CHAPTER V

THE MAN IN THE ROAD

"Father," said Bundle, opening the door of Lord Caterham's special

sanctum and putting her head in, "I'm going up to town in the Hispano.

I can't stand the monotony down here any longer."

"We only got home yesterday," complained Lord Caterham.

"I know. It seems like a hundred years. I'd forgotten how dull the

country could be."

"I don't agree with you," said Lord Caterham. "It's peaceful, that's

what it is--peaceful. And extremely comfortable. I appreciate getting

back to Tredwell more than I can tell you. That man studies my comfort

in the most marvellous manner. Somebody came round only this morning to

know if they could hold a tally for girl guides here--"

"A rally," interrupted Bundle.

"Rally or tally--it's all the same. Some silly word meaning nothing

whatever. But it would have put me in a very awkward position--having

to refuse--in fact, I probably shouldn't have refused. But Tredwell got

me out of it. I've forgotten what he said--something damned ingenious

which couldn't hurt anybody's feelings and which knocked the idea on

the head absolutely."

"Being comfortable isn't enough for me," said Bundle. "I want

excitement."

Lord Caterham shuddered.

"Didn't we have enough excitement four years ago?" he demanded

plaintively.

"I'm about ready for some more," said Bundle. "Not that I expect I

shall find any in town. But at any rate I shan't dislocate my jaw with

yawning."

"In my experience," said Lord Caterham, "people who go about looking

for trouble usually find it." He yawned. "All the same," he added, "I

wouldn't mind running up to town myself."

"Well, come on," said Bundle. "But be quick, because I'm in a hurry."

Lord Caterham, who had begun to rise from his chair, paused.

"Did you say you were in a hurry?" he asked suspiciously.

"In the devil of a hurry," said Bundle.

"That settles it," said Lord Caterham. "I'm not coming. To be driven

by you in the Hispano when you're in a hurry--no, it's not fair on any

elderly man. I shall stay here."

"Please yourself," said Bundle, and withdrew.

Tredwell took her place.

"The vicar, my lord, is most anxious to see you, some unfortunate

controversy having arisen about the status of the Boys' Brigade."

Lord Caterham groaned.

"I rather fancied, my lord, that I had heard you mention at breakfast

that you were strolling down to the village this morning to converse

with the vicar on the subject."

"Did you tell him so?" asked Lord Caterham eagerly.

"I did, my lord. He departed, if I may say so, hot-foot. I hope I did

right, my lord?"

"Of course you did, Tredwell. You are always right. You couldn't go

wrong if you tried."

Tredwell smiled benignly and withdrew.

Bundle, meanwhile, was sounding the Klaxon impatiently before the lodge

gates, while a small child came hastening out with all speed from the

lodge, admonishment from her mother following her.

"Make haste, Katie. That be her ladyship in a mortal hurry as always."

It was indeed characteristic of Bundle to be in a hurry, especially

when driving a car. She had skill and nerve and was a good driver; had

it been otherwise her reckless pace would have ended in disaster more

than once.

It was a crisp October day, with a blue sky and a dazzling sun. The

sharp tang of the air brought the blood to Bundle's cheeks and filled

her with the zest of living.

She had that morning sent Gerald Wade's unfinished letter to Loraine

Wade at Deane Priory, enclosing a few explanatory lines. The curious

impression it had made upon her was somewhat dimmed in the daylight,

yet it still struck her as needing explanation. She intended to get

hold of Bill Eversleigh sometime and extract from him fuller details

of the house-party which had ended so tragically. In the meantime, it

was a lovely morning and she felt particularly well and the Hispano was

running like a dream.

Bundle pressed her foot down on the accelerator and the Hispano

responded at once. Mile after mile vanished, traffic stops were few and

far between and Bundle had a clear stretch of road in front of her.

And then, without any warning whatever, a man reeled out of the

hedge and on to the road right in front of the car. To stop in time

was out of the question. With all her might Bundle wrenched at the

steering wheel and swerved out to the right. The car was nearly in the

ditch--nearly, but not quite. It was a dangerous manoeuvre, but it

succeeded. Bundle was almost certain that she had missed the man.

She looked back and felt a sickening sensation in the middle of her

anatomy. The car had not passed over the man, but nevertheless it must

have struck him in passing. He was lying face downwards on the road,

and he lay ominously still.

Bundle jumped out and ran back. She had never yet run over anything

more important than a stray hen. The fact that the accident was hardly

her fault did not weigh with her at the minute. The man had seemed

drunk, but drunk or not, she had killed him. She was quite sure she

had killed him. Her heart beat sickeningly in great pounding thumps,

sounding right up in her ears.

She knelt down by the prone figure and turned him very gingerly over.

He neither groaned nor moaned. He was young, she saw, rather a

pleasant-faced young man, well dressed and wearing a small toothbrush

moustache.

There was no external mark of injury that she could see, but she was

quite positive that he was either dead or dying. His eyelids flickered

and the eyes half opened. Piteous eyes, brown and suffering, like a

dog's. He seemed to be struggling to speak. Bundle bent right over.

"Yes," she said. "Yes?"

There was something he wanted to say, she could see that. Wanted to say

badly. And she couldn't help him, couldn't do anything.

At last the words came, a mere sighing breath:

"_Seven Dials_ ... tell...."

"Yes," said Bundle again. It was a name he was trying to get

out--trying with all his failing strength. "Yes. Who am I to tell?"

"_Tell_ ... _Jimmy Thesiger_...." He got it out at last, and then

suddenly, his head fell back and his body went limp.

Bundle sat back on her heels, shivering from head to foot. She could

never have imagined that anything so awful could have happened to her.

He was dead--and she had killed him.

She tried to pull herself together. What must she do now? A

doctor--that was her first thought. It was possible--just

possible--that the man might only be unconscious, not dead. Her

instinct cried out against the possibility, but she forced herself to

act upon it. Somehow or other she must get him into the car and take

him to the nearest doctor's. It was a deserted stretch of country road

and there was no one to help her.

Bundle, for all her slimness, was strong. She had muscles of whipcord.

She brought the Hispano as close as possible, and then, exerting all

her strength, she dragged and pulled the inanimate figure into it. It

was a horrid business, and one that made her set her teeth, but at last

she managed it.

Then she jumped into the driver's seat and started off. A couple of

miles brought her into a small town and on inquiry she was quickly

directed to the doctor's house.

Dr. Cassell, a kindly, middle-aged man, was startled to come into

his surgery and find a girl there who was evidently on the verge of

collapse.

Bundle spoke abruptly.

"I--I think I've killed a man. I ran over him. I brought him along in

the car. He's outside now. I--I was driving too fast, I suppose. I've

always driven too fast."

The doctor cast a practised glance over her. He stepped over to a shelf

and poured something into a glass. He brought it over to her.

"Drink this down," he said, "and you'll feel better. You've had a

shock."

Bundle drank obediently and a tinge of colour came into her pallid

face. The doctor nodded approvingly.

"That's right. Now I want you to sit quietly here. I'll go out and

attend to things. After I've made sure there's nothing to be done for

the poor fellow, I'll come back and we'll talk about it."

He was away some time. Bundle watched the clock on the mantelpiece.

Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour, twenty minutes--would

he never come?

Then the door opened and Dr. Cassell reappeared. He looked

different--Bundle noticed that at once--grimmer and at the same time

more alert. There was something else in his manner that she did not

quite understand, a suggestion of repressed excitement.

"Now then, young lady," he said, "let's have this out. You ran over

this man, you say. Tell me just how the accident happened?"

Bundle explained to the best of her ability. The doctor followed her

narrative with keen attention.

"Just so; the car didn't pass over his body?"

"No. In fact, I thought I'd missed him altogether."

"He was reeling, you say?"

"Yes, I thought he was drunk."

"And he came from the hedge?"

"There was a gate just there, I think. He must have come through the

gate."

The doctor nodded, then he leaned back in his chair and removed his

pince-nez.

"I've no doubt at all," he said, "that you're a very reckless driver,

and that you'll probably run over some poor fellow and do for him one

of these days--but you haven't done it this time."

"But--"

"The car never touched him. _This man was shot._"