The Seven Dials mystery
"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 into her shell-pink ear," she
remarked. "I'm going to bed. I was bored stiff in that drawing-room 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.
CHAPTER XVIII
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, "3 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?"
"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, night-night.
I expect you'll have a bit of a job waking me when the time 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."
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," Bill said. "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 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.
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 séances. 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 the midst of that Seven Dials place. Why hadn't
he had the nerve and the 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 stealthily 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 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 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 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.
CHAPTER XIX
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 Bundle'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 gray 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 themselves to the
inside of the Abbey, Bundle intended to devote her attentions to the
outside.
Her own meek acquiescence in the tame rôle 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 herself had packed.
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 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