The Seven Dials Mystery - Agatha Christie [7]
‘Under the bed in a row,’ suggested Jimmy in answer to Bill’s question.
‘And what shall we set them at? What time, I mean? All together so that there’s one glorious what not, or at intervals?’
The point was hotly disputed. One party argued that for a champion sleeper like Gerry Wade the combined ringing of eight alarum clocks was necessary. The other party argued in favour of steady and sustained effort.
In the end the latter won the day. The clocks were set to go off one after the other, starting at 6.30 am.
‘And I hope,’ said Bill virtuously, ‘that this will be a lesson to him.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Socks.
The business of hiding the clocks was just being begun when there was a sudden alarm.
‘Hist,’ cried Jimmy. ‘Somebody’s coming up the stairs.’
There was a panic.
‘It’s all right,’ said Jimmy. ‘It’s only Pongo.’
Taking advantage of being dummy, Mr Bateman was going to his room for a handkerchief. He paused on his way and took in the situation at a glance. He then made a comment, a simple and practical one.
‘He will hear them ticking when he goes to bed.’
The conspirators looked at each other.
‘What did I tell you?’ said Jimmy in a reverent voice. ‘Pongo always did have brains!’
The brainy one passed on.
‘It’s true,’ admitted Ronny Devereux, his head on one side. ‘Eight clocks all ticking at once do make a devil of a row. Even old Gerry, ass as he is, couldn’t miss it. He’ll guess something’s up.’
‘I wonder if he is,’ said Jimmy Thesiger.
‘Is what?’
‘Such an ass as we all think.’
Ronny stared at him.
‘We all know old Gerald.’
‘Do we?’ said Jimmy. ‘I’ve sometimes thought that–well, that it isn’t possible for anyone to be quite the ass old Gerry makes himself out to be.’
They all stared at him. There was a serious look on Ronny’s face.
‘Jimmy,’ he said, ‘you’ve got brains.’
‘A second Pongo,’ said Bill encouragingly.
‘Well, it just occurred to me, that’s all,’ said Jimmy, defending himself.
‘Oh! don’t let’s all be subtle,’ cried Socks. ‘What are we to do about these clocks?’
‘Here’s Pongo coming back again. Let’s ask him,’ suggested Jimmy.
Pongo, urged to bring his great brain to bear upon the matter, gave his decision.
‘Wait till he’s gone to bed and got to sleep. Then enter the room very quietly and put the clocks down on the floor.’
‘Little Pongo’s right again,’ said Jimmy. ‘On the word one all park clocks, and then we’ll go downstairs and disarm suspicion.’
Bridge was still proceeding–with a slight difference. Sir Oswald was now playing with his wife and was conscientiously pointing out to her the mistakes she had made during the play of each hand. Lady Coote accepted reproof good-humouredly, and with a complete lack of any real interest. She reiterated, not once, but many times:
‘I see, dear. It’s so kind of you to tell me.’
And she continued to make exactly the same errors.
At intervals, Gerald Wade said to Pongo:
‘Well played, partner, jolly well played.’
Bill Eversleigh was making calculations with Ronny Devereux.
‘Say he goes to bed about twelve–what do you think we ought to give him–about an hour?’
He yawned.
‘Curious thing–three in the morning is my usual time for bye-bye, but tonight, just because I know we’ve got to sit up a bit, I’d give anything to be a mother’s boy and turn in right away.’
Everyone agreed that they felt the same.
‘My dear Maria,’ rose the voice of Sir Oswald in mild irritation. ‘I have told you over and over again not to hesitate when you are wondering whether to finesse or not. You give the whole table information.’
Lady Coote had a very good answer to this–namely that as Sir Oswald was dummy, he had no right to comment on the play of the hand. But she did not make it. Instead she smiled kindly, leaned her ample chest well forward over the table, and gazed firmly into Gerald Wade’s hand where he sat on her right.
Her anxieties lulled to rest by perceiving the queen, she played the knave and took the trick and proceeded to lay down her cards.
‘Four tricks and the rubber,’ she announced. ‘I think I was very lucky to get four tricks there.