'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 round 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 realised 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 occurred. I must now find Mr. Bateman.'
Tredwell hurried away. Ronny stood like a man dazed.
'Gerry,' he muttered to himself.
Jimmy took his friend by the arm and steered him out through a side door on to a secluded portion of the terrace. He pushed him down on to a seat.
'Take it easy, old son,' he said kindly. 'You'll get your wind in a minute.'
But he looked at him rather curiously. He had had no idea that Ronny was such a friend of Gerry Wade's.
'Poor old Gerry,' he said thoughtfully. 'If ever a man looked fit, he did.'
Ronny nodded.
'All that clock business seems so rotten now,' went on Jimmy. 'It's odd, isn't it, why farce so often seems to get mixed up with tragedy?'
He was talking more or less at random, to give Ronny time to recover himself. The other moved restlessly.
'I wish that doctor would come. I want to know –'
'Know what?'
'What he – died of.'
Jimmy pursed up his lips.
'Heart?' he hazarded.
Ronny gave a short, scornful laugh.
'I say, Ronny,' said Jimmy.
'Well?'
Jimmy found a difficulty in going on.
'You don't mean – you aren't thinking – I mean, you haven't got it into your head that – that, well, I mean he wasn't biffed on the head or anything? Tredwell's locking the door and all that.'
It seemed to Jimmy that his words deserved an answer, but Ronny continued to stare straight out in front of him.
Jimmy shook his head and relapsed into silence. He didn't see that there was anything to do except just wait. So he waited.
It was Tredwell who disturbed them.
'The doctor would like to see you two gentlemen in the library, if you please, sir.'
Ronny sprang up. Jimmy followed him.
Dr. Cartwright was a thin, energetic young man with a clever face. He greeted them with a brief nod. Pongo, looking more serious and spectacled than ever, performed introductions.
'I understand you were a great friend of Mr. Wade's,' the doctor said to Ronny.
'His greatest friend.'
'H'm. Well, this business seems straightforward enough. Sad, though. He looked a healthy young chap. Do you know if he was in the habit of taking stuff to make him sleep?'
'Make him sleep?' Ronny stared. 'He always slept like a top.'
'You never heard him complain of sleeplessness?'
'Never.'
'Well, the facts are simple enough. There'll have to be an inquest, I'm afraid, nevertheless.'
'How did he die?'
'There's not much doubt. I should say an overdose of chloral. The stuff was by his bed. And a bottle and glass. Very sad, these things are.'
It was Jimmy who asked the question which he felt was trembling on his friend's lips, and yet which the other could somehow or other not get out.
'There's no question of – foul play?'
The doctor looked at him sharply.
'Why do you say that? Any cause to suspect it, eh?'
Jimmy looked at Ronny. If Ronny knew anything now was the time to speak. But to his astonishment Ronny shook his head.
