The Seven Dials Mystery - Agatha Christie [33]
Mrs Howells shivered all down her reactionary aristocratic spine.
‘I’ve never seen Sir Oswald Coote,’ remarked Bundle.
‘Sir Oswald is no doubt a very clever gentleman,’ said Mrs Howells distantly.
Bundle gathered that Sir Oswald had not been liked by his staff.
‘Of course, it was Mr Bateman who saw to everything,’ continued the housekeeper. ‘A very efficient gentleman. A very efficient gentleman indeed, and one who knew the way things ought to be done.’
Bundle led the talk on to the topic of Gerald Wade’s death. Mrs Howell was only too willing to talk about it, and was full of pitying ejaculations about the poor young gentleman, but Bundle gleaned nothing new. Presently she took leave of Mrs Howell and came downstairs again, where she promptly rang for Tredwell.
‘Tredwell, when did Arthur leave?’
‘It would be about a month ago now, my lady.’
‘Why did he leave?’
‘It was by his own wish, my lady. I believe he has gone to London. I was not dissatisfied with him in any way. I think you will find the new footman, John, very satisfactory. He seems to know his work and to be most anxious to give satisfaction.’
‘Where did he come from?’
‘He had excellent references, my lady. He had lived last with Lord Mount Vernon.’
‘I see,’ said Bundle thoughtfully.
She was remembering that Lord Mount Vernon was at present on a shooting trip in East Africa.
‘What’s his last name, Tredwell?’
‘Bower, my lady.’
Tredwell paused for a minute or two and then, seeing that Bundle had finished, he quietly left the room. Bundle remained lost in thought.
John had opened the door to her on her arrival that day, and she had taken particular notice of him without seeming to do so. Apparently he was the perfect servant, well trained, with an expressionless face. He had, perhaps, a more soldierly bearing than most footmen and there was something a little odd about the shape of the back of his head.
But these details, as Bundle realized, were hardly relevant to the situation. She sat frowning down at the blotting paper in front of her. She had a pencil in her hand and was idly tracing the name Bower over and over again.
Suddenly an idea struck her and she stopped dead, staring at the word. Then she summoned Tredwell once more.
‘Tredwell, how is the name Bower spelt?’
‘B-A-U-E-R, my lady.’
‘That’s not an English name.’
‘I believe he is of Swiss extraction, my lady.’
‘Oh! That’s all, Tredwell, thank you.’
Swiss extraction? No. German! That martial carriage, that flat back to the head. And he had come to Chimneys a fornight before Gerry Wade’s death.
Bundle rose to her feet. She had done all she could here. Now to get on with things! She went in search of her father.
‘I’m off again,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to go and see Aunt Marcia.’
‘Got to see Marcia?’ Lord Caterham’s voice was full of astonishment. ‘Poor child, how did you get let in for that?’
‘Just for once,’ said Bundle, ‘I happen to be going of my own free will.’
Lord Caterham looked at her in amazement. That anyone could have a genuine desire to face his redoubtable sister-in-law was quite incomprehensible to him. Marcia, Marchioness of Caterham, the widow of his late brother Henry, was a very prominent personality. Lord Caterham admitted that she had made Henry an admirable wife and that but for her in all probability he would never have held the office of Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. On the other hand, he had always looked upon Henry’s early death as a merciful release.
It seemed to him that Bundle was foolishly putting her head into the lion’s mouth.
‘Oh! I say,’ he said. ‘You know, I shouldn’t do that. You don’t know what it may lead to.’
‘I know what I hope it’s going to lead to,’ said Bundle. ‘I’m all right, Father, don’t you worry about me.’
Lord Caterham sighed and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. He went back to his perusal of the Field. But in a minute or two Bundle suddenly put her head in again.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But there’s one other thing I wanted to ask you. What is Sir Oswald Coote?’
‘I