The Seven Dials Mystery

Getting hold of Bill presented few difficulties. Bundle motored up to town on the following morning—this time without adventures by the way—and rang him up. Bill responded with alacrity, and made various suggestions as to lunch, tea, dinner and dancing. All of which suggestions Bundle turned down as made.

"In a day or two, I'll come and frivol with you, Bill. But for the moment I'm up on business."

"Oh," said Bill. "What a beastly bore."

"It's not that kind," said Bundle. "It's anything but boring. Bill, do you know anyone called Jimmy Thesiger."

"Of course. So do you."

"No, I don't," said Bundle.

"Yes, you do. You must. Everyone knows old Jimmy."

"Sorry," said Bundle. "Just for once I don't seem to be everyone."

"Oh! but you must know Jimmy—pink-faced chap. Looks a bit of an ass. But really he's got as many brains as I have."

"You don't say so," said Bundle. "He must feel a bit top heavy when he walks about."

"Was that meant for sarcasm?"

"It was a feeble effort at it. What does Jimmy Thesiger do?"

"How do you mean, what does he do?"

"Does being at the Foreign Office prevent you from understanding your native language?"

"Oh! I see, you mean, has he got a job? No, he just tools around. Why should he do anything?"

"In fact, more money than brains?"

"Oh! I wouldn't say that. I told you just now that he had more brains than you'd think."

Bundle was silent. She was feeling more and more doubtful. This gilded youth did not sound a very promising ally. And yet it was his name that had come first to the dying man's lips. Bill's voice chimed in suddenly with singular appropriateness.

"Ronny always thought a lot of his brains. You know, Ronny Devereux. Thesiger was his greatest pal."

"Ronny—"

Bundle stopped, undecided. Clearly Bill knew nothing of the other's death. It occurred to Bundle for the first time that it was odd the morning papers had contained nothing of the tragedy. Surely it was the kind of spicy item of news that would never be passed over. There could be one explanation, and one explanation only. The police, for reasons of their own, were keeping the matter quiet.

Bill's voice was continuing.

"I haven't seen Ronny for an age—not since that week-end down at your place. You know, when poor old Gerry Wade passed out."

He paused and then went on.

"Rather a foul business that altogether. I expect you've heard about it. I say, Bundle—are you there still?"

"Of course I'm here."

"Well, you haven't said anything for an age. I began to think that you had gone away."

"No, I was just thinking over something."

Should she tell Bill of Ronny's death? She decided against it—it was not the sort of thing to be said over the telephone. But soon, very soon, she must have a meeting with Bill. In the meantime—

"Bill?"

"Hullo."

"I might dine with you to-morrow night."

"Good, and we'll dance afterwards. I've got a lot to talk to you about. As a matter of fact I've been rather hard hit—the foulest luck—"

"Well, tell me about it to-morrow," said Bundle, cutting him short rather unkindly. "In the meantime, what is Jimmy Thesiger's address?"

"Jimmy Thesiger?"

"That's what I said."

"He's got rooms in Jermyn Street—do I mean Jermyn Street or the other one?"

"Bring that class A brain to bear upon it."

"Yes, Jermyn Street. Wait a bit and I'll give you the number."

There was a pause.

"Are you there still?"

"I'm always there."

"Well, one never knows with these dashed telephones. The number is 103. Got it?"

"103. Thank you, Bill."

"Yes, but I say—what do you want it for? You said you didn't know him."

"I don't, but I shall in half an hour."

"You're going round to his rooms?"

"Quite right, Sherlock."

"Yes, but I say—well, for one thing he won't be up."

"Won't be up?"

"I shouldn't think so. I mean, who would if they hadn't got to? Look at it that way. You've no idea what an effort it is for me to get here at eleven every morning, and the fuss Codders makes if I'm behind time is simply appalling. You haven't the least idea, Bundle, what a dog's life this is—"

"You shall tell me all about it to-morrow night," said Bundle hastily.

She slammed down the receiver and took stock of the situation. First she glanced at the clock. It was five and twenty minutes to twelve. Despite Bill's knowledge of his friend's habits, she inclined to the belief that Mr. Thesiger would by now be in a fit state to receive visitors. She took a taxi to 103 Jermyn Street.

The door was opened by a perfect example of the retired gentleman's gentleman. His face, expressionless and polite, was such a face as may be found by the score in that particular district of London.

"Will you come this way, madam?"

He ushered her upstairs into an extremely comfortable sitting-room containing leather covered arm-chairs of immense dimensions. Sunk in one of those monstrosities was another girl, rather younger than Bundle. A small, fair girl, dressed in black.

"What name shall I say, madam?"