Kitabı oku: «The Seven Dials Mystery», sayfa 4

Chapter 6
Seven Dials Again

Bundle stared at him. And very slowly the world, which for the last three quarters of an hour had been upside down, shifted till it stood once more the right way up. It was quite two minutes before Bundle spoke, but when she did it was no longer the panic-stricken girl but the real Bundle, cool, efficient and logical.

‘How could he be shot?’ she said.

‘I don’t know how he could,’ said the doctor dryly. ‘But he was. He’s got a rifle bullet in him all right. He bled internally, that’s why you didn’t notice anything.’

Bundle nodded.

‘The question is,’ the doctor continued, ‘who shot him? You saw nobody about?’

Bundle shook her head.

‘It’s odd,’ said the doctor. ‘If it was an accident, you’d expect the fellow who did it would come running to the rescue–unless just possibly he didn’t know what he’d done.’

‘There was no one about,’ said Bundle. ‘On the road, that is.’

‘It seems to me,’ said the doctor, ‘that the poor lad must have been running–the bullet got him just as he passed through the gate and he came reeling on to the road in consequence. You didn’t hear a shot?’

Bundle shook her head.

‘But I probably shouldn’t anyway,’ she said, ‘with the noise of the car.’

‘Just so. He didn’t say anything before he died?’

‘He muttered a few words.’

‘Nothing to throw light on the tragedy?’

‘No. He wanted something–I don’t know what–told to a friend of his. Oh! Yes, and he mentioned Seven Dials.’

‘H’m,’ said Doctor Cassell. ‘Not a likely neighbourhood for one of his class. Perhaps his assailant came from there. Well, we needn’t worry about that now. You can leave it in my hands. I’ll notify the police. You must, of course, leave your name and address, as the police are sure to want to question you. In fact, perhaps you’d better come round to the police station with me now. They might say I ought to have detained you.’

They went together in Bundle’s car. The police inspector was a slow-speaking man. He was somewhat overawed by Bundle’s name and address when she gave it to him, and he took down her statement with great care.

‘Lads!’ he said. ‘That’s what it is. Lads practising! Cruel stupid, them young varmints are. Always loosing off at birds with no consideration for anyone as may be the other side of a hedge.’

The doctor thought it a most unlikely solution, but he realized that the case would soon be in abler hands and it did not seem worth while to make objections.

‘Name of deceased?’ asked the sergeant, moistening his pencil.

‘He had a card-case on him. He appeared to have been a Mr Ronald Devereux, with an address in the Albany.’

Bundle frowned. The name Ronald Devereux awoke some chord of remembrance. She was sure she had heard it before.

It was not until she was half-way back to Chimneys in the car that it came to her. Of course! Ronny Devereux. Bill’s friend in the Foreign Office. He and Bill and–yes–Gerald Wade.

As this last realization came to her, Bundle nearly went into the hedge. First Gerald Wade–then Ronny Devereux. Gerry Wade’s death might have been natural–the result of carelessness–but Ronny Devereux’s surely bore a more sinister interpretation.

And then Bundle remembered something else. Seven Dials! When the dying man had said it, it had seemed vaguely familiar. Now she knew why. Gerald Wade had mentioned Seven Dials in that last letter of his written to his sister on the night before his death. And that again connected up with something else that escaped her.

Thinking all these things over, Bundle had slowed down to such a sober pace that nobody would have recognized her. She drove the car round to the garage and went in search of her father.

Lord Caterham was happily reading a catalogue of a forthcoming sale of rare editions and was immeasurably astonished to see Bundle.

‘Even you,’ he said, ‘can’t have been to London and back in this time.’

‘I haven’t been to London,’ said Bundle. ‘I ran over a man.’

‘What?’

‘Only I didn’t really. He was shot.’

‘How could he have been?’

‘I don’t know how he could have been, but he was.’

‘But why did you shoot him?’

‘I didn’t shoot him.’

‘You shouldn’t shoot people,’ said Lord Caterham in a tone of mild remonstrance. ‘You shouldn’t really. I daresay some of them richly deserve it–but all the same it will lead to trouble.’

‘I tell you I didn’t shoot him.’

‘Well, who did?’

‘Nobody knows,’ said Bundle.

‘Nonsense,’ said Lord Caterham. ‘A man can’t be shot and run over without anyone having done it.’

‘He wasn’t run over,’ said Bundle.

‘I thought you said he was.’

‘I said I thought I had.’

‘A tyre burst, I suppose,’ said Lord Caterham. ‘That does sound like a shot. It says so in detective stories.’

‘You really are perfectly impossible, Father. You don’t seem to have the brains of a rabbit.’

‘Not at all,’ said Lord Caterham. ‘You come in with a wildly impossible tale about men being run over and shot and I don’t know what, and then you expect me to know all about it by magic.’

Bundle sighed wearily.

‘Just attend,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you all about it in words of one syllable.’

‘There,’ she said when she had concluded. ‘Now have you got it?’

‘Of course. I understand perfectly now. I can make allowances for your being a little upset, my dear. I was not far wrong when I remarked to you before starting out that people looking for trouble usually found it. I am thankful,’ finished Lord Caterham with a slight shiver, ‘that I stayed quietly here.’

He picked up the catalogue again.

‘Father, where is Seven Dials?’

‘In the East End somewhere, I fancy. I have frequently observed buses going there–or do I mean Seven Sisters? I have never been there myself, I’m thankful to say. Just as well, because I don’t fancy it is the sort of spot I should like. And yet, curiously enough, I seem to have heard of it in some connection just lately.’

‘You don’t know a Jimmy Thesiger, do you?’

Lord Caterham was now engrossed in his catalogue once more. He had made an effort to be intelligent on the subject of Seven Dials. This time he made hardly any effort at all.

‘Thesiger,’ he murmured vaguely. ‘Thesiger. One of the Yorkshire Thesigers?’

‘That’s what I’m asking you. Do attend, Father. This is important.’

Lord Caterham made a desperate effort to look intelligent without really having to give his mind to the matter.

‘There are some Yorkshire Thesigers,’ he said earnestly. ‘And unless I am mistaken some Devonshire Thesigers also. Your Great Aunt Selina married a Thesiger.’

‘What good is that to me?’ cried Bundle.

Lord Caterham chuckled.

‘It was very little good to her, if I remember rightly.’

‘You’re impossible,’ said Bundle, rising. ‘I shall have to get hold of Bill.’

‘Do, dear,’ said her father absently as he turned a page. ‘Certainly. By all means. Quite so.’

Bundle rose to her feet with an impatient sigh.

‘I wish I could remember what that letter said,’ she murmured, more to herself than aloud. ‘I didn’t read it very carefully. Something about a joke, that the Seven Dials business wasn’t a joke.’

Lord Caterham emerged suddenly from his catalogue.

‘Seven Dials?’ he said. ‘Of course. I’ve got it now.’

‘Got what?’

‘I know why it sounded so familiar. George Lomax has been over. Tredwell failed for once and let him in. He was on his way up to town. It seems he’s having some political party at the Abbey next week and he got a warning letter.’

‘What do you mean by a warning letter?’

‘Well, I don’t really know. He didn’t go into details. I gather it said “Beware” and “Trouble is at hand”, and all those sort of things. But anyway it was written from Seven Dials, I distinctly remember his saying so. He was going up to town to consult Scotland Yard about it. You know George?’

Bundle nodded. She was well acquainted with that public-spirited Cabinet Minister, George Lomax, His Majesty’s permanent Under Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, who was shunned by many because of his inveterate habit of quoting from his public speeches in private. In allusion to his bulging eyeballs, he was known to many–Bill Eversleigh among others–as Codders.

‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘was Codders interested at all in Gerald Wade’s death?’

‘Not that I heard of. He may have been, of course.’

Bundle said nothing for some minutes. She was busily engaged in trying to remember the exact wording of the letter she had sent on to Loraine Wade, and at the same time she was trying to picture the girl to whom it had been written. What sort of a girl was this to whom, apparently, Gerald Wade was so devoted? The more she thought over it, the more it seemed to her that it was an unusual letter for a brother to write.

‘Did you say the Wade girl was Gerry’s half-sister?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Well, of course, strictly speaking, I suppose she isn’t–wasn’t, I mean–his sister at all.’

‘But her name’s Wade?’

‘Not really. She wasn’t old Wade’s child. As I was saying, he ran away with his second wife, who was married to a perfect blackguard. I suppose the Courts gave the rascally husband the custody of the child, but he certainly didn’t avail himself of the privilege. Old Wade got very fond of the child and insisted that she should be called by his name.’

‘I see,’ said Bundle. ‘That explains it.’

‘Explains what?’

‘Something that puzzled me about that letter.’

‘She’s rather a pretty girl, I believe,’ said Lord Caterham. ‘Or so I’ve heard.’

Bundle went upstairs thoughtfully. She had several objects in view. First she must find this Jimmy Thesiger. Bill, perhaps, would be helpful there. Ronny Devereux had been a friend of Bill’s. If Jimmy Thesiger was a friend of Ronny’s, the chances were that Bill would know him too. Then there was the girl, Loraine Wade. It was possible that she could throw some light on the problem of Seven Dials. Evidently Gerry Wade had said something to her about it. His anxiety that she should forget the fact had a sinister suggestion.

Chapter 7
Bundle Pays a Call

Getting hold of Bill presented few difficulties. Bundle motored up to town on the following morning–this time without adventures on 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 know sold 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 fools 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 tomorrow 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 tomorrow,’ 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 still there?’

‘I’m always here.’

‘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 be 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 tomorrow 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 her 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?’

‘I won’t give any name,’ said Bundle. ‘I just want to see Mr Thesiger on important business.’

The grave gentleman bowed and withdrew, shutting the door noiselessly behind him.

There was a pause.

‘It’s a nice morning,’ said the fair girl timidly.

‘It’s an awfully nice morning,’ agreed Bundle.

There was another pause.

‘I motored up from the country this morning,’ said Bundle, plunging once more into speech. ‘And I thought it was going to be one of those foul fogs. But it wasn’t.’

‘No,’ said the other girl. ‘It wasn’t.’ And she added: ‘I’ve come up from the country too.’

Bundle eyed her more attentively. She had been slightly annoyed at finding the other there. Bundle belonged to the energetic order of people who liked ‘to get on with it’, and she foresaw that the second visitor would have to be disposed of and got rid of before she could broach her own business. It was not a topic she could introduce before a stranger.

Now, as she looked more closely, an extraordinary idea rose to her brain. Could it be? Yes, the girl was in deep mourning; her black-clad ankles showed that. It was a long shot, but Bundle was convinced that her idea was right. She drew a long breath.

‘Look here,’ she said, ‘are you by any chance Loraine Wade?’

Loraine’s eyes opened wide.

‘Yes, I am. How clever of you to know. We’ve never met, have we?’

‘I wrote to you yesterday, though. I’m Bundle Brent.’

‘It was so very kind of you to send me Gerry’s letter,’ said Loraine. ‘I’ve written to thank you. I never expected to see you here.’

‘I’ll tell you why I’m here,’ said Bundle. ‘Did you know Ronny Devereux?’

Loraine nodded.

‘He came over the day that Gerry–you know. And he’s been to see me two or three times since. He was one of Gerry’s greatest friends.’

‘I know. Well–he’s dead.’

Loraine’s lips parted in surprise.

‘Dead! But he always seemed so fit.’

Bundle narrated the events of the preceding day as briefly as possible. A look of fear and horror came into Loraine’s face.

‘Then it is true. It is true.’

‘What’s true?’

‘What I’ve thought–what I’ve been thinking all these weeks. Gerry didn’t die a natural death. He was killed.’

‘You’ve thought that, have you?’

‘Yes. Gerry would never have taken things to make him sleep.’ She gave the little ghost of a laugh. ‘He slept much too well to need them. I always thought it queer. And he thought so too–I know he did.’

‘Who?’

‘Ronny. And now this happens. Now he’s killed too.’ She paused and then went on: ‘That’s what I came for today. That letter of Gerry’s you sent me–as soon as I read it, I tried to get hold of Ronny, but they said he was away. So I thought I’d come and see Jimmy–he was Ronny’s other great friend. I thought perhaps he’d tell me what I ought to do.’

‘You mean–’ Bundle paused. ‘About–Seven Dials.’

Loraine nodded.

‘You see–’ she began.

But at that moment Jimmy Thesiger entered the room.

Chapter 8
Visitors for Jimmy

We must at this point go back to some twenty minutes earlier, to a moment when Jimmy Thesiger, emerging from the mists of sleep, was conscious of a familiar voice speaking unfamiliar words.

His sleep-ridden brain tried for a moment to cope with the situation, but failed. He yawned and rolled over again.

‘A young lady, sir, has called to see you.’

The voice was implacable. So prepared was it to go on repeating the statement indefinitely that Jimmy resigned himself to the inevitable. He opened his eyes and blinked.

‘Eh, Stevens?’ he said. ‘Say that again.’

‘A young lady, sir, has called to see you.’

‘Oh!’ Jimmy strove to grasp the situation. ‘Why?’

‘I couldn’t say, sir.’

‘No, I suppose not. No,’ he thought it over. ‘I suppose you couldn’t.’

Stevens swooped down upon a tray by the bedside.

‘I will bring you some fresh tea, sir. This is cold.’

‘You think that I ought to get up and–er–see the lady?’

Stevens made no reply, but he held his back very stiff and Jimmy read the signs correctly.

‘Oh! very well,’ he said. ‘I suppose I’d better. She didn’t give her name?’

‘No, sir.’

‘M’m. She couldn’t be by any possible chance my Aunt Jemima, could she? Because if so, I’m damned if I’m going to get up.’

‘The lady, sir, could not possibly be anyone’s aunt, I should say, unless the youngest of a large family.’

‘Aha,’ said Jimmy. ‘Young and lovely. Is she–what kind is she?’

‘The young lady, sir, is most undoubtedly strictly comme il faut, if I may use the expression.’

‘You may use it,’ said Jimmy graciously. ‘Your French pronunciation, Stevens, if I may say so, is very good. Much better than mine.’

‘I am gratified to hear it, sir. I have lately been taking a correspondence course in French.’

‘Have you really? You’re a wonderful chap, Stevens.’

Stevens smiled in a superior fashion and left the room. Jimmy lay trying to recall the names of any young and lovely girls strictly comme il faut who might be likely to come and call upon him.

Stevens re-entered with fresh tea, and as Jimmy sipped it he felt a pleasurable curiosity.

‘You’ve given her the paper and all that, I hope, Stevens,’ he said.

‘I supplied her with the Morning Post and Punch, sir.’

A ring at the bell took him away. In a few minutes he returned.

‘Another young lady, sir.’

‘What?’

Jimmy clutched his head.

‘Another young lady; she declines to give her name, sir, but says her business is important.’

Jimmy stared at him.

‘This is damned odd, Stevens. Damned odd. Look here, what time did I come home last night?’

‘Just upon five o’clock, sir.’

‘And was I–er–how was I?’

‘Just a little cheerful, sir–nothing more. Inclined to sing “Rule Britannia.”’

‘What an extraordinary thing,’ said Jimmy. ‘“Rule Britannia”, eh? I cannot imagine myself in a sober state ever singing “Rule Britannia.” Some latent patriotism must have emerged under the stimulus of–er–just a couple too many. I was celebrating at the “Mustard and Cress”, I remember. Not nearly such an innocent spot as it sounds, Stevens.’ He paused. ‘I was wondering–’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘I was wondering whether under the aforementioned stimulus I had put an advertisement in a newspaper asking for a nursery governess or something of that sort.’

Stevens coughed.

‘Two girls turning up. It looks odd. I shall eschew the “Mustard and Cress” in future. That’s a good word, Stevens–eschew–I met it in a crossword the other day and took a fancy to it.’

Whilst he was talking Jimmy was rapidly apparelling himself. At the end of ten minutes he was ready to face his unknown guests. As he opened the door of his sitting-room the first person he saw was a dark, slim girl who was totally unknown to him. She was standing by the mantelpiece, leaning against it. Then his glance went on to the big leather-covered arm-chair, and his heart missed a beat. Loraine!

It was she who rose and spoke first a little nervously.

‘You must be very surprised to see me. But I had to come. I’ll explain in a minute. This is Lady Eileen Brent.’

‘Bundle–that’s what I’m usually known as. You’ve probably heard of me from Bill Eversleigh.’

‘Oh, rather, of course I have,’ said Jimmy, endeavouring to cope with the situation. ‘I say, do sit down and let’s have a cocktail or something.’

Both girls declined.

‘As a matter of fact,’ continued Jimmy, ‘I’m only just out of bed.’

‘That’s what Bill said,’ remarked Bundle. ‘I told him I was coming round to see you, and he said you wouldn’t be up.’

‘Well, I’m up now’ said Jimmy encouragingly.

‘It’s about Gerry,’ said Loraine. ‘And now about Ronny–’

‘What do you mean by “and now about Ronny”?’

‘He was shot yesterday.’

‘What?’ cried Jimmy.

Bundle told her story for the second time. Jimmy listened like a man in a dream.

‘Old Ronny–shot,’ he murmured. ‘What is this damned business?’

He sat down on the edge of a chair, thinking for a minute or two, and then spoke in a quiet, level voice.

‘There’s something I think I ought to tell you.’

‘Yes,’ said Bundle encouragingly.

‘It was on the day Gerry Wade died. On the way over to break the news to you’–he nodded at Loraine –‘in the car Ronny said something to me. That is to say, he started to tell me something. There was something he wanted to tell me, and he began about it, and then he said he was bound by a promise and couldn’t go on.’

‘Bound by a promise,’ said Loraine thoughtfully.

‘That’s what he said. Naturally I didn’t press him after that. But he was odd–damned odd–all through. I got the impression then that he suspected–well, foul play. I thought he’d tell the doctor so. But no, not even a hint. So I thought I’d been mistaken. And afterwards, with the evidence and all–well, it seemed such a very clear case. I thought my suspicions had been all bosh.’

‘But you think Ronny still suspected?’ asked Bundle.

Jimmy nodded.

‘That’s what I think now. Why, none of us have seen anything of him since. I believe he was playing a lone hand–trying to find out the truth about Gerry’s death, and what’s more, I believe he did find out. That’s why the devils shot him. And then he tried to send word to me, but could only get out those two words.’

‘Seven Dials,’ said Bundle, and shivered a little.

‘Seven Dials,’ said Jimmy gravely. ‘At any rate we’ve got that to go on with.’

Bundle turned to Loraine.

‘You were just going to tell me–’

‘Oh! yes. First, about the letter.’ She spoke to Jimmy. ‘Gerry left a letter. Lady Eileen–’

‘Bundle.’

‘Bundle found it.’ She explained the circumstances in a few words.

Jimmy listened, keenly interested. This was the first he had heard of the letter. Loraine took it from her bag and handed it to him. He read it, then looked across at her.

‘This is where you can help us. What was it Gerry wanted you to forget?’

Loraine’s brows wrinkled a little in perplexity.

‘It’s so hard to remember exactly now. I opened a letter of Gerry’s by mistake. It was written on cheap sort of paper, I remember, and very illiterate handwriting. It had some address in Seven Dials at the head of it. I realized it wasn’t for me, so I put it back in the envelope without reading it.’

‘Sure?’ asked Jimmy very gently.

Loraine laughed for the first time.

‘I know what you think, and I admit that women are curious. But, you see, this didn’t even look interesting. It was a kind of list of names and dates.’

‘Names and dates,’ said Jimmy thoughtfully.

‘Gerry didn’t seem to mind much,’ continued Loraine. ‘He laughed. He asked me if I had ever heard of the Mafia, and then said it would be queer if a society like the Mafia started in England–but that that kind of secret society didn’t take on much with English people. “Our criminals,” he said, “haven’t got a picturesque imagination.”’

Jimmy pursued up his lips into a whistle.

‘I’m beginning to see,’ he said. ‘Seven Dials must be the headquarters for some secret society. As he says in his letter to you. He thought it rather a joke to start with. But evidently it wasn’t a joke–he says as much. And there’s something else: his anxiety that you should forget what he’s told you. There can be only one reason for that–if that society suspected that you had any knowledge of its activity, you too would be in danger. Gerald realized the peril, and he was terribly anxious–for you.’

He stopped, then he went on quietly:

‘I rather fancy that we’re all going to be in danger–if we go on with this.’

‘If–?’ cried Bundle indignantly.

‘I’m talking of you two. It’s different for me. I was poor old Ronny’s pal.’ He looked at Bundle. ‘You’ve done your bit. You’ve delivered the message he sent me. No; for God’s sake keep out of it, you and Loraine.’

Bundle looked questioningly at the other girl. Her own mind was definitely made up, but she gave no indication of it just then. She had no wish to push Loraine Wade into a dangerous undertaking.

But Loraine’s small face was alight at once with indignation.

‘You say that! Do you think for one minute I’d be contented to keep out of it–when they killed Gerry–my own dear Gerry, the best and dearest and kindest brother any girl ever had. The only person belonging to me I had in the whole world!’

Jimmy cleared his throat uncomfortably. Loraine, he thought, was wonderful; simply wonderful.

‘Look here,’ he said awkwardly. ‘You mustn’t say that. About being alone in the world–all that rot. You’ve got lots of friends–only too glad to do what they can. See what I mean?’

It is possible that Loraine did, for she suddenly blushed, and to cover her confusion began to talk nervously.

‘That’s settled,’ she said. ‘I’m going to help. Nobody’s going to stop me.’

‘And so am I, of course,’ said Bundle.

They both looked at Jimmy.

‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘Yes, quite so.’

They looked at him inquiringly.

‘I was just wondering,’ said Jimmy, ‘how we were going to begin.’