The Seven Dials Mystery. Agatha Christie
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said Ronny. ‘What’s up?’
‘Mr Wade not having yet come down, sir, I took the liberty of sending Williams up to his room.’
‘Yes?’
‘Williams has just come running down in a great state of agitation, sir.’ Tredwell paused–a pause of preparation. ‘I am afraid, sir, the poor young gentleman must have died in his sleep.’
Jimmy and Ronny stared at him.
‘Nonsense,’ cried Ronny at last. ‘It’s–it’s impossible. Gerry–’ His face worked suddenly. ‘I’ll–I’ll run up and see. That fool Williams may have made a mistake.’
Tredwell stretched out a detaining hand. With a queer, unnatural feeling of detachment, Jimmy realized that the butler had the whole situation in hand.
‘No, sir, Williams has made no mistake. I have already sent for Dr Cartwright, and in the meantime I have taken the liberty of locking the door, preparatory to informing Sir Oswald of what has occurred. I must now find Mr Bateman.’
Tredwell hurried away. Ronny stood like a man dazed.
‘Gerry,’ he muttered to himself.
Jimmy took his friend by the arm and steered him out through a side door on to a secluded portion of the terrace. He pushed him down on to a seat.
‘Take it easy, old son,’ he said kindly. ‘You’ll get your wind in a minute.’
But he looked at him rather curiously. He had no idea that Ronny was such a friend of Gerry Wade’s.
‘Poor old Gerry,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘If ever a man looked fit, he did.’
Ronny nodded.
‘All that clock business seems so rotten now,’ went on Jimmy. ‘It’s odd, isn’t it, why farce so often seems to get mixed up with tragedy?’
He was talking more or less at random, to give Ronny time to recover himself. The other moved restlessly.
‘I wish that doctor would come. I want to know–’
‘Know what?’
‘What he–died of.’
Jimmy pursed up his lips.
‘Heart?’ he hazarded.
Ronny gave a short, scornful laugh.
‘I say, Ronny,’ said Jimmy.
‘Well?’
Jimmy found a difficulty in going on.
‘You don’t mean–you aren’t thinking–I mean, you haven’t got it into your head–that, well I mean he wasn’t biffed on the head or anything? Tredwell’s locking the door and all that.’
It seemed to Jimmy that his words deserved an answer, but Ronny continued to stare straight out in front of him.
Jimmy shook his head and relapsed into silence. He didn’t see that there was anything to do except just wait. So he waited.
It was Tredwell who disturbed them.
‘The doctor would like to see you two gentlemen in the library, if you please, sir.’
Ronny sprang up. Jimmy followed him.
Dr Cartwright was a thin, energetic young man with a clever face. He greeted them with a brief nod. Pongo, looking more serious and spectacled than ever, performed introductions.
‘I understand you were a great friend of Mr Wade’s,’ the doctor said to Ronny.
‘His greatest friend.’
‘H’m. Well, this business seems straightforward enough. Sad, though. He looked a healthy young chap. Do you know if he was in the habit of smoking stuff to make him sleep?’
‘Make him sleep.’ Ronny stared. ‘He always slept like a top.’
‘You never heard him complain of sleeplessness?’
‘Never.’
‘Well, the facts are simple enough. There’ll have to be an inquest, I’m afraid, nevertheless.’
‘How did he die?’
‘There’s not much doubt; I should say an overdose of chloral. The stuff was by his bed. And a bottle and glass. Very sad, these things are.’
It was Jimmy who asked the question which he felt was trembling on his friend’s lips, and yet which the other could somehow or other not get out.
‘There’s no question of–foul play?’
The doctor looked at him sharply.
‘Why do you say that? Any cause to suspect it, eh?’
Jimmy looked at Ronny. If Ronny knew anything now was the time to speak. But to his astonishment Ronny shook his head.
‘No cause whatever,’ he said clearly.
‘And suicide–eh?’
‘Certainly not.’
Ronny was emphatic. The doctor was not so clearly convinced.
‘No troubles that you know of? Money troubles? A woman?’
Again Ronny shook his head.
‘Now about his relations. They must be notified.’
‘He’s got a sister–a half-sister rather. Lives at Deane Priory. About twenty miles from here. When he wasn’t in town Gerry lived with her.’
‘H’m,’ said the Doctor. ‘Well, she must be told.’
‘I’ll go,’ said Ronny. ‘It’s a rotten job, but somebody’s got to do it.’ He looked at Jimmy. ‘You know her, don’t you?’
‘Slightly. I’ve danced with her once or twice.’
‘Then we’ll go in your car. You don’t mind, do you? I can’t face it alone.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Jimmy reassuringly. ‘I was going to suggest it myself. I’ll go and get the old bus cranked up.’
He was glad to have something to do. Ronny’s manner puzzled him. What did he know or suspect? And why had he not voiced his suspicions, if he had them, to the doctor.
Presently the two friends were skimming along in Jimmy’s car with a cheerful disregard for such things as speed limits.
‘Jimmy,’ said Ronny at last, ‘I suppose you’re about the best pal I have–now.’
‘Well’ said Jimmy, ‘what about it?’
He spoke gruffly.
‘There’s something I’d like to tell you. Something you ought to know.’
‘About Gerry Wade?’
‘Yes, about Gerry Wade.’
Jimmy waited.
‘Well?’ he inquired at last.
‘I don’t know that I ought to,’ said Ronny.
‘Why?’
‘I’m bound by a kind of promise.’
‘Oh! Well then, perhaps you’d better not.’
There was a silence.
‘And yet, I’d like–You see, Jimmy, your brains are better than mine.’
‘They could easily be that,’ said Jimmy unkindly.
‘No, I can’t,’ said Ronny suddenly.
‘All right,’ said Jimmy. ‘Just as you like.’
After a long silence, Ronny said: