The Seven Dials Mystery

Chapter 7 BUNDLE PAYS A CALL

Getting hold of Bill presented few difficulties. Bundle motored up to town on the following morning – this time without adventures on the way – and rang him up. Bill responded with alacrity, and made various suggestions as to lunch, tea, dinner and dancing. All of which suggestions Bundle turned down as made.

"In a day or two, I'll come and frivol with you, Bill. But for the moment I'm up on business."

"Oh," said Bill. "What a beastly bore."

"It's not that kind," said Bundle. "It's anything but boring. Bill, do you know anyone called Jimmy Thesiger?"

"Of course. So do you."

"No, I don't," said Bundle.

"Yes, you do. You must. Everyone knows old Jimmy."

"Sorry," said Bundle. "Just for once I don't seem to be everyone."

"Ah, but how can you not know Jimmy? A slightly stupid-looking chap, but really as brainy as me."

"You don't say," exclaimed Bundle. "But then he must be a genius!"

"This is irony, isn't it?"

"More or less. What does he do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I wonder if working with Foreign Relations forbids you to understand your own language."

"Oh! Got it! You want to know what his work is? He doesn't do anything. Why should he work if he doesn't need to?"

"You mean he has more money than brains?"

"Not all that much. I said he was smarter than he looked like."

Bundle remained silent. This rich fellow didn't seem to be a good ally. And nonetheless his name had been on the lips of the dying man. Suddenly Bill spoke again.

"Ronny always thought him really smart. Ronny Devereux, you know? Thesiger was his best friend."

"Ronny…"

Bundle stopped, doubtful. Bill, evidently, ignored the other's death. Then it occured to her for the first time how strange it was that the morning papers hadn't commented the subject. There could be only one explanation: the police, for their own reasons, were keeping the case quiet.

"It's been ages since I saw Ronny," Bill went on. "Since that weekend at your house. You know, when poor Gerry Wade died."

There was a pause.

"Unpleasant story, by the way. I suppose you heard about it. Listen, Bundle… still on the line?"

"Of course."

"Well, you went so silent that I thought you rang off."

"No, I was just thinking of something."

Should she tell him about Ronny's death? She decided not to – it wasn't the kind of news to break over the phone. Soon, she must have a meeting with Bill. In the meantime –

"Bill?"

"Hullo."

"I might dine with you tomorrow night."

"Good, and we'll dance afterwards. I've got a lot to talk to you about. As a matter of fact I've been rather hard hit – the foulest luck –"

"Well, tell me about it tomorrow," said Bundle, cutting him short rather unkindly. "In the meantime, what is Jimmy Thesiger's address?"

"Jimmy Thesiger?"

"That's what I said."

"He's got rooms in Jermyn Street – do I mean Jermyn Street or the other one?"

"Bring that class A brain to bear upon it."

"Yes, Jermyn Street. Wait a bit and I'll give you the number."

There was a pause.

"Are you there still?"

"I'm always there."

"Well, one never knows with these dashed telephones. The number is 103. Got it?"

"103. Thank you, Bill."

"Yes, but, I say – what do you want it for? You said you didn't know him."

"I don't, but I shall in half an hour."

"You're going round to his rooms?"

"Quite right, Sherlock."

"Yes, but, I say – well, for one thing he won't be up."

"Won't be up?"

"I shouldn't think so. I mean, who would if they hadn't got to? Look at it that way. You've no idea what an effort it is for me to get here at eleven every morning, and the fuss Codders makes if I'm behind time is simply appalling. You haven't the least idea, Bundle, what a dog's life this is –"

"You shall tell me all about it tomorrow night," said Bundle hastily.

She slammed down the receiver and took stock of the situation. First she glanced at the clock. It was five and twenty minutes to twelve. Despite Bill's knowledge of his friend's habits, she inclined to the belief that Mr. Thesiger would by now be in a fit state to receive visitors. She took a taxi to 103 Jermyn Street .

The door was opened by a perfect example of the retired gentleman's gentleman. His face, expressionless and polite, was such a face as may be found by the score in that particular district of London.

"Will you come this way, madam?"

He ushered her upstairs into an extremely comfortable sitting-room containing leather-covered armchairs of immense dimensions.

Sunk in one of those monstrosities was another girl, rather younger than Bundle. A small, fair girl, dressed in black.

"What name shall I say, madam?"

"I won't give any name," said Bundle. "I just want to see Mr. Thesiger on important business."

The grave gentleman bowed and withdrew, shutting the door noiselessly behind him. There was a pause.

"It's a nice morning," said the fair girl timidly.

"It's an awfully nice morning," agreed Bundle.

There was another pause.

"I motored up from the country this morning," said Bundle, plunging once more into speech. "And I thought it was going to be one of those foul fogs. But it wasn't."

"No," said the other girl. "It wasn't." And she added: "I've come up from the country too."

Bundle eyed her more attentively. She had been slightly annoyed at finding the other there. Bundle belonged to the energetic order of people who liked "to get on with it," and she foresaw that the second visitor would have to be disposed of and got rid of before she could broach her own business. It was not a topic she could introduce before a stranger. Now, as she looked more closely, an extraordinary idea rose in her brain. Could it be?

Yes, the girl was in deep mourning; her black, silk-clad ankles showed that. It was a long shot, but Bundle was convinced that her idea was right. She drew a long breath.

"Look here," she said, "are you by any chance Loraine Wade?"

Loraine's eyes opened wide.

"Yes, I am. How clever of you to know. We've never met, have we?"

Bundle shook her head.

"I wrote to you yesterday, though. I'm Bundle Brent."

"It was so very kind of you to send me Gerry's letter," said Loraine. "I've written to thank you. I never expected to see you here."

"I'll tell you why I'm here," said Bundle. "Did you know Ronny Devereux?"

Loraine nodded.

"He came over the day that Gerry – you know. And he's been to see me two or three times since. He was one of Gerry's greatest friends."

"I know. Well – he's dead."

Loraine's lips parted in surprise.

"Dead! But he always seemed so fit."

Bundle narrated the events of the preceding day as briefly as possible. A look of fear and horror came into Loraine's face.

"Then it is true. It is true."

"What's true?"

"What I've thought – what I've been thinking all these weeks. Gerry didn't die a natural death. He was killed."

"You've thought that, have you?"

"Yes. Gerry would never have taken things to make him sleep." She gave the little ghost of a laugh. "He slept much too well to need them. I always thought it queer. And he thought so too – I know he did."

"Who?"

"Ronny. And now this happens. Now he's killed too." She paused and then went on: "That's what I came for today. That letter of Gerry's you sent me – as soon as I read it, I tried to get hold of Ronny, but they said he was away. So I thought I'd come and see Jimmy – he was Ronny's other great friend. I thought perhaps he'd tell me what I ought to do."

"You mean –" Bundle paused. "About – Seven Dials."

Loraine nodded.

"You see –" she began.

But at that moment Jimmy Thesiger entered the room.