The Seven Dials Mystery (Superintendent Battle 2)

“Certainly,” said George. “Certainly. I’ll go and fetch him at once.”

He hurried off upstairs again. Battle drew Bundle swiftly into the drawing room and shut the door.

“Now, Lady Eileen, what is it?”

“I’ll tell you as quickly as I can—but it’s rather long and complicated.”

As concisely as she could, Bundle related her introduction to the Seven Dials Club and her subsequent adventures there. When she had finished, Superintendent Battle drew a long breath. For once, his facial woodenness was laid aside.

“Remarkable,” he said. “Remarkable. I wouldn’t have believed it possible—even for you, Lady Eileen. I ought to have known better.”

“But you did give me a hint, Superintendent Battle. You told me to ask Bill Eversleigh.”

“It’s dangerous to give people like you a hint, Lady Eileen. I never dreamt of your going to the lengths you have.”

“Well, it’s all right, Superintendent Battle. My death doesn’t lie at your door.”

“Not yet, it doesn’t,” said Battle grimly.

He stood as though in thought, turning things over in his mind. “What Mr. Thesiger was about, letting you run into danger like that, I can’t think,” he said presently.

“He didn’t know till afterwards,” said Bundle. “I’m not a complete mug, Superintendent Battle. And, anyway, he’s got his hands full looking after Miss Wade.”

“Is that so?” said the Superintendent. “Ah!”

He twinkled a little.

“I shall have to detail Mr. Eversleigh to look after you, Lady Eileen.”

“Bill!” said Bundle contemptuously. “But, Superintendent Battle, you haven’t heard the end of my story. The woman I saw there—Anna—No 1. Yes, No 1 is the Countess Radzky.”

And rapidly she went on to describe her recognition of the mole.

To her surprise the Superintendent hemmed and hawed.

“A mole isn’t much to go upon, Lady Eileen. Two women might have an identical mole very easily. You must remember that the Countess Radzky is a very well-known figure in Hungary.”

“Then this isn’t the real Countess Radzky. I tell you I’m sure this is the same woman I saw there. And look at her tonight—the way we found her. I don’t believe she ever fainted at all.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t say that, Lady Eileen. That empty shell striking the bookcase beside her might have frightened any woman half out of her wits.”

“But what was she doing there anyway? One doesn’t come down to look for a book with an electric torch.”

Battle scratched his cheek. He seemed unwilling to speak. He began to pace up and down the room, as though making up his mind. At last he turned to the girl.

“See here, Lady Eileen, I’m going to trust you. The Countess’s conduct is suspicious. I know that as well as you do. It’s very suspicious—but we’ve got to go carefully. There mustn’t be any unpleasantness with the Embassies. One has got to be sure.”

“I see. If you were sure . . .”

“There’s something else. During the war, Lady Eileen, there was a great outcry about German spies being left at large. Busybodies wrote letters to the papers about it. We paid no attention. Hard words didn’t hurt us. The small fry were left alone. Why? Because through them, sooner or later, we got the big fellow—the man at the top.”

“You mean?”

“Don’t bother about what I mean, Lady Eileen. But remember this. I know all about the Countess. And I want her let alone.”

“And now,” added Superintendent Battle ruefully, “I’ve got to think of something to say to Sir Stanley Digby!”

Twenty-three

SUPERINTENDENT BATTLE IN CHARGE

It was ten o’clock on the following morning. The sun poured in through the windows of the library, where Superintendent Battle had been at work since six. On a summons from him, George Lomax, Sir Oswald Coote and Jimmy Thesiger had just joined him, having repaired the fatigues of the night with a substantial breakfast. Jimmy’s arm was in a sling, but he bore little trace of the night’s affray.

The Superintendent eyed all three of them benevolently, somewhat with the air of a kindly curator explaining a museum to little boys. On the table beside him were various objects, neatly labelled. Amongst them Jimmy recognized Leopold.

“Ah, Superintendent,” said George, “I have been anxious to know how you have progressed. Have you caught the man?”

“He’ll take a lot of catching, he will,” said the Superintendent.

His failure in that respect did not appear to rankle with him.

George Lomax did not look particularly well-pleased. He detested levity of any kind.

“I’ve got everything taped out pretty clearly,” went on the detective.

He took up two objects from the table.

“Here we’ve got the two bullets. The largest is a .455, fired from Mr. Thesiger’s Colt automatic. Grazed the window sash and I found it embedded in the trunk of that cedar tree. This little fellow was fired from the Mauser .25. After passing through Mr. Thesiger’s arm, it embedded itself in this armchair here. As for the pistol itself—”

“Well?” said Sir Oswald eagerly. “Any fingerprints?”

Battle shook his head.

“The man who handled it wore gloves,” he said slowly.

“A pity,” said Sir Oswald.

“A man who knew his business would wear gloves. Am I right in thinking, Sir Oswald, that you found this pistol just about twenty yards from the bottom of the steps leading up to the terrace?”

Sir Oswald stepped to the window.

“Yes, almost exactly, I should say.”

“I don’t want to find fault, but it would have been wiser on your part, sir, to leave it exactly as you found it.”

“I am sorry,” said Sir Oswald stiffly.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’ve been able to reconstruct things. There were your footprints, you see, leading up from the bottom of the garden, and a place where you had obviously stopped and stooped down, and a kind of dent in the grass which was highly suggestive. By the way, what was your theory of the pistol being there?”

“I presumed that it had been dropped by the man in his flight.”

Battle shook his head.

“Not dropped. Sir Oswald. There are two points against that. To begin with, there are only one set of footprints crossing the lawn just there—your own.”

“I see,” said Sir Oswald thoughtfully.

“Can you be sure of that, Battle?” put in George.

“Quite sure, sir. There is one other set of tracks crossing the lawn, Miss Wade’s, but they are a good deal further to the left.”

He paused, and then went on: “And there’s the dent in the ground. The pistol must have struck the ground with some force. It all points to its having been thrown.”

“Well, why not?” said Sir Oswald. “Say the man fled down the path to the left. He’d leave no footprints on the path and he’d hurl the pistol away from him into the middle of the lawn, eh, Lomax?”

George agreed by a nod of the head.

“It’s true that he’d leave no footprints on the path,” said Battle, “but from the shape of the dent and the way the turf was cut, I don’t think the pistol was thrown from that direction. I think it was thrown from the terrace here.”

“Very likely,” said Sir Oswald. “Does it matter, Superintendent?”

“Ah, yes, Battle,” broke in George. “Is it—er—strictly relevant?”

“Perhaps not, Mr. Lomax. But we like to get things just so, you know. I wonder now if one of you gentlemen would take this pistol and throw it. Will you, Sir Oswald? That’s very kind. Stand just there in the window. Now fling it into the middle of the lawn.”

Sir Oswald complied, sending the pistol flying through the air with a powerful sweep of his arm. Jimmy Thesiger drew near with breathless interest. The Superintendent lumbered off after it like a well-trained retriever. He reappeared with a

beaming face.

“That’s it, sir. Just the same kind of mark. Although, by the way, you sent it a good ten yards farther. But then, you’re a very powerfully built man, aren’t you, Sir Oswald? Excuse me, I thought I heard someone at the door.”

The Superintendent’s ears must have been very much sharper than anyone else’s. Nobody else had heard a sound, but Battle was proved right, for Lady Coote stood outside, a medicine glass in her hand.

“Your medicine, Oswald,” she said, advancing into the room. “You forgot it after breakfast.”

“I’m very busy, Maria,” said Sir Oswald. “I don’t want my medicine.”

“You would never take it if it wasn’t for me,” said his wife serenely, advancing upon him. “You’re just like a naughty little boy. Drink it up now.”

And meekly, obediently, the great steel magnate drank it up!

Lady Coote smiled sadly and sweetly at everyone.

“Am I interrupting you? Are you very busy? Oh, look at those revolvers. Nasty, noisy, murdering things. To think, Oswald, that you might have been shot by the burglar last night.”

“You must have been alarmed when you found he was missing, Lady Coote,” said Battle.

“I didn’t think of it at first,” confessed Lady Coote. “This poor boy here”—she indicated Jimmy—“being shot—and everything so dreadful, but so exciting. It wasn’t till Mr. Bateman asked me where Sir Oswald was that I remembered he’d gone out half an hour before for a stroll.”

“Sleepless, eh, Sir Oswald?” asked Battle.

“I am usually an excellent sleeper,” said Sir Oswald. “But I must confess that last night I felt unusually restless. I thought the night air would do me good.”

“You came out through this window, I suppose?”

Was it his fancy, or did Sir Oswald hesitate for a moment before replying?