The Seven Dials Mystery

by Agatha Christie

  Sir Oswald stared at him, but any reply he might have contemplated making was arrested by the entrance of Rupert Bateman.

  “Oh, there you are, Sir Oswald. I’m so glad. Lady Coote has just discovered that you were missing—and she has been insisting upon it that you had been murdered by the thieves. I really, think, Sir Oswald, that you had better come to her at once. She is terribly upset.”

  “Maria is an incredibly foolish woman,” said Sir Oswald. “Why should I be murdered? I’ll come with you, Bateman.”

  He left the room with his secretary.

  “That’s a very efficient young man,” said Battle, looking after them. “What’s his name—Bateman?”

  Jimmy nodded.

  “Bateman—Rupert,” he said. “Commonly known as Pongo. I was at school with him.”

  “Were you? Now, that’s interesting, Mr. Thesiger. What was your opinion of him in those days?”

  “Oh, he was always the same sort of ass.”

  “I shouldn’t have thought,” said Battle mildly, “that he was an ass.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. Of course he wasn’t really an ass. Tons of brains and always swotting at things. But deadly serious. No sense of humour.”

  “Ah!” said Superintendent Battle. “That’s a pity. Gentlemen who have no sense of humour get to taking themselves too seriously—and that leads to mischief.”

  “I can’t imagine Pongo getting into mischief,” said Jimmy. “He’s done extremely well for himself so far—dug himself in with old Coote and looks like being a permanency in the job.”

  “Superintendent Battle,” said Bundle.

  “Yes, Lady Eileen?”

  “Don’t you think it very odd that Sir Oswald didn’t say what he was doing wandering about in the garden in the middle of the night?”

  “Ah!” said Battle. “Sir Oswald’s a great man—and a great man always knows better than to explain unless an explanation is demanded. To rush into explanations and excuses is always a sign of weakness. Sir Oswald knows that as well as I do. He’s not going to come in explaining and apologizing—not he. He just stalks in and hauls me over the coals. He’s a big man, Sir Oswald.”

  Such a warm admiration sounded in the Superintendent’s tones that Bundle pursued the subject no further.

  “And now,” said Superintendent Battle, looking round with a slight twinkle in his eye, “now that we’re together and friendly like—I should like to hear just how Miss Wade happened to arrive on the scene so pat.”

  “She ought to be ashamed of herself,” said Jimmy. “Hood-winking us all as she did.”

  “Why should I be kept out of it all?” cried Loraine passionately. “I never meant to be—no, not the very first day in your rooms when you both explained how the best thing for me to do was to stay quietly at home and keep out of danger. I didn’t say anything, but I made up my mind then.”

  “I half expected it,” said Bundle. “You were so surprisingly meek about it. I might have known you were up to something.”

  “I thought you were remarkably sensible,” said Jimmy Thesiger.

  “You would, Jimmy dear,” said Loraine. “It was easy enough to deceive you.”

  “Thank you for these kind words,” said Jimmy. “Go on, and don’t mind me.”

  “When you rang up and said there might be danger, I was more determined than ever,” went on Loraine. “I went to Harrods and bought a pistol. Here it is.”

  She produced the dainty weapon and Superintendent Battle took it from her and examined it.

  “Quite a deadly little toy, Miss Wade,” he said. “Have you had much—er—practice with it?”

  “None at all,” said Loraine. “But I thought if I took it with me—well, that it would give me a comforting feeling.”

  “Quite so,” said Battle gravely.

  “My idea was to come over here and see what was going on. I left my car in the road and climbed through the hedge and came up to the terrace. I was just looking about me when—plop—something fell right at my feet. I picked it up and then looked to see where it could have come from. And then I saw the man climbing down the ivy and I ran.”

  “Just so,” said Battle. “Now, Miss Wade, can you describe the man at all?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “It was too dark to see much. I think he was a big man—but that’s about all.”

  “And now you, Mr. Thesiger.” Battle turned to him. “You struggled with the man—can you tell me anything about him?”

  “He was a pretty hefty individual—that’s all I can say. He gave a few hoarse whispers—that’s when I had him by the throat. He said ‘Lemme go, guvnor,’ something like that.”

  “An uneducated man, then?”

  “Yes, I suppose he was. He spoke like one.”

  “I still don’t quite understand about the packet,” said Loraine. “Why should he throw it down as he did? Was it because it hampered him climbing?”

  “No,” said Battle. “I’ve got an entirely different theory about that. That packet, Miss Wade, was deliberately thrown down to you—or so I believe.”

  “To me?”

  “Shall we say—to the person the thief thought you were.”

  “This is getting very involved,” said Jimmy.

  “Mr. Thesiger, when you came into this room, did you switch on the light at all?”

  “Yes.”

  “And there was no one in the room?”

  “No one at all.”

  “But previously you thought you heard someone moving about down here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then, after trying the window, you switched off the light again and locked the door?”

  Jimmy nodded.

  Superintendent Battle looked slowly around him. His glance was arrested by a big screen of Spanish leather which stood near one of the bookcases.

  Brusquely he strode across the room and looked behind it.

  He uttered a sharp ejaculation, which brought the three young people quickly to his side.

  Huddled on the foor, in a dead faint, lay the Countess Radzky.

  Twenty-two

  THE COUNTESS RADZKY’S STORY

  The Countess’s return to consciousness was very different from that of Jimmy Thesiger. It was more prolonged and infinitely more artistic.

  Artistic was Bundle’s word. She had been zealous in her ministrations—largely consisting of the application of cold water—and the Countess had instantly responded, passing a white, bewildered hand across her brow and murmuring faintly.

  It was at this point that Bill, at last relieved from his duties with telephone and doctors, had come bustling into the room and had instantly proceeded to make (in Bundle’s opinion) a most regrettable idiot of himself.

  He had hung over the Countess with a concerned and anxious face and had addressed a series of singularly idiotic remarks to her:

  “I say, Countess. It’s all right. It’s really all right. Don’t try to talk. It’s bad for you. Just lie still. You’ll be all right in a minute. It’ll all come back to you. Don’t say anything till you’re quite all right. Take your time. Just lie still and close your eyes. You’ll remember everything in a minute. Have another sip of water. Have some brandy. That’s the stuff. Don’t you think, Bundle, that some brandy . . . ?”

  “For God’s sake, Bill, leave her alone,” said Bundle crossly. “She’ll be all right.”

  And with an expert hand she flipped a good deal of cold water on to the exquisite makeup of the Countess’s face.

  The Countess flinched and sat up. She looked considerably more wide awake.

  “Ah!” she murmured. “I am here. Yes, I am here.”

  “Take you time,” said Bill. “Don’t talk till you feel quite all right again.”

  The Countess drew the folds of a very transparent negligée closer around her.

  “It is coming back to me,” she murmured. “Yes, it is coming back.”

  She looked at the little crowd grouped aro
und her. Perhaps something in the attentive faces struck her as unsympathetic. In any case she smiled deliberately up at the one face which clearly displayed a very opposite emotion.

  “Ah, my big Englishman,” she said very softly, “do not distress yourself. All is well with me.”

  “Oh! I say, but are you sure?” demanded Bill anxiously.

  “Quite sure.” She smiled at him reassuringly. “We Hungarians, we have nerves of steel.”

  A look of intense relief passed over Bill’s face. A fatuous look settled down there instead—a look which made Bundle earnestly long to kick him.

  “Have some water,” she said coldly.

  The Countess refused water. Jimmy, kindlier to beauty in distress, suggested a cocktail. The Countess reacted favourably to this suggestion. When she had swallowed it, she looked round once more, this time with a livelier eye.

  “Tell me, what has happened?” she demanded briskly.

  “We were hoping you might be able to tell us that,” said Superintendent Battle.

  The Countess looked at him sharply. She seemed to become aware of the big, quiet man for the first time.

  “I went to your room,” said Bundle. “The bed hadn’t been slept in and you weren’t there.”

  She paused—looking accusingly at the Countess. The latter closed her eyes and nodded her head slowly.

  “Yes, yes, I remember it all now. Oh, it was horrible!” She shuddered. “Do you want me to tell you?”

  Superintendent Battle said, “If you please” at the same moment that Bill said, “Not if you don’t feel up to it.”

  The Countess looked from one to the other, but the quiet, masterful eye of Superintendent Battle won the game.

  “I could not sleep,” began the Countess. “The house—it oppressed me. I was all, as you say, on wires, the cat on the hot bricks. I knew that in the state I was in it was useless to think of going to bed. I walked about my room. I read. But the books placed there did not interest me greatly. I thought I would come down and find something more absorbing.”

  “Very natural,” said Bill.

  “Very often done, I believe,” said Battle.

  “So as soon as the idea occurred to me, I left my room and came down. The house was very still—”

  “Excuse me,” interrupted the Superintendent, “but can you give me an idea of the time when this occurred?”

  “I never know the time,” said the Countess superbly, and swept on with her story.

  “The house was very quiet. One could even hear the little mouse run, if there had been one. I come down the stairs—very quietly—”

  “Very quietly?”

  “Naturally I do not want to disturb the household,” said the Countess reproachfully. “I come in here. I go into this corner and I search the shelves for a suitable book.”

  “Having of course switched on the light?”

  “No, I did not switch on the light. I had, you see, my little electric torch with me. With that, I scanned the shelves.”

  “Ah!” said the Superintendent.

  “Suddenly,” continued the Countess dramatically, “I hear something. A stealthy sound. A muffled footstep. I switch out my torch and listen. The footsteps draw nearer—stealthy, horrible footsteps. I shrink behind the screen. In another minute the door opens and the light is switched on. The man—the burglar is in the room.”

  “Yes, but I say—” began Mr. Thesiger.

  A large-sized foot pressed his, and realizing that Superintendent Battle was giving him a hint, Jimmy shut up.

  “I nearly died of fear,” continued the Countess. “I tried not to breathe. The man waited for a minute, listening. Then, still with that horrible, stealthy tread—”

  Again Jimmy opened his mouth in protest, and again shut it.

  “—he crossed to the window and peered out. He remained there for a minute or two, then he recrossed the room and turned out the lights again, locking the door. I am terrified. He is in the room, moving stealthily about in the dark. Ah, it is horrible. Suppose he should come upon me in the dark! In another minute I hear him again by the window. Then silence. I hope that perhaps he may have gone out that way. As the minutes pass and I hear no further sound, I am almost sure that he has done so. Indeed I am in the very act of switching on my torch and investigating when—prestissimo!—it all begins.”

  “Yes?”

  “Ah! But it was terrible—never—never shall I forget it! Two men trying to murder each other. Oh, it was horrible! They reeled about the room, and furniture crashed in every direction. I thought, too, that I heard a woman scream—but that was not in the room. It was outside somewhere. The criminal had a hoarse voice. He croaked rather than spoke. He kept saying ‘Lemme go—lemme go.’ The other man was a gentleman. He had a cultured English voice.”

  Jimmy looked gratified.

  “He swore—mostly,” continued the Countess.

  “Clearly a gentleman,” said Superintendent Battle.

  “And then,” continued the Countess, “a flash and a shot. The bullet hit the bookcase beside me. I—I suppose I must have fainted.”

  She looked up at Bill. He took her hand and patted it.

  “You poor dear,” he said. “How rotten for you.”

  “Silly idiot,” thought Bundle.

  Superintendent Battle had moved on swift, noiseless feet over to the bookcase a little to the right of the screen. He bent down, searching. Presently he stooped and picked something up.

  “It wasn’t a bullet, Countess,” he said. “It’s the shell of the cartridge. Where were you standing when you fired, Mr. Thesiger.”

  Jimmy took up a position by the window.

  “As nearly as I can see, about here.”

  Superintendent Battle placed himself in the same spot.

  “That’s right,” he agreed. “The empty shell would throw right rear. It’s a .455. I don’t wonder the Countess thought it was a bullet in the dark. It hit the bookcase about a foot from her. The bullet itself grazed the window frame and we’ll find it outside tomorrow—unless your assailant happens to be carrying it about in him.”

  Jimmy shook his head regretfully.

  “Leopold, I fear, did not cover himself with glory,” he remarked sadly.

  The Countess was looking at him with most flattering attention.

  “Your arm!” she exclaimed. “It is all tied up! Was it you then—?”

  Jimmy made her a mock bow.

  “I’m so glad I’ve got a cultured, English voice,” he said. “And I can assure you that I wouldn’t have dreamed of using the language I did if I had had any suspicion that a lady was present.”

  “I did not understand all of it,” the Countess hastened to explain. “Although I had an English governess when I was young—”

  “It isn’t the sort of thing she’d be likely to teach you,” agreed Jimmy. “Kept you busy with your uncle’s pen, and the umbrella of the gardener’s niece. I know the sort of stuff.”

  “But what has happened?” asked the Countess. “That is what I want to know. I demand to know what has happened.”

  There was a moment’s silence whilst everybody looked at Superintendent Battle.

  “It’s very simple,” said Battle mildly. “Attempted robbery. Some political papers stolen from Sir Stanley Digby. The thieves nearly got away with them, but thanks to this young lady”—he indicated Loraine—“they didn’t.”

  The Countess flashed a glance at the girl—rather an odd glance.

  “Indeed,” she said coldly.

  “A very fortunate coincidence that she happened to be there,” said Superintendent Battle, smiling.

  The Countess gave a little sigh and half closed her eyes again.

  “It is absurd, but I still feel extremely faint,” she murmured.

  “Of course you do,” cried Bill. “Let me help you up to your room. Bundle will come with you.”

  “It is very kind of Lady Eileen,” said the Countess, “but I should prefer to be alone. I am
really quite all right. Perhaps you will just help me up the stairs.”

  She rose to her feet, accepted Bill’s arm and, leaning heavily on it, went out of the room. Bundle followed as far as the hall, but, the Countess reiterating her assurance—with some tartness—that she was quite all right, she did not accompany them upstairs.

  But as she stood watching the Countess’s graceful form, supported by Bill, slowly mounting the stairway, she stiffened suddenly to acute attention. The Countess’s negligée, as previously mentioned, was thin—a mere veil of orange chiffon. Through it Bundle saw distinctly below the right shoulder blade a small black mole.

  With a gasp, Bundle swung impetuously round to where Superintendent Battle was just emerging from the library. Jimmy and Loraine had preceded him.

  “There,” said Battle. “I’ve fastened the window and there will be a man on duty outside. And I’ll lock the door and take the key. In the morning we’ll do what the French call reconstruct the crime—Yes, Lady Eileen, what is it?”

  “Superintendent Battle, I must speak with you,—at once.”

  “Why, certainly, I—”

  George Lomax suddenly appeared, Dr. Cartwright by his side.

  “Ah, there you are, Battle. You’ll be relieved to hear that there’s nothing seriously wrong with O’Rourke.”

  “I never thought there would be much wrong with Mr. O’Rourke,” said Battle.

  “He’s had a strong hypodermic administered to him,” said the doctor. “He’ll wake perfectly all right in the morning, perhaps a bit of a head, perhaps not. Now then, young man, let’s look at this bullet wound of yours.”

  “Come on, nurse,” said Jimmy to Loraine. “Come and hold the basin or my hand. Witness a strong man’s agony. You know the stunt.”

  Jimmy, Loraine and the doctor went off together. Bundle continued to throw agonized glances in the direction of Superintendent Battle, who had been buttonholed by George.

  The Superintendent waited patiently till a pause occurred in George’s loquacity. He then swiftly took advantage of it.

  “I wonder, sir, if I might have a word privately with Sir Stanley? In the little study at the end there.”