The Seven Dials Mystery. Agatha Christie

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СКАЧАТЬ in, and he seems sound off. What about it?’

      Once more the clocks were solemnly assembled. Then another difficulty arose.

      ‘We can’t all go barging in. Make no end of a row. One person’s got to do it and the others can hand him the whatnots from the door.’

      Hot discussion then arose as to the proper person to be selected.

      The three girls were rejected on the grounds that they would giggle. Bill Eversleigh was rejected on the grounds of his height, weight and heavy tread, also for his general clumsiness, which latter clause he fiercely denied. Jimmy Thesiger and Ronny Devereux were considered possibles, but in the end an overwhelming majority decided in favour of Rupert Bateman.

      ‘Pongo’s the lad,’ agreed Jimmy. ‘Anyway, he walks like a cat–always did. And then, if Gerry should waken up, Pongo will be able to think of some rotten silly thing to say to him. You know, something plausible that’ll calm him down and not rouse his suspicions.’

      ‘Something subtle,’ suggested the girl Socks thoughtfully.

      ‘Exactly,’ said Jimmy.

      Pongo performed his job neatly and efficiently. Cautiously opening the bedroom door, he disappeared into the darkness inside bearing the two largest clocks. In a minute or two he reappeared on the threshold and two more were handed to him and then again twice more. Finally he emerged. Everyone held their breath and listened. The rhythmical breathing of Gerald Wade could still be heard, but drowned, smothered and buried beneath the triumphant, impassioned ticking of Mr Murgatroyd’s eight alarum clocks.

      Chapter 3

      The Joke that Failed

      ‘Twelve o’clock,’ said Socks despairingly.

      The joke–as a joke–had not gone off any too well. The alarum clocks, on the other hand, had performed their part. They had gone off–with a vigour and élan that could hardly have been surpassed and which had sent Ronny Devereux leaping out of bed with a confused idea that the day of judgment had come. If such had been the effect in the room next door, what must it have been at close quarters? Ronny hurried out in the passage and applied his ear to the crack of the door.

      He expected profanity–expected it confidently and with intelligent anticipation. But he heard nothing at all. That is to say, he heard nothing of what he expected. The clocks were ticking all right–ticking in a loud, arrogant, exasperating manner. And presently another went off, ringing with a crude, deafening note that would have aroused acute irritation in a deaf man.

      There was no doubt about it; the clocks had performed their part faithfully. They did all and more than Mr Murgatroyd had claimed for them. But apparently they had met their match in Gerald Wade.

      The syndicate was inclined to be despondent about it. ‘The lad isn’t human,’ grumbled Jimmy Thesiger.

      ‘Probably thought he heard the telephone in the distance and rolled over and went to sleep again,’ suggested Helen (or possibly Nancy).

      ‘It seems to me very remarkable,’ said Rupert Bateman seriously. ‘I think he ought to see a doctor about it.’

      ‘Some disease of the eardrums,’ suggested Bill hopefully.

      ‘Well, if you ask me,’ said Socks, ‘I think he’s just spoofing us. Of course they woke him up. But he’s just going to do us down by pretending that he didn’t hear anything.’

      Everyone looked at Socks with respect and admiration.

      ‘It’s an idea,’ said Bill.

      ‘He’s subtle, that’s what it is,’ said Socks. ‘You’ll see, he’ll be extra late for breakfast this morning–just to show us.’

      And since the clock now pointed to some minutes past twelve the general opinion was that Sock’s theory was a correct one. Only Ronny Devereux demurred.

      ‘You forget, I was outside the door when the first one went off. Whatever old Gerry decided to do later, the first one must have surprised him. He’d have let out something about it. Where did you put it, Pongo?’

      ‘On a little table close by his ear,’ said Mr Bateman.

      ‘That was thoughtful of you, Pongo,’ said Ronny. ‘Now, tell me.’ He turned to Bill. ‘If a whacking great bell started ringing within a few inches of your ear at half past six in the morning, what would you say about it?’

      ‘Oh, Lord,’ said Bill. ‘I should say–’ He came to a stop.

      ‘Of course you would,’ said Ronny. ‘So would I. So would anyone. What they call the natural man would emerge. Well, it didn’t. So I say that Pongo is right–as usual–and that Gerry has got an obscure disease of the eardrums.’

      ‘It’s now twenty past twelve,’ said one of the other girls sadly.

      ‘I say,’ said Jimmy slowly, ‘that’s a bit beyond anything, isn’t it? I mean a joke’s a joke. But this is carrying it a bit far. It’s a shade hard on the Cootes.’

      Bill stared at him.

      ‘What are you getting at?’

      ‘Well,’ said Jimmy. ‘Somehow or other–it’s not like old Gerry.’

      He found it hard to put into words just what he meant to say. He didn’t want to say too much, and yet–He saw Ronny looking at him. Ronny was suddenly alert.

      It was at that moment Tredwell came into the room and looked around him hesitatingly.

      ‘I thought Mr Bateman was here,’ he explained apologetically.

      ‘Just gone out this minute through the window,’ said Ronny. ‘Can I do anything?’

      Tredwell’s eyes wandered from him to Jimmy Thesiger and then back again. As though singled out, the two young men left the room with him. Tredwell closed the dining-room door carefully behind him.

      ‘Well,’ said Ronny. ‘What’s up?’

      ‘Mr Wade not having yet come down, sir, I took the liberty of sending Williams up to his room.’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Williams has just come running down in a great state of agitation, sir.’ Tredwell paused–a pause of preparation. ‘I am afraid, sir, the poor young gentleman must have died in his sleep.’

      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 realized 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 СКАЧАТЬ