The Seven Dials Mystery (Superintendent Battle 2)

Bill, however, reached London without any mischance, and proceeded to park his car in St. James’s Square. Then he sought out Jimmy Thesiger’s rooms. Jimmy was at home.

“Hullo, Bill. I say, what’s the matter? You don’t look your usual bright little self.”

“I’m worried,” said Bill. “I was worried anyway, and then something else turned up and gave me a jolt.”

“Oh!” said Jimmy. “How lucid! What’s it all about? Can I do anything?”

Bill did not reply. He sat staring at the carpet and looking so puzzled and uncomfortable that Jimmy felt his curiosity aroused.

“Has anything very extraordinary occurred, William?” he asked gently.

“Something damned odd. I can’t make head or tail of it.”

“The Seven Dials business?”

“Yes—the Seven Dials business. I got a letter this morning.”

“A letter? What sort of letter?”

“A letter from Ronny Devereux’s executors.”

“Good lord! After all this time!”

“It seems he left instructions. If he was to die suddenly, a certain sealed envelope was to be sent to me exactly a fortnight after his death.”

“And they’ve sent it to you?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve opened it?”

“Yes.”

“Well—what did it say?”

Bill turned a glance upon him, such a strange and uncertain one that Jimmy was startled.

“Look here,” he said. “Pull yourself together, old man. It seems to have knocked the wind out of you, whatever it is. Have a drink.”

He poured out a stiff whisky and soda and brought it over to Bill, who took it obediently. His face still bore the same dazed expression.

“It’s what’s in the letter,” he said. “I simply can’t believe it, that’s all.”

“Oh, nonsense,” said Jimmy. “You must get into the habit of believing six impossible things before breakfast. I do it regularly. Now then, let’s hear all about it. Wait a minute.”

He went outside.

“Stevens!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Just go out and get me some cigarettes, will you? I’ve run out.”

“Very good, sir.”

Jimmy waited till he heard the front door close. Then he came back into the sitting room. Bill was just in the act of setting down his empty glass. He looked better, more purposeful and more master of himself.

“Now then,” said Jimmy. “I’ve sent Stevens out so that we can’t be overheard. Are you going to tell me all about it?”

“It’s so incredible.”

“Then it’s sure to be true. Come on, out with it.”

Bill drew a deep breath.

“I will. I’ll tell you everything.”

Thirty

AN URGENT SUMMONS

Loraine, playing with a small and delectable puppy, was somewhat surprised when Bundle rejoined her after an absence of twenty minutes, in a breathless state and with an indescribable expression on her face.

“Whoof,” said Bundle, sinking on to a garden seat. “Whoof.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Loraine, looking at her curiously.

“George is the matter—George Lomax.”

“What’s he been doing?”

“Proposing to me. It was awful. He spluttered and he stuttered, but he would go through with it—he must have learnt it out of a book, I think. There was no stopping him. Oh, how I hate men who splutter! And, unfortunately, I didn’t know the reply.”

“You must have known what you wanted to do.”

“Naturally I’m not going to marry an apologetic idiot like George. What I mean is, I didn’t know the correct reply from the book of etiquette. I could only just say flatly: ‘No, I won’t.’ What I ought to have said was something about being very sensible of the honour he had done me and so on and so on. But I got so rattled that in the end I jumped out of the window and bolted.”

“Really, Bundle, that’s not like you.”

“Well, I never dreamt of such a thing happening. George—who I always thought hated me—and he did too. What a fatal thing it is to pretend to take an interest in a man’s pet subject. You should have heard the drivel George talked about my girlish mind and the pleasure it would be to form it. My mind! If George knew one quarter of what was going on in my mind, he’d faint with horror!”

Loraine laughed. She couldn’t help it.

“Oh, I know it’s my own fault. I let myself in for this. There’s Father dodging round that rhododendron. Hallo, Father.”

Lord Caterham approached with a hangdog expression.

“Lomax gone, eh?” he remarked with somewhat forced geniality.

“A nice business you let me in for,” said Bundle. “George told me he had your full approval and sanction.”

“Well,” said Lord Caterham, “what did you expect me to say? As a matter of fact, I didn’t say that at all, or anything like it.”

“I didn’t really think so,” said Bundle. “I assumed that George had talked you into a corner and reduced you to such a state that you could only nod your head feebly.”

“That’s very much what happened. How did he take it? Badly?”

“I didn’t wait to see,” said Bundle. “I’m afraid I was rather abrupt.”

“Oh well,” said Lord Caterham. “Perhaps that was the best way. Thank goodness in the future Lomax won’t always be running over as he has been in the habit of doing, worrying me about things. Everything is for the best they say. Have you seen my jigger anywhere?”

“A mashie shot or two would steady my nerves, I think,” said Bundle. “I’ll take you on for sixpence, Loraine.”

An hour passed very peacefully. The three returned to the house in a harmonious spirit. A note lay on the hall table.

“Mr. Lomax left that for you, my lord,” explained Tredwell. “He was much disappo

inted to find that you had gone out.”

Lord Caterham tore it open. He uttered a pained ejaculation and turned upon his daughter. Tredwell had retired.

“Really, Bundle, you might have made yourself clear, I think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, read this.”

Bundle took it and read:

“My dear Caterham,—I am sorry not to have had a word with you. I thought I made it clear that I wanted to see you again after my interview with Eileen. She, dear child, was evidently quite unaware of the feelings I entertained towards her. She was, I am afraid, much startled. I have no wish to hurry her in any way. Her girlish confusion was very charming, and I entertain an even higher regard for her, as I much appreciate her maidenly reserve. I must give her time to become accustomed to the idea. Her very confusion shows that she is not wholly indifferent to me and I have no doubts of my ultimate success.

Believe me, dear Caterham,

Your sincere friend,

George Lomax.”

“Well,” said Bundle. “Well, I’m damned!”

Words failed her.

“The man must be mad,” said Lord Caterham. “No one could write those things about you, Bundle, unless they were slightly touched in the head. Poor chap, poor chap. But what persistence! I don’t wonder he got into the Cabinet. It would serve him right if you did marry him, Bundle.”

The telephone rang and Bundle moved forward to answer it. In another minute George and his proposal were forgotten, and she was beckoning eagerly to Loraine. Lord Caterham went off to his own sanctum.

“It’s Jimmy,” said Bundle. “And he’s tremendously excited about something.”

“Thank goodness I’ve caught you,” said Jimmy’s voice. “There’s no time to be lost. Loraine’s there, too?”

“Yes, she’s here.”

“Well, look here, I haven’t got time to explain everything—in fact, I can’t through the telephone. But Bill has been round to see me with the most amazing story you ever heard. If it’s true—well, if it’s true, it’s the biggest scoop of the century. Now, look here, this is what you’ve got to do. Come up to town at once, both of you. Garage the car somewhere and go straight to the Seven Dials Club. Do you think that when you get there you can get rid of that footman fellow?”