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of the letter she had sent on to Loraine Wade, and at the same time she was trying to picture the girl to whom it had been written. What sort of a girl was this to whom, apparently, Gerald Wade was so devoted? The more she thought over it, the more it seemed to her that it was an unusual letter for a brother to write.
    â€œDid you say the Wade girl was Gerry’s half sister?” she asked suddenly.
    â€œWell, of course, strictly speaking, I suppose she isn’t—wasn’t, I mean—his sister at all.”
    â€œBut her name’s Wade?”
    â€œNot really. She wasn’t old Wade’s child. As I was saying, he ran away with his second wife, who was married to a perfect blackguard. I suppose the Courts gave the rascally husband the custody of the child, but he certainly didn’t avail himself of the privilege. Old Wade got very fond of the child and insisted that she should be called by his name.”
    â€œI see,” said Bundle. “That explains it.”
    â€œExplains what?”
    â€œSomething that puzzled me about that letter.”
    â€œShe’s rather a pretty girl, I believe,” said Lord Caterham. “Or so I’ve heard.”
    Bundle went upstairs thoughtfully. She had several objects in view. First she must find this Jimmy Thesiger. Bill, perhaps, would be helpful there. Ronny Devereux had been a friend of Bill’s. If Jimmy Thesiger was a friend of Ronny’s, the chances were that Bill would know him too. Then there was the girl, Loraine Wade. It was possible that she could throw some light on the problem of Seven Dials. Evidently Gerry Wade had said something to her about it. His anxiety that she should forget the fact had a sinister suggestion.

Seven
    B UNDLE P AYS A C ALL
    G etting hold of Bill presented few difficulties. Bundle motored up to town on the following morning—this time without adventures on the way—and rang him up. Bill responded with alacrity and made various suggestions as to lunch, tea, dinner and dancing. All of which suggestions Bundle turned down as made.
    â€œIn a day or two, I’ll come and frivol with you, Bill. But for the moment I’m up on business.”
    â€œOh,” said Bill. “What a beastly bore.”
    â€œIt’s not that kind,” said Bundle. “It’s anything but boring. Bill, do you know anyone called Jimmy Thesiger?”
    â€œOf course. So do you.”
    â€œNo, I don’t,” said Bundle.
    â€œYes, you do. You must. Everyone knows old Jimmy.”
    â€œSorry,” said Bundle. “Just for once I don’t seem to be everyone.”
    â€œOh! but you must know Jimmy—pink-faced chap. Looks a bit of an ass. But really he’s got as many brains as I have.”
    â€œYou don’t say so,” said Bundle. “He must feel a bit top heavy when he walks about.”
    â€œWas that meant for sarcasm?”
    â€œIt was a feeble effort at it. What does Jimmy Thesiger do?”
    â€œHow do you mean, what does he do?”
    â€œDoes being at the Foreign Office prevent you from understanding your native language?”
    â€œOh! I see, you mean, has he got a job? No, he just fools around. Why should he do anything?”
    â€œIn fact, more money than brains?”
    â€œOh! I wouldn’t say that. I told you just now that he had more brains than you’d think.”
    Bundle was silent. She was feeling more and more doubtful. This gilded youth did not sound a very promising ally. And yet it was his name that had come first to the dying man’s lips. Bill’s voice chimed in suddenly with singular appropriateness.
    â€œRonny always thought a lot of his brains. You know, Ronny Devereux. Thesiger was his greatest pal.”
    â€œRonny—”
    Bundle stopped, undecided. Clearly Bill knew nothing of the other’s death. It occurred to Bundle for the first time that it was odd the morning papers had contained nothing of the