut.
But she was now fully conscious. Bill's arms
held her closely.
"Bundle darling--Oh, dearest, darling
Bundle. Oh, my dear love. Oh, Bundle353

Bundle. What shall I do? Oh, darling one—
my Bundle—my own dearest, sweetest
Bundle. Oh, God, what shall I do? I've killed
her. I've killed her."
Reluctantly—very reluctantly—Bundle spoke.
"No, you haven't you silly idiot," she said.
Bill gave a gasp of utter amazement.
"Bundle—you're alive."
"Of course I'm alive."
"How long have you been—I mean when
did you come to?"
"About five minutes ago."
"Why didn't you open your eyes—or say
something?"
"Didn't want to. I was enjoying myself."
"Enjoying yourself?"
"Yes. Listening to all the things you were
saying. You'll never say them so well again.
You'll be too beastly self-conscious."
Bill had turned a dark brick-red.
"Bundle—you really didn't mind? You
know, I do love you so. I have for ages. But I
never have dared to tell you so."
"You silly juggins," said Bundle. "Why?"
"I thought you'd only laugh at me. I
mean—you've got brains and all that—you'll
marry some bigwig."
"Like George Lomax?" suggested Bundle.
354
"I don't mean a fatuous ass like Codders.
But some really fine chap who'll be worthy of
you--though I don't think anyone could be
that," ended Bill.
"You're rather a dear. Bill."
"But, Bundle, seriously, could you ever? I
mean, could you ever bring yourself to?"
"Could I ever bring myself to do what?"
"Marry me. I know I'm awfully thickheaded--but
I do love you. Bundle. I'd be
your dog or your slave or your anything."
"You're very like a dog," said Bundle. "I
like dogs. They're so friendly and faithful and
warm-hearted. I think that perhaps I could
just bring myself to marry you. Bill--with a
great effort, you know."
Bill's response to this was to relinquish his
grasp other and recoil violently. He looked at
her with amazement in his eyes.
"Bundle--you don't mean it?"
"There's nothing for it," said Bundle. "I
see I shall have to relapse into unconsciousness
again."
"Bundle--darling----" Bill caught her to
him. He was trembling violently. "Bundle- do you really mean it--do you?--you don't
know how much I love you."
"Oh, Bill," said Bundle.
355
There is no need to describe in detail the
conversation of the next ten minutes. It consisted
mostly of repetitions.
"And do you really love me?" said Bill, incredulously, for the twentieth time as he at
last released her.
"Yes--yes--yes. Now do let's be sensible.
I've got a racking head still, and I've been
nearly squeezed to death by you. I want to get
the hang of things. Where are we and what's
happened?"
For the first time. Bundle began to take
stock of her surroundings. They were in the
secret room, she noted, and the baize door
was closed and presumably locked. They
were prisoners, then!
Bundle's eyes came back to Bill. Quite
oblivious other question he was watching her
with adoring eyes.
"Bill, darling," said Bundle, "pull yourself
together. We've got to get out of here."
"Eh?" said Bill. "What? Oh, yes. That'll
be all right. No difficulty about that."
"It's being in love makes you feel like
that," said Bundle. "I feel rather the same
myself. As though everything's easy and
possible."
356
"So it is," said Bin. "Now that I know you
care for me——"
"Stop it," said Bundle. "Once we begin
again any serious conversation will be
hopeless. Unless you pull yourself together
and become sensible, I shall very likely
change my mind."
"I shan't let you," said Bill. "You don't
think that once having got you I'd be such a
fool as to let you go, do you?"
"You would not coerce me against my will,
I hope," said Bundle grandiloquently.
"Wouldn't I?" said Bill. "You just watch
me do it, that's all."
"You really are rather a darling. Bill. I was
afraid you might be too meek, but I see
there's going to be no danger of that. In
another half-hour you'd be ordering me
about. Oh, dear, we're getting silly again.
Now, look here. Bill, we've got to get out of
here."
"I tell you that'll be quite all right. I
shall——"
He broke off, obedient to a pressure from
Bundle's hand. She was leaning forward,
listening intently. Yes, she had not been
mistaken. A step was crossing the outer room.
The key was thrust into the lock and turned.
357
Bundle held her breath. Was it Jimmy
coming to rescue them—or was it someone
else?
The door opened and the black-bearded
Mr. Mosgorovsky stood on the threshold.
Immediately Bill took a step forward,
standing in front of Bundle.
"Look here," he said, "I want a word with
you privately."
The Russian did not reply for a minute or
two. He stood stroking his long, silky black
beard and smiling quietly to himself.
"So," he said at last, "it is like that. Very
well. The lady will be pleased to come with
me."
"It's all right. Bundle," said Bill. "Leave it
to me. You go with this chap. Nobody's
going to hurt you. I know what I'm doing."
Bundle rose obediently. That note of
authority in Bill's voice was new to her. He
seemed absolutely sure of himself and
confident of being able to deal with the
situation. Bundle wondered vaguely what it
was that Bill had—or thought he had—up his
sleeve.
She passed out of the room in front of the
Russian. He followed her, closing the door
behind him and locking it.
358
"This way, please," he said.
He indicated the staircase and she mounted
obediently to the floor above. Here she was
directed to pass into a small, frowsy room,
which she took to be Alfred's bedroom.
Mosgorovsky said: "You will wait here
quietly, please. There must be no noise."
Then he went out, closing the door behind
him and locking her in.
Bundle sat down on a chair. Her head was
aching badly still and she felt incapable of
sustained thought. Bill seemed to have the
situation well in hand. Sooner or later, she
supposed, someone would come and let her
out.
The minutes passed. Bundle's watch had
stopped, but she judged that over an hour had
passed since the Russian had brought her
here. What was happening? What, indeed,
had happened?
At last she heard footsteps on the stairs. It
was Mosgorovsky once more. He spoke very
formally to her.
"Lady Eileen Brent, you are wanted at an
emergency meeting of the Seven Dials
Society. Please follow me."
He led the way down the stairs and Bundle
followed him. He opened the door of the
359
secret chamber and Bundle passed, in
catching her breath in surprise as she did so.
She was seeing for the second time what
she had only had a glimpse of the first time
through her peep-hole. The masked figures
were sitting round the table. As she stood
there, taken aback by the suddenness of it,
Mosgorovsky slipped into his place, adjusting
his clock mask as he did so.
But this time the chair at the head of the
table was occupied. No. 7 was in his place.
Bundle's heart beat violently. She was
standing at the foot of the table directly facing
him and she stared and stared at the mocking
piece of hanging stuff, with the clock dial on
it, that hid his features.
He sat quite immovable and Bundle got an
odd sensation of power radiating from him.
His inactivity was not the inactivity of
weakness—and she wished violently, almost
hysterically, that he would speak—that he
would make some sign, some gesture—not
just sit there like a gigantic spider in the
middle of its web waiting remorselessly for its
prey.
She shivered and as she did so
Mosgorovsky rose. His voice, smooth, silky,
persuasive, seemed curiously far away.
360
"Lady Eileen, you have been present
unasked at the secret councils of this society.
It is therefore necessary that you should
identify yourself with our aims and
ambitions. The place 2 o'clock, you may
notice is vacant. It is that place that is offered
to you."
Bundle gasped. The thing was like a
fantastic nightmare. Was it possible that she,
Bundle Brent, was being asked to join a
murderous secret society? Had the same
proposition been made to Bill, and had he
refused indignantly?
"I can't do that," she said bluntly.
"Do not answer precipitately."
She fancied that Mosgorovsky, beneath his
clock mask, was smiling significantly into his
beard.
"You do not as yet know. Lady Eileen,
what it is you are refusing."
"I can make a pretty good guess," said
Bundle.
"Can you?"
It was the voice of 7 o'clock. It awoke some
magic chord of memory in Bundle's brain.
Surely she knew that voice?
Very slowly No. 7 raised a hand to his head
and fumbled with the fastening of the mask.
SDM24 361
Bundle held her breath. At last—she was
going to know.
The mask fell.
Bundle found herself looking into the
expressionless, wooden face of Superintendent
Battle.
362
32
Bundle is Dumbfounded
"^TT^ HAT'S right," said Battle, as
| Mosgorovsky leapt up and came
JL round to Bundle. "Get a chair for
her. It's been a bit of a shock, I can see."
Bundle sank down on a chair. She felt limp
and faint with surprise. Battle went on
talking in a quiet, comfortable way wholly
characteristic of him.
"You didn't expect to see me. Lady Eileen.
No, and no more did some of the others
sitting round this table. Mr. Mosgorovsky's
been my lieutenant in a manner of speaking.
He's been in the know all along. But most of
the others have taken their orders blindly
from him."
Still Bundle said no word. She was—a most
unusual state of affairs for her—simply
incapable of speech.
Battle nodded at her comprehendingly,
seeming to understand the state of her
feelings.
363
"You'll have to get rid of one or two
preconceived ideas of yours, I'm afraid. Lady
Eileen. About this society, for instance—1
know it's common enough in books—a secret
organisation of criminals with a mysterious
super-criminal at the head of it whom no one
ever sees. That sort of thing may exist in real
life, but I can only say that I've never come
across anything of the sort, and I've had a
good deal of experience one way or another.
"But there's a lot of romance in the world,
Lady Eileen. People, especially young
people, like reading about such things, and
they like still better really doing them. I'm
going to introduce you now to a very
creditable band of amateurs that has done
remarkably fine work for my Department,
work that nobody else could have done.
If they've chosen rather melodramatic
trappings, well, why shouldn't they? They've
been willing to face real danger—danger of
the very worst kind—and they've done it for
these reasons: love of danger for its own
sake—which to my mind is a very healthy
sign in these Safety First days—and an honest
wish to serve their country.
"And now. Lady Eileen, I'm going to
introduce you. First of all, there's Mr.
364
Mosgorovsky, whom? you already know in a
manner of speaking. As you're aware, he runs
the club and he runs a host of other things
too. He's our most valuable Secret AntiBolshevist
Agent in England. No. 5 is Count
Andras of the Hungarian Embassy, a very
near and dear friend of the late Mr. Gerald
Wade. No. 4 is Mr. Hayward Phelps, an
American journalist, whose British sympathies
are very keen and whose aptitude for
scenting "news' is remarkable. No. 3----"
He stopped, smiling, and Bundle stared
dumbfounded into the sheepish, grinning
face of Bill Eversleigh.
"No. 2," went on Battle in a graver voice,
"can only show an empty place. It is the place
belonging to Mr. Ronald Devereux, a very
gallant young gentleman who died for his
country if any man ever did. No. I--well,
No. 1 was Mr. Gerald Wade, another very
gallant gentleman who died in the same way.
His place was taken--not without some grave
misgivings on my part--by a lady--a lady
who has proved her fitness to have it and who
has been a great help to us."
The last to do so. No. 1, removed her mask, and Bundle looked without surprise into the
beautiful, dark face of Countess Radzky.
365
"I might have known," said Bundle
resentfully, "that you were too completely
the beautiful foreign adventuress to be anything
of the kind really."
"But you don't know the real joke," said
Bill. "Bundle, this is Babe St. Maur--you remember my telling you about her and what
a ripping actress she was--and she's about
proved it."
"That's so," said Miss St. Maur in pure
transatlantic nasal. "But it's not a terrible lot
of credit to me, because Poppa and Momma
came from that part of Yurrup--so I got the
patter fairly easy. Gee, but I nearly gave
myself away once at the Abbey, talking about
gardens."
She paused and then said abruptly:
"It's--it's not been just fun. You see, I
was kinder engaged to Ronny, and when he
handed in his checks--well, I had to do
something to track down the skunk who
murdered him. That's all."
"I'm completely bewildered," said Bundle.
"Nothing is what it seems."
"It's very simple. Lady Eileen," said
Superintendent Battle. "It began with some
of the young people wanting a bit of excitement.
It was Mr. Wade who first got on to
366
me. He suggested the formation of a band of
what you might call amateur workers to do a
bit of secret service work. I warned him that
it might be dangerous—but he wasn't the
kind to weigh that in the balance. I made it
plain to him that anyone who came in must
do so on that understanding. But, bless you,
that wasn't going to stop any of Mr. Wade's
friends. And so the thing began."
"But what was the object of it all?" asked
Bundle.
"We wanted a certain man—wanted him
badly. He wasn't an ordinary crook. He
worked in Mr. Wade's world, a kind of
Raffles, but much more dangerous than any
Raffles ever was or could be. He was out for
big stuff, international stuff. Twice already
valuable secret inventions had been stolen,
and clearly stolen by someone who had inside
knowledge. The professionals had had a
try—and failed. Then the amateurs took
on—and succeeded."
"Succeeded?"
"Yes—but they didn't come out of it
unscathed. The man was dangerous. Two
lives fell victim to him and he got away with
it. But the Seven Dials stuck to it. And
as I say they succeeded. Thanks to Mr.
367
Eversleigh, the man was caught at last redhanded."
"Who
was he?" asked Bundle. "Do I know
him?"
"You know him very well. Lady Eileen.
His name is Mr. Jimmy Thesiger, and he was
arrested this afternoon."
368
33
Battle Explains
s,
UPERINTENDENT Battle settled
.down to explain. He spoke comfortably
and cosily.
"I didn't suspect him myself for a long
time. The first hint of it I had was when I
heard what Mr. Devereux's last words had
been. Naturally, you took them to mean that
Mr. Devereux was trying to send word to Mr.
Thesiger that the Seven Dials had killed him.
That's what the words seemed to mean on
their face value. But of course I knew that
that couldn't be so. It was the Seven Dials
that Mr. Devereux wanted told—and what he
wanted them told was something about Mr.
Jimmy Thesiger.
"The thing seemed incredible, because Mr.
Devereux and Mr. Thesiger were close
friends. But I remembered something else—
that these thefts must have been committed
by someone who was absolutely in the know.
Someone who, if not in the Foreign Office
369
himself, was in the way of hearing all its chitchat.
And I found it very hard to find out
where Mr. Thesiger got his money. The
income his father left him was a small one,
yet he was able to live at a most expensive
rate. Where did the money come from?
"I knew that Mr. Wade had been very
excited by something that he had found out.
He was quite sure that he was on the right
track. He didn't confide in anyone about
what he thought that track was, but he did
say something to Mr. Devereux about being
on the point of making sure. That was just
before they both went down to Chimneys for
that week-end. As you know, Mr. Wade died
there--apparently from an overdose of a
sleeping draught. It seemed straightforward
enough, but Mr. Devereux did not accept
that explanation for a minute. He was
convinced that Mr. Wade had been very
cleverly put out of the way and that someone
in the house must actually be the criminal we
were all after. He came, I think, very near
confiding in Mr. Thesiger, for he certainly
had no suspicions of him at that moment. But
something held him back.
"Then he did rather a curious thing. He
arranged seven clocks upon the mantelpiece,
370
throwing away the eighth. It was meant as a
symbol that the Seven Dials would revenge
the death of one of their members--and he
watched eagerly to see if anyone betrayed
themselves or showed signs of perturbation."
"And it was Jimmy Thesiger who poisoned
Gerry Wade?"
"Yes, he slipped the stuff into a whisky and
soda which Mr. Wade had downstairs before
retiring to bed. That's why he was already
feeling sleepy when he wrote that letter to
Miss Wade."
"Then the footman, Bauer, hadn't anything
to do with it?" asked Bundle.
"Bauer was one of our people. Lady Eileen.
It was thought likely that our crook would go
for Herr Eberhard's invention and Bauer was
got into the house to watch events on our
behalf. But he wasn't able to do much. As I
say, Mr. Thesiger administered the fatal dose
easily enough. Later, when everyone was
asleep, a bottle, glass and empty chloral bottle
were placed by Mr. Wade's bedside by Mr.
Thesiger. Mr. Wade was unconscious then,
and his fingers were probably pressed round
the glass and the bottle so that they should be
found there if any questions should arise. I
don't know what effect the seven clocks on
371
the mantelpiece made on Mr. Thesiger. He
certainly didn't let on anything to Mr.
Devereux. All the same, I think he had a bad
five minutes now and again thinking of them.
And I think he kept a pretty wary eye on Mr.
Devereux after that.
"We don't know exactly what happened
next. No one saw much of Mr. Devereux
after Mr. Wade's death. But it is clear that he
worked along the same lines that he knew
Mr. Wade had been working on and reached
the same result—namely, that Mr. Thesiger
was the man. I fancy, too, that he was
betrayed in the same way."
"You mean?"
"Through Miss Loraine Wade. Mr. Wade
was devoted to her—I believe he hoped to
marry her—she wasn't really his sister, of
course—and there is no doubt that he told her
more than he should have done. But Miss
Loraine Wade was devoted body and soul to
Mr. Thesiger. She would do anything he told
her. She passed on the information to him. In
the same way, later, Mr. Devereux was
attracted to her, and probably warned her
against Mr. Thesiger. So Mr. Devereux in
turn was silenced—and died trying to send
372
word to the Seven Dials that his murderer
was Mr. Thesiger."
"How ghastly," cried Bundle. "If I had
only known."
"Well, it didn't seem likely. In fact, I could
hardly credit it myself. But then we came to
the affair at the Abbey. You will remember
how awkward it was--specially awkward for
Mr. Eversleigh here. You and Mr. Thesiger
were hand in glove. Mr. Eversleigh had
already been embarrassed by your insisting
on being brought to this place, and when he
found that you had actually overheard what
went on at a meeting, he was dumbfounded."
The Superintendent paused and a twinkle
came into his eye.
"So was I, Lady Eileen. I never dreamed of
such a thing being possible. You put one over
on me there all right.
"Well, Mr. Eversleigh was in a dilemma.
He couldn't let you into the secret of the
Seven Dials without letting Mr. Thesiger in
also--and that would never do. It all suited
Mr. Thesiger very well, of course, for it gave
him a bona ride reason for getting himself
asked to the Abbey, which made things much
easier for him.
"I may say that the Seven Dials had already
373
sent a warning letter to Mr. Lomax. That was
to ensure his applying to me for assistance, so
that I should be able to be on the spot in a
perfectly natural manner. I made no secret of
my presence, as you know."
And again the Superintendents eyes
twinkled.
"Well, ostensibly, Mr. Eversleigh and Mr.
Thesiger were to divide the night into two
watches. Really, Mr. Eversleigh and Miss St.
Maur did so. She was on guard at the library
window when she heard Mr. Thesiger
coming and had to dart behind the screen.
"And now comes the cleverness of Mr.
Thesiger. Up to a point he told a perfectly
true story, and I must admit that with
the fight and everything, I was distinctly
shaken--and began to wonder whether he had
had anything to do with the theft at all, or
whether we were completely on the wrong
track. There were one or two suspicious
circumstances that pointed in an entirely
different direction, and I can tell you I didn't
know what to make of things, when something
turned up to clinch matters.
"I found the burnt glove in the fireplace
with the teeth marks on it--and then--well--I
374
knew that I'd been right after all. But, upon
my word, he was a clever one."
"What actually happened?" said Bundle.
"Who was the other man?"
"There wasn't any other man. Listen, and
I'll show you how in the end I reconstructed
the whole story. To begin with, Mr. Thesiger
and Miss Wade are in this together. And they
have a rendezvous for an exact time. Miss
Wade comes over in her car, climbs through
the fence and comes up to the house. She's
got a perfectly good story if anyone stops
her—the one she told eventually. But she
arrived unmolested on the terrace just after
the clock had struck two.
"Now, I may say to begin with that she was
seen coming in. My men saw her, but they
had orders to stop nobody coming in—only
going out. I wanted, you see, to find out as
much as possible. Miss Wade arrives on the
terrace, and at that minute a parcel falls at her
feet and she picks it up. A man comes down
the ivy and she starts to run. What happens
next? The struggle—and presently the
revolver shots. What will everyone do? Rush
to the scene of the fight. And Miss Loraine
Wade could have left the grounds and driven
off with the formula safely in her possession.
375
"But things don't happen quite like that.
Miss Wade runs straight into my arms. And
at that moment the game changes. It's no
longer attack but defence. Miss Wade tells
her story. It is perfectly true and perfectly
sensible.
"And now we come to Mr. Thesiger. One
thing struck me at once. The bullet wound
alone couldn't have caused him to faint.
Either he had fallen and hit his head—or—
well, he hadn't fainted at all. Later we had
Miss St. Maur's story. It agreed perfectly
with Mr. Thesiger's—there was only one
suggestive point. Miss St. Maur said that
after the lights were turned out and Mr.
Thesiger went over to the window, he was so
still that she thought he must have left the
room and gone outside. Now, if anyone is in
the room, you can hardly help hearing their
breathing if you are listening for it.
Supposing, then, that Mr. Thesiger had gone
outside. Where next? Up the ivy to Mr.
O'Rourke's room—Mr. O'Rourke's whisky
and soda having been doped the night before.
He gets the papers, throws them down to the
girl, climbs down the ivy again, and—starts
the fight. That's easy enough when you come
to think of it. Knock the tables down, stagger
376
about, speak in your own voice and then in a
hoarse half-whisper. And then, the final
touch, the two revolver shots. His own Colt
automatic, bought openly the day before, is
fired at an imaginary assailant. Then, with
his left gloved hand, he takes from his pocket
the small Mauser pistol and shoots himself
through the fleshy part of the right arm. He
flings the pistol through the window, tears off
the glove with his teeth, and throws it into
the fire. When I arrive he is lying on the floor
in a faint."
Bundle drew a deep breath.
"You didn't realise all this at the time,
Superintendent Battle?"
"No, that I didn't. I was taken in as much
as anyone could be. It wasn't till long
afterwards that I pieced it all together.
Finding the glove was the beginning of it.
Then I made Sir Oswald throw the pistol
through the window. It fell a good way
farther on than it should have done. But a
man who is right-handed doesn't throw
nearly as far with the left hand. Even then it
was only suspicion—and a very faint
suspicion at that.
"But there was one point struck me. The
papers were obviously thrown down for
sDM25 377
someone to pick up. If Miss Wade was there
by accident, who was the real person? Of
course, for those who weren't in the know,
that question was answered easily enough--
the Countess. But there I had the pull over
you. I knew the Countess was all right. So what
follows? Why, the idea that the papers had
actually been picked up by the person they
were meant for. And the more I thought of it,
the more it seemed to me a very remarkable
coincidence that Miss Wade should have
arrived at the exact moment she did."
"It must have been very difficult for you
when I came to you full of suspicion about
the Countess."
"It was. Lady Eileen. I had to say something
to put you off the scent. And it was very
difficult for Mr. Eversleigh here, with the
lady coming out of a dead faint and no
knowing what she might say."
"I understand Bill's anxiety now," said
Bundle. "And the way he kept urging her to
take time and not talk till she felt quite all
right."
"Poor old Bill," said Miss St. Maur. "That
poor baby had to be vamped against his will- getting madder'n a hornet every minute."
"Well," said Superintendent Battle, "there
378
it was. I suspected Mr. Thesiger—but I
couldn't get definite proof. On the other
hand, Mr. Thesiger himself was rattled. He
realised more or less what he was up against
in the Seven Dials—but he wanted badly to
know who No. 7 was. He got himself asked to
the Cootes under the impression that Sir
Oswald Coote was No. 7."
"I suspected Sir Oswald," said Bundle,
"especially when he came in from the garden
that night."
"I never suspected him," said Battle. "But
I don't mind telling you that I did have my
suspicions of that young chap, his secretary."
"Pongo?" said Bill. "Not old Pongo?"
"Yes, Mr. Eversleigh, old Pongo as you
call him. A very efficient gentleman and one
that could have put anything through if he'd
a mind to. I suspected him partly because
he'd been the one to take the clocks into Mr.
Wade's room that night. It would have been
easy for him to put the bottle and glass by the
bedside then. And then, for another thing, he
was left-handed. That glove pointed straight
to him—if it hadn't been for one thing——"
"What?"
"The teeth marks—only a man whose right
379
hand was incapacitated would have needed to
tear off that glove with his teeth."
"So Pongo was cleared?"
"So Pongo was cleared, as you say. I'm sure
it would be a great surprise to Mr. Bateman
to know he was ever suspected."
"It would," agreed Bill. "A solemn card—a
silly ass like Pongo. How you could ever
think——"
"Well, as far as that goes, Mr. Thesiger
was what you might describe as an emptyheaded
young ass of the most brainless
description. One of the two was playing a
part. When I decided that it was Mr.
Thesiger, I was interested to get Mr.
Bateman's opinion of him. All along,
Mr. Bateman had the gravest suspicions of
Mr. Thesiger and frequently said as much to
Sir Oswald."
"It's curious," said Bill, "but Pongo
always is right. It's maddening."
"Well, as I say," went on Superintendent
Battle, "we got Mr. Thesiger fairly on the
run, badly rattled over this Seven Dials
business and uncertain just where the danger
lay. That we got him in the end was solely
through Mr. Eversleigh. He knew what he
was up against, and he risked his life
380
cheerfully. But he never dreamt that you
would be dragged into it. Lady Eileen."
"My God, no," said Bill with feeling.
"He went round to Mr. Thesiger's rooms
with a cooked-up tale," continued Battle.
"He was to pretend that certain papers of Mr.
Devereux's had come into his hands. Those
papers were to suggest a suspicion of Mr.
Thesiger. Naturally, as the honest friend,
Mr. Eversleigh rushed round, sure that Mr.
Thesiger would have an explanation. We
calculated that if we were right, Mr. Thesiger
would try and put Mr. Eversleigh out of the
way, and we were fairly certain as to the way
he*d do it. Sure enough, Mr. Thesiger gave
his guest a whisky and soda. During the
minute or two that his host was out of the
room, Mr. Eversleigh poured that into a jar
on the mantelpiece, but he had to pretend, of
course, that the drug was taking effect. It
would be slow, he knew, not sudden. He
began his story, and Mr. Thesiger at first
denied it all indignantly, but as soon as he
saw (or thought he saw) that the drug was
taking effect, he admitted everything and told
Mr. Eversleigh that he was the third victim.
"When Mr. Eversleigh was nearly unconscious,
Mr. Thesiger took him down to
381
the car and helped him in. The hood was up.
He must already have telephoned to you
unknown to Mr. Eversleigh. He made a
clever suggestion to you. You were to say that
you were taking Miss Wade home.
"You made no mention of a message from
him. Later, when your body was found here,
Miss Wade would swear that you had driven
her home and gone up to London with the
idea of penetrating into this house by
yourself.
"Mr. Eversleigh continued to play his part,
that of the unconscious man. I may say that as
soon as the two young men had left Jermyn
Street, one of my men gained admission and
found the doctored whisky, which contained
enough hydrochloride of morphia to kill two
men. Also the car they were in was followed.
Mr. Thesiger drove out of town to a wellknown
golf course, where he showed himself
for a few minutes, speaking of playing a
round. That, of course, was for an alibi,
should one be needed. He left the car with
Mr. Eversleigh in it a little way down the
road. Then he drove back to town and to the
Seven Dials Club. As soon as he saw Alfred
leave, he drove up to the door, spoke to Mr.
Eversleigh as he got out in case you might be
382
listening and came into the house and played
his little comedy.
"When he pretended to go for a doctor, he
really only slammed the door and then crept
quietly upstairs and hid behind the door of
this room, where Miss Wade would presently
send you up on some excuse. Mr. Eversleigh,
of course, was horror-struck when he saw
you, but he thought it best to keep up the part
he was playing. He knew our people were
watching the house, and he imagined that
there was no immediate danger intended to
you. He could always 'come to life' at any
moment. When Mr. Thesiger threw his
revolver on the table and apparently left the
house it seemed safer than ever. As for the
next bit——" He paused, looking at Bill.
"Perhaps you'd like to tell that, sir."
"I was still lying on that bally sofa," said
Bill, "trying to look done in and getting the
fidgets worse and worse. Then I heard
someone run down the stairs, and Loraine got
up and went to the door. I heard Thesiger's
voice, but not what he said. I heard Loraine
say: 'That's all right—it's gone splendidly.'
Then he said: 'Help me carry him up. It will
be a bit of a job, but I want them both
together there—a nice little surprise for No.
383
7.' I didn't quite understand what they were
jawing about, but they hauled me up the
stairs somehow or other. It was a bit of a job
for them. I made myself a dead weight all
right. They heaved me in here, and then I
heard Loraine say: 'You're sure it's all right?
She won't come round?' And Jimmy said—
the damned blackguard: 'No fear. I hit with
all my might.'
"They went away and locked the door, and
then I opened my eyes and saw you. My God,
Bundle, I shall never feel so perfectly awful
again. I thought you were dead."
"I suppose my hat saved me," said Bundle.
"Partly," said Superintendent Battle. "But
partly it was Mr. Thesiger's wounded arm.
He didn't realise it himself—but it had only
half its usual strength. Still, that's all no
credit to the Department. We didn't take the
care of you we ought to have done. Lady
Eileen—and it's a black dot on the whole
business."
"I'm very tough," said Bundle. "And also
rather lucky. What I can't get over is Loraine
being in it. She was such a gentle little
thing."
"Ah!" said the Superintendent. "So was
the Pentonville murderess that killed five
384
children. You can't go by that. She's got bad
blood in her—her father ought to have seen
the inside of a prison more than once."
"You've got her too?"
Superintendent Battle nodded.
"I daresay they won't hang her—juries are
soft-hearted. But young Thesiger will swing
all right—and a good thing too—a more
utterly depraved and callous criminal I never
met."
"And now," he added, "if your head isn't
aching too badly. Lady Eileen, what about
a little celebration? There's a nice little
restaurant round the corner."
Bundle heartily agreed.
"I'm starving. Superintendent Battle.
Besides," she looked round, "I've got to get
to know all my colleagues."
"The Seven Dials," said Bill. "Hurrah!
Some fizz is what we need. Do they run to
fizz at this place. Battle?"
"You won't have anything to complain of,
sir. You leave it to me."
"Superintendent Battle," said Bundle,
"you are a wonderful man. I'm sorry you're
married already. As it is, I shall have to put
up with Bill."
385
34
Lord Caterham Approves
"T^ATHER," said Bundle, "I've got to
r-^ break a piece of news to you. You're
A. going to lose me."
"Nonsense," said Lord Caterham. "Don't
tell me that you're suffering from galloping
consumption or a weak heart or anything like
that, because I simply don't believe it."
"It's not death," said Bundle. "It's
marriage."
"Very nearly as bad," said Lord Caterham.
"I suppose I shall have to come to the
wedding, all dressed up in tight, uncomfortable
clothes, and give you away. And
Lomax may think it necessary to kiss me in
the vestry."
"Good heavens! You don't think I'm going
to marry George, do you?" cried Bundle.
"Well, something like that seemed to be in
the wind last time I saw you," said her father.
"Yesterday morning, you know."
"I'm going to be married to someone a
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hundred times nicer than George," said
Bundle.
"I hope so, I'm sure," said Lord Caterham.
"But one never knows. I don't feel you're
really a good judge of character. Bundle. You
told me that young Thesiger was a cheerful
inefficient, and from all I hear now it seems
that he was one of the most efficient criminals
of the day. The sad thing is that I never
met him. I was thinking of writing my
reminiscences soon—with a special chapter
on murderers I have met—and by a purely
technical oversight, I never met this young
man."
"Don't be silly," said Bundle. "You know
you haven't got the energy to write
reminiscences or anything else."
"I wasn't actually going to write them
myself," said Lord Caterham. "I believe
that's never done. But I met a very charming
girl the other day and that's her special job.
She collects the material and does all the
actual writing."
"And what do you do?"
"Oh, just give her a few facts for half an
hour every day. Nothing more than that."
After a slight pause. Lord Caterham said:
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"She was a nice-looking girl—very restful and
sympathetic."
"Father," said Bundle, "I have a feeling
that without me you will run into deadly
danger."
"Different kinds of danger suit different
kinds of people," said Lord Caterham.
He was moving away, when he turned back
and said over his shoulder:
"By the way. Bundle, who are you
marrying?"
"I was wondering," said Bundle, "when
you were going to ask me that. I'm going to
marry Bill Eversleigh."
The egoist thought it over for a minute.
Then he nodded in complete satisfaction.
"Excellent," he said. "He's scratch, isn't
he? He and I can play together in the
foursomes in the Autumn Meeting."