The Seven Dials mystery
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 fingerprints. And of course they only found the dead
man's own. The clearest case 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 fingerprints 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."
"I'm glad there's one bad habit you haven't got," said Bundle.
"I've always led a very respectable God-fearing 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?"
"Let's have some of 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 house-party 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."
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 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 spook hovering over you."
"I do sometimes," said Lord Caterham, shuddering. "Especially after
lobster."
"Well, thank heavens 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 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.
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.
Bundle smoothed it out and read it. It was unfinished.
"MY DARLING LORAINE,--I 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 had taken such a heavy dose of chloral that he
never woke again. And if what he had written in that letter was 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....
CHAPTER V
THE MAN IN THE ROAD
"Father," said Bundle, opening the door of Lord Caterham's special
sanctum 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 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.
"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.