Jimmy ensconced himself comfortably, crossed his legs and waited. Leopold lay in readiness across his knee.
He glanced at his watch. It was twenty minutes to one—just an hour since the household had retired to rest. Not a sound broke the stillness, except for the far-off ticking of a clock somewhere.
Somehow or other, Jimmy did not much care for that sound. It recalled things. Gerald Wade—and those seven ticking clocks on the mantelpiece … Whose hand had placed them there, and why? He shivered.
It was a creepy business, this waiting. He didn’t wonder that things happened at spiritualistic séances. Sitting in the gloom, one got all worked up—ready to start at the least sound. And unpleasant thoughts came crowding in on a fellow.
Ronny Devereux! Ronny Devereux and Gerry Wade! Both young, both full of life and energy, ordinary, jolly, healthy young men.
And now, where were they? Dank earth … worms getting them … Ugh! why couldn’t he put these horrible thoughts out of his mind?
He looked again at his watch. Twenty minutes past one only. How the time crawled.
Extraordinary girl, Bundle! Fancy having the nerve and the daring actually to get into the midst of that Seven Dials place. Why hadn’t he the nerve and initiative to think of that? He supposed because the thing was so fantastic.
No. 7. Who the hell could No. 7 be? Was he, perhaps, in the house at this minute? Disguised as a servant. He couldn’t, surely, be one of the guests. No, that was impossible. But then, the whole thing was impossible. If he hadn’t believed Bundle to be essentially truthful—well, he would have thought she had invented the whole thing.