I've told Bill about our little stunt.'
'Bill?' said Bundle, annoyed.
'Well, after all,' said Jimmy, 'Bill is one of the lads, you know. Ronny was a pal of his and so was Gerry.'
'Oh! I know,' said Bundle.
'But you think it's a pity? Sorry.'
'Bill's all right, of course. It isn't that,' said Bundle. 'But he's – well… Bill's a born blunderer.'
'Not mentally very agile?' suggested Jimmy. 'But you forget one thing – Bill's got a very hefty fist. And I've an idea that a hefty fist is going to come in handy.'
'Well, perhaps you're right. How did he take it?'
'Well, he clutched his head a good bit, but – I mean the facts took some driving home. But by repeating the thing patiently in words of one syllable I at last got it into his thick head. And, naturally, he's with us to the death, as you might say.'
George reappeared suddenly.
'I must make some introductions, Eileen. This is Sir Stanley Digby – Lady Eileen Brent. Mr. O'Rourke.' The Air Minister was a little round man with a cheerful smile. Mr. O'Rourke, a tall young man with laughing blue eyes and a typical Irish face, greeted Bundle with enthusiasm.
'And I thinking it was going to be a dull political party entirely,' he murmured in an adroit whisper.
'Hush,' said Bundle. 'I'm political – very political.'
'Sir Oswald and Lady Coote you know,' continued George.
'We've never actually met,' said Bundle, smiling.
She was mentally applauding her father's descriptive powers.
Sir Oswald took her hand in an iron grip and she winced slightly.
Lady Coote, after a somewhat mournful greeting, had turned to Jimmy Thesiger, and appeared to be registering something closely akin to pleasure. Despite his reprehensible habit of being late for breakfast, Lady Coote had a fondness for this amiable, pink-faced young man. His air of irrepressible good nature fascinated her. She had a motherly wish to cure him of his bad habits and form him into one of the world's workers.
Whether, once formed, he would be as attractive was a question she had never asked herself. She began now to tell him of a very painful motor accident which had happened to one of her friends.
'Mr. Bateman,' said George briefly, as one who would pass on to better things.
A serious, pale-faced young man bowed.
'And now,' continued George, 'I must introduce you to Countess Radzky.'
Countess Radzky had been conversing with Mr. Bateman. Leaning very far back on the sofa, with her legs crossed in a daring manner, she was smoking a cigarette in an incredibly long turquoise-studded holder.
Bundle thought she was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. Her eyes were very large and blue, her hair was coal black, she had a matte skin, the slightly flattened nose of the Slav, and a sinuous, slender body. Her lips were reddened to a degree with which Bundle was sure Wyvern Abbey was totally unacquainted.
She said eagerly: 'This is Mrs. Macatta – yes?'
On George's replying in the negative and introducing Bundle, the countess gave her a careless nod, and at once resumed her conversation with the serious Mr. Bateman.
Bundle heard Jimmy's voice in her ear:
'Pongo is absolutely fascinated by the lovely Slav,' he said. 'Pathetic, isn't it? Come and have some tea.'
They drifted once more into the neighbourhood of Sir Oswald Coote.
'That's a fine place of yours. Chimneys,' remarked the great man.
'I'm glad you liked it,' said Bundle meekly.
'Wants new plumbing,' said Sir Oswald. 'Bring it up to date, you know.'
He ruminated for a minute or two.
'I'm taking the Duke of Alton's place. Three years. Just while I'm looking round for a place of my own. Your father couldn't sell if he wanted to, I suppose?'
Bundle felt her breath taken away. She had a nightmare vision of England with innumerable Cootes in innumerable counterparts of Chimneys – all, be it understood, with an entirely new system of plumbing installed.
She felt a sudden violent resentment which, she told herself, was absurd. After all, contrasting Lord Caterham with Sir Oswald Coote, there was no doubt as to who would go to the wall. Sir Oswald had one of those powerful personalities which make all those with whom they come in contact appear faded. He was, as Lord Caterham had said, a human steamroller. And yet, undoubtedly, in many ways, Sir Oswald was a stupid man. Apart from his special line of knowledge and his terrific driving force, he was probably intensely ignorant. A hundred delicate appreciations of life which Lord Caterham could and did enjoy were a sealed book to Sir Oswald.
Whilst indulging in these reflections Bundle continued to chat pleasantly. Herr Eberhard, she heard, had arrived, but was lying down with a nervous headache. This was told her by Mr. O'Rourke, who managed to find a place by her side and keep it.
Altogether, Bundle went up to dress in a pleasant mood of expectation, with a slight nervous dread hovering in the background whenever she thought of the imminent arrival of Mrs. Macatta. Bundle felt that dalliance with Mrs. Macatta was going to prove no primrose path.
Her first shock was when she came down, demurely attired in a black lace frock, and passed along the hall. A footman was standing there – at least a man dressed as a footman. But that square, burly figure lent itself badly to the deception. Bundle stopped and stared.
'Superintendent Battle,' she breathed.
'That's right, Lady Eileen.'
'Oh!' said Bundle uncertainly. 'Are you here to – to –?'
'Keep an eye on things.'
'I see.'
'That warning letter, you know,' said the Superintendent, 'fairly put the wind up Mr. Lomax. Nothing would do for him but that I should come down myself.'
'But don't you think –' began Bundle, and stopped. She hardly liked to suggest to the Superintendent that his disguise was not a particularly efficient one. He seemed to have 'police officer' written all over him, and Bundle could hardly imagine the most unsuspecting criminal failing to be put on his guard.
'You think,' said the Superintendent stolidly, 'that I might be recognised?'
'I did think so – yes –' admitted Bundle.
Something that might conceivably have been intended for a smile crossed the woodenness of Superintendent Battle's features.
'Put them on their guard, eh? Well, Lady Eileen, why not?'
'Why not?' echoed Bundle – rather stupidly, she felt.
Superintendent Battle was nodding his head slowly.
'We don't want any unpleasantness, do we?' he said. 'Don't want to be too clever – just show any light- fingered gentry that may be about – well, just show them that there's somebody on the spot, so to speak.'
Bundle gazed at him in some admiration.
She could imagine that the sudden appearance of so renowned a personage as Superintendent Battle might have a depressing effect on any scheme and the hatchers of it.
'It's a great mistake to be too clever,' Superintendent Battle was repeating. 'The great thing is not to have any unpleasantness this weekend.'
Bundle passed on, wondering how many of her fellow guests had recognised or would recognise the Scotland Yard detective. In the drawing-room George was standing with a puckered brow and an orange envelope in his hand.
'Most vexatious,' he said. 'A telegram from Mrs. Macatta to say she will be unable to be with us. Her children are suffering from mumps.'
Bundle's heart gave a throb of relief.
'I especially feel this on your account, Eileen,' said George kindly. 'I know how anxious you were to meet her. The Countess too will be sadly disappointed.'
