The Seven Dials Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page A

seriously. “I think he ought to see a doctor about it.”
    â€œSome disease of the eardrums,” suggested Bill hopefully.
    â€œWell, if you ask me,” said Socks, “I think he’s just spoofing us. Of course they woke him up. But he’s just going to do us down by pretending that he didn’t hear anything.”
    Everyone looked at Socks with respect and admiration.
    â€œIt’s an idea,” said Bill.
    â€œHe’s subtle, that’s what it is,” said Socks. “You’ll see, he’ll be extra late for breakfast this morning—just to show us.”
    And since the clock now pointed to some minutes past twelve the general opinion was that Sock’s theory was a correct one. Only Ronny Devereux demurred.
    â€œYou forget, I was outside the door when the first one went off. Whatever old Gerry decided to do later, the first one must have surprised him. He’d have let out something about it. Where did you put it, Pongo?”
    â€œOn a little table close by his ear,” said Mr. Bateman.
    â€œThat was thoughtful of you, Pongo,” said Ronny. “Now, tell me.” He turned to Bill. “If a whacking great bell started ringing within a few inches of your ear at half past six in the morning, what would you say about it?”
    â€œOh, Lord,” said Bill. “I should say—” He came to a stop.
    â€œOf course you would,” said Ronny. “So would I. So would anyone. What they call the natural man would emerge. Well, it didn’t. So I say that Pongo is right—as usual—and that Gerry has got an obscure disease of the eardrums.”
    â€œIt’s now twenty past twelve,” said one of the other girls sadly.
    â€œI say,” said Jimmy slowly, “that’s a bit beyond anything, isn’t it? I mean a joke’s a joke. But this is carrying it a bit far. It’s a shade hard on the Cootes.”
    Bill stared at him.
    â€œWhat are you getting at?”
    â€œWell,” said Jimmy. “Somehow or other—it’s not like old Gerry.”
    He found it hard to put into words just what he meant to say. He didn’t want to say too much, and yet—He saw Ronny looking at him. Ronny was suddenly alert.
    It was at that moment Tredwell came into the room and looked around him hesitatingly.
    â€œI thought Mr. Bateman was here,” he explained apologetically.
    â€œJust gone out this minute through the window,” said Ronny. “Can I do anything?”
    Tredwell’s eyes wandered from him to Jimmy Thesiger and then back again. As though singled out, the two young men left the room with him. Tredwell closed the dining room door carefully behind him.
    â€œWell,” said Ronny. “What’s up?”
    â€œMr. Wade not having yet come down, sir, I took the liberty of sending Williams up to his room.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œWilliams has just come running down in a great state of agitation, sir.” Tredwell paused—a pause of preparation. “I am afraid, sir, the poor young gentleman must have died in his sleep.”
    Jimmy and Ronny stared at him.
    â€œNonsense,” cried Ronny at last. “It’s—it’s impossible. Gerry—” His face worked suddenly. “I’ll—I’ll run up and see. That fool Williams may have made a mistake.”
    Tredwell stretched out a detaining hand. With a queer, unnatural feeling of detachment, Jimmy realized that the butler had the whole situation in hand.
    â€œNo, sir, Williams has made no mistake. I have already sent for Dr. Cartwright, and in the meantime I have taken the liberty of locking the door, preparatory to informing Sir Oswald of what has occurred. I must now find Mr. Bateman.”
    Tredwell hurried away. Ronny stood like a man dazed.
    â€œGerry,” he muttered to himself.
    Jimmy took his friend by the arm and steered him out through a side door on to a secluded portion of the