The Seven Dials mystery
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
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 finger-nails, arose, she
thought, more from nervousness than from any other cause. He was thin
and 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.
"Nobody knows," he 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 hater like yourself."
"What's this?" asked Bundle.
"After tea," said Jimmy with a grin, "the Countess asked Bill to show
her round the interesting old place."
"Well, I couldn't refuse, could I?" said Bill, his countenance assuming
a brick-red tint.
Bundle felt faintly uneasy. She knew, only too well, the susceptibility
of Mr. William Eversleigh to female charms. In the hands of a woman
like the Countess, Bill would be as wax. She wondered once more whether
Jimmy Thesiger had been wise to take Bill into their confidence.
"The Countess," said Bill, "is a very charming woman. And no end
intelligent. You should have seen her going round the house. All sorts
of questions she asked."
"What kind of questions?" asked Bundle suddenly.
Bill was vague.
"Oh! I don't know. About the history of it. 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.
CHAPTER XVII
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 well-burnished steel grate became as a
magnet. The three women huddled round it.
"Brrrrrrrrrrrr!" 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.
"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. "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
organization. It is organization we need."
Lady Coote sighed.
"I've heard my husband say that nothing can be done without regular
methods. He attributes his own success entirely to that. He declares he
would have never 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 first-class
gardener."
"Oh! I know he is," said Lady Coote.
"He's all right if he's kept in his place," said Bundle.
"I suppose so," said Lady Coote.
She looked enviously at Bundle, who appeared to approach the task of
keeping MacDonald in his place so light heartedly.
"I'd just adore a high-toned garden," said the Countess dreamily.
Bundle stared, but at that moment a diversion occurred. Jimmy Thesiger
entered 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.
"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 sorts 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.
"You're right about the 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 to-morrow."
"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 to-night."
"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 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 recognize 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."
"Oh, you never know," 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 _me_?" she asked.
"Nothing doing. You go to bed and sleep."