The Seven Dials Mystery (Superintendent Battle 2)

The blackness span less violently. The ache was now definitely located as being in Bundle’s own head. And she was sufficiently herself to take an interest in what the voice was saying.

“Darling, darling Bundle. Oh, darling Bundle. She’s dead; I know she’s dead. Oh, my darling. Bundle, darling, darling Bundle. I do love you so. Bundle—darling—darling—”

Bundle lay quite still with her eyes shut. But she was now fully conscious. Bill’s arms held her closely.

“Bundle darling—Oh, dearest, darling Bundle. Oh, my dear love. Oh, Bundle—Bundle. What shall I do? Oh, darling one—my Bundle—my own dearest, sweetest Bundle. Oh, God, what shall I do? I’ve killed her. I’ve killed her.”

Reluctantly—very reluctantly—Bundle spoke.

“No, you haven’t, you silly idiot,” she said.

Bill gave a gasp of utter amazement.

“Bundle—you’re alive.”

“Of course I’m alive.”

“How long have you been—I mean when did you come to?”

“About five minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you open your eyes—or say something?”

“Didn’t want to. I was enjoying myself.”

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Yes. Listening to all the things you were saying. You’ll never say them so well again. You’ll be too beastly self-conscious.”

Bill had turned a dark brick-red.

“Bundle—you really didn’t mind? You know, I do love you so. I have for ages. But I never have dared to tell you so.”

“You silly juggins,” said Bundle. “Why?”

“I thought you’d only laugh at me. I mean—you’ve got brains and all that—you’ll marry some bigwig.”

“Like George Lomax?” suggested Bundle.

“I don’t mean a fatuous ass like Codders. But some really fine chap who’ll be worthy of you—though I don’t think anyone could be that,” ended Bill.

“You’re rather a dear, Bill.”

“But, Bundle, seriously, could you ever? I mean, could you ever bring yourself to?”

“Could I ever bring myself to do what?”

“Marry me. I know I’m awfully thickheaded—but I do love you, Bundle. I’d be your dog or your slave or your anything.”

“You’re very like a dog,” said Bundle. “I like dogs. They’re so friendly and faithful and warmhearted. I think that perhaps I could just bring myself to marry you, Bill—with a great effort, you know.”

Bill’s response to this was to relinquish his grasp of her and recoil violently. He looked at her with amazement in his eyes.

“Bundle—you don’t mean it?”

“There’s nothing for it,” said Bundle. “I see I shall have to relapse into unconsciousness again.”

“Bundle—darling—” Bill caught her to him. He was trembling violently. “Bundle—do you really mean it—do you?—you don’t know how much I love you.”

“Oh, Bill,” said Bundle.

There is no need to describe in detail the conversation of the next ten minutes. It consisted mostly of repetitions.

“And do you really love me?” said Bill, incredulously, for the twentieth time as he at last released her.

“Yes—yes—yes. Now do let’s be sensible. I’ve got a racking head still, and I’ve been nearly squeezed to death by you. I want to get the hang of things. Where are we and what’s happened?”

For the first time, Bundle began to take stock of her surroundings. They were in the secret room, she noted, and the baize door was closed and presumably locked. They were prisoners, then!

Bundle’s eyes came back to Bill. Quite oblivious of her question he was watching her with adoring eyes.

“Bill, darling,” said Bundle, “pull yourself together. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Eh?” said Bill. “What? Oh, yes. That’ll be all right. No difficulty about that.”

“It’s being in love makes you feel like that,” said Bundle. “I feel rather the same myself. As though everything’s easy and possible.”

“So it is,” said Bill. “Now that I know you care for me—”

“Stop it,” said Bundle. “Once we begin again any serious conversation will be hopeless. Unless you pull yourself together and become sensible, I shall very likely change my mind.”

“I shan’t let you,” said Bill. “You don’t think that once having got you I’d be such a fool as to let you go, do you?”

“You would not coerce me against my will, I hope,” said Bundle grandiloquently.

“Wouldn’t I?” said Bill. “You just watch me do it, that’s all.”

“You really are rather a darling, Bill. I was afraid you might be too meek, but I see there’s going to be no danger of that. In another half hour you’d be ordering me about. Oh, dear, we’re getting silly again. Now, look here, Bill. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“I tell you that’ll be quite all right. I shall—”

He broke off, obedient to a pressure from Bundle’s hand. She was leaning forward, listening intently. Yes, she had not been mistaken. A step was crossing the outer room. The key was thrust into the lock and turned. Bundle held her breath. Was it Jimmy coming to rescue them—or was it someone else?

The door opened and the black-bearded Mr. Mosgorovsky stood on the threshold.

Immediately Bill took a step forward, standing in front of Bundle.

“Look here,” he said, “I want a word with you privately.”

The Russian did not reply for a minute or two. He stood stroking his long, silky black beard and smiling quietly to himself.

“So,” he said at last, “it is like that. Very well. The lady will be pleased to come with me.”

“It’s all right, Bundle,” said Bill. “Leave it to me. You go with this chap. Nobody’s going to hurt you. I know what I’m doing.”

Bundle rose obediently. That note of authority in Bill’s voice was new to her. He seemed absolutely sure of himself and confident of being able to deal with the situation. Bundle wondered vaguely what it was that Bill had—or thought he had—up his sleeve.

She passed out of the room in front of the Russian. He followed her, closing the door behind him and locking it.

“This way, please,” he said.

He indicated the staircase and she mounted obediently to the floor above. Here she was directed to pass into a small frowsy room, which she took to be Alfred’s bedroom.

Mosgorovsky said: “You will wait here quietly, please. There must be no noise.”

Then he went out, closing the door behind him and locking her in.

Bundle sat down on a chair. Her head was aching badly still and she felt incapable of sustained thought. Bill seemed to have the sitaution well in hand. Sooner or later, she supposed, someone would come and let her out.

The minutes passed. Bundle’s watch had stopped, but she judged that over an hour had passed since the Russian had brought her here. What was happening? What, indeed, had happened?

At last she heard footsteps on the stairs. It was Mosgorovsky once more. He spoke very formally to her.

“Lady Eileen Brent, you are wanted at an emergency meeting of the Seven Dials Society. Please follow me.”

He led the way down the stairs and Bundle followed him. He opened the door of the secret chamber and Bundle passed in, catching her breath in surprise as she did so.

She was seeing for the second time what she had only had a glimpse of the first time through her peephole. The masked figures were sitting round the table. As she stood there, taken aback by the suddenness of it, Mosgorovsky slipped into his place, adjusting his clock mask as he did so.

But this time the chair at the head of the table was occupied. No 7 was in his place.

Bundle’s heart beat violently. She was standing at the foot of the table directly facing him and she stared and stared at the mocking piece of hanging stuff, with the clock dial on it, that hid his features.

He sat quite immovable and Bundle got an odd sensation of power radiating from him. His inactivity was not the inactivity of weakness—and she wished violently, almost hysterically, that he would speak—that he would make some sign, some gesture—not just sit there like a gigantic spider in the middle of its web waiting remorselessly for its prey.

She shivered and as she did so Mosgorovsky rose. His voice, smooth, silky, persuasive, seemed curiously far away.

“Lady Eileen, you have been present unasked at the secret councils of this society. It is therefore necessary that you should identify yourself with our aims and ambitions. The place 2 o’clock, you may notice, is vacant. It is that place that is offered to you.”

Bundle gasped. The thing was like a fantastic nightmare. Was it possible that she, Bundle Brent, was being asked to join a murderous secret society? Had the same proposition been made to Bill, and had he refused indignantly?

“I can’t do that,” she said bluntly.

“Do not answer precipitately.”

She fancied that Mosgorovsky, beneath his clock mask, was smiling significantly into his beard.

“You do not as yet know, Lady Eileen, what it is you are refusing.”

“I can make a pretty good guess,” said Bundle.

“Can you?”

It was the voice of 7 o’clock. It awoke some vague chord of memory in Bundle’s brain. Surely she knew that voice?