THE INQUEST
Bundle reached home about 6 A.M. She was up and dressed by
half-past nine, and rang up Jimmy Thesiger on the telephone.
The promptitude of his reply somewhat surprised her, till he explained
that he was going down to attend the inquest.
"So am I," said Bundle. "And I've got a lot to tell you."
"Well, suppose you let me drive you down and we can talk on the way.
How about that?"
"All right. But allow a bit extra because you'll have to take me to
Chimneys. The Chief Constable's picking me up there."
"Why?"
"Because he's a kind man," said Bundle.
"So am I," said Jimmy. "Very kind."
"Oh! you--you're an ass," said Bundle. "I heard somebody say so last
night."
"Who?"
"To be strictly accurate--a Russian Jew. No, it wasn't. It was--"
But an indignant protest drowned her words.
"I may be an ass," said Jimmy. "I daresay I am--but I won't have
Russian Jews saying so. What were you doing last night, Bundle?"
"That's what I'm going to talk about," said Bundle. "Good-bye for the
moment."
She rang off in a tantalizing manner which left Jimmy pleasantly
puzzled. He had the highest respect for Bundle's capabilities, though
there was not the slightest trace of sentiment in his feeling towards
her.
"She's been up to something," he opined, as he took a last hasty drink
of coffee. "Depend upon it, she's been up to something."
Twenty minutes later, his little two-seater drew up before the Brook
Street house and Bundle, who had been waiting, came tripping down the
steps. Jimmy was not ordinarily an observant young man, but he noticed
that there were black rings around Bundle's eyes and that she had all
the appearance of having had a late night the night before.
"Now then," he said, as the car began to nose her way through the
suburbs, "what dark deeds have you been up to?"
"I'll tell you," said Bundle. "But don't interrupt until I've finished."
It was a somewhat long story, and Jimmy had all he could do to keep
sufficient attention on the car to prevent an accident. When Bundle had
finished he sighed--then looked at her searchingly.
"Bundle?"
"Yes?"
"Look here, you're not pulling my leg?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm sorry," apologized Jimmy, "but it seems to me as though I'd heard
it all before--in a dream, you know."
"I know," said Bundle sympathetically.
"It's impossible," said Jimmy, following out his own train of thought.
"The beautiful foreign adventuress, the international gang, the
mysterious No. 7, whose identity nobody knows--I've read it all a
hundred times in books."
"Of course you have. So have I. But it's no reason why it shouldn't
really happen."
"I suppose not," admitted Jimmy.
"After all--I suppose fiction is founded on the truth. I mean unless
things did happen, people couldn't think of them."
"There is something in what you say," agreed Jimmy. "But all the same
I can't help pinching myself to see if I'm awake."
"That's how I felt."
Jimmy gave a deep sigh.
"Well, I suppose we are awake. Let me see, a Russian, an American, an
Englishman--a possible Austrian or Hungarian--and the lady who may
be any nationality--for choice Russian or Polish--that's a pretty
representative gathering."
"And a German," said Bundle. "You've forgotten the German."
"Oh!" said Jimmy slowly. "You think--"
"The absent No. 2 is Bauer--our footman. That seems to me quite
clear from what they said about expecting a report which hadn't come
in--though what there can be to report about Chimneys, I can't think."
"It must be something to do with Gerry Wade's death," said Jimmy.
"There's something there we haven't fathomed yet. You say they actually
mentioned Bauer by name?"
Bundle nodded.
"They blamed him for not having found that letter."
"Well, I don't see what you could have clearer than that. There's
no going against it. You'll have to forgive my first incredulity,
Bundle--but you know, it was rather a tall story. You say they knew
about my going down to Wyvern Abbey next week?"
"Yes, that's when the American--it was him, not the Russian--said they
needn't worry--you were only the usual kind of ass."
"Ah!" said Jimmy. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator viciously
and the car shot forward. "I'm very glad you told me that. It gives me
what you might call a personal interest in the case."
He was silent for a minute or two and then he said:
"Did you say that German inventor's name was Eberhard?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Wait a minute. Something's coming back to me. Eberhard, Eberhard--yes,
I'm sure that was the name."
"Tell me."
"Eberhard was a Johnny who'd got some patent process he applied to
steel. I can't put the thing properly because I haven't got the
scientific knowledge--but I know the result was that it became so
toughened that a wire was as strong as a steel bar had previously
been. Eberhard had to do with aeroplanes and his idea was that the
weight would be so enormously reduced that flying would be practically
revolutionized--the cost of it, I mean. I believe he offered his
invention to the German Government, and they turned it down, pointed
out some undeniable flaw in it--but they did it rather nastily. He set
to work and circumvented the difficulty, whatever it was, but he'd been
offended by their attitude and swore they shouldn't have his ewe lamb.
I always thought the whole thing was probably bunkum, but now--it looks
differently."
"That's it," said Bundle eagerly. "You must be right, Jimmy. Eberhard
must have offered his invention to our Government. They've been taking,
or are going to take, Sir Oswald Coote's expert opinion on it. There's
going to be an unofficial conference at the Abbey. Sir Oswald, George,
the Air Minister and Eberhard. Eberhard will have the plans or the
process or whatever you call it--"
"Formula," suggested Jimmy. "I think 'formula' is a good word myself."
"He'll have the formula with him, and the Seven Dials are out to steal
the formula. I remember the Russian saying it was worth millions."
"I suppose it would be," said Jimmy.
"And well worth a few lives--that's what the other man said."
"Well, it seems to have been," said Jimmy, his face clouding over.
"Look at this damned inquest to-day. Bundle, are you sure Ronny said
nothing else?"
"No," said Bundle. "Just that. _Seven Dials. Tell Jimmy Thesiger_.
That's all he could get out, poor lad."
"I wish we knew what he knew," said Jimmy. "But we've found out one
thing. I take it that the footman, Bauer, must almost certainly have
been responsible for Gerry's death. You know, Bundle--"
"Yes?"
"Well, I'm a bit worried sometimes. Who's going to be the next one! It
really isn't the sort of business for a girl to be mixed up in."
Bundle smiled in spite of herself. It occurred to her that it had taken
Jimmy a long time to put her in the same category as Loraine Wade.
"It's far more likely to be you than me," she remarked cheerfully.
"Hear, hear," said Jimmy. "But what about a few casualties on the other
side for a change? I'm feeling rather bloodthirsty this morning. Tell
me, Bundle, would you recognize any of these people if you saw them?"
Bundle hesitated.
"I think I should recognize No. 5," she said at last. "He's got a queer
way of speaking--a kind of venomous, lisping way--that I think I'd know
again."
"What about the Englishman?"
Bundle shook her head.
"I saw him least--only a glimpse--and he's got a very ordinary voice.
Except that he's a big man, there's nothing much to go by."
"There's the woman, of course," continued Jimmy. "She ought to be
easier. But then, you're not likely to run across her. She's probably
putting in the dirty work being taken out to dinner by amorous Cabinet
Ministers and getting State secrets out of them when they've had a
couple. At least, that's how it's done in books. As a matter of fact,
the only Cabinet Minister I know drinks hot water with a dash of lemon
in it."
"Take George Lomax, for instance, can you imagine him being amorous
with beautiful foreign women?" said Bundle with a laugh.
Jimmy agreed with her criticism.
"And now about the man of mystery--No. 7," went on Jimmy. "You've no
idea who he could be?"
"None whatever."
"Again--by book standard, that is--he ought to be someone we all know.
What about George Lomax himself?"
Bundle reluctantly shook her head.
"In a book, it would be perfect," she agreed. "But knowing Codders--"
And she gave herself up to a sudden uncontrollable mirth. "Codders, the
great criminal organizer," she gasped. "Wouldn't it be marvellous?"
Jimmy agreed that it would. Their discussion had taken some time and
his driving had slowed down involuntarily once or twice. They arrived
at Chimneys, to find Colonel Melrose already there waiting. Jimmy was
introduced to him and they all three proceeded to the inquest together.
As Colonel Melrose had predicted, the whole affair was very simple.
Bundle gave her evidence. The doctor gave his. Evidence was given of
rifle practice in the neighbourhood. A verdict of death by misadventure
was brought in.
After the proceedings were over, Colonel Melrose volunteered to drive
Bundle back to Chimneys, and Jimmy Thesiger returned to London. For all
his lighthearted manner, Bundle's story had impressed him profoundly.
He set his lips closely together.
"Ronny, old boy," he murmured, "I'm going to be up against it. And
you're not here to join in the game."
Another thought flashed into his mind. Loraine! Was she in danger?
After a minute or two's hesitation, he went over to the telephone and
rang her up.
"It's me--Jimmy. I thought you'd like to know the result of the
inquest. Death by misadventure."
"Oh, but--"
"Yes, but I think there's something behind that. The coroner had had a
hint. Someone's at work to hush it up. I say, Loraine--"
"Yes?"
"Look here. There's--there's some funny business going about. You'll be
very careful, won't you? For my sake."
He heard the quick note of alarm that sprang into her voice.
"Jimmy--but then it's dangerous--for _you_."
He laughed.
"Oh, _that's_ all right. I'm the cat that had nine lives. Bye-bye, old
thing."
He rang off and remained a minute or two lost in thought. Then he
summoned Stevens.
"Do you think you could go out and buy me a pistol, Stevens?"
"A pistol, sir?"
True to his training, Stevens betrayed no hint of surprise.
"What kind of a pistol would you be requiring?"
"The kind where you put your finger on the trigger and the thing goes
on shooting until you take it off again."
"An automatic, sir."
"That's it," said Jimmy. "An automatic. And I should like it to be a
blue-nosed one--if you and the shopman know what that is. In American
stories, the hero always takes his blue-nosed automatic from his hip
pocket."
Stevens permitted himself a faint, discreet smile.
"Most American gentlemen that I have known, sir, carry something very
different in their hip pockets," he observed.
Jimmy Thesiger laughed.