The Seven Dials Mystery. Agatha Christie
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I do so prefer the cheerful inefficient.’
‘A cheerful inefficient wouldn’t have been able to pay you the price you asked for this old mausoleum,’ Bundle reminded him.
Lord Caterham winced.
‘I wish you wouldn’t use that word, Bundle. We were just getting away from the subject.’
‘I don’t see why you’re so frightfully sensitive about it,’ said Bundle. ‘After all, people must die somewhere.’
‘They needn’t die in my house,’ said Lord Caterham.
‘I don’t see why not. Lots of people have. Masses of stuffy old great grandfathers and grandmothers.’
‘That’s different,’ said Lord Caterham. ‘Naturally I expect Brents to die here–they don’t count. But I do object to strangers. And I especially object to inquests. The thing will become a habit soon. This is the second. You remember all that fuss we had four years ago? For which, by the way, I hold George Lomax entirely to blame.’
‘And now you’re blaming poor old steam-roller Coote. I’m sure he was quite as annoyed about it as anyone.’
‘Very inconsiderate,’ said Lord Caterham obstinately. ‘People who are likely to do that sort of thing oughtn’t to be asked to stay. And you may say what you like, Bundle, I don’t like inquests. I never have and I never shall.’
‘Well, this wasn’t the same sort of thing as the last one,’ said Bundle soothingly. ‘I mean, it wasn’t a murder.’
‘It might have been–from the fuss that thickhead of an inspector made. He’s never got over that business four years ago. He thinks every death that takes place here must necessarily be a case of foul play fraught with grave political significance. You’ve no idea the fuss he made. I’ve been hearing about it from Tredwell. Tested everything imaginable for finger-prints. And of course they only found the dead man’s own. The clearest case imaginable–though whether it was suicide or accident is another matter.’
‘I met Gerry Wade once,’ said Bundle. ‘He was a friend of Bill’s. You’d have liked him, Father. I never saw anyone more cheerfully inefficient than he was.’
‘I don’t like anyone who comes and dies in my house on purpose to annoy me,’ said Lord Caterham obstinately.
‘But I certainly can’t imagine anyone murdering him,’ continued Bundle. ‘The idea’s absurd.’
‘Of course it is,’ said Lord Caterham. ‘Or would be to anyone but an ass like Inspector Raglan.’
‘I daresay looking for finger-prints made him feel important,’ said Bundle soothingly. ‘Anyway, they brought it in “Death by misadventure”, didn’t they?’
Lord Caterham acquiesced.
‘They had to show some consideration for the sister’s feelings?’
‘Was there a sister. I didn’t know.’
‘Half-sister, I believe. She was much younger. Old Wade ran away with her mother–he was always doing that sort of thing. No woman appealed to him unless she belonged to another man.’
‘I’m glad there’s one bad habit you haven’t got,’ said Bundle.
‘I’ve always led a very respectable God-fearing life,’ said Lord Caterham. ‘It seems extraordinary, considering how little harm I do to anybody, that I can’t be let alone. If only–’
He stopped as Bundle made a sudden excursion through the window.
‘MacDonald,’ called Bundle in a clear, autocratic voice.
The emperor approached. Something that might possibly have been taken for a smile of welcome tried to express itself on his countenance, but the natural gloom of gardeners dispelled it.
‘Your ladyship?’ said MacDonald.
‘How are you?’ said Bundle.
‘I’m no verra grand,’ said MacDonald.
‘I wanted to speak to you about the bowling green. It’s shockingly overgrown. Put someone on to it, will you?’
MacDonald shook his head dubiously.
‘It would mean taking William from the lower border, m’lady.’
‘Damn the lower border,’ said Bundle. ‘Let him start at once. And MacDonald–’
‘Yes, m’lady?’
‘Let’s have some of those grapes in from the far house. I know it’s the wrong time to cut them because it always is, but I want them all the same. See?’
Bundle re-entered the library.
‘Sorry, Father,’ she said. ‘I wanted to catch MacDonald. Were you speaking?’
‘As a matter of fact I was,’ said Lord Caterham. ‘But it doesn’t matter. What were you saying to MacDonald?’
‘Trying to cure him of thinking he’s God Almighty. But that’s an impossible task. I expect the Cootes have been bad for him. MacDonald wouldn’t care one hoot, or even two hoots, for the largest steam-roller that ever was. What’s Lady Coote like?’
Lord Caterham considered the question.
‘Very like my idea of Mrs Siddons,’ he said at last. ‘I should think she went in a lot for amateur theatricals. I gather she was very upset about the clock business.’
‘What clock business?’
‘Tredwell has just been telling me. It seems the house-party had some joke on. They bought a lot of alarum clocks and hid them about this young Wade’s room. And then, of course, the poor chap was dead. Which made the whole thing rather beastly.
Bundle nodded.
‘Tredwell told me something else rather odd about the clocks,’ continued Lord Caterham, who was now quite enjoying himself. ‘It seems that somebody collected them all and put them in a row on the mantelpiece after the poor fellow was dead.’
‘Well, why not?’ said Bundle.
‘I don’t see why not myself,’ said Lord Caterham. ‘But apparently there was some fuss about it. No one would own up to having done it, you see. All the servants were questioned and swore they hadn’t touched the beastly things. In fact, it was rather a mystery. And then the coroner asked questions at the inquest, and you know how difficult it is to explain things to people of that class.’
‘Perfectly foul,’ agreed Bundle.
‘Of course,’ said Lord Caterham, ‘it’s very difficult to get the hang of things afterwards. I didn’t quite see the point of half the things Tredwell told me. By the way, Bundle, the fellow died in your room.’
Bundle made a grimace.
‘Why need people die in my room?’ she asked with some indignation.
‘That’s just what I’ve been saying,’ said Lord Caterham, in triumph. ‘Inconsiderate. Everybody’s damned inconsiderate nowadays.’
‘Not that I mind,’ said Bundle valiantly. ‘Why should I?’
‘I should,’ said her father. ‘I should mind very much. I should dream things, you know–spectral hands and clanking chains.’
‘Well,’ said Bundle. ‘Great Aunt Louisa died in your bed. I wonder you don’t see her spook hovering over you.’
‘I do sometimes,’ said Lord Caterham, shuddering. ‘Especially after lobster.’
‘Well, thank heaven I’m not superstitious,’ declared Bundle.
Yet that evening, as she sat in front of her bedroom fire, a slim, pyjamaed figure, she found her thoughts reverting to that cheery, vacuous