The Seven Dials Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page B

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 houseparty had some joke on. They bought a lot of alarm 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 Spock 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 young man, Gerry Wade. Impossible to believe that anyone so full of the joy of living could deliberately have committed suicide. No, the other solution must be the right one. He had taken a sleeping draught and by a pure mistake had swallowed an overdose. That was possible. She did not fancy that Gerry Wade had been overburdened in an intellectual capacity.
    Her gaze shifted to the mantelpiece and she began thinking about the story of the clocks. Her maid had been full of that, having just been primed by the second housemaid. She had added a detail which apparently Tredwell had not thought worth while retailing to Lord Caterham, but which had piqued Bundle's curiosity.
    Seven clocks had been neatly ranged on the mantelpiece; the last and remaining one had been found on the lawn outside, where it had obviously been thrown from the window. Bundle puzzled over that point now. It seemed such an extraordinarily purposeless thing to do. She could imagine that one of the maids might have tidied the clocks and then, frightened by the inquisition into the matter, have denied doing