The Seven Dials Mystery

by Agatha Christie

  “Very well. Now, that narrows down things considerably. To begin with, I suppose a good many of the servants are family ones—they’re your lot, I mean.”

  “Yes,” said Bundle. “Practically all the staff stayed when we let it. All the principal ones are there still—of course there have been changes among the under servants.”

  “Exactly—that’s what I am getting at. You”—he addressed Bundle—“must go into all that. Find out when new servants were engaged—what about footmen, for instance?”

  “One of the footmen is new. John, his name is.”

  “Well, make inquiries about John. And about the others who have only come recently.”

  “I suppose,” said Bundle slowly, “it must have been a servant. It couldn’t have been one of the guests?”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

  “Who were there exactly?”

  “Well, there were three girls—Nancy and Helen and Socks—”

  “Socks Daventry? I know her.”

  “May have been. Girl who was always saying things were subtle.”

  “That’s Socks all right. Subtle is one of her words.”

  “And then there was Gerry Wade and me and Bill Eversleigh and Ronny. And, of course, Sir Oswald and Lady Coote. Oh! and Pongo.”

  “Who’s Pongo?”

  “Chap called Bateman—secretary to old Coote. Solemn sort of cove but very conscientious. I was at school with him.”

  “There doesn’t seem anything very suspicious there,” remarked Loraine.

  “No, there doesn’t,” said Bundle. “As you say, we’ll have to look amongst the servants. By the way, you don’t suppose that clock being thrown out of the window had anything to do with it?”

  “A clock thrown out of the window,” said Jimmy, staring. It was the first he had heard of it.

  “I can’t see how it can have anything to do with it,” said Bundle. “But it’s odd somehow. There seems no sense in it.”

  “I remember,” said Jimmy slowly. “I went in to—to see poor old Gerry, and, there were the clocks ranged along the mantelpiece. I remember noticing there were only seven—not eight.”

  He gave a sudden shiver and explained himself apologetically.

  “Sorry, but somehow those clocks have always given me the shivers. I dream of them sometimes. I’d hate to go into that room in the dark and see them there in a row.”

  “You wouldn’t be able to see them if it was dark,” said Bundle practically. “Not unless they had luminous dials—Oh!” She gave a sudden gasp and the colour rushed into her cheeks. “Don’t you see! Seven Dials!”

  The others looked at her doubtfully, but she insisted with increasing vehemence.

  “It must be. It can’t be a coincidence.”

  There was a pause.

  “You may be right,” said Jimmy Thesiger at last. “It’s—it’s dashed odd.”

  Bundle started questioning him eagerly.

  “Who bought the clocks?”

  “All of us.”

  “Who thought of them?”

  “All of us.”

  “Nonsense, somebody must have thought of them first.”

  “It didn’t happen that way. We were discussing what we could do to get Gerry up, and Pongo said an alarum clock, and somebody said one would be no good, and somebody else—Bill Eversleigh, I think—said why not get a dozen. And we all said good egg and hoofed off to get them. We got one each and an extra one for Pongo and one for Lady Coote—just out of the generosity of our hearts. There was nothing premeditated about it—it just happened.”

  Bundle was silenced, but not convinced.

  Jimmy proceeded to sum up methodically.

  “I think we can say we’re sure of certain facts. There’s a secret society, with points of resemblance to the Mafia, in existence. Gerry Wade came to know about it. At first he treated it as rather a joke—as an absurdity, shall we say. He couldn’t believe in its being really dangerous. But later something happened to convince him, and then he got the wind up in earnest. I rather fancy he must have said something to Ronny Devereux about it. Anyway, when he was put out of the way, Ronny suspected, and he must have known enough to get on the same track himself. The unfortunate thing is that we’ve got to start quite from the outer darkness. We haven’t got the knowledge the other two had.”

  “Perhaps that’s an advantage,” said Loraine coolly. “They won’t suspect us and therefore they won’t be trying to put us out of the way.”

  “I wish I felt sure about that,” said Jimmy in a worried voice. “You know, Loraine, old Gerry himself wanted you to keep out of it. Don’t you think you could—”

  “No, I couldn’t,” said Loraine. “Don’t let’s start discussing that again. It’s only a waste of time.”

  At the mention of the word time, Jimmy’s eyes rose to the clock and he uttered an exclamation of astonishment. He rose and opened the door.

  “Stevens.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “What about a spot of lunch, Stevens? Could it be managed?”

  “I anticipated that it would be required, sir. Mrs. Stevens has made preparations accordingly.”

  “That’s a wonderful man,” said Jimmy, as he returned, heaving a sigh of relief. “Brain, you know. Sheer brain. He takes correspondence courses. I sometimes wonder if they’d be any good to me.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Loraine.

  Stevens opened the door and proceeded to bring in a most recherché meal. An omelette was followed by quails and the very lightest thing in soufflés.

  “Why are men so happy when they’re single,” said Loraine tragically. “Why are they so much better looked after by other people than by us?”

  “Oh! but that’s rot, you know,” said Jimmy. “I mean, they’re not. How could they be? I often think—”

  He stammered and stopped. Loraine blushed again.

  Suddenly Bundle let out a whoop and both the others started violently.

  “Idiot,” said Bundle. “Imbecile. Me, I mean. I knew there was something I’d forgotten.”

  “What?”

  “You know Codders—George Lomax, I mean?”

  “I’ve heard of him a good deal,” said Jimmy. “From Bill and Ronny, you know.”

  “Well, Codders is giving some sort of a dry party next week—and he’s had a warning letter from Seven Dials.”

  “What?” cried Jimmy excitedly, leaning forward. “You can’t mean it?”

  “Yes, I do. He told Father about it. Now what do you think that points to?”

  Jimmy leant back in his chair. He thought rapidly and carefully. At last he spoke. His speech was brief and to the point.

  “Something’s going to happen at that party,” he said.

  “That’s what I think,” said Bundle.

  “It all fits in, said Jimmy almost dreamily.

  He turned to Loraine.

  “How old were you when the war was on?” he asked unexpectedly.

  “Nine—no, eight.”

  “And Gerry, I suppose, was about twenty. Most lads of twenty fought in the war. Gerry didn’t.”

  “No,” said Loraine, after thinking a minute or two. “No, Gerry wasn’t a soldier. I don’t know why.”

  “I can tell you why,” said Jimmy. “Or at least I can make a very shrewd guess. He was out of England from 1915 to 1918. I’ve taken the trouble to find that out. And nobody seems to know exactly where he was. I think he was in Germany.”

  The colour rose in Loraine’s cheeks. She looked at Jimmy with admiration.

  “How clever of you.”

  “He spoke German well, didn’t he?”

  “Oh, yes, like a native.”

  “I’m sure I’m right. Listen you two. Gerry Wade was at the Foreign Office. He appeared to be the same sort of amiable idiot—excuse the term, but you know what I mean—as Bill Eversleigh and Ronny Devereux. A purely ornamental excrescence. But in reality he was something quite different. I think Gerry Wade wa
s the real thing. Our secret service is supposed to be the best in the world. I think Gerry Wade was pretty high up in that service. And that explains everything! I remember saying idly that last evening at Chimneys that Gerry couldn’t be quite such an ass as he made himself out to be.”

  “And if you’re right?” said Bundle, practical as ever.

  “Then the thing’s bigger than we thought. This Seven Dials business isn’t merely criminal—it’s international. One thing’s certain, somebody has got to be at this house party of Lomax’s.”

  Bundle made a slight grimace.

  “I know George well—but he doesn’t like me. He’d never think of asking me to a serious gathering. All the same, I might—”

  She remained a moment lost in thought.

  “Do you think I could work it through Bill?” asked Jimmy. “He’s bound to be there as Codder’s right hand man. He might bring me along somehow or other.”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Bundle. “You’ll have to prime Bill and make him say the right things. He’s incapable of thinking of them for himself.”

  “What do you suggest?” asked Jimmy humbly.

  “Oh! It’s quite easy. Bill describes you as a rich young man—interested in politics, anxious to stand for Parliament. George will fall at once. You know what these political parties are: always looking for new rich young men. The richer Bill says you are, the easier it will be to manage.”

  “Short of being described as Rothschild, I don’t mind,” said Jimmy.

  “Then I think that’s practically settled. I’m dining with Bill tomorrow night, and I’ll get a list of who is to be there. That will be useful.”

  “I’m sorry you can’t be there,” said Jimmy. “But on the whole I think it’s all for the best.”

  “I’m not sure I shan’t be there,” said Bundle. “Codders hates me like poison—but there are other ways.”

  She became meditative.

  “And what about me?” asked Loraine in a small, meek voice.

  “You’re not on in this act,” said Jimmy instantly. “See? After all, we’ve got to have someone outside to—er—”

  “To what?” said Loraine.

  Jimmy decided not to pursue this tack. He appealed to Bundle.

  “Look here,” he said, “Loraine must keep out of this, mustn’t she?”

  “I certainly think she’d better.”

  “Next time,” said Jimmy kindly.

  “And suppose there isn’t a next time?” said Loraine.

  “Oh, there probably will be. Not a doubt of it.”

  “I see. I’m just to go home and—wait.”

  “That’s it,” said Jimmy, with every appearance of relief. “I thought you’d understand.”

  “You see,” explained Bundle, “three of us forcing our way in might look rather suspicious. And you would be particularly difficult. You do see that, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Loraine.

  “Then it’s settled—you do nothing,” said Jimmy.

  “I do nothing,” said Loraine meekly.

  Bundle looked at her in sudden suspicion. The tameness with which Loraine was taking it seemed hardly natural. Loraine looked at her. Her eyes were blue and guileless. They met Bundle’s without a quiver even of the lashes. Bundle was only partly satisfied. She found the meekness of Loraine Wade highly suspicious.

  Ten

  BUNDLE VISITS SCOTLAND YARD

  Now it may be said at once that in the foregoing conversation each one of the three participants had, as it were, held something in reserve. That “Nobody tells everything” is a very true motto.

  It may be questioned, for instance, if Loraine Wade was perfectly sincere in her account of the motives which had led her to seek out Jimmy Thesiger.

  In the same way, Jimmy Thesiger himself had various ideas and plans connected with the forthcoming party at George Lomax’s which he had no intention of revealing to—say, Bundle.

  And Bundle herself had a fully-fledged plan which she proposed to put into immediate execution and which she had said nothing whatever about.

  On leaving Jimmy Thesiger’s rooms, she drove to Scotland Yard, where she asked for Superintendent Battle.

  Superintendent Battle was rather a big man. He worked almost entirely on cases of a delicate political nature. On such a case he had come to Chimneys four years ago, and Bundle was frankly trading on his remembering this fact.

  After a short delay, she was taken along several corridors and into the Superintendent’s private room. Battle was a stolid-looking man with a wooden face. He looked supremely unintelligent and more like a commissionaire than a detective.

  He was standing by the window when she entered, gazing in an expressionless manner at some sparrows.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Eileen,” he said. “Sit down, won’t you?”

  “Thank you,” said Bundle. “I was afraid you mightn’t remember me.”

  “Always remember people,” said Battle. He added: “Got to in my job.”

  “Oh!” said Bundle, rather damped.

  “And what can I do for you?” inquired the Superintendent.

  Bundle came straight to the point.

  “I’ve always heard that you people at Scotland Yard have lists of all secret societies and things like that that are formed in London.”

  “We try to keep up to date,” said Superintendent Battle cautiously.

  “I suppose a great many of them aren’t really dangerous.”

  “We’ve got a very good rule to go by,” said Battle. “The more they talk, the less they’ll do. You’d be surprised how well that works out.”

  “And I’ve heard that very often you let them go on?”

  Battle nodded.

  “That’s so. Why shouldn’t a man call himself a Brother of Liberty and meet twice a week in a cellar and talk about rivers of blood—it won’t hurt either him or us. And if there is trouble any time, we know where to lay our hands on him.”

  “But sometimes, I suppose,” said Bundle slowly, “a society may be more dangerous than anyone imagines?”

  “Very unlikely,” said Battle.

  “But it might happen,” persisted Bundle.

  “Oh, it might,” admitted the Superintendent.

  There was a moment or two’s silence. Then Bundle said quietly:

  “Superintendent Battle, could you give me a list of secret societies that have their headquarters in Seven Dials?”

  It was Superintendent Battle’s boast that he had never been seen to display emotion. But Bundle could have sworn that just for a moment his eyelids flickered and he looked taken back. Only for a moment, however. He was his usual wooden self as he said:

  “Strictly speaking, Lady Eileen, there’s no such place as Seven Dials nowadays.”

  “No?”

  “No. Most of it is pulled down and rebuilt. It was rather a low quarter once, but it’s very respectable and high class nowadays. Not at all a romantic spot to poke about in for mysterious secret societies.”

  “Oh!” said Bundle, rather nonplussed.

  “But all the same I should very much like to know what put that neighbourhood into your head, Lady Eileen.”

  “Have I got to tell you?”

  “Well, it saves trouble, doesn’t it? We know where we are, so to speak.”

  Bundle hesitated for a minute.

  “There was a man shot yesterday,” she said slowly. “I thought I had run over him—”

  “Mr. Ronald Devereux?”

  “You know about it, of course. Why has there been nothing in the papers?”

  “Do you really want to know that, Lady Eileen?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Well, we just thought we should like to have a clear twenty-four hours—see? It will be in the papers tomorrow.”

  “Oh!” Bundle studied him, puzzled.

  What was hidden behind that immovable face? Did he regard the shooting of Ronald Devereux as an ordinary crime or as an extraordinary on
e?

  “He mentioned Seven Dials when he was dying,” said Bundle slowly.

  “Thank you,” said Battle. “I’ll make a note of that.”

  He wrote a few words on the blotting pad in front of him.

  Bundle started on another tack.

  “Mr. Lomax, I understand, came to see you yesterday about a threatening letter he had had.”

  “He did.”

  “And that was written from Seven Dials.”

  “It had Seven Dials written at the top if it, I believe.”

  Bundle felt as though she was battering hopelessly on a locked door.

  “If you’ll let me advise you, Lady Eileen—”

  “I know what you’re going to say.”

  “I should go home and—well, think no more about these matters.”

  “Leave it to you, in fact?”

  “Well,” said Superintendent Battle, “after all, we are the professionals.”

  “And I’m only an amateur? Yes, but you forget one thing—I mayn’t have your knowledge and skill—but I have one advantage over you. I can work in the dark.”

  She thought that the Superintendent seemed a little taken aback, as though the force of her words struck home.

  “Of course,” said Bundle, “if you won’t give me a list of secret societies—”

  “Oh! I never said that. You shall have a list of the whole lot.”

  He went to the door, put his head through and called out something, then came back to his chair. Bundle, rather unreasonably, felt baffled. The ease with which he acceded to her request seemed to her suspicious. He was looking at her now in a placid fashion.

  “Do you remember the death of Mr. Gerald Wade?” she asked abruptly.

  “Down at your place, wasn’t it? Took an overdraught of sleeping mixture.”

  “His sister says he never took things to make him sleep.”

  “Ah!” said the Superintendent. “You’d be surprised what a lot of things there are that sisters don’t know.”

  Bundle again felt baffled. She sat in silence till a man came in with a typewritten sheet of paper, which he handed to the Superintendent.

  “Here you are,” said the latter when the other had left the room. “The Blood Brothers of St. Sebastian. The Wolf Hounds. The Comrades of Peace. The Comrades Club. The Friends of Oppression. The Children of Moscow. The Red Standard Bearers. The Herrings. The Comrades of the Fallen—and half a dozen more.”