The Seven Dials mystery
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 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 Coote has hysterics and faints in Bill's arms--Bill 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 hurried 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 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 flushed 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--"
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.
"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 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."
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."
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 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.
CHAPTER II
CONCERNING ALARUM CLOCKS
"Now where shall we put them?"
Dinner was over. Lady Coote 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," "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.
"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 head 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.
"Is what?"