The Seven Dials mystery 15 – Christie · Library Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Seven Dials mystery 15The Inquest
18
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Seven Dials mystery 15
The Inquest
ChristieEnglish
Bundle reached home about 6 A.M. She was up and dressed by half-past nine, and rang up Jimmy Thesiger on the telephone.
The promptitude of his reply somewhat surprised her, till he explained that he was going down to attend the inquest.
"So am I," said Bundle. "And I've got a lot to tell you."
"Well, suppose you let me drive you down and we can talk on the way. How about that?"
"All right. But allow a bit extra because you'll have to take me to Chimneys. The Chief Constable's picking me up there."
"Why?"
"Because he's a kind man," said Bundle.
"So am I," said Jimmy. "Very kind."
"Oh! you--you're an ass," said Bundle. "I heard somebody say so last night."
"Who?"
"To be strictly accurate--a Russian Jew. No, it wasn't. It was--"
But an indignant protest drowned her words.
"I may be an ass," said Jimmy. "I daresay I am--but I won't have Russian Jews saying so. What were you doing last night, Bundle?"
"That's what I'm going to talk about," said Bundle. "Good-bye for the moment."
She rang off in a tantalizing manner which left Jimmy pleasantly puzzled. He had the highest respect for Bundle's capabilities, though there was not the slightest trace of sentiment in his feeling towards her.
"She's been up to something," he opined, as he took a last hasty drink of coffee. "Depend upon it, she's been up to something."
Twenty minutes later, his little two-seater drew up before the Brook Street house and Bundle, who had been waiting, came tripping down the steps. Jimmy was not ordinarily an observant young man, but he noticed that there were black rings around Bundle's eyes and that she had all the appearance of having had a late night the night before.
"Now then," he said, as the car began to nose her way through the suburbs, "what dark deeds have you been up to?"
"I'll tell you," said Bundle. "But don't interrupt until I've finished."
It was a somewhat long story, and Jimmy had all he could do to keep sufficient attention on the car to prevent an accident. When Bundle had finished he sighed--then looked at her searchingly.
"Bundle?"
"Yes?"
"Look here, you're not pulling my leg?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm sorry," apologized Jimmy, "but it seems to me as though I'd heard it all before--in a dream, you know."
"I know," said Bundle sympathetically.
"It's impossible," said Jimmy, following out his own train of thought. "The beautiful foreign adventuress, the international gang, the mysterious No. 7, whose identity nobody knows--I've read it all a hundred times in books."
"Of course you have. So have I. But it's no reason why it shouldn't really happen."
"I suppose not," admitted Jimmy.
"After all--I suppose fiction is founded on the truth. I mean unless things did happen, people couldn't think of them."
"There is something in what you say," agreed Jimmy. "But all the same I can't help pinching myself to see if I'm awake."
"That's how I felt."
Jimmy gave a deep sigh.
"Well, I suppose we are awake. Let me see, a Russian, an American, an Englishman--a possible Austrian or Hungarian--and the lady who may be any nationality--for choice Russian or Polish--that's a pretty representative gathering."
"And a German," said Bundle. "You've forgotten the German."
"Oh!" said Jimmy slowly. "You think--"
"The absent No. 2 is Bauer--our footman. That seems to me quite clear from what they said about expecting a report which hadn't come in--though what there can be to report about Chimneys, I can't think."
"It must be something to do with Gerry Wade's death," said Jimmy. "There's something there we haven't fathomed yet. You say they actually mentioned Bauer by name?"
Bundle nodded.
"They blamed him for not having found that letter."
"Well, I don't see what you could have clearer than that. There's no going against it. You'll have to forgive my first incredulity, Bundle--but you know, it was rather a tall story. You say they knew about my going down to Wyvern Abbey next week?"
"Yes, that's when the American--it was him, not the Russian--said they needn't worry--you were only the usual kind of ass."
"Ah!" said Jimmy. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator viciously and the car shot forward. "I'm very glad you told me that. It gives me what you might call a personal interest in the case."
He was silent for a minute or two and then he said:
"Did you say that German inventor's name was Eberhard?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Wait a minute. Something's coming back to me. Eberhard, Eberhard--yes, I'm sure that was the name."
"Tell me."
"Eberhard was a Johnny who'd got some patent process he applied to steel. I can't put the thing properly because I haven't got the scientific knowledge--but I know the result was that it became so toughened that a wire was as strong as a steel bar had previously been. Eberhard had to do with aeroplanes and his idea was that the weight would be so enormously reduced that flying would be practically revolutionized--the cost of it, I mean. I believe he offered his invention to the German Government, and they turned it down, pointed out some undeniable flaw in it--but they did it rather nastily. He set to work and circumvented the difficulty, whatever it was, but he'd been offended by their attitude and swore they shouldn't have his ewe lamb. I always thought the whole thing was probably bunkum, but now--it looks differently."
"That's it," said Bundle eagerly. "You must be right, Jimmy. Eberhard must have offered his invention to our Government. They've been taking, or are going to take, Sir Oswald Coote's expert opinion on it. There's going to be an unofficial conference at the Abbey. Sir Oswald, George, the Air Minister and Eberhard. Eberhard will have the plans or the process or whatever you call it--"
"Formula," suggested Jimmy. "I think 'formula' is a good word myself."
"He'll have the formula with him, and the Seven Dials are out to steal the formula. I remember the Russian saying it was worth millions."
"I suppose it would be," said Jimmy.
"And well worth a few lives--that's what the other man said."
"Well, it seems to have been," said Jimmy, his face clouding over. "Look at this damned inquest to-day. Bundle, are you sure Ronny said nothing else?"
"No," said Bundle. "Just that. Seven Dials. Tell Jimmy Thesiger. That's all he could get out, poor lad."
"I wish we knew what he knew," said Jimmy. "But we've found out one thing. I take it that the footman, Bauer, must almost certainly have been responsible for Gerry's death. You know, Bundle--"
"Yes?"
"Well, I'm a bit worried sometimes. Who's going to be the next one! It really isn't the sort of business for a girl to be mixed up in."
Bundle smiled in spite of herself. It occurred to her that it had taken Jimmy a long time to put her in the same category as Loraine Wade.
"It's far more likely to be you than me," she remarked cheerfully.
"Hear, hear," said Jimmy. "But what about a few casualties on the other side for a change? I'm feeling rather bloodthirsty this morning. Tell me, Bundle, would you recognize any of these people if you saw them?"
Bundle hesitated.
"I think I should recognize No. 5," she said at last. "He's got a queer way of speaking--a kind of venomous, lisping way--that I think I'd know again."
"What about the Englishman?"
Bundle shook her head.
"I saw him least--only a glimpse--and he's got a very ordinary voice. Except that he's a big man, there's nothing much to go by."
"There's the woman, of course," continued Jimmy. "She ought to be easier. But then, you're not likely to run across her. She's probably putting in the dirty work being taken out to dinner by amorous Cabinet Ministers and getting State secrets out of them when they've had a couple. At least, that's how it's done in books. As a matter of fact, the only Cabinet Minister I know drinks hot water with a dash of lemon in it."
"Take George Lomax, for instance, can you imagine him being amorous with beautiful foreign women?" said Bundle with a laugh.
Jimmy agreed with her criticism.
"And now about the man of mystery--No. 7," went on Jimmy. "You've no idea who he could be?"
"None whatever."
"Again--by book standard, that is--he ought to be someone we all know. What about George Lomax himself?"
Bundle reluctantly shook her head.
"In a book, it would be perfect," she agreed. "But knowing Codders--" And she gave herself up to a sudden uncontrollable mirth. "Codders, the great criminal organizer," she gasped. "Wouldn't it be marvellous?"
Jimmy agreed that it would. Their discussion had taken some time and his driving had slowed down involuntarily once or twice. They arrived at Chimneys, to find Colonel Melrose already there waiting. Jimmy was introduced to him and they all three proceeded to the inquest together.
As Colonel Melrose had predicted, the whole affair was very simple. Bundle gave her evidence. The doctor gave his. Evidence was given of rifle practice in the neighbourhood. A verdict of death by misadventure was brought in.
After the proceedings were over, Colonel Melrose volunteered to drive Bundle back to Chimneys, and Jimmy Thesiger returned to London. For all his lighthearted manner, Bundle's story had impressed him profoundly. He set his lips closely together.
"Ronny, old boy," he murmured, "I'm going to be up against it. And you're not here to join in the game."
Another thought flashed into his mind. Loraine! Was she in danger?
After a minute or two's hesitation, he went over to the telephone and rang her up.
"It's me--Jimmy. I thought you'd like to know the result of the inquest. Death by misadventure."
"Oh, but--"
"Yes, but I think there's something behind that. The coroner had had a hint. Someone's at work to hush it up. I say, Loraine--"
"Yes?"
"Look here. There's--there's some funny business going about. You'll be very careful, won't you? For my sake."
He heard the quick note of alarm that sprang into her voice.
"Jimmy--but then it's dangerous--for you."
He laughed.
"Oh, that's all right. I'm the cat that had nine lives. Bye-bye, old thing."
He rang off and remained a minute or two lost in thought. Then he summoned Stevens.
"Do you think you could go out and buy me a pistol, Stevens?"
"A pistol, sir?"
True to his training, Stevens betrayed no hint of surprise.
"What kind of a pistol would you be requiring?"
"The kind where you put your finger on the trigger and the thing goes on shooting until you take it off again."
"An automatic, sir."
"That's it," said Jimmy. "An automatic. And I should like it to be a blue-nosed one--if you and the shopman know what that is. In American stories, the hero always takes his blue-nosed automatic from his hip pocket."
Stevens permitted himself a faint, discreet smile.
"Most American gentlemen that I have known, sir, carry something very different in their hip pockets," he observed.
