The Seven Dials Mystery

by Agatha Christie

  Very slowly No 7 raised a hand to his head and fumbled with the fastening of the mask.

  Bundle held her breath. At last—she was going to know.

  The mask fell.

  Bundle found herself looking into the expressionless, wooden face of Superintendent Battle.

  Thirty-two

  BUNDLE IS DUMBFOUNDED

  “That’s right,” said Battle, as Mosgorovsky leapt up and came round to Bundle. “Get a chair for her. It’s been a bit of a shock, I can see.”

  Bundle sank down on the chair. She felt limp and faint with surprise. Battle went on talking in a quiet, comfortable way wholly characteristic of him.

  “You didn’t expect to see me, Lady Eileen. No, and no more did some of the others sitting round the table. Mr. Mosgorovsky’s been my lieutenant in a manner of speaking. He’s been in the know all along. But most of the others have taken their orders blindly from him.”

  Still Bundle said no word. She was—a most unusual state of affairs for her—simply incapable of speech.

  Battle nodded at her comprehendingly, seeming to understand the state of her feelings.

  “You’ll have to get rid of one or two preconceived ideas of yours, I’m afraid, Lady Eileen. About this society, for instance—I know it’s common enough in books—a secret organization of criminals with a mysterious supercriminal at the head of it whom no one ever sees. That sort of thing may exist in real life, but I can only say that I’ve never come across anything of the sort, and I’ve had a good deal of experience one way or another.

  “But there’s a lot of romance in the world, Lady Eileen. People, especially young people, like reading about such things, and they like still better really doing them. I’m going to introduce you now to a very creditable band of amateurs that has done remarkably fine work for my Department, work that nobody else could have done. If they’ve chosen rather melodramatic trappings, well, why shouldn’t they? They’ve been willing to face real danger—danger of the very worst kind—and they’ve done it for these reasons: love of danger for its own sake—which to my mind is a very healthy sign in these Safety First days—and an honest wish to serve their country.

  “And now, Lady Eileen, I’m going to introduce you. First of all, there’s Mr. Mosgorovsky, whom you already know in a manner of speaking. As you’re aware, he runs the club and he runs a host of other things too. He’s our most valuable Secret Anti-Bolshevist Agent in England. No 5 is Count Andras of the Hungarian Embassy, a very near and dear friend of the late Gerald Wade. No 4 is Mr. Hayward Phelps, an American journalist, whose British sympathies are very keen and whose aptitude for scenting ‘news’ is remarkable. No 3—”

  He stopped, smiling, and Bundle stared dumbfounded into the sheepish, grinning face of Bill Eversleigh.

  “No 2,” went on Battle in a graver voice, “can only show an empty place. It is the place belonging to Mr. Ronald Devereux, a very gallant young gentleman who died for his country if any man ever did. No 1—well, No 1 was Mr. Gerald Wade, another very gallant gentleman who died in the same way. His place was taken—not without some grave misgivings on my part—by a lady—a lady who has proved her fitness to have it and who has been a great help to us.”

  The last to do so, No 1, removed her mask, and Bundle looked without surprise into the beautiful, dark face of Countess Radzky.

  “I might have known,” said Bundle resentfully, “that you were too completely the beautiful foreign adventuress to be anything of the kind really.”

  “But you don’t know the real joke,” said Bill. “Bundle, this is Babe St. Maur—you remember my telling you about her and what a ripping actress she was—and she’s about proved it.”

  “That’s so,” said Miss Maur in pure transatlantic nasal. “But it’s not a terrible lot of credit to me, because Poppa and Momma came from that part of Yurrup—so I got the patter fairly easy. Gee, but I nearly gave myself away once at the Abbey, talking about gardens.”

  She paused and then said abruptly:

  “It’s—it’s not been just fun. You see, I was kinder engaged to Ronny, and when he handed in his checks—well, I had to do something to track down the skunk who murdered him. That’s all.”

  “I’m completely bewildered,” said Bundle. “Nothing is what it seems.”

  “It’s very simple, Lady Eileen,” said Superintendent Battle. “It began with some of the young people wanting a bit of excitement. It was Mr. Wade who first got on to me. He suggested the formation of a band of what you might call amateur workers to do a bit of secret service work. I warned him that it might be dangerous—but he wasn’t the kind to weigh that in the balance. I made it plain to him that anyone who came in must do so on that understanding. But, bless you, that wasn’t going to stop any of Mr. Wade’s friends. And so the thing began.”

  “But what was the object of it all?” asked Bundle.

  “We wanted a certain man—wanted him badly. He wasn’t an ordinary crook. He worked in Mr. Wade’s world, a kind of Raffles, but much more dangerous than any Raffles ever was or could be. He was out for big stuff, international stuff. Twice already valuable secret inventions had been stolen, and clearly stolen by someone who had inside knowledge. The professionals had had a try—and failed. Then the amateurs took on—and succeeded.”

  “Succeeded?”

  “Yes—but they didn’t come out of it unscathed. The man was dangerous. Two lives fell victim to him and he got away with it. But the Seven Dials stuck to it. And as I say they succeeded. Thanks to Mr. Eversleigh, the man was caught at last red-handed.”

  “Who was he?” asked Bundle. “Do I know him?”

  “You know him very well, Lady Eileen. His name is Mr. Jimmy Thesiger, and he was arrested this afternoon.”

  Thirty-three

  BATTLE EXPLAINS

  Superintendent Battle settled down to explain. He spoke comfortably and cosily.

  “I didn’t suspect him myself for a long time. The first hint of it I had was when I heard what Mr. Devereux’s last words had been. Naturally, you took them to mean that Mr. Devereux was trying to send word to Mr. Thesiger that the Seven Dials had killed him. That’s what the words seemed to mean on their face value. But of course I knew that that couldn’t be so. It was the Seven Dials that Mr. Devereux wanted told—and what he wanted them told was something about Mr. Jimmy Thesiger.

  “The thing seemed incredible, because Mr. Devereux and Mr. Thesiger were close friends. But I remembered something else—that these thefts must have been committed by someone who was absolutely in the know. Someone, who, if not in the Foreign Office himself, was in the way of hearing all its chitchat. And I found it very hard to find out where Mr. Thesiger got his money. The income his father left him was a small one, yet he was able to live at a most expensive rate. Where did the money come from?

  “I knew that Mr. Wade had been very excited by something that he had found out. He was quite sure that he was on the right track. He didn’t confide in anyone about what he thought that track was, but he did say something to Mr. Devereux about being on the point of making sure. That was just before they both went down to Chimneys for that weekend. As you know, Mr. Wade died there—apparently from an overdose of a sleeping draught. It seemed straightforward enough, but Mr. Devereux did not accept that explanation for a minute. He was convinced that Mr. Wade had been very cleverly put out of the way and that someone in the house must actually be the criminal we were all after. He came, I think, very near confiding in Mr. Thesiger, for he certainly had no suspicions of him at that moment. But something held him back.

  “Then he did a rather curious thing. He arranged seven clocks upon the mantelpiece, throwing away the eighth. It was meant as a symbol that the Seven Dials would revenge the death of one of their members—and he watched eagerly to see if anyone betrayed themselves or showed signs of perturbation.”

  “And it was Jimmy Thesiger who poisoned Gerry Wade?”

  “Yes, he slipped the stuff into a whisky and soda which
Mr. Wade had downstairs before retiring to bed. That’s why he was already feeling sleepy when he wrote that letter to Miss Wade.”

  “Then the footman, Bauer, hadn’t anything to do with it?” asked Bundle.

  “Bauer was one of our people, Lady Eileen. It was thought likely that our crook would go for Herr Eberhard’s invention and Bauer was got into the house to watch events on our behalf. But he wasn’t able to do much. As I say, Mr. Thesiger administered the fatal dose easily enough. Later, when everyone was asleep, a bottle, glass and empty chloral bottle were placed by Mr. Wade’s bedside by Mr. Thesiger. Mr. Wade was unconscious then, and his fingers were probably pressed round the glass and the bottle so that they should be found there if any questions should arise. I don’t know what effect the seven clocks on the mantelpiece made on Mr. Thesiger. He certainly didn’t let on anything to Mr. Devereux. All the same, I think he had a bad five minutes now and again thinking of them. And I think he kept a pretty wary eye on Mr. Devereux after that.

  “We don’t know exactly what happened next. No one saw much of Mr. Devereux after Mr. Wade’s death. But it is clear that he worked along the same lines that he knew Mr. Wade had been working on and reached the same result—namely, that Mr. Thesiger was the man. I fancy, too, that he was betrayed in the same way.”

  “You mean?”

  “Through Miss Loraine Wade. Mr. Wade was devoted to her—I believe he hoped to marry her—she wasn’t really his sister, of course—and there is no doubt that he told her more than he should have done. But Miss Loraine Wade was devoted body and soul to Mr. Thesiger. She would do anything he told her. She passed on the information to him. In the same way, later, Mr. Devereux was attracted to her, and probably warned her against Mr. Thesiger. So Mr. Devereux in turn was silenced—and died trying to send word to the Seven Dials that his murderer was Mr. Thesiger.”

  “How ghastly,” cried Bundle. “If I had only known.”

  “Well, it didn’t seem likely. In fact, I could hardly credit it myself. But then we came to the affair at the Abbey. You will remember how awkward it was—specially awkward for Mr. Eversleigh here. You and Mr. Thesiger were hand in glove. Mr. Eversleigh had already been embarrassed by your insisting on being brought to this place, and when he found that you had actually overheard what went on at a meeting, he was dumbfounded.”

  The Superintendent paused and a twinkle came into his eye.

  “So was I, Lady Eileen. I never dreamed of such a thing being possible. You put one over on me there all right.

  “Well, Mr. Eversleigh was in a dilemma. He couldn’t let you into the secret of the Seven Dials without letting Mr. Thesiger in also—and that would never do. It all suited Mr. Thesiger very well, of course, for it gave him a bona fide reason for getting himself asked to the Abbey, which made things easier for him.

  “I may say that the Seven Dials had already sent a warning letter to Mr. Lomax. That was to ensure his applying to me for assistance, so that I should be able to be on the spot in a perfectly natural manner. I made no secret of my presence, as you know.”

  And again the Superintendent’s eye twinkled.

  “Well, ostensibly, Mr. Eversleigh and Mr. Thesiger were to divide the night into two watches. Really, Mr. Eversleigh and Miss St. Maur did so. She was on guard at the library window when she heard Mr. Thesiger coming and had to dart behind the screen.

  “And now comes the cleverness of Mr. Thesiger. Up to a point he told me a perfectly true story, and I must admit that with the fight and everything, I was distinctly shaken—and began to wonder whether he had had anything to do with the theft at all, or whether we were completely on the wrong track. There were one or two suspicious circumstances that pointed in an entirely different direction, and I can tell you I didn’t know what to make of things, when something turned up to clinch matters.

  “I found the burnt glove in the fireplace with the teeth marks on it—and then—well—I knew that I’d been right after all. But, upon my word, he was a clever one.”

  “What actually happened?” said Bundle. “Who was the other man?”

  “There wasn’t any other man. Listen, and I’ll show you how in the end I reconstructed the whole story. To begin with, Mr. Thesiger and Miss Wade were in this together. And they have a rendezvous for an exact time. Miss Wade comes over in her car, climbs through the fence and comes up to the house. She’s got a perfectly good story if anyone stops her—the one she told eventually. But she arrived unmolested on the terrace just after the clock had struck two.

  “Now, I may say to begin with that she was seen coming in. My men saw her, but they had orders to stop nobody coming in—only going out. I wanted, you see, to find out as much as possible. Miss Wade arrives on the terrace, and at that minute a parcel falls at her feet and she picks it up. A man comes down the ivy and she starts to run. What happens next? The struggle—and presently the revolver shots. What will everyone do? Rush to the scene of the fight. And Miss Loraine Wade could have left the grounds and driven off with the formula safely in her possession.

  “But things don’t happen quite like that. Miss Wade runs straight into my arms. And at that moment the game changes. It’s no longer attack but defence. Miss Wade tells her story. It is perfectly true and perfectly sensible.

  “And now we come to Mr. Thesiger. One thing struck me at once. The bullet wound alone couldn’t have caused him to faint. Either he had fallen and hit his head—or—well he hadn’t fainted at all. Later we had Miss St. Maur’s story. It agreed perfectly with Mr. Thesiger’s—there was only one suggestive point. Miss St. Maur said that after the lights were turned out and Mr. Thesiger went over to the window, he was so still that she thought he must have left the room and gone outside. Now, if anyone is in the room, you can hardly help hearing their breathing if you are listening for it. Supposing, then, that Mr. Thesiger had gone outside. Where next? Up the ivy to Mr. O’Rourke’s room—Mr. O’Rourke’s whisky and soda having been doped the night before. He gets the papers, throws them down to the girl, climbs down the ivy again, and—starts the fight. That’s easy enough when you come to think of it. Knock the tables down, stagger about, speak in your own voice and then in a hoarse half whisper. And then, the final touch, the two revolver shots. His own Colt automatic, bought openly the day before, is fired at an imaginary assailant. Then, with his left gloved hand, he takes from his pocket the small Mauser pistol and shoots himself through the fleshy part of the right arm. He flings the pistol through the window, tears off the glove with his teeth, and throws it into the fire. When I arrive he is lying on the floor in a faint.”

  Bundle drew a deep breath.

  “You didn’t realize all this at the time, Superintendent Battle?”

  “No, that I didn’t. I was taken in as much as anyone could be. It wasn’t till long afterwards that I pieced it all together. Finding the glove was the beginning of it. Then I made Sir Oswald throw the pistol through the window. It fell a good way farther on than it should have done. But a man who is right-handed doesn’t throw nearly as far with the left hand. Even then it was only suspicion—and a very faint suspicion at that.

  “But there was one point struck me. The papers were obviously thrown down for someone to pick up. If Miss Wade was there by accident, who was the real person? Of course, for those who weren’t in the know, that question was answered easily enough—the Countess. But there I had the pull over you. I knew the Countess was all right. So what follows? Why, the idea that the papers had actually been picked up by the person they were meant for. And the more I thought of it, the more it seemed to me a very remarkable coincidence that Miss Wade should have arrived at the exact moment she did.”

  “It must have been very difficult for you when I came to you full of suspicion about the Countess.”

  “It was, Lady Eileen. I had to say something to put you off the scent. And it was very difficult for Mr. Eversleigh here, with the lady coming out of a dead faint and no knowing what she might say.”

  “I
understand Bill’s anxiety now,” said Bundle. “And the way he kept urging her to take time and not talk till she felt quite all right.”

  “Poor old Bill,” said Miss St. Maur. “That poor baby had to be vamped against his will—getting madder’n a hornet every minute.”

  “Well,” said Superintendent Battle, “there it was. I suspected Mr. Thesiger—but I couldn’t get definite proof. On the other hand, Mr. Thesiger himself was rattled. He realized more or less what he was up against in the Seven Dials—but he wanted badly to know who No 7 was. He got himself asked to the Cootes under the impression that Sir Oswald Coote was No 7.”

  “I suspected Sir Oswald,” said Bundle, “especially when he came in from the garden that night.”

  “I never suspected him,” said Battle. “But I don’t mind telling you that I did have my suspicions of that young chap, his secretary.”

  “Pongo?” said Bill. “Not old Pongo?”

  “Yes, Mr. Eversleigh, old Pongo as you call him. A very efficient gentleman and one that could have put anything through if he’d a mind to. I suspected him partly because he’d been the one to take the clocks into Mr. Wade’s room that night. It would have been easy for him to put the bottle and glass by the bedside then. And then, for another thing, he was left-handed. That glove pointed straight to him—if it hadn’t been for one thing—”

  “What?”

  “The teeth marks—only a man whose right hand was incapacitated would have needed to tear off that glove with his teeth.”

  “So Pongo was cleared.”

  “So Pongo was cleared, as you say. I’m sure it would be a great surprise to Mr. Bateman to know he was ever suspected.”

  “It would,” agreed Bill. “A solemn card—a silly ass like Pongo. How could you ever think—”

  “Well, as far as that goes, Mr. Thesiger was what you might describe as an empty-headed young ass of the most brainless description. One of the two was playing a part. When I decided that it was Mr. Thesiger, I was interested to get Mr. Bateman’s opinion of him. All along, Mr. Bateman had the gravest suspicions of Mr. Thesiger and frequently said as much to Sir Oswald.”