The Seven Dials Mystery - Agatha Christie [42]
‘All right. But allow a bit extra because you’ll have to take me to Chimneys. The Chief Constable’s picking me up there.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s a kind man,’ said Bundle.
‘So am I,’ said Jimmy. ‘Very kind.’
‘Oh! you–you’re an ass,’ said Bundle. ‘I heard somebody say so last night.’
‘Who?’
‘To be strictly accurate–a Russian Jew. No, it wasn’t. It was–’
But an indignant protest drowned her words.
‘I may be an ass,’ said Jimmy. ‘I daresay I am–but I won’t have Russian Jews saying so. What were you doing last night, Bundle?’
‘That’s what I’m going to talk about,’ said Bundle. ‘Goodbye for the moment.’
She rang off in a tantalizing manner which left Jimmy pleasantly puzzled. He had the highest respect for Bundle’s capabilities, though there was not the slightest trace of sentiment in his feeling towards her.
‘She’s been up to something,’ he opined, as he took a last hasty drink of coffee. ‘Depend upon it, she’s been up to something.’
Twenty minutes later, his little two-seater drew up before the Brook Street house and Bundle, who had been waiting, came tripping down the steps. Jimmy was not ordinarily an observant young man, but he noticed that there were black rings round Bundle’s eyes and that she had all the appearance of having had a late night the night before.
‘Now then,’ he said, as the car began to nose her way through the suburbs, ‘what dark deeds have you been up to?’
‘I’ll tell you,’ said Bundle. ‘But don’t interrupt until I’ve finished.’
It was a somewhat long story, and Jimmy had all he could do to keep sufficient attention on the car to prevent an accident. When Bundle had finished he sighed–then looked at her searchingly.
‘Bundle?’
‘Yes?’
‘Look here, you’re not pulling my leg?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m sorry,’ apologized Jimmy, ‘but it seems to me as though I’d heard it all before–in a dream, you know.’
‘I know,’ said Bundle sympathetically.
‘It’s impossible,’ said Jimmy, following out his own train of thought. ‘The beautiful foreign adventuress, the international gang, the mysterious No 7, whose identity nobody knows–I’ve read it all a hundred times in books.’
‘Of course you have. So have I. But it’s no reason why it shouldn’t really happen.’
‘I suppose not,’ admitted Jimmy.
‘After all–I suppose fiction is founded on the truth. I mean unless things did happen, people couldn’t think of them.’
‘There is something in what you say,’ agreed Jimmy. ‘But all the same I can’t help pinching myself to see if I’m awake.’
‘That’s how I felt.’
Jimmy gave a deep sigh.
‘Well, I suppose we are awake. Let me see, a Russian, an American, an Englishman–a possible Austrian or Hungarian–and the lady who may be any nationality–for choice Russian or Polish–that’s a pretty representative gathering.’
‘And a German,’ said Bundle. ‘You’ve forgotten the German.’
‘Oh!’ said Jimmy slowly. ‘You think–?’
‘The absent No 2. No 2 is Bauer–our footman. That seems to me quite clear from what they said about expecting a report which hadn’t come in–though what there can be to report about Chimneys, I can’t think.’
‘It must be something to do with Gerry Wade’s death,’ said Jimmy. ‘There’s something there we haven’t fathomed yet. You say they actually mentioned Bauer by name?’
Bundle nodded.
‘They blamed him for not having found that letter.’
‘Well, I don’t see what you could have clearer than that. There’s no going against it. You’ll have to forgive my first incredulity, Bundle–but you know, it was rather a tall story. You say they knew about my going down to Wyvern Abbey next week?’
‘Yes, that’s when the American–it was him, not the Russian–said they needn’t worry–you were only the usual kind of ass.’
‘Ah!’ said Jimmy. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator viciously and the car shot forward. ‘I’m very glad you told me that. It gives me what you might call a personal interest in the case.’
He was silent for a minute or two and then he said:
‘Did you say that German inventor’s name was Eberhard?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Wait a minute. Something’s coming back to me. Eberhard, Eberhard