“But I probably shouldn’t anyway,” she said, “with the noise of the car.”
“Just so. He didn’t say anything before he died?”
“He muttered a few words.”
“Nothing to throw light on the tragedy?”
“No. He wanted something—I don’t know what—told to a friend of his. Oh! yes, and he mentioned Seven Dials.”
“H’m,” said Doctor Cassell. “Not a likely neighbourhood for one of his class. Perhaps his assailant came from there. Well, we needn’t worry about that now. You can leave it in my hands. I’ll notify the police. You must, of course, leave your name and address, as the police are sure to want to question you. In fact, perhaps you’d better come round to the police station with me now. They might say I ought to have detained you.”
They went together in Bundle’s car. The police inspector was a slow-speaking man. He was somewhat overawed by Bundle’s name and address when she gave it to him, and he took down her statement with great care.
“Lads!” he said. “That’s what it is. Lads practising! Cruel stupid, them young varmints are. Always loosing off at birds with no consideration for anyone as may be the other side of a hedge.”
The doctor thought it a most unlikely solution, but he realised that the case would soon be in abler hands and it did not seem worth while to make objections.
“Name of deceased?” asked the sergeant, moistening his pencil.
“He had a card-case on him. He appears to have been a Mr. Ronald Devereux, with an address in the Albany.”