The Seven Dials Mystery by Agatha Christie Page B

a rabbit.”
    â€œNot at all,” said Lord Caterham. “You come in with a wildly impossible tale about men being run over and shot and I don’t know what, and then you expect me to know all about it by magic.”
    Bundle sighed wearily.
    â€œJust attend,” she said. “I’ll tell you all about it in words of one syllable.”
    â€œThere,” she said when she had concluded. “Now have you got it?”
    â€œOf course. I understand perfectly now. I can make allowances for your being a little upset, my dear. I was not far wrong when I remarked to you before starting out that people looking for trouble usually found it. I am thankful,” finished Lord Caterham with a slight shiver, “that I stayed quietly here.”
    He picked up the catalogue again.
    â€œFather, where is Seven Dials?”
    â€œIn the East End somewhere, I fancy. I have frequently observed buses going there—or do I mean Seven Sisters? I have never been there myself, I’m thankful to say. Just as well, because I don’t fancy it is the sort of spot I should like. And yet, curiously enough, I seem to have heard of it in some connection just lately.”
    â€œYou don’t know a Jimmy Thesiger, do you?”
    Lord Caterham was now engrossed in his catalogue once more. He had made an effort to be intelligent on the subject of Seven Dials. This time he made hardly any effort at all.
    â€œThesiger,” he murmured vaguely. “Thesiger. One of the Yorkshire Thesigers?”
    â€œThat’s what I’m asking you. Do attend, Father. This is important.”
    Lord Caterham made a desperate effort to look intelligent without really having to give his mind to the matter.
    â€œThere are some Yorkshire Thesigers,” he said earnestly. “And unless I am mistaken some Devonshire Thesigers also. Your Great Aunt Selina married a Thesiger.”
    â€œWhat good is that to me?” cried Bundle.
    Lord Caterham chuckled.
    â€œIt was very little good to her, if I remember rightly.”
    â€œYou’re impossible,” said Bundle, rising. “I shall have to get hold of Bill.”
    â€œDo, dear,” said her father absently as he turned a page. “Certainly. By all means. Quite so.”
    Bundle rose to her feet with an impatient sigh.
    â€œI wish I could remember what that letter said,” she murmured, more to herself than aloud. “I didn’t read it very carefully. Something about a joke, that the Seven Dials business wasn’t a joke.”
    Lord Caterham emerged suddenly from his catalogue.
    â€œSeven Dials?” he said. “Of course. I’ve got it now.”
    â€œGot what?”
    â€œI know why it sounded so familiar. George Lomax has been over. Tredwell failed for once and let him in. He was on his way up to town. It seems he’s having some political party at the Abbey next week and he got a warning letter.”
    â€œWhat do you mean by a warning letter?”
    â€œWell, I don’t really know. He didn’t go into details. I gather it said ‘Beware’ and ‘Trouble is at hand,’ and all those sort of things. But anyway it was written from Seven Dials, I distinctly remember his saying so. He was going up to town to consult Scotland Yard about it. You know George?”
    Bundle nodded. She was well-acquainted with that public-spirited Cabinet Minister, George Lomax, His Majesty’s permanent Under Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, who was shunned by many because of his inveterate habit of quoting from his public speeches in private. In allusion to his bulging eyeballs, he was known to many—Bill Eversleigh among others—as Codders.
    â€œTell me,” she said, “was Codders interested at all in Gerald Wade’s death?”
    â€œNot that I heard of. He may have been, of course.”
    Bundle said nothing for some minutes. She was busily engaged in trying to remember the exact wording