Agatha Christie: The Seven Dials Mystery

Jimmy and Ronny stared at him.

"Nonsense," cried Ronny at last. "It's – it's impossible. Gerry –" His face worked suddenly. "I'll – I'll run up and see. That fool Williams may have made a mistake."

Tredwell stretched out a detaining hand.

With a queer, unnatural feeling of detachment, Jimmy realised that the butler had the whole situation in hand.

"No, sir, Williams has made no mistake. I have already sent for Dr. Cartwright, and in the meantime I have taken the liberty of locking the door, preparatory to informing Sir Oswald of what has occurred. I must now find Mr. Bateman."

Tredwell hurried away. Ronny stood like a man dazed.

"Gerry," he muttered to himself.

Jimmy took his friend by the arm and steered him out through a side door on to a secluded portion of the terrace. He pushed him down on to a seat.

"Take it easy, old son," he said kindly. "You'll get your wind in a minute."

But he looked at him rather curiously. He had had no idea that Ronny was such a friend of Gerry Wade's.

"Poor old Gerry," he said thoughtfully. "If ever a man looked fit, he did."

Ronny nodded.

"All that clock business seems so rotten now," went on Jimmy. "It's odd, isn't it, why farce so often seems to get mixed up with tragedy?"

He was talking more or less at random, to give Ronny time to recover himself. The other moved restlessly.

"I wish that doctor would come. I want to know –"

"Know what?"

"What he – died of."

Jimmy pursed up his lips.

"Heart?" he hazarded.

Ronny gave a short, scornful laugh.

"I say, Ronny," said Jimmy.

"Well?"

Jimmy found a difficulty in going on.

"You don't mean – you aren't thinking – I mean, you haven't got it into your head that – that, well, I mean he wasn't biffed on the head or anything? Tredwell's locking the door and all that."

It seemed to Jimmy that his words deserved an answer, but Ronny continued to stare straight out in front of him.

Jimmy shook his head and relapsed into silence. He didn't see that there was anything to do except just wait. So he waited.

It was Tredwell who disturbed them.

"The doctor would like to see you two gentlemen in the library, if you please, sir."

Ronny sprang up. Jimmy followed him.

Dr. Cartwright was a thin, energetic young man with a clever face. He greeted them with a brief nod. Pongo, looking more serious and spectacled than ever, performed introductions.

"I understand you were a great friend of Mr. Wade's," the doctor said to Ronny.

"His greatest friend."

"H'm. Well, this business seems straightforward enough. Sad, though. He looked a healthy young chap. Do you know if he was in the habit of taking stuff to make him sleep?"

"Make him sleep?" Ronny stared. "He always slept like a top."

"You never heard him complain of sleeplessness?"

"Never."

"Well, the facts are simple enough. There'll have to be an inquest, I'm afraid, nevertheless."

"How did he die?"

"There's not much doubt. I should say an overdose of chloral. The stuff was by his bed. And a bottle and glass. Very sad, these things are."

It was Jimmy who asked the question which he felt was trembling on his friend's lips, and yet which the other could somehow or other not get out.

"There's no question of – foul play?"

The doctor looked at him sharply.

"Why do you say that? Any cause to suspect it, eh?"

Jimmy looked at Ronny. If Ronny knew anything now was the time to speak. But to his astonishment Ronny shook his head.

"No cause whatever," he said clearly.

"And suicide – eh?"

"Certainly not."

Ronny was emphatic. The doctor was not so clearly convinced.

"No troubles that you know of? Money troubles? A woman?"

Again Ronny shook his head.

"Now about his relations. They must be notified."

"He's got a sister – a half-sister rather. Lives at Deane Priory. About twenty miles from here. When he wasn't in town Gerry lived with her."

"H'm," said the doctor. "Well, she must be told."

"I'll go," said Ronny. "It's a rotten job, but somebody's got to do it." He looked at Jimmy. "You know her, don't you?"

"Slightly. I've danced with her once or twice."

"Then we'll go in your car. You don't mind, do you? I can't face it alone."

"That's all right," said Jimmy reassuringly. "I was going to suggest it myself. I'll go and get the old bus cranked up."

He was glad to have something to do.

Ronny's manner puzzled him. What did he know or suspect? And why had he not voiced his suspicions, if he had them, to the doctor.

Presently the two friends were skimming along in Jimmy's car with a cheerful disregard for such things as speed limits.

"Jimmy," said Ronny at last, "I suppose you're about the best pal I have – now."

"Well," said Jimmy, "what about it?"

He spoke gruffly.

"There's something I'd like to tell you. Something you ought to know."

"About Gerry Wade?"

"Yes, about Gerry Wade."

Jimmy waited.

"Well?" he inquired at last.

"I don't know that I ought to," said Ronny.

"Why?"

"I'm bound by a kind of promise."

"Oh! Well then, perhaps you'd better not."

There was silence.

"And yet, I'd like… You see, Jimmy, your brains are better than mine."

"They could easily be that," said Jimmy unkindly.

"No, I can't," said Ronny suddenly.

"All right," said Jimmy. "Just as you like."

After a long silence, Ronny said:

"What's she like?"

"Who?"

"This girl. Gerry's sister."

Jimmy was silent for some minutes, then he said in a voice that had somehow or other altered:

"She's all right. In fact – well, she's a corker."

"Gerry was very devoted to her, I knew. He often spoke of her."

"She was very devoted to Gerry. It – it's going to hit her hard."

"Yes, a nasty job."

They were silent till they reached Deane Priory.

Miss Loraine, the maid told them, was in the garden. Unless they wanted to see Mrs. Coker –

Jimmy was eloquent that they did not want to see Mrs. Coker.

"Who's Mrs. Coker?" asked Ronny as they went round into the somewhat neglected garden.

"The old trout who lives with Loraine."

They had stepped out into a paved walk. At the end of it was a girl with two black spaniels. A small girl, very fair, dressed in shabby old tweeds. Not at all the girl that Ronny had expected to see. Not, in fact, Jimmy's usual type.

Holding one dog by the collar, she came down the pathway to meet them.

"How do you do," she said. "You mustn't mind Elizabeth . She's just had some puppies and she's very suspicious."

She had a supremely natural manner and, as she looked up smiling, the faint wild rose flush deepened in her cheeks. Her eyes were a very dark blue – like cornflowers.

Suddenly they widened – was it with alarm? As though, already, she guessed.

Jimmy hastened to speak.

"This is Ronny Devereux, Miss Wade. You must often have heard Gerry speak of him."

"Oh, yes." She turned a lovely, warm, welcoming smile on him. "You've both been staying at Chimneys, haven't you? Why didn't you bring Gerry over with you?"

"We – er – couldn't," said Ronny, and then stopped.

Again Jimmy saw the look of fear flash into her eyes.

"Miss Wade," he said, "I'm afraid – I mean, we've got bad news for you."

She was on the alert in a moment.

"Gerry?"

"Yes – Gerry. He's –"

She stamped her foot with sudden passion.

"Oh! tell me – tell me – " She turned suddenly on Ronny. "You'll tell me."

Jimmy felt a pang of jealousy, and in that moment he knew what up to now he had hesitated to admit to himself. He knew why Helen and Nancy and Socks were just "girls" to him and nothing more.