"You really are perfectly impossible, Father. You don't seem to have the brains of a rabbit."
"Not at all," said Lord Caterham. "You come in with a wildly impossible tale about men being run over and shot and I don't know what, and then you expect me to know all about it by magic."
Bundle sighed wearily.
"Just attend," she said. "I'll tell you all about it in words of one syllable."
"There," she said when she had concluded. "Now have you got it?"
"Of course. I understand perfectly now. I can make allowances for your being a little upset, my dear. I was not far wrong when I remarked to you before starting out that people looking for trouble usually found it. I am thankful," finished Lord Caterham with a slight shiver, "that I stayed quietly here."
He picked up the catalogue again.
"Father, where is Seven Dials?"
"In the East End somewhere, I fancy. I have frequently observed buses going there—or do I mean Seven Sisters? I have never been there myself, I am thankful to say. Just as well, because I don't fancy it is the sort of spot I should like. And yet, curiously enough, I seem to have heard of it in some connection just lately."
"You don't know a Jimmy Thesiger, do you?"