The Seven Dials Mystery (19 page)

“Of course,” said George. “Of course. Most remiss of us not to have thought of it before.” He looked towards Bill. “Get Dr. Cartwright on the telephone. Ask him to come. Just hint, if you can, that—er—discretion should be observed.”

Bill went off on his errand.

“I will come up with you, Digby,” said George. “Something, possibly, could be done—measures should, perhaps, be taken—whilst awaiting the arrival of the doctor.”

He looked rather helplessly at Rupert Bateman. Efficiency always makes itself felt. It was Pongo who was really in charge of the situation.

“Shall I come up with you, sir?”

George accepted the offer with relief. Here, he felt, was someone on whom he could lean. He experienced that sense of complete trust in Mr. Bateman's efficiency which came to all those who encountered that excellent young man.

The three men left the room together. Lady Coote, murmuring in deep rich tones: “The poor young fellow. Perhaps I could do something—” hurried after them.

“That's a very motherly woman,” observed the Superintendent thoughtfully. “A very motherly woman. I wonder—”

Three pairs of eyes looked at him inquiringly.

“I was wondering,” said Superintendent Battle slowly, “where Sir Oswald Coote may be.”

“Oh!” gasped Loraine. “Do you think he's been murdered?”

Battle shook his head at her reproachfully.

“No need for anything so melodramatic,” he said. “No—I rather think—”

He paused, his head on one side, listening—one large hand raised to enjoin silence.

In another minute they all heard what his sharper ears had been the first to notice. Footsteps coming along the terrace outside. They rang out clearly with no kind of subterfuge about them. In another minute the window was blocked by a bulky figure which stood there regarding them and who conveyed, in an odd way, a sense of dominating the situation.

Sir Oswald, for it was he, looked slowly from one face to another. His keen eyes took in the details of the situation. Jimmy, with his roughly bandaged arm; Bundle, in her somewhat anomalous attire; Loraine, a perfect stranger to him. His eyes came last to Superintendent Battle. He spoke sharply and crisply.

“What's been happening here, officer?”

“Attempted robbery, sir.”

“
Attempted
—eh?”

“Thanks to this young lady, Miss Wade, the thieves failed to get away with it.”

“Ah!” he said again, his scrutiny ended. “And now, officer, what about
this?
”

He held out a small Mauser pistol which he carried delicately by the butt.

“Where did you find that, Sir Oswald?”

“On the lawn outside. I presume it must have been thrown down by one of the thieves as he took to his heels. I've held it carefully, as I thought you might wish to examine it for fingerprints.”

“You think of everything, Sir Oswald,” said Battle.

He took the pistol from the other, handling it with equal care, and laid it down on the table beside Jimmy's Colt.

“And now, if you please,” said Sir Oswald, “I should like to hear exactly what occurred.”

Superintendent Battle gave a brief résumé of the events of the night. Sir Oswald frowned thoughtfully.

“I understand,” he said sharply. “After wounding and disabling Mr. Thesiger, the man took to his heels and ran, throwing away the pistol as he did so. What I cannot understand is why no one pursued him.”

“It wasn't till we heard Mr. Thesiger's story that we knew there was anyone to pursue,” remarked Superintendent Battle dryly.

“You didn't—er—catch sight of him making off as you turned the corner of the terrace?”

“No, I missed him by just about forty seconds, I should say. There's no moon and he'd be invisible as soon as he'd left the terrace. He must have leapt for it as soon as he'd fired the shot.”

“H'm,” said Sir Oswald. “I still think that a search should have been organized. Someone else should have been posted—”

“There are three of my men in the grounds,” said the Superintendent quietly.

“Oh!” Sir Oswald seemed rather taken aback.

“They were told to hold and detain anyone attempting to leave the grounds.”

“And yet—they haven't done so?”

“And yet they haven't done so,” agreed Battle gravely.

Sir Oswald looked at him as though something in the words puzzled him. He said sharply:

“Are you telling me all that you know, Superintendent Battle?”

“All that I
know
—yes, Sir Oswald. What I think is a different matter. Maybe I think some rather curious things—but until thinking's got you somewhere it's no use talking about it.”

“And yet,” said Sir Oswald slowly, “I should like to know what you think, Superintendent Battle.”

“For one thing, sir, I think there's a lot too much ivy about this place—excuse me, sir, you've got a bit on your coat—yes, a great deal too much ivy. It complicates things.”

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

T
HE
C
OUNTESS
R
ADZKY
'
S
S
TORY

T
he 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 around 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.