'No cause whatever,' he said clearly.
'And suicide – eh?'
'Certainly not.'
Ronny was emphatic. The doctor was not so clearly convinced.
'No troubles that you know of? Money troubles? A woman?'
Again Ronny shook his head.
'Now about his relations. They must be notified.'
'He's got a sister – a half-sister rather. Lives at Deane Priory. About twenty miles from here. When he wasn't in town Gerry lived with her.'
'H'm,' said the doctor. 'Well, she must be told.'
'I'll go,' said Ronny. 'It's a rotten job, but somebody's got to do it.' He looked at Jimmy. 'You know her, don't you?'
'Slightly. I've danced with her once or twice.'
'Then we'll go in your car. You don't mind, do you? I can't face it alone.'
'That's all right,' said Jimmy reassuringly. 'I was going to suggest it myself. I'll go and get the old bus cranked up.'
He was glad to have something to do.
Ronny's manner puzzled him. What did he know or suspect? And why had he not voiced his suspicions, if he had them, to the doctor.
Presently the two friends were skimming along in Jimmy's car with a cheerful disregard for such things as speed limits.
'Jimmy,' said Ronny at last, 'I suppose you're about the best pal I have – now.'
'Well,' said Jimmy, 'what about it?'
He spoke gruffly.
'There's something I'd like to tell you. Something you ought to know.'
'About Gerry Wade?'
'Yes, about Gerry Wade.'
Jimmy waited.
'Well?' he inquired at last.
'I don't know that I ought to,' said Ronny.
'Why?'
'I'm bound by a kind of promise.'
'Oh! Well then, perhaps you'd better not.'
There was silence.
'And yet, I'd like… You see, Jimmy, your brains are better than mine.'
'They could easily be that,' said Jimmy unkindly.
'No, I can't,' said Ronny suddenly.
'All right,' said Jimmy. 'Just as you like.'
After a long silence, Ronny said:
'What's she like?'
'Who?'
'This girl. Gerry's sister.'
Jimmy was silent for some minutes, then he said in a voice that had somehow or other altered:
'She's all right. In fact – well, she's a corker.'
'Gerry was very devoted to her, I knew. He often spoke of her.'
'She was very devoted to Gerry. It – it's going to hit her hard.'
'Yes, a nasty job.'
They were silent till they reached Deane Priory.
Miss Loraine, the maid told them, was in the garden. Unless they wanted to see Mrs. Coker –
Jimmy was eloquent that they did not want to see Mrs. Coker.
'Who's Mrs. Coker?' asked Ronny as they went round into the somewhat neglected garden.
'The old trout who lives with Loraine.'
They had stepped out into a paved walk. At the end of it was a girl with two black spaniels. A small girl, very fair, dressed in shabby old tweeds. Not at all the girl that Ronny had expected to see. Not, in fact, Jimmy's usual type.
Holding one dog by the collar, she came down the pathway to meet them.
'How do you do,' she said. 'You mustn't mind Elizabeth . She's just had some puppies and she's very suspicious.'
She had a supremely natural manner and, as she looked up smiling, the faint wild rose flush deepened in her cheeks. Her eyes were a very dark blue – like cornflowers.
Suddenly they widened – was it with alarm? As though, already, she guessed.
Jimmy hastened to speak.
'This is Ronny Devereux, Miss Wade. You must often have heard Gerry speak of him.'
'Oh, yes.' She turned a lovely, warm, welcoming smile on him. 'You've both been staying at Chimneys, haven't you? Why didn't you bring Gerry over with you?'
'We – er – couldn't,' said Ronny, and then stopped.
Again Jimmy saw the look of fear flash into her eyes.
'Miss Wade,' he said, 'I'm afraid – I mean, we've got bad news for you.'
She was on the alert in a moment.
'Gerry?'
'Yes – Gerry. He's –'
She stamped her foot with sudden passion.
'Oh! tell me – tell me – ' She turned suddenly on Ronny. 'You'll tell me.'
Jimmy felt a pang of jealousy, and in that moment he knew what up to now he had hesitated to admit to himself. He knew why Helen and Nancy and Socks were just 'girls' to him and nothing more.
He only half heard Ronny's voice saying gravely:
'Yes, Miss Wade, I'll tell you. Gerry is dead.'
She had plenty of pluck. She gasped and drew back, but in a minute or two she was asking eager, searching questions. How? When?
Ronny answered her as gently as he could.
'Sleeping draught? Gerry?'
The incredulity in her voice was plain.
Jimmy gave her a glance. It was almost a glance of warning. He had a sudden feeling that Loraine in her innocence might say too much.
In his turn he explained as gently as possible the need for an inquest. She shuddered. She declined their offer of taking her back to Chimneys with them, but explained she would come over later. She had a two-seater of her own.
'But I want to be – be alone a little first,' she said piteously.
'I know,' said Ronny.
'That's all right,' said Jimmy.
They looked at her, feeling awkward and helpless.
'Thank you both ever so much for coming.'
They drove back in silence and there was something like constraint between them.
'My God! that girl's plucky,' said Ronny once.
Jimmy agreed.
'Gerry was my friend,' said Ronny. 'It's up to me to keep an eye on her.'
'Oh! rather. Of course.'
They said no more.
On returning to Chimneys, Jimmy was waylaid by a tearful Lady Coote.
