The Seven Dials Mystery. Agatha Christie
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in a voice that had somehow or other altered:
‘She’s all right. In fact–well, she’s a corker.’
‘Gerry was very devoted to her, I knew. He often spoke of her.’
‘She was very devoted to Gerry. It–it’s going to hit her hard.’
‘Yes, a nasty job.’
They were silent till they reached Deane Priory.
Miss Loraine, the maid told them, was in the garden. Unless they wanted to see Mrs Coker.
Jimmy was eloquent that they did not want to see Mrs Coker.
‘Who’s Mrs Coker?’ asked Ronny as they went round into the somewhat neglected garden.
‘The old trout who lives with Loraine.’
They had stepped out into a paved walk. At the end of it was a girl with two black spaniels. A small girl, very fair, dressed in shabby old tweeds. Not at all the girl that Ronny had expected to see. Not, in fact, Jimmy’s usual type.
Holding one dog by the collar, she came down the pathway to meet them.
‘How do you do,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t mind Elizabeth. She’s just had some puppies and she’s very suspicious.’
She had a supremely natural manner and, as she looked up smiling, the faint wild-rose flush deepened in her cheeks. Her eyes were a very dark blue–like cornflowers.
Suddenly they widened–was it with alarm? As though, already, she guessed.
Jimmy hastened to speak.
‘This is Ronny Devereux, Miss Wade. You must often have heard Gerry speak of him.’
‘Oh, yes.’ She turned a lovely, warm, welcoming smile on him. ‘You’ve both been staying at Chimneys, haven’t you? Why didn’t you bring Gerry over with you?’
‘We-er-couldn’t,’ said Ronny, and then stopped.
Again Jimmy saw the look of fear flash into her eyes.
‘Miss Wade,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid–I mean, we’ve got bad news for you.’
She was on the alert in a moment.
‘Gerry?’
‘Yes–Gerry. He’s–’
She stamped her foot with sudden passion.
‘Oh! tell me–tell me–’ She turned suddenly on Ronny. ‘You’ll tell me.’
Jimmy felt a pang of jealousy, and in that moment he knew what up to now he had hesitated to admit to himself. He knew why Helen and Nancy and Socks were just ‘girls’ to him and nothing more.
He only half heard Ronny’s voice saying bravely:
‘Yes, Miss Wade, I’ll tell you. Gerry is dead.’
She had plenty of pluck. She gasped and drew back, but in a minute or two she was asking eager, searching questions. How? When?
Ronny answered her as gently as he could.
‘Sleeping draught? Gerry?’
The incredulity in her voice was plain. Jimmy gave her a glance. It was almost a glance of warning. He had a sudden feeling that Loraine in her innocence might say too much.
In his turn he explained as gently as possible the need for an inquest. She shuddered. She declined their offer of taking her back to Chimneys with them, but explained she would come over later. She had a two-seater of her own.
‘But I want to be–be alone a little first,’ she said piteously.
‘I know,’ said Ronny.
‘That’s all right,’ said Jimmy.
They looked at her, feeling awkward and helpless.
‘Thank you both ever so much for coming.’
They drove back in silence and there was something like constraint between them.
‘My God! that girl’s plucky,’ said Ronny once.
Jimmy agreed.
‘Gerry was my friend,’ said Ronny. ‘It’s up to me to keep an eye on her.’
‘Oh! rather. Of course.’
On returning to Chimneys Jimmy was waylaid by a tearful Lady Coote.
‘That poor boy,’ she kept repeating. ‘That poor boy.’
Jimmy made all the suitable remarks he could think of.
Lady Coote told him at great length various details about the decease of various dear friends of hers. Jimmy listened with a show of sympathy and at last managed to detach himself without actual rudeness.
He ran lightly up the stairs. Ronny was just emerging from Gerald Wade’s room. He seemed taken aback at the sight of Jimmy.
‘I’ve been in to see him,’ he said. ‘Are you going in?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Jimmy, who was a healthy young man with a natural dislike of being reminded of death.
‘I think all his friends ought to.’
‘Oh! do you?’ said Jimmy, and registered to himself an impression that Ronny Devereux was damned odd about it all.
‘Yes. It’s a sign of respect.’
Jimmy sighed, but gave in.’
‘Oh! very well,’ he said, and passed in, setting his teeth a little.
There were white flowers arranged on the coverlet, and the room had been tidied and set to rights.
Jimmy gave one quick, nervous glance at the still, white face. Could that be cherubic, pink Gerry Wade? That still peaceful figure. He shivered.
As he turned to leave the room, his glance swept the mantelshelf and he stopped in astonishment. The alarum clocks had been ranged along it neatly in a row.
He went out sharply. Ronny was waiting for him.
‘Looks very peaceful and all that. Rotten luck on him,’ mumbled Jimmy.
Then he said:
‘I say, Ronny, who arranged all those clocks like that in a row?’
‘How should I know? One of the servants, I suppose.’
‘The funny thing is,’ said Jimmy, ‘that there are seven of them, not eight. One of them’s missing. Did you notice that?’
Ronny made an inaudible sound.
‘Seven instead of eight,’ said Jimmy, frowning. ‘I wonder why.’
Chapter 4
A Letter
‘Inconsiderate, that’s what I call it,’ said Lord Caterham.
He spoke in a gentle, plaintive voice and seemed pleased with the adjective he had found.
‘Yes, distinctly inconsiderate. I often find these self-made men are inconsiderate. Very possibly that is why they amass such large fortunes.’
He looked mournfully out over his ancestral acres, of which he had today regained possession.
His daughter, Lady Eileen Brent, known to her friends and society in general as ‘Bundle’, laughed.
‘You’ll certainly never amass a large fortune,’ she observed dryly, ‘though you didn’t do so badly out of old Coote, sticking him for this place. What was he like? Presentable?’
‘One of those large men,’ said Lord Caterham, shuddering slightly, ‘with a red square face and iron-grey hair. Powerful, you know. What they call a forceful personality.