The Seven Dials Mystery. Agatha ChristieЧитать онлайн книгу.
down, mark you, but I should strongly advise this kind at 10/6. Well worth the extra money. Reliability, you understand. I shouldn’t like you to say afterwards–’
It was evident to everybody that Mr Murgatroyd must be turned off like a tap.
‘We don’t want a reliable clock, said Nancy.
‘It’s got to go for one day, that’s all,’ said Helen.
‘We don’t want a subtle one,’ said Socks. ‘We want one with a good loud ring.’
‘We want–’ began Bill, but was unable to finish, because Jimmy, who was of a mechanical turn of mind, had at last grasped the mechanism. For the next five minutes the shop was hideous with the loud raucous ringing of many alarum clocks.
In the end six excellent starters were selected.
‘And I’ll tell you what,’ said Ronny handsomely, ‘I’ll get one for Pongo. It was his idea, and it’s a shame that he should be out of it. He shall be represented among those present.’
‘That’s right,’ said Bill. ‘And I’ll take an extra one for Lady Coote. The more the merrier. And she’s doing some of the spade work. Probably gassing away to old Gerry now.’
Indeed at this precise moment Lady Coote was detailing a long story about MacDonald and a prize peach and enjoying herself very much.
The clocks were wrapped up and paid for. Mr Murgatroyd watched the cars drive away with a puzzled air. Very spirited the young people of the upper classes nowadays, very spirited indeed, but not at all easy to understand. He turned with relief to attend to the vicar’s wife, who wanted a new kind of dripless teapot.
Chapter 2
Concerning Alarum Clocks
‘Now where shall we put them?’
Dinner was over. Lady Coote had been once more detailed for duty. Sir Oswald had unexpectedly come to the rescue by suggesting bridge–not that suggesting is the right word. Sir Oswald, as became one of ‘Our Captains of Industry’ (No 7 of Series I), merely expressed a preference and those around him hastened to accommodate themselves to the great man’s wishes.
Rupert Bateman and Sir Oswald were partners against Lady Coote and Gerald Wade, which was a very happy arrangement. Sir Oswald played bridge, like he did everything else, extremely well, and liked a partner to correspond. Bateman was as efficient a bridge player as he was a secretary. Both of them confined themselves strictly to the matter in hand, merely uttering in curt short barks, ‘Two no trumps,’ ‘Double,’ ‘Three spades.’ Lady Coote and Gerald Wade were amiable and discursive, and the young man never failed to say at the conclusion of each hand, ‘I say, partner, you played that simply splendidly,’ in tones of simple admiration which Lady Coote found both novel and extremely soothing. They also held very good cards.
The others were supposed to be dancing to the wireless in the big ballroom. In reality they were grouped around the door of Gerald Wade’s bedroom, and the air was full of subdued giggles and the loud ticking of clocks.
‘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