The Seven Dials Mystery by Agatha Christie Page A

nervously.
    â€œYoung and beautiful?” she inquired delicately.
    â€œOh, rather.”
    â€œI didn’t know George went in for female beauty much.”
    â€œOh, he doesn’t. She runs baby feeding in Buda Pesth —something like that. Naturally she and Mrs. Macatta want to get together.”
    â€œWho else?”
    â€œSir Stanley Digby—”
    â€œThe Air Minister?”
    â€œYes. And his secretary, Terence O’Rourke. He’s rather a lad, by the way—or used to be in his flying days. Then there’s a perfectly poisonous German chap called Herr Eberhard. I don’t know who he is, but we’re all making the hell of a fuss about him. I’ve been twice told off to take him out to lunch, and I can tell you, Bundle, it was no joke. He’s not like the Embassy chaps, who are all very decent. This man sucks in soup and eats peas with a knife. Not only that, but the brute is always biting his fingernails—positively gnaws at them.”
    â€œPretty foul.”
    â€œIsn’t it? I believe he invents things—something of the kind. Well, that’s all. Oh, yes, Sir Oswald Coote.”
    â€œAnd Lady Coote?”
    â€œYes, I believe she’s coming too.”
    Bundle sat lost in thought for some minutes. Bill’s list was suggestive, but she hadn’t time to think out various possibilities just now. She must get on to the next point.
    â€œBill,” she said, “what’s all this about Seven Dials?”
    Bill at once looked horribly embarrassed. He blinked and avoided her glance.
    â€œI don’t know what you mean,” he said.
    â€œNonsense,” said Bundle. “I was told you know all about it.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    This was rather a poser. Bundle shifted her ground.
    â€œI don’t see what you want to be so secretive for,” she complained.
    â€œNothing to be secretive about. Nobody goes there much now. It was only a craze.”
    This sounded puzzling.
    â€œOne gets so out of things when one is away,” said Bundle in a sad voice.
    â€œOh, you haven’t missed much,” said Bill. “Everyone went there just to say they had been. It was boring really, and, my God, you can get tired of fried fish.”
    â€œWhere did everyone go?”
    â€œTo the Seven Dials Club, of course,” said Bill, staring. “Wasn’t that what you were asking about?”
    â€œI didn’t know it by that name,” said Bundle.
    â€œUsed to be a slummy sort of district round about Tottenham Court Road way. It’s all pulled down and cleaned up now. But the Seven Dials Club keeps to the old atmosphere. Fried fish and chips. General squalor. Kind of East End stunt, but awfully handy to get at after a show.”
    â€œIt’s a nightclub, I suppose,” said Bundle. “Dancing and all that?”
    â€œThat’s it. Awfully mixed crowd. Not a posh affair. Artists, you know, and all sorts of odd women and a sprinkling of our lot. They say quite a lot of things, but I think that that’s all bunkum myself, just said to make the place go.”
    â€œGood,” said Bundle. “We’ll go there tonight.”
    â€œOh! I shouldn’t do that,” said Bill. His embarrassment had returned. “I tell you it’s played out. Nobody goes there now.”
    â€œWell, we’re going.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t care for it, Bundle. You wouldn’t really.”
    â€œYou’re going to take me to the Seven Dials Club and nowhere else, Bill. And I should like to know why you are so unwilling?”
    â€œI? Unwilling?”
    â€œPainfully so. What’s the guilty secret?”
    â€œGuilty secret?”
    â€œDon’t keep repeating what I say. You do it to give yourself time.”
    â€œI don’t,” said Bill indignantly. “It’s only—”
    â€œWell? I know there’s something. You never can conceal