"Trying to cure him of thinking he's God Almighty. But that's an impossible task. I expect the Cootes have been bad for him. MacDonald wouldn't care one hoot, or even two hoots for the largest steam-roller that ever was. What's Lady Coote like?" Lord Caterham considered the question. "Very like my idea of Mrs. Siddons," he said at last. "I should think she went in a lot for amateur theatricals. I gather she was very upset about the clock business." "What clock business?" "Tredwell has just been telling me. It seems the house-party had some joke on. They bought a lot of alarum clocks and hid them about this young Wade's room. And then, of course, the poor chap was dead. Which made the whole thing rather beastly." Bundle nodded. "Tredwell told me something else rather odd about the clocks," continued Lord Caterham, who was now quite enjoying himself. "It seems that somebody collected them all and put them in a row on the mantelpiece after the poor fellow was dead." "Well, why not?" said Bundle. "I don't see why not myself," said Lord Caterham. "But apparently there was some fuss about it. No one would own up to having done it, you see. All the servants were questioned and swore they hadn't touched the beastly things. In fact, it was rather a mystery. And then the coroner asked questions at the inquest, and you know how difficult it is to explain things to people of that class." "Perfectly foul," agreed Bundle. "Of course," said Lord Caterham, "it's very difficult to get the hang of things afterwards. I didn't quite see the point of half the things Tredwell told me. By the way, Bundle, the fellow died in your room." Bundle made a grimace. "Why need people die in my room?" she asked with some indignation. "That's just what I've been saying," said Lord Caterham, in triumph. "Inconsiderate. Everybody's damned inconsiderate nowadays." "Not that I mind," said Bundle valiantly. "Why should I?" "I should," said her father. "I should mind very much. I should dream things, you know--spectral hands and clanking chains." "Well," said Bundle, "Great Aunt Louisa died in _your_ bed. I wonder you don't see her spook hovering over you." "I do sometimes," said Lord Caterham, shuddering. "Especially after lobster." "Well, thank heavens I'm not superstitious," declared Bundle. Yet that evening, as she sat in front of her bedroom fire, a slim, pyjamaed figure, she found her thoughts reverting to that cheery, vacuous young man, Gerry Wade. Impossible to believe that anyone so full of the joy of living could deliberately have committed suicide. No, the other solution must be the right one. He had taken a sleeping draught and by a pure mistake had swallowed an overdose. That _was_ possible. She did not fancy that Gerry Wade had been overburdened in an intellectual capacity.