The Seven Dials Mystery (Superintendent Battle 2)

Very slowly No 7 raised a hand to his head and fumbled with the fastening of the mask.

Bundle held her breath. At last—she was going to know.

The mask fell.

Bundle found herself looking into the expressionless, wooden face of Superintendent Battle.

Thirty-two

BUNDLE IS DUMBFOUNDED

“That’s right,” said Battle, as Mosgorovsky leapt up and came round to Bundle. “Get a chair for her. It’s been a bit of a shock, I can see.”

Bundle sank down on the chair. She felt limp and faint with surprise. Battle went on talking in a quiet, comfortable way wholly characteristic of him.

“You didn’t expect to see me, Lady Eileen. No, and no more did some of the others sitting round the table. Mr. Mosgorovsky’s been my lieutenant in a manner of speaking. He’s been in the know all along. But most of the others have taken their orders blindly from him.”

Still Bundle said no word. She was—a most unusual state of affairs for her—simply incapable of speech.

Battle nodded at her comprehendingly, seeming to understand the state of her feelings.

“You’ll have to get rid of one or two preconceived ideas of yours, I’m afraid, Lady Eileen. About this society, for instance—I know it’s common enough in books—a secret organization of criminals with a mysterious supercriminal at the head of it whom no one ever sees. That sort of thing may exist in real life, but I can only say that I’ve never come across anything of the sort, and I’ve had a good deal of experience one way or another.

“But there’s a lot of romance in the world, Lady Eileen. People, especially young people, like reading about such things, and they like still better really doing them. I’m going to introduce you now to a very creditable band of amateurs that has done remarkably fine work for my Department, work that nobody else could have done. If they’ve chosen rather melodramatic trappings, well, why shouldn’t they? They’ve been willing to face real danger—danger of the very worst kind—and they’ve done it for these reasons: love of danger for its own sake—which to my mind is a very healthy sign in these Safety First days—and an honest wish to serve their country.

“And now, Lady Eileen, I’m going to introduce you. First of all, there’s Mr. Mosgorovsky, whom you already know in a manner of speaking. As you’re aware, he runs the club and he runs a host of other things too. He’s our most valuable Secret Anti-Bolshevist Agent in England. No 5 is Count Andras of the Hungarian Embassy, a very near and dear friend of the late Gerald Wade. No 4 is Mr. Hayward Phelps, an American journalist, whose British sympathies are very keen and whose aptitude for scenting ‘news’ is remarkable. No 3—”

He stopped, smiling, and Bundle stared dumbfounded into the sheepish, grinning face of Bill Eversleigh.

“No 2,” went on Battle in a graver voice, “can only show an empty place. It is the place belonging to Mr. Ronald Devereux, a very gallant young gentleman who died for his country if any man ever did. No 1—well, No 1 was Mr. Gerald Wade, another very gallant gentleman who died in the same way. His place was taken—not without some grave misgivings on my part—by a lady—a lady who has proved her fitness to have it and who has been a great help to us.”

The last to do so, No 1, removed her mask, and Bundle looked without surprise into the beautiful, dark face of Countess Radzky.

“I might have known,” said Bundle resentfully, “that you were too completely the beautiful foreign adventuress to be anything of the kind really.”

“But you don’t know the real joke,” said Bill. “Bundle, this is Babe St. Maur—you remember my telling you about her and what a ripping actress she was—and she’s about proved it.”

“That’s so,” said Miss Maur in pure transatlantic nasal. “But it’s not a terrible lot of credit to me, because Poppa and Momma came from that part of Yurrup—so I got the patter fairly easy. Gee, but I nearly gave myself away once at the Abbey, talking about gardens.”

She paused and then said abruptly:

“It’s—it’s not been just fun. You see, I was kinder engaged to Ronny, and when he handed in his checks—well, I had to do something to track down the skunk who murdered him. That’s all.”

“I’m completely bewildered,” said Bundle. “Nothing is what it seems.”

“It’s very simple, Lady Eileen,” said Superintendent Battle. “It began with some of the young people wanting a bit of excitement. It was Mr. Wade who first got on to me. He suggested the formation of a band of what you might call amateur workers to do a bit of secret service work. I warned him that it might be dangerous—but he wasn’t the kind to weigh that in the balance. I made it plain to him that anyone who came in must do so on that understanding. But, bless you, that wasn’t going to stop any of Mr. Wade’s friends. And so the thing began.”

“But what was the object of it all?” asked Bundle.

“We wanted a certain man—wanted him badly. He wasn’t an ordinary crook. He worked in Mr. Wade’s world, a kind of Raffles, but much more dangerous than any Raffles ever was or could be. He was out for big stuff, international stuff. Twice already valuable secret inventions had been stolen, and clearly stolen by someone who had inside knowledge. The professionals had had a try—and failed. Then the amateurs took on—and succeeded.”

“Succeeded?”

“Yes—but they didn’t come out of it unscathed. The man was dangerous. Two lives fell victim to him and he got away with it. But the Seven Dials stuck to it. And as I say they succeeded. Thanks to Mr. Eversleigh, the man was caught at last red-handed.”

“Who was he?” asked Bundle. “Do I know him?”

“You know him very well, Lady Eileen. His name is Mr. Jimmy Thesiger, and he was arrested this afternoon.”

Thirty-three

BATTLE EXPLAINS

Superintendent Battle settled down to explain. He spoke comfortably and cosily.

“I didn’t suspect him myself for a long time. The first hint of it I had was when I heard what Mr. Devereux’s last words had been. Naturally, you took them to mean that Mr. Devereux was trying to send word to Mr. Thesiger that the Seven Dials had killed him. That’s what the words seemed to mean on their face value. But of course I knew that that couldn’t be so. It was the Seven Dials that Mr. Devereux wanted told—and what he wanted them told was something about Mr. Jimmy Thesiger.

“The thing seemed incredible, because Mr. Devereux and Mr. Thesiger were close friends. But I remembered something else—that these thefts must have been committed by someone who was absolutely in the know. Someone, who, if not in the Foreign Office himself, was in the way of hearing all its chitchat. And I found it very hard to find out where Mr. Thesiger got his money. The income his father left him was a small one, yet he was able to live at a most expensive rate. Where did the money come from?

“I knew that Mr. Wade had been very excited by something that he had found out. He was quite sure that he was on the right track. He didn’t confide in anyone about what he thought that track was, but he did say something to Mr. Devereux about being on the point of making sure. That was just before they both went down to Chimneys for that weekend. As you know, Mr. Wade died there—apparently from an overdose of a sleeping draught. It seemed straightforward enough, but Mr. Devereux did not accept that explanation for a minute. He was convinced that Mr. Wade had been very cleverly put out of the way and that someone in the house must actually be the criminal we were all after. He came, I think, very near confiding in Mr. Thesiger, for he certainly had no suspicions of him at that moment. But something held him back.

“Then he did a rather curious thing. He arranged seven clocks upon the mantelpiece, throwing away the eighth. It was meant as a symbol that the Seven Dials would revenge the death of one of their members—and he watched eagerly to see if anyone betrayed themselves or showed signs of perturbation.”

“And it was Jimmy Thesiger who poisoned Gerry Wade?”

“Yes, he slipped the stuff into a whisky and soda which

Mr. Wade had downstairs before retiring to bed. That’s why he was already feeling sleepy when he wrote that letter to Miss Wade.”

“Then the footman, Bauer, hadn’t anything to do with it?” asked Bundle.