The Seven Dials Mystery by Agatha Christie

she managed it.
    Then she jumped into the driver’s seat and set off. A couple of miles brought her into a small town and on inquiring she was quickly directed to the doctor’s house.
    Dr. Cassell, a kindly, middle-aged man, was startled to come into his surgery and find a girl there who was evidently on the verge of collapse.
    Bundle spoke abruptly.
    â€œI—I think I’ve killed a man. I ran over him. I brought him along in the car. He’s outside now. I—I was driving too fast, I suppose. I’ve always driven too fast.”
    The doctor cast a practised glance over her. He stepped over to a shelf and poured something into a glass. He brought it over to her.
    â€œDrink this down,” he said, “and you’ll feel better. You’ve had a shock.”
    Bundle drank obediently and a tinge of colour came into her pallid face. The doctor nodded approvingly.
    â€œThat’s right. Now I want you to sit quietly here. I’ll go out and attend to things. After I’ve made sure there’s nothing to be done for the poor fellow, I’ll come back and we’ll talk about it.”
    He was away some time. Bundle watched the clock on the mantelpiece. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour, twenty minutes—would he ever come?
    Then the door opened and Dr. Cassell reappeared. He looked different—Bundle noticed that at once—grimmer and at the same time more alert. There was something else in his manner that she did not quite understand, a suggestion of repressed excitement.
    â€œNow then, young lady,” he said. “Let’s have this out. You ran over this man, you say. Tell me just how the accident happened?”
    Bundle explained to the best of her ability. The doctor followed her narrative with keen attention.
    â€œJust so; the car didn’t pass over his body?”
    â€œNo. In fact, I thought I’d missed him altogether.”
    â€œHe was reeling, you say?”
    â€œYes, I thought he was drunk.”
    â€œAnd he came from the hedge?”
    â€œThere was a gate just there, I think. He must have come through the gate.”
    The doctor nodded, then he leaned back in his chair and removed his pince-nez.
    â€œI’ve no doubt at all,” he said, “that you’re a very reckless driver, and that you’ll probably run over some poor fellow and do for him one of these days—but you haven’t done it this time.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œThe car never touched him. This man was shot. ”

Six
    S EVEN D IALS A GAIN
    B undle stared at him. And very slowly the world, which for the last three quarters of an hour had been upside down, shifted till it stood once more the right way up. It was quite two minutes before Bundle spoke, but when she did it was no longer the panic-stricken girl but the real Bundle, cool, efficient and logical.
    â€œHow could he be shot?” she said.
    â€œI don’t know how he could,” said the doctor dryly. “But he was. He’s got a rifle bullet in him all right. He bled internally, that’s why you didn’t notice anything.”
    Bundle nodded.
    â€œThe question is,” the doctor continued, “who shot him? You saw nobody about?”
    Bundle shook her head.
    â€œIt’s odd,” said the doctor. “If it was an accident, you’d expect the fellow who did it would come running to the rescue—unless just possibly he didn’t know what he’d done.”
    â€œThere was no one about,” said Bundle. “On the road, that is.”
    â€œIt seems to me,” said the doctor, “that the poor lad must have been running—the bullet got him just as he passed through the gate and he came reeling on to the road in consequence. You didn’t hear a shot?”
    Bundle shook her head.
    â€œBut I probably shouldn’t anyway,” she said, “with the noise of the car.”
    â€œJust so. He didn’t say