The Seven Dials mystery
great criminal organizer," 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 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 lighthearted 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 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."
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.
CHAPTER XVI
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 would hardly suspect it from his appearance."
"I know Mr. Thesiger," said Bundle, and she shook hands solemnly with
Jimmy, whom 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--I mean the facts took some
driving 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 political--very 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 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 a 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 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 counterparts 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 steam-roller. 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 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 unsuspecting criminal failing
to be put on his guard.
"You think," said the Superintendent stolidly, "that I might be
recognized?"
He gave the final word a distinct capital letter.
"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 great thing is not to have any unpleasantness this
week-end."
Bundle passed on, wondering how many of her fellow guests had
recognized or would recognize 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--"