THE MAN IN THE BROWN SUIT
A diamond robbery. An accidental death
at a London Tube station. And the
murder of a beautiful woman in a remote
country mansion. Who or What is the
connection? Is it the foreigner who
claimed to be a doctor and then disappeared?
The one the papers called
"The Man in the Brown Suit"? Only
Anne Beddingfield, who discovered that
strange scrap of paper smelling of mothballs, believes he man in the brown suiteshe can solve the mystery.
And her investigation takes her on a
danger-fraught ocean voyage to Africa
where the real intrigue begins . . .
AGATHA CHRISTIE
THE MAN
IN THE
BROWN SUIT
Complete and Unabridged
,vw^
Q
Ai
' ULVERSCROFT
Leicester
First published 1924
First Large Print Edition
published May 1984
by arrangement with
The Bodley Head, London
and
Dodd, Mead & Company, Inc.
New York
© Agatha Christie 1924
British Library CIP Data

Christie, Agatha - UJCL
The man in the brown suit.--Large print r,., .-^...- *-L (Ulverscroft large print series: mystery) - j' "
1. Title '
823'.912[F] PR6005.H66
IrCL
ISBN 0-7089-1125-0 /
public library
Published by IF . A. Thorpe (Publishing) Ltd.
Anstey, Leicestershire
Printed and Bound in Great Britain by
T. J. Press (Padstow) Ltd., Padstow, Cornwall
Prologue
NADINA,
had taker
the soun
ADINA, the Russian dancer who
had taken Paris by storm, swayed to
the sound of the applause, bowed
and bowed again. Her narrow black eyes
narrowed themselves still more, the long line
of her scarlet mouth curved faintly upwards.
Enf ^sisstic Frenchmen continued to beat
Lx^ p.ound appreciatively as the curtain fell
with a swish, hiding the reds and blues and
magentas of the bizarre decor. In a swirl of
blue and orange draperies the dancer left the
stage. A bearded gentleman received her
enthusiastically in his arms. It was the
Manager.
"Magnificent, petite, magnificent," he
cried. "To-night you have surpassed
yourself." He kissed her gallantly on both
cheeks in a somewhat matter-of-fact manner.
Madame Nadina accepted the tribute with
the ease of long habit and passed on to her
dressing-room, where bouquets were heaped
carelessly everywhere, marvellous garments
of futuristic design hung on pegs, and the air
1
was hot and sweet with the scent of the
massed blossoms and with more sophisticated
perfumes and essences, Jeanne, the dresser,
ministered to her mistress, talking incessantly
and pouring out a stream of fulsome
compliment.
A knock at the door interrupted the flow.
Jeanne went to answer it, and returned with a
card in her hand.
"Madame will receive?"
"Let me see."
The dancer stretched out a languid hand,
but at the sight of the name on the card,
'Count Sergius Paulovitch/ a sudden flicker
of interest came into her eyes.
"I will see him. The maize peignoir, Jeanne,
and quickly. And when the Count comes you
may go."
"Bien, Madame."
Jeanne brought the peignoir, an exquisite
wisp of corn-coloured chiffon and ermine.
Nadine slipped into it, and sat smiling to
herself, whilst one long white hand beat a
slow tattoo on the glass of the dressing-table.
The Count was prompt to avail himself of
the privilege accorded to him—a man of
medium height, very slim, very elegant, very
pale, extraordinarily weary. In feature, little
2
to take hold of, a man difficult to recognize
again if one left his mannerisms out of
account. He bowed over the dancer's hand
with exaggerated courtliness.
"Madame, this is a pleasure indeed."
So much Jeanne heard before she went out,
closing the door behind her. Alone with her
visitor, a subtle change came over Nadina's
smile.
"Compatriots though we are, we will not
speak Russian, I think," she observed.
"Since we neither of us know a word of the
language, it might be as well," agreed her
guest.
By common consent, they dropped into
English, and nobody, now that the Count's
mannerisms had dropped from him, could
doubt that it was his native language. He had,
indeed, started life as a quick-change musichall
artiste in London.
"You had a great success to-night," he
remarked. "I congratulate you."
"All the same," said the woman, "I am
disturbed. My position is not what it was.
The suspicions aroused during the War have
never died down. I am continually watched
and spied upon."
3
"But no charge of espionage was ever
brought against you?"
"Our chief lays his plans too carefully for
that."
"Long life to the 'Colonel'," said the
Count, smiling. "Amazing news, is it not,
that he means to retire? To retire! Just like a
doctor, or a butcher, or a plumber——"
"Or any other business man," finished
Nadina. "It should not surprise us. That is
what the colonel* has always been—an
excellent man of business. He has organized
crime as another man might organize a boot
factory. Without committing himself, he has
planned and directed a series of stupendous
coups, embracing every branch of what we
might call his 'profession.' Jewel robberies,
forgery, espionage (the latter very profitable
in war-time), sabotage, discreet assassination,
there is hardly anything he had not touched.
Wisest of all, he knows when to stop. The
game begins to be dangerous?—he retires
gracefully—with an enormous fortune!"
"ITm!" said the Count doubtfully. "It is
rather—upsetting for all of us. We are at a
loose end, as it were."
"But we are being paid off—on a most
generous scale!"
4
Something, some undercurrent of mockery
in her tone, made the man look .at her
sharply. She was smiling to herself, and the
quality other smile aroused his curiosity. But
he proceeded diplomatically:
"Yes, the 'Colonel' has always been a
generous paymaster. I attribute much of his
success to that--and to his invariable plan of
providing a suitable scapegoat. A great brain,
undoubtedly a great brain! And an apostle of
the maxim, "If you want a thing done safely,
do not do it yourself!" Here we are, every one
of us incriminated up to the hilt and
absolutely in his power, and not one of us has
anything on him."
He paused, almost as though he were
expecting her to disagree with him, but she
remained silent, smiling to herself as before.
"Not one of us," he mused. "Still, you
know, he is superstitious, the old man. Years
ago, I believe, he went to one of these
fortune-telling people. She prophesied a lifetime
of success, but declared that his
downfall would be brought about through a
woman."
He had interested her now. She looked up
eagerly.
5
"That is strange, very strange! Through a
woman you say?"
He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"Doubtless, now that he has—retired, he
will marry. Some young society beauty, who
will disperse his millions faster than he
acquired them."
Nadina shook her head.
"No, no, that is not the way of it. Listen,
my friend, tomorrow I go to London."
"But your contract here?"
"I shall be away only one night. And I go
incognito, like Royalty. No one will ever
know that I have left France. And why do you
think that I go?"
"Hardly for pleasure at this time of year.
January, a detest^ale foggy month! It must be
for profit, eh?"
"Exactly." She rose and stood in front of
him, every graceful line of her arrogant with
pride. "You said just now that none of us had
anything on the chief. You were wrong. I
have. I, a woman, have had the wit and, yes,
the courage—for it needs courage—to doublecross
him. You remember the De Beers
diamonds?"
"Yes, I remember. At Kimberley, just
before the War broke out? I had nothing to do
6
with it, and I never heard the details: the case
was hushed up for some reason, was it not? A
fine haul too."
"A hundred thousand pounds' worth of
stones. Two of us worked it—under the
colonel's' orders, of course. And it was then
that I saw my chance. You see, the plan was
to substitute some of the De Beers diamonds
for some sample diamonds brought from
South America by two young prospectors
who happened to be in Kimberley at the
time. Suspicion was then bound to fall on
them."
"Very clever," interpolated the Count
approvingly.
"The 'Colonel' is always clever. Well, I did
my part—but I also did o ' thing which the
'Colonel' had not foreseen. I kept back some
of the South American stones—one or two are
unique and could easily be proved never to
have passed through De Beers' hands. With
these diamonds in my possession, I have the
whip-hand of my esteemed chief. Once the
two young men are cleared, his part in the
matter is bound to be suspected. I have said
nothing all these years, I have been content to
know that I had this weapon in reserve, but
now matters are different. I want my
price--and it will be a big, I might almost say
a staggering price."
"Extraordinary," said the Count. "And
doubtless you carry these diamonds about ^ with you everywhere?"
His eyes roamed gently round the
disordered room.
Nadina laughed softly.
"You need suppose nothing of the sort. I
am not a fool. The diamonds are in a safe
place where no one will dream of looking for
them."
"I never thought you a fool, my dear lady, but may I venture to suggest that you are
somewhat foolhardy? The 'Colonel' is not the
type of man to take kindly to being blackmailed,
you know."
"I am not afraid of him," she laughed.
"There is only one man I have ever
feared--and he is dead."
The man looked at her curiously.
"Let us hope that he will not come to life
again, then," he remarked lightly.
"What do you mean?" cried the dancer
sharply.
The Count looked slightly surprised.
"I only meant that a resurrection would be
8
awkward for you," he explained. "A foolish
joke."
She gave a sigh of relief.
"Oh, no, he is dead all right. Killed in the
war. He was a man who once—loved me."
"In South Africa?" asked the Count
negligently.
"Yes, since you ask it, in South Africa."
"That is your native country, is it not?"
She nodded. Her visitor rose and reached
for his hat.
"Well," he remarked, "you know your own
business best, but, if I were you, I should fear
the 'Colonel' far more than any disillusioned
lover. He is a man whom it is particularly
easy to—underestimate."
She laughed scornfully.
"As if I did not know him after all these
years!"
"I wonder if you do?" he said softly. "I
very much wonder if you do."
"Oh, I am not a fool! And I am not alone in
this. The South African mail-boat docks at
Southampton to-morrow, and on board her is
a man who has come specially from Africa at
my request and who has carried out certain
orders of mine. The 'Colonel' will have not
one of us to deal with, but two."
9
"Is that wise?"
"It is necessary."
"You are sure of this man?"
A rather peculiar smile played over the
dancer's face.
"I am quite sure of him. He is inefficient,
but perfectly trustworthy." She paused, and
then added in an indifferent tone of voice:
"As a matter of fact, he happens to be my
husband."
10
1
EVERYBODY has been at me, right and
left, to write this story, from the great
(represented by Lord Nasby) to the
small (represented by our late maid-of-allwork,
Emily, whom I saw when I was last in
England. "Lor, miss, what a beyewtiful book
you might make out of it all—just like the
pictures!").
I'll admit that I've certain qualifications for
the task. I was mixed up in the affair from the
very beginning, I was in the thick of it all
through, and I was triumphantly "in at the
death." Very fortunately, too, the gaps that I
cannot supply from my own knowledge are
amply covered by Sir Eustace Pedler's diary,
of which he has kindly begged me to make
use.
So here goes. Anne Beddingfield starts to
narrate her adventures.
I'd always longed for adventures. You see,
my life had such a dreadful sameness. My
father. Professor Beddingfield, was one of
England's greatest living authorities on
TMITBS 2 11
Primitive Man. He really was a genius--
everyone admits that. His mind dwelt in
Palaeolithic times, and the inconvenience of
life for him was that his body inhabited the
modern world. Papa did not care for modern
man--even Neolithic Man he despised as a
mere herder of cattle, and he did not rise to
enthusiasm until he reached the Mousterian
period.
Unfortunately one cannot entirely dispense
with modern men. One is forced to have some
kind of truck with butchers and bakers and
milkmen and greengrocers. Therefore, Papa
being immersed in the past. Mama having
died when I was a baby, it fell to me to
undertake the practical side of living.
Frankly, I hate Palaeolithic Man, be he
Aurignacian, Mousterian, Chellian, or anything
else, and though I typed and revised
most of Papa's Neanderthal Man and his
Ancestors^ Neanderthal men themselves fill
me with loathing, and I always reflect what a
fortunate circumstance it was that they
became extinct in remote ages.
I do not know whether Papa guessed my
feelings on the subject, probably not, and in
any case he would not have been interested.
The opinion of other people never interested
12
him in the slightest degree. I think it was
really a sign of his greatness. In the same way,
he lived quite detached from the necessities of
daily life. He ate what was put before him in
an exemplary fashion, but seemed mildly
pained when the question of paying for it
arose. We never seemed to have any money.
His celebrity was not of the kind that brought
in a cash return. Although he was a Fellow of
almost every important society and had rows
of letters after his name, the general public
scarcely knew of his existence, and his long
learned books, though adding signally to the
sum-total of human knowledge, had no
attraction for the masses. Only on one
occasion did he leap into the public gaze. He
had read a paper before some society on the
subject of the young of the chimpanzee. The
young of the human race show some
anthropoid features, whereas the young of the
chimpanzee approach more nearly to the
human than the adult chimpanzee does. That
seems to show that whereas our ancestors
were more Simian than we are, the
chimpanzee's were of a higher type than
the present species--in other words, the
chimpanzee is a degenerate. That enterprising
newspaper, the Daily Budget, being
13
hard up for something spicy, immediately
brought itself out with large headlines. " We
are not descended from monkeys, but are
monkeys descended from us^ Eminent
Professor says chimpanzees are decadent
humans." Shortly afterwards, a reporter
called to see Papa, and endeavoured to induce
him to write a series of popular articles on the
theory. I have seldom seen Papa so angry. He
turned the reporter out of the house with
scant ceremony, much to my secret sorrow, as
we were particularly short of money at the
moment. In fact, for a moment I meditated
running after the young man and informing
him that my father had changed his mind and
would send the articles in question. I could
easily have written them myself, and the
probabilities were that Papa would never
have learnt of the transaction, not being a
reader of the Daily Budget. However, I
rejected this course as being too risky, so I
merely put on my best hat and went sadly
down the village to interview our justly irate
grocer.
The reporter from the Daily Budget was the
only young man who ever came to our house.
There were times when I envied Emily, our
little servant, who "walked out" whenever
14
occasion offered with a large sailor to whom
she was affianced. In between times, to "keep
her hand in," as she expressed it, she walked
out with the greengrocer's young man, and
the chemist's assistant. I reflected sadly that I
had no one to "keep my hand in" with. All
Papa's friends were aged Professors—usually
with long beards. It is true that Professor
Peterson once clasped me affectiontely and
said I had a "neat little waist" and then tried
to kiss me. The phrase alone dated him
hopelessly. No self-respecting female has had
a "neat little waist" since I was in my cradle.
I yearned for adventure, for love, for
romance, and I seemed condemned to an
existence of drab utility. The village
possessed a lending library, full of tattered
works of fiction, and I enjoyed perils and
love-making at second hand, and went to
sleep dreaming of stern silent Rhodesians,
and of strong men who always "felled their
opponent with a single blow." There was no
one in the village who even looked as though
they could "fell" an opponent, with a single
blow or with several.
There was the cinema, too, with a weekly
episode of "The Perils of Pamela." Pamela
was a magnificent young woman. Nothing
15
daunted her. She fell out of aeroplanes, adventured in submarines, climbed skyscrapers
and crept about in the Underworld
without turning a hair. She was not really
clever, the Master Criminal of the Underworld
caught her each time, but as he seemed
loath to knock her on the head in a simple
way, and always doomed her to death in a
sewer-gas-chamber or by some new and
marvellous means, the hero was always able
to rescue her at the beginning of the
following week's episode. I used to come out
with my head in a delirious whirl--and then I
would get home and find a notice from the
Gas Company threatening to cut us off if the
outstanding account was not paid!
And yet, though I did not suspect it, every
moment was bringing adventure nearer to
me.
It is possible that there are many people in
the world who have never heard of the
finding of an antique skull at the Broken Hill
Mine in Northern Rhodesia. I came down
one morning to find Papa excited to the point
of apoplexy. He poured out the whole story
to me.
"You understand, Anne? There are
undoubtedly certain resemblances to the Java
16
skull, but superficial--superficial only. No,
here we have what I have always maintained--the
ancestral form of the Neanderthal
race. You grant that the Gibraltar skull is the
most primitive of the Neanderthal skulls
found? Why? The cradle of the race was in
Africa. They passed to Europe----"
"Not marmalade on kippers. Papa," I said
hastily, arresting my parent's absentminded
hand. "Yes, you were saying?"
"They passed to Europe on----"
Here he broke down with a bad fit of
choking, the result of an immoderate
mouthful of kipper-bones.
"But we must start at once," he declared,
as he rose to his feet at the conclusion of the
meal. "There is no time to be lost. We must
be on the spot--there are doubtless
incalculable finds to be found in the
neighbourhood. I shall be interested to note
whether the implements are typical of the
Mousterian period--there will be the remains
of the primitive ox, I should say, but not
those of the woolly rhinoceros. Yes, a little
army will be starting soon. We must get
ahead of them. You will write to Cook's today,
Anne?"
17
"What about money. Papa?" I hinted
delicately.
He turned a reproachful eye upon me.
"Your point of view always depresses me,
my child. We must not be sordid. No, no, in
the cause of science one must not be sordid."
"I feel Cook's might be sordid. Papa."
Papa looked pained.
"My dear Anne, you will pay them in ready
money."
"I haven't got any ready money."
Papa looked thoroughly exasperated.
"My child, I really cannot be bothered
with these vulgar money details. The bank—1
had something from the Manager yesterday,
saying I had twenty-seven pounds."
"That's your overdraft, I fancy."
"Ah, I have it! Write to my publishers."
I acquiesced doubtfully. Papa's books
bringing in more glory than money. I liked
the idea of going to Rhodesia immensely.
"Stern silent men," I murmured to myself in
an ecstasy. Then something in my parent's
appearance struck me as unusual.
"You have odd boots on. Papa," I said.
"Take off the brown one and put on the other
black one. And don't forget your muffler. It's
a very cold day."
18
In a few minutes Papa stalked off, correctly
booted and well mufflered.
He returned late that evening, and, to my
dismay, I saw his muffler and overcoat were
missing.
"Dear me, Anne, you are quite right. I took
them off to go into the cavern. One gets so
dirty there."
I nodded feelingly, remembering an
occasion when Papa had returned literally
plastered from head to foot with rich
Pleistocene clay.
Our principal reason for settling in Little
Hampsley had been the neighbourhood of
Hampsley Cavern, a buried cave rich in
deposits of the Aurignacian culture. We had a
tiny museum in the village, and the curator
and Papa spent most of their days messing
about underground and bringing to light
portions of woolly rhinoceros and cave bear.
Papa coughed badly all the evening, and
the following morning I saw he had a
temperature and sent for the doctor.
Poor Papa, he never had a chance. It was
double pneumonia. He died four days later.
19
2
EVERYONE was very kind to me. Dazed
as I was, I appreciated that. I felt no
overwhelming grief. Papa had never
loved me; I knew that well enough. If he had,
I might have loved him in return. No, there
had not been love between us, but we had
belonged together, and I had looked after
him, and had secretly admired his learning
and his uncompromising devotion to science.
And it hurt me that Papa should have died
just when the interest of life was at its height
for him. I should have felt happier if I could
have buried him in a cave, with paintings of
reindeer and flint implements, but the force
of public opinion constrained a neat tomb
(with marble slab) in our hideous local
churchyard. The vicar's consolations, though
well meant, did not console me in the least.
It took some time to dawn upon me that the
thing I had always longed for—freedom—was
at last mine. I was an orphan, and practically
penniless, but free. At the same time I
realized the extraordinary kindness of all
20
these good people. The vicar did his best to
persuade me that his wife was in urgent need
of a companion help. Our tiny local library
suddenly made up its mind to have an
assistant librarian. Finally, the doctor called
upon me, and after making various ridiculous
excuses for failing to send in a proper bill, he
hummed and hawed a good deal and
suddenly suggested that I should marry him.
I was very much astonished. The doctor
was nearer forty than thirty and a round,
tubby little man. He was not at all like the
hero of "The Perils of Pamela," and even less
like a stern and silent Rhodesian. I reflected a
minute and then asked him why he wanted to
marry me. That seemed to fluster him a good
deal, and he murmured that a wife was a great
help to a general practitioner. The position
seemed even more unromantic than before,
and yet something in me urged towards its
acceptance. Safety, that was what I was being
offered. Safety—and a Comfortable Home.
Thinking it over now, I believe I did the little
man an injustice. He was honestly in love
with me, but a mistaken delicacy prevented
him from pressing his suit on those lines.
Anyway, my love of romance rebelled.
"It's extremely kind of you," I said. "But
21
it's impossible. I could never marry a man
unless I loved him madly."
"You don't think——?"
"No, I don't," I said firmly.
He sighed.
"But, my dear child, what do you propose
to do?"
"Have adventures and see the world," I
replied, without the least hesitation.
"Miss Anne, you are very much of a child
still. You don't understand——"
"The practical difficulties? Yes, I do,
doctor. I'm not a sentimental schoolgirl—I'm
a hard-headed mercenary shrew! You'd know
it if you married me!"
"I wish you would reconsider——"
"I can't."
He sighed again.
"I have another proposal to make. An aunt
of mine who lives in Wales is in want of a
young lady to help her. How would that suit
you?"
"No, doctor, I'm going to London. If
things happen anywhere, they happen in
London. I shall keep my eyes open and,
you'll see, something will turn up! You'll
hear of me next in China or Timbuctoo."
My next visitor was Mr. Flemming, Papa's
22
London solicitor. He came down specially
from town to see me. An ardent anthropologist
himself, he was a great admirer of
Papa's works. He was a tall, spare man with a
thin face and grey hair. He rose to meet me as
I entered the room and taking both my hands
in his, patted them affectionately.
"My poor child," he said. "My poor, poor
child."
Without conscious hypocrisy, I found
myself assuming the demeanour of a bereaved
orphan. He hypnotized me into it. He was
benignant, kind and fatherly--and without
the least doubt he regarded me as a perfect
fool of a girl left adrift to face an unkind
world. From the first I felt that it was quite
useless to try to convince him of the contrary.
As things turned out, perhaps it was just as
well I didn't.
"My dear child, do you think you can listen
to me whilst I try to make a few things clear
to you?"
"Oh, yes."
"Your father, as you know, was a very great
man. Posterity will appreciate him. But he
was not a good man of business."
I knew that quite as well, if not better than
Mr. Flemming, but I restrained myself from
23
saying so. He continued: "I do not suppose
you understand much of these matters. I will
try to explain as clearly as I can."
He explained at unnecessary length. The
upshot seemed to be that I was left to face life
with the sum of £87 17s 4d. It seemed a
strangely unsatisfying amount. I waited in
some trepidation for what was coming next. I
feared that Mr. Flemming would be sure to
have an aunt in Scotland who was in want
of a bright young companion. Apparently,
however, he hadn't.
"The question is," he went on, "the
future. I understand you have no living
relatives?"
"I'm alone in the world," I said, and was
struck anew by my likeness to a film heroine.
"You have friends?"
"Everyone has been very kind to me," I
said gratefully.
"Who would not be kind to one so young
and charming?" said Mr. Flemming
gallantly. "Well, well, my dear, we must see
what can be done." He hesitated a minute,
and then said: "Supposing—how would it be
if you came to us for a time?"
I jumped at the chance. London! The place
for things to happen.
24
"It's awfully kind of you," I said. "Might I
really? Just while I'm looking round. I must
start out to earn my living, you know?"
"Yes, yes, my dear child. I quite
understand. We will look round for
something--suitable.''
I felt instinctively that Mr. Flemming's
ideas of "something suitable" and mine were
likely to be widely divergent, but it was
certainly not the moment to air my views.
"That is settled then. Why not return with
me today?"
"Oh, thank you, but will Mrs.
Flemming----"
"My wife will be delighted to welcome
you."
I wonder if husbands know as much about
their wives as they think they do. If I had a
husband, I should hate him to bring home
orphans without consulting me first.
"We will send her a wire from the station,"
continued the lawyer.
My few personal belongings were soon
packed. I contemplated my hat sadly before
putting it on. It had orginally been what I call
a "Mary" hat, meaning by that the kind of
hat a housemaid ought to wear on her day
25
out—but doesn't! A limp thing of black straw
with a suitably depressed brim. With the
inspiration of genius, I had kicked it once,
punched it twice, dented in the crown and
affixed to it a thing like a cubist's dream of a
jazz carrot. The result had been distinctly
chic. The carrot I had already removed, of
course, and now I proceeded to undo the rest
of my handiwork. The "Mary" hat resumed
its former status with an additional battered
appearance which made it even more
depressing than formerly. I might as well
look as much like the popular conception of
an orphan as possible. I was just a shade
nervous of Mrs. Flemming's reception, but
hoped my appearance might have a
sufficiently disarming effect.
Mr. Flemming was nervous too. I realized
that as we went up the stairs of the tall
house in a quiet Kensington square. Mrs.
Flemming greeted me pleasantly enough. She
was a stout, placid woman of the "good wife
and mother" type. She took me up to a
spotless chintz-hung bedroom, hoped I had
everything I wanted, informed me that tea
would be ready in about a quarter of an hour,
and left me to my own devices.
I heard her voice, slightly raised, as she
26
entered the drawing-room below on the first
floor.
"Well, Henry, why on earth——" I lost the
rest, but the acerbity of the tone was evident.
And a few minutes later another phrase
floated up to me, in an even more acid voice:
"I agree with you! She is certainly very goodlooking."
It
is really a very hard life. Men will not be
nice to you if you are not good-looking, and
women will not be nice to you if you are.
With a deep sigh I proceeded to do things
to my hair. I have nice hair. It is black—a real
black, not dark brown—and it grows well
back from my forehead and down over the
ears. With a ruthless hand I dragged it
upwards. As ears, my ears are quite all right,
but there is no doubt about it, ears are demode
nowadays. They are like the "Queen of
Spain's legs" in Professor Peterson's young
day. When I had finished I looked almost
unbelievably like the kind of orphan that
walks out in a queue with a little bonnet and a
red cloak.
I noticed when I went down that Mrs.
Flemming's eyes rested on my exposed ears
with quite a kindly glance. Mr. Flemming
seemed puzzled. I had no doubt that he was
TMITBS3 27
saying to himself. "What has the child done
to herself?"
On the whole the rest of the day passed off
well. It was settled that I was to start at once
to look for something to do.
When I went to bed, I stared earnestly at
my face in the glass. Was I really goodlooking?
Honestly I couldn't say I thought so!
I hadn't got a straight Grecian nose, or a
rosebud mouth, or any of the things you
ought to have. It is true that a curate once
told me that my eyes were like "imprisoned
sunshine in a dark, dark wood"—but curates
always know so many quotations, and fire
them off at random. I'd much prefer to have
Irish blue eyes than dark green ones with
yellow flecks! Still, green is a good colour for
adventuresses.
I wound a black garment tightly round me,
leaving my arms and shoulders bare. Then I
brushed back my hair and pulled it well down
over my ears again. I put a lot of powder on
my face, so that the skin seemed even whiter
than usual. I fished about until I found some
old lip-salve, and I put oceans of it on my
lips. Then I did under my eyes with burnt
cork. Finally, I draped a red ribbon over my
bare shoulder, stuck a scarlet feather in my
28
hair, and placed a cigarette in one corner of
my mouth. The whole effect pleased me very
much.
"Anna the Adventuress," I said aloud,
nodding at my reflection. "Anna the
Adventuress. Episode I, 'The House in
Kensington'!"
Girls are foolish things.
29
3
IN the succeeding weeks I was a good deal
bored. Mrs. Flemming and her friends
seemed to be supremely uninteresting.
They talked for hours of themselves and their
children and of the difficulties of getting good
milk for the children and of what they said to
the dairy when the milk wasn't good. Then
they would go on to servants, and the
difficulties of getting good servants and of
what they had said to the woman at the
registry office and of what the woman at the
registry office had said to them. They never
seemed to read the papers or to care about
what went on in the world. They disliked
travelling--everything was so different to
England. The Riviera was all right, of course,
because one met all one's friends there.
I listened and contained myself with difficulty.
Most of these women were rich. The
whole wide beautiful world was theirs to
wander in and they deliberately stayed in
dirty dull London and talked about milkmen
and servants! I think now, looking back, that
30
I was perhaps a shade intolerant. But they were stupid--stupid even at their chosen job:
most of them kept the most extraordinarily
inadequate and muddled housekeeping
accounts.
My affairs did not progress very fast. The
house and furniture had been sold, and the
amount realized had just covered our debts.
As yet, I had not been successful in finding a
post. Not that I really wanted one! I had the
firm conviction that, if I went about looking
for adventure, adventure would meet me halfway.
It is a theory of mine that one always
gets what one wants.
My theory was about to be proved in
practice.
It was early in January--the 8th, to be
exact. I was returning from an unsuccessful
interview with a lady who said she wanted a
secretary-companion, but really seemed to
require a strong charwoman who could work
twelve hours a day for 25 pounds a year. Having
parted with mutual veiled impolitenesses, I
walked down Edgware Road (the interview
had taken place in a house in St. John's
Wood), and across Hyde Park to St. George's
Hospital. There I entered Hyde Park Corner
31
Tube Station and took a ticket to Gloucester
Road.
Once on the platform I walked to the
extreme end of it. My inquiring mind wished
to satisfy itself as to whether there really were
points and an opening between the two
tunnels just beyond the station in the
direction of Down Street. I was foolishly
pleased to find I was right. There were not
many people on the platform, and at the
extreme end there was only myself and one
man. As I passed him, I sniffed dubiously. If
there is one smell I cannot bear it is that of
moth-balls! This man's heavy overcoat
simply reeked of them. And yet most men
begin to wear their winter overcoats before
January, and consequently by this time the
smell ought to have worn off. The man was
beyond me, standing close to the edge of the
tunnel. He seemed lost in thought, and I was
able to stare at him without rudeness. He was
a small thin man, very brown of face, with
blue light eyes and a small dark beard.
"Just come from abroad," I deduced.
"That's why his overcoat smells so. He's
come from India. Not an officer, or he
wouldn't have a beard. Perhaps a
tea-planter."
32
At this moment the man turned as though
to retrace his steps along the platform. He
glanced at me and then his eyes went on to
something behind me, and his face changed.
It was distorted by fear--almost panic. He
took a step backwards as though involuntarily
recoiling from some danger, forgetting that
he was standing on the extreme edge of the
platform, and went down and over. There
was a vivid flash from the rails and a
crackling sound. I shrieked. People came
running up. Two station officials seemed to
materialize from nowhere and took
command.
I remained where I was, rooted to the spot
by a sort of horrible fascination. Part of me
was appalled at the sudden disaster, and
another part of me was coolly and dispassionately
interested in the methods employed for
lifting the man off the live rail and back on to
the platform.
"Let me pass, please. I am a medical man."
A tall man with a brown beard pressed past
me and bent over the motionless body.
As he examined it, a curious sense of
unreality seemed to possess me. The thing
wasn't real--couldn't be. Finally, the doctor
stood upright and shook his head.
33
"Dead as a door-nail. Nothing to be done."
We had all crowded nearer, and an
aggrieved porter raised his voice. "Now then,
stand back there, will you? What's the sense
in crowding round?"
A sudden nausea seized me, and I turned
blindly and ran up the stairs again towards
the lift. I felt that it was too horrible. I must
get out into the open air. The doctor who had
examined the body was just ahead of me. The
lift was just about to go up, another having
descended, and he broke into a run. As he did
so, he dropped a piece of paper.
I stopped, picked it up, and ran after him.
But the lift gates clanged in my face, and I
was left holding the paper in my hand. By the
time the second lift reached the street level,
there was no sign of my quarry. I hoped it
was nothing important that he had lost, and
for the first time I examined it. It was a plain
half-sheet ofnotepaper with some figures and
words scrawled upon it in pencil. This is a
facsimile of it:
17-122 Kilmorden Castle
On the face of it, it certainly did not appear
to be of any importance. Still, I hesitated to
34
throw it away. As I stood there holding it, I
involuntarily wrinkled my nose in displeasure.
Moth-balls again! I held the paper
gingerly to my nose. Yes, it smelt strongly of
them. But, then----
I folded up the paper carefully and put it in
my bag. I walked home slowly and did a good
deal of thinking.
I explained to Mrs. Flemming that I had
witnessed a nasty accident-in the Tube and
that I was rather upset and would go to my
room and lie down. The kind woman insisted
on my having a cup of tea. After that I was
left to my own devices, and I proceeded to
carry out a plan I had formed coming home. I
wanted to know what it was that had
produced that curious feeling of unreality
whilst I was watching the doctor examine the
body. First I lay down on the floor in the
attitude of the corpse, then I laid a bolster
down in my stead, and proceeded to
duplicate, so far as I could remember, every
motion and gesture of the doctor. When I had
finished I had got what I wanted. I sat back
on my heels and frowned at the opposite
walls.
There was a brief notice in the evening
papers that a man had been killed in the
35
Tube, and a doubt was expressed whether it
was suicide or accident. That seemed to me to
make my duty clear, and when Mr.
Flemming heard my story he quite agreed
with me.
"Undoubtedly you will be wanted at the
inquest. You say no one else was near enough
to see what happened?"
<<I had the feeling someone was coming up
behind me, but I can't be sure--and, anyway,
they wouldn't be as near as I was."
The inquest was held. Mr. Flemming made
all the arrangements and took me there with
him. He seemed to fear that it would be a
great ordeal to me, and I had to conceal from
him my complete composure.
The deceased had been identified as L. B.
Carton. Nothing had been found in his
pockets except a house-agent's order to view a
house on the river near Marlow. It was in the
name of L. B. Carton, Russell Hotel. The
bureau clerk from the hotel identified the
man as having arrived the day before and
booked a room under that name. He had
registered as L. B. Carton, Kimberley, S.
Africa. He had evidently come straight off the
steamer.
36
I was the only person who had seen
anything of the affair.
"You think it was an accident?" the
coroner asked me.
"I am positive of it. Something alarmed
him, and he stepped backwards blindly
without thinking what he was doing."
"But what could have alarmed him?"
"That I don't know. But there was something.
He looked panic-stricken."
A stolid juryman suggested that some men
were terrified of cats. The man might have
seen a cat. I didn't think his suggestion a very
brilliant one, but it seemed to pass muster
with the jury, who were obviously impatient
to get home and only too pleased at being able
to give a verdict of accident as opposed to
suicide.
"It is extraordinary to me," said the
coroner, "that the doctor who first examined
the body has not come forward. His name
and address should have been taken at the
time. It was most irregular not to do so."
I smiled to myself. I had my own theory in
regard to the doctor. In pursuance of it, I
determined to make a call upon Scotland
Yard at an early date.
But the next morning brought a surprise.
37
Tube, and a doubt was expressed whether it
was suicide or accident. That seemed to me to
make my duty clear, and when Mr.
Flemming heard my story he quite agreed
with me.
"Undoubtedly you will be wanted at the
inquest. You say no one else was near enough
to see what happened?"
"I had the feeling someone was coming up
behind me, but I can't be sure—and, anyway,
they wouldn't be as near as I was."
The inquest was held. Mr. Flemming made
all the arrangements and took me there with
him. He seemed to fear that it would be a
great ordeal to me, and I had to conceal from
him my complete composure.
The deceased had been identified as L. B.
Carton. Nothing had been found in his
pockets except a house-agent's order to view a
house on the river near Marlow. It was in the
name of L. B. Carton, Russell Hotel. The
bureau clerk from the hotel identified the
man as having arrived the day before and
booked a room under that name. He had
registered as L. B. Carton, Kimberley, S.
Africa. He had evidently come straight off the
steamer.
36
I was the only person who had seen
anything of the affair.
"You think it was an accident?" the
coroner asked me.
"I am positive of it. Something alarmed
him, and he stepped backwards blindly
without thinking what he was doing."
"But what could have alarmed him?"
"That I don't know. But there was something.
He looked panic-stricken."
A stolid juryman suggested that some men
were terrified of cats. The man might have
seen a cat. I didn't think his suggestion a very
brilliant one, but it seemed to pass muster
with the jury, who were obviously impatient
to get home and only too pleased at being able
to give a verdict of accident as opposed to
suicide.
"It is extraordinary to me," said the
coroner, "that the doctor who first examined
the body has not come forward. His name
and address should have been taken at the
time. It was most irregular not to do so."
I smiled to myself. I had my own theory in
regard to the doctor. In pursuance of it, I
determined to make a call upon Scotland
Yard at an early date.
But the next morning brought a surprise.
37
The Flemmings took in the Daily Budget, and
the Daily Budget was having a day after its
own heart.
EXTRAORDINARY SEQUEL TO TUBE
ACCIDENT.
WOMAN FOUND STRANGLED IN
LONELY HOUSE.
I read eagerly.
"A sensational discovery was made
yesterday at the Mill House, Marlow. The
Mill House, which is the property of Sir
Eustace Pedler, M.P., is to be let
unfurnished, and an order to view this
property was found in the pocket of the man
who was at first thought to have committed
suicide by throwing himself on the live rail at
Hyde Park Corner Tube Station. In an upper
room of the Mill House the body of a
beautiful young woman was discovered
yesterday, strangled. She is thought to be a
foreigner, but so far has not been identified.
The police are reported to have a clue. Sir
Eustace Pedler, the owner of the Mill House,
is wintering on the Riviera."
38
4
NOBODY came forward to identify
the dead woman. The inquest
elicited the following facts.
Shortly after one o'clock on January 8th, a
well-dressed woman with a slight foreign
accent had entered the offices of Messrs.
Butler and Park, house-agents, in Knightsbridge.
She explained that she wanted to rent
or purchase a house on the Thames within
easy reach of London. The particulars of
several were given to her, including those of
the Mill House. She gave the name of Mrs.
de Castina and her address as the Ritz, but
there proved to be no one of that name
staying there, and the hotel people failed to
identify the body.
Mrs. James, the wife of Sir Eustace
Pedler's gardener, who acted as caretaker to
the Mill House and inhabited the small lodge
opening on the main road, gave evidence.
About three o'clock that afternoon a lady
came to see over the house. She produced an
order from the house-agents, and, as was the
39
usual custom, Mrs. James gave her the keys
of the house. It was situated at some distance
from the lodge, and she was not in the habit
of accompanying prospective tenants. A few
minutes later a young man arrived. Mrs.
James described him as tall and broadshouldered,
with a bronzed face and light
grey eyes. He was clean-shaven and was
wearing a brown suit. He explained to Mrs.
James that he was a friend of the lady who
had come to look over the house, but had
stopped at the post office to send a telegram.
She directed him to the house, and thought
no more about the matter.
Five minutes later he reappeared, handed
her back the keys and explained that he feared
the house would not suit them. Mrs. James
did not see the lady, but thought that she had
gone on ahead. What she did notice was that
the young man seemed very much upset
about something. "He looked like a man
who'd seen a ghost. I thought he was taken
ill."
On the following day another lady and
gentleman came to see the property and
discovered the body lying on the floor in one
of the upstairs rooms. Mrs. James identified
it as that of the lady who had come the day
40
before. The house-agents also recognized it as
that of "Mrs. de Castina." The police
surgeon gave it as his opinion that the woman
had been dead about twenty-four hours. The
Daily Budget had jumped to the conclusion
that the man in the Tube had murdered the
woman and afterwards committed suicide.
However, as the Tube victim was dead at two
o'clock, and the woman was alive and well at
three o'clock, the only logical conclusion to
come to was that the two occurrences had
nothing to do with each other, and that the
order to view the house at Marlow found in
the dead man's pocket was merely one of
those coincidences which so often occur in
this life.
A verdict of "Wilful Murder against some
person or persons unknown" was returned,
and the police (and the Daily Budget) were
left to look for "the man in the brown suit."
Since Mrs. James was positive that there was
no one in the house when the lady entered it,
and that nobody except the young man in
question entered it until the following
afternoon, it seemed only logical to conclude
that he was the murderer of the unfortunate
Mrs. de Castina. She had been strangled with
a piece of stout black cord, and had evidently
41
been caught unawares with no time to cry
out. The black silk handbag which she
carried contained a well-filled notecase and
some loose change, a fine lace handkerchief, unmarked, and the return half of a first-class
ticket to London. Nothing much there to go
upon.
Such were the details published broadcast
by the Daily Budget, and "Find the Man in
the Brown Suit" was their daily war-cry. On
an average about five hundred people wrote
daily to announce their success in the quest, and tall young men with well-tanned faces
cursed the day when their tailors had persuaded
them to a brown suit. The accident in
the Tube, dismissed as a coincidence, faded
out of the public mind.
Was it a coincidence? I was not so sure. No
doubt I was prejudiced--the Tube incident
was my own pet mystery--but there certainly
seemed to me to be a connection of some kind
between the two fatalities. In each there was a
man with a tanned face--evidently an
Englishman living abroad--and there were
other things. It was the consideration of these
other things that finally impelled me to what
I considered a dashing step. I presented
myself at Scotland Yard and demanded to see
42
whoever was in charge of the Mill House
case.
My request took some time to understand,
as I had inadvertently selected the
department for lost umbrellas, but eventually
I was ushered into a small room and
presented to Detective Inspector Meadows.
Inspector Meadows was a small man with a
ginger head and what I considered a
peculiarly irritating manner. A satellite, also
in plain clothes, sat unobtrusively in a corner.
"Good morning," I said nervously.
"Good morning. Will you take a seat? I
understand you've something to tell me that
you think may be of use to us."
His tone seemed to indicate that such a
thing was unlikely in the extreme. I felt my
temper stirred.
"Of course you know about the man who
was killed in the Tube? The man who had an
order to view this same house at Marlow in
his pocket."
"Ah!" said the inspector. "You are the
Miss Beddingfield who gave evidence at the
inquest. Certainly the man had an order in
his pocket. A lot of other people may have
had too—only they didn't happen to be
killed."
TMITBS4 43
I rallied my forces.
"You don't think it odd that this man had
no ticket in his pocket?"
"Easiest thing in the world to drop your
ticket. Done it myself."
"And no money."
"He had some loose change in his trousers
pocket."
"But no notecase."
"Some men don't carry a pocket-book or
notecase of any kind."
I tried another tack.
"You don't think it's odd that the doctor
never came forward afterwards?"
"A busy medical man very often doesn't
read the papers. He probably forgot all about
the accident."
"In fact, inspector, you are determined to
find nothing odd," I said sweetly.
"Well, I'm inclined to think you're a little
too fond of the word. Miss Beddingfield.
Young ladies are romantic, I know—fond of
mysteries and such-like. But as I'm a busy
man——"
I took the hint and rose.
The man in the corner raised a meek voice.
"Perhaps if the young lady would tell us
44
briefly what her ideas really are on the
subject, inspector?"
The inspector fell in with the suggestion
readily enough.
"Yes, come now. Miss Beddingfield, don't
be offended. You've asked questions and
hinted things. Just say straight out what it is
you've got in your head."
I wavered between injured dignity and the
overwhelming desire to express my theories.
Injured dignity went to the wall.
"You said at the inquest you were positive
it wasn't suicide?"
"Yes, I'm quite certain of that. The man
was frightened. What frightened him? It
wasn't me. But someone might have been
walking up the platform towards us—someone
he recognized."
"You didn't see anyone?"
"No," I admitted. "I didn't turn my head.
Then, as soon as the body was recovered from
the line, a man pushed forward to examine it,
saying he was a doctor."
"Nothing unusual in that," said the
inspector dryly.
"But he wasn't a doctor."
"What?"
"He wasn't a doctor," I repeated.
45
"How do you know that. Miss Beddingfield?"
"It's
difficult to say, exactly. I've worked in
hospitals during the war, and I've seen
doctors handle bodies. There's a sort of deft
professional callousness that this man hadn't
got. Besides, a doctor doesn't usually feel for
the heart on the right side of the body."
"He did that?"
"Yes, I didn't notice it specially at the
time—except that I felt there was something
wrong. But I worked it out when I got home,
and then I saw why the whole thing had
looked so unhandy to me at the time."
"H'm," said the inspector. He was
reaching slowly for pen and paper.
"In running his hands over the upper part
of the man's body he would have ample
opportunity to take anything he wanted from
the pockets."
"Doesn't sound likely to me," said the
inspector. "But—well, can you describe him
at all?"
"He was tall and broad-shouldered, wore a
dark overcoat and black boots, a bowler hat.
He had a dark pointed beard and goldrimmed
eyeglasses."
"Take away the overcoat, the beard and the
46
eyeglasses, and there wouldn't be much to
know him by," gmmbled the inspector. "He
could alter his appearance easily enough in
five minutes if he wanted to—which he could
do if he's the swell pickpocket you suggest."
I had not intended to suggest anything of
the kind. But from this moment I gave the
inspector up as hopeless.
"Nothing more you can tell us about him?"
he demanded, as I rose to depart.
"Yes," I said. I seized my opportunity to
fire a parting shot. "His head was markedly
brachycephalic. He will not find it so easy to
alter that."
I observed with pleasure that Inspector
Meadows's pen wavered. It was clear that he
did not know how to spell brachycephalic.
47
5

N the first heat of indignation, I found my
next step unexpectedly easy to tackle. I
had had a half-formed plan in my head
when I went into Scotland Yard. One to be
carried out if my interview there was unsatisfactory
(it had been profoundly unsatisfactory).
That is, if I had the nerve to go
through with it.
I
Things that one would shrink from
attempting normally are easily tackled in a
flush of anger. Without giving myself time to
reflect, I walked straight into the house of
Lord Nasby.
Lord Nasby was the millionaire owner of
the Daily Budget. He owned other papers- several of them, but the Daily Budget was his
special child. It was as the owner of the Daily
Budget that he was known to every householder
in the United Kingdom. Owing to the
fact that an itinerary of the great man's daily
proceedings had just been published, I knew
exactly where to find him at this moment. It
48
was his hour for dictating to his secretary in
his own house.
I did not, of course, suppose that any young
woman who chose to come and ask for him
would be at once admitted to the august
presence. But I had attended to that side of
the matter. In the card-tray in the hall of the
Flemmings* house, I had observed the card of
the Marquis of Loamsley, England's most
famous sporting peer. I had removed the
card, cleaned it carefully with bread-crumbs,
and pencilled upon it the words: "Please give
Miss Beddingfield a few moments of your
time." Adventuresses must not be too
scrupulous in their methods.
The thing worked. A powdered footman
received the card and bore it away. Presently
a pale secretary appeared. I fenced with him
successfully. He retired defeated. He again
reappeared and begged me to follow him. I
did so. I entered a large room, a frightenedlooking
shorthand-typist fled past me like a
visitant from the spirit-world. Then the door
shut and I was face to face with Lord Nasby.
A big man. Big head. Big face. Big
moustache. Big stomach. I pulled myself
together. I had not come here to comment on
49
Lord Nasby's stomach. He was already
roaring at me.
"Well, what is it? What does Loamsley
want? You are his secretary? What's it all
about?"
"To begin with," I said with as great an
appearance of coolness as I could manage, "I
don't know Lord Loamsley, and he certainly
knows nothing about me. I took his card from
the tray in the house of the people I'm staying
with, and I wrote those words on it myself. It
was important that I should see you."
For a moment it appeared to be a toss up as
to whether Lord Nasby had apoplexy or not.
In the end he swallowed twice and got over it.
"I admire your coolness, young woman.
Well, you see me! If you interest me, you will
continue to see me for exactly two minutes
longer."
"That will be ample," I replied. "And I
shall interest you. It's the Mill House
Mystery."
"If you've found "The Man in the Brown
Suit,' write to the Editor," he interrupted
hastily.
"If you will interrupt, I shall be more than
two minutes," I said sternly. "I haven't
50
found "The Man in the Brown Suit,' but I'm
quite likely to do so."
In as few words as possible I put the facts of
the Tube accident and the conclusions I had
drawn from them before him. When I had
finished he said unexpectedly, "What do you
know of brachycephalic heads?"
I mentioned Papa.
"The Monkey man? Eh? Well, you seem to
have a head of some kind upon your
shoulders, young woman. But it's all pretty
thin, you know. Not much to go upon. And
no use to us--as it stands."
"I'm perfectly aware of that."
"What d'you want, then?"
"I want a job on your paper to investigate
this matter."
"Can't do that. We've got our own special
man on it."
"And I've got my own special knowledge."
"What you've just told me, eh?"
"Oh, no. Lord Nasby. I've still got something
up my sleeve."
"Oh, you have, have you? You seem a
bright sort of girl. Well, what is it?"
"When this so-called doctor got into the
lift, he dropped a piece of paper. I picked it
up. It smelt of moth-balls. So did the dead
51
man. The doctor didn't. So I saw at once that
the doctor must have taken it off the body. It
had two words written on it and some
figures."
"Let's see it."
Lord Nasby stretched out a careless hand.
"I think not," I said, smiling. "It's my find
you see."
"I'm right. You are a bright girl. Quite
right to hang on to it. No scruples about not
handing it over to the police?"
"I went there to do so this morning. They
persisted in regarding the whole thing as
having nothing to do with the Marlow affair,
so I thought that in the circumstances I was
justified in retaining the paper. Besides, the
inspector put my back up."
"Short-sighted man. Well, my dear girl,
here's all I can do for you. Go on working on
this line of yours. If you get anything—anything
that's publishable—send it along and
you shall have your chance. There's always
room for real talent on the Daily Budget. But
you've got to make good first. See?"
I thanked him, and apologized for my
methods.
"Don't mention it. I rather like cheek—
from a pretty girl. By the way, you said two
52
minutes and you've been three, allowing for
interruptions. For a woman, that's quite
remarkable! Must be your scientific
training."
I was in the street again, breathing hard as
though I had been running. I found Lord
Nasby rather wearing as a new acquaintance.
53
6
I WENT home with a feeling of exultation.
My scheme had succeeded far better than I
could possibly have hoped. Lord Nasby
had been positively genial. It only now
remained for me to "make good," as he
expressed it. Once locked in my own room, I
took out my precious piece of paper and
studied it attentively. Here was the clue to the
mystery.
To begin with, what did the figures
represent? There were five of them, and a dot
after the first two. "Seventeen—one hundred
and twenty-two," I murmured.
That did not seem to lead to anything.
Next I added them up. That is often done
in works of fiction and leads to surprising
deductions.
"One and seven make eight and one is nine
and two are eleven and two are thirteen."
Thirteen! Fateful number! Was this a
warning to me to leave the whole thing alone?
Very possibly. Anyway, except as a warning,
it seemed to be singularly useless. I declined
54
to believe that any conspirator would take
that way of writing thirteen in real life. If he
meant thirteen, he would write thirteen.
"13^-like that.
There was a space between the one and the
two. I accordingly subtracted twenty-two
from a hundred and seventy-one. The result
was a hundred and fifty-nine. I did it again
and made it a hundred and forty-nine. These
arithmetical exercises were doubtless
excellent practice, but as regarded the
solution of the mystery, they seemed totally
ineffectual. I left arithmetic alone, not
attempting fancy division or multiplication,
and went on to the words.
Kilmorden Castle. That was something
definite. A place. Probably the cradle of an
aristocratic family. (Missing heir? Claimant
to title?) Or possibly a picturesque ruin.
(Buried treasure?)
Yes, on the whole I inclined to the theory
of buried treasure. Figures always go with
buried treasure. One pace to the right, seven
paces to the left, dig one foot, descend
twenty-two steps. That sort of idea. I could
work out that later. The thing was to get to
Kilmorden Castle as quickly as possible.
I made a strategic sally from my room, and
55
returned laden with books of reference. Who's Who, Whitaker, a Gazeteer, a History
of Scotch Ancestral Homes, and Somebody or
other's British Isles.
Time passed. I searched diligently, but
with growing annoyance. Finally, I shut the
last book with a bang. There appeared to be
no such place as Kilmorden Castle.
Here was an unexpected check. There must be such a place. Why should anyone invent a
name like that and write it down on a piece of
paper? Absurd!
Another idea occurred to me. Possibly it
was a castellated abomination in the suburbs
with a high-sounding name invented by its
owner. But if so, it was going to be extraordinarily
hard to find. I sat back gloomily on
my heels (I always sit on the floor to do
anything really important) and wondered
how on earth I was to set about it.
Was there any other line I could follow? I
reflected earnestly and then sprang to my feet
delightedly. Of course! I must visit the
"scene of the crime." Always done by the
best sleuths! And no matter how long
afterwards it may be they always find something
that the police have overlooked. My
course was clear. I must go to Marlow.
56
But how was I to get into the house? I
discarded several adventurous methods, and
plumped for stern simplicity. The house had
been to let—presumably was still to let. I
would be a prospective tenant.
I also decided on attacking the local houseagents,
as having fewer houses on their books.
Here, however, I reckoned without my
host. A pleasant clerk produced particulars of
about half a dozen desirable properties. It
took me all my ingenuity to find objections to
them. In the end I feared I had drawn a
blank.
"And you've really nothing else?" I asked,
gazing pathetically into the clerk's eyes.
"Something right on the river, and with a fair
amount of garden and a small lodge," I
added, summing up the main points of the
Mill House, as I had gathered them from the
papers.
"Well, of course, there's Sir Eustace
Pedler's place," said the man doubtfully.
"The Mill House, you know."
"Not—not where——" I faltered. (Really,
faltering is getting to be my strong point.)
"That's it! Where the murder took place.
But perhaps you wouldn't like——"
"Oh, I don't think I should mind," I said
57
with an appearance of rallying. I felt my bona
fides was now quite established. "And
perhaps I might get it cheap—in the
circumstances."
A master touch that, I thought.
"Well, it's possible. There's no pretending
that it will be easy to let now—servants and
all that, you know. If you like the place after
you've seen it, I should advise you to make an
offer. Shall I write you out an order?"
"If you please."
A quarter of an hour later I was at the lodge
of the Mill House. In answer to my knock,
the door flew open and a tall middle-aged
woman literally bounced out.
"Nobody can go into the house, do you
hear that? Fairly sick of you reporters, I am.
Sir Eustace's orders are——"
"I understood the house was to let," I said
freezingly, holding out my order. "Of course,
if it's already taken——"
"Oh, I'm sure I beg your pardon, miss. I've
been fairly pestered with these newspaper
people. Not a minute's peace. No, the house
isn't let—nor likely to be now."
"Are the drains wrong?" I asked in an
anxious whisper.
58
"Oh, Lord, miss, the drains is all right! But
surely you've heard about the foreign lady as
was done to death here?"
<<I believe I did read something about it in
the papers," I said carelessly.
My indifference piqued the good woman.
If I had betrayed any interest, she would
probably have closed up like an oyster. As it
was, she positively bridled.
"I should say you did, miss! It's been in all
the newspapers. The Daily Budget's out still
to catch the man who did it. It seems,
according to them, as our police are no good
at all. Well, I hope they'll get him--although
a nice-looking young fellow he was and no
mistake. A kind of soldierly look about
him--ah, well, I dare say he'd been wounded
in the war, and sometimes they go a bit queer
afterwards, my sister's boy did. Perhaps she'd
used him bad--they're a sad lot, those
foreigners. Though she was a fine-looking
woman. Stood there where you're standing
now."
"Was she dark or fair?" I ventured. "You
can't tell from these newspaper portraits."
"Dark hair, and a very white face--too
white for nature, I thought--had her lips
reddened something cruel. I don't like to see
TMITBS5	59
it--a little powder now and then is quite
another thing."
We were conversing like old friends now. I put another question.
"Did she seem nervous or upset at all?"
"Not a bit. She was smiling to herself, quiet like, as though she was amused at something.
That's why you could have knocked
me down with a feather when, the next afternoon, those people came running out calling
for the police and saying there'd been murder
done. I shall never get over it, and as for
setting foot in that house after dark I
wouldn't do it, not if it was ever so. Why, I
wouldn't even stay here at the lodge, if Sir
Eustace hadn't been down on his bended
knees to me."
[i| "I thought Sir Eustace Pedler was at '" Cannes?"
"So he was, miss. He came back to England
when he heard the news, and, as to the
bended knees, that was a figure of speech, his
secretary, Mr. Pagett, having offered us
double pay to stay on, and, as my John says, money is money nowadays."
I concurred heartily with John's by no
means original remarks.
"The young man now," said Mrs. James,
60
reverting suddenly to a former point in the
conversation. "He was upset. His eyes, light
eyes, they were, I noticed them particular,
was all shining. Excited, / thought. But I
never dreamt of anything being wrong. Not
even when he came out again looking all
queer."
"How long was he in the house?"
"Oh, not long, a matter of five minutes
maybe."
"How tall was he, do you think? About six
foot?"
"I should say so maybe."
"He was clean-shaven, you say?"
"Yes, miss--not even one of those toothbrush
moustaches."
"Was his chin at all shiny?" I asked on a
sudden impulse.
Mrs. James stared at me with awe.
"Well, now you come to mention it, miss, it was. However did you know?"
"It's a curious thing, but murderers often
have shiny chins," I explained wildly.
Mrs. James accepted the statement in all
good faith.
"Really, now, miss. I never heard that
before."
61
"You didn't notice what kind of a head he
had, I suppose?"
"Just the ordinary kind, miss. I'll fetch you
the keys, shall I?"
I accepted them, and went on my way to
the Mill House. My reconstructions so far I
considered good. All along I had realized that
the differences between the man Mrs. James
had described and my Tube "doctor" were
those of non-essentials. An overcoat, a beard,
gold-rimmed eye-glasses. The "doctor" had
appeared middle-aged, but I remembered that
he had stooped over the body like a
comparatively young man. There had been a
suppleness which told of young joints.
The victim of the accident (the Moth Ball
man, as I called him to myself) and the
foreign woman, Mrs. de Castina, or whatever
|^ her real name was, had had an assignation to
meet at the Mill House. That was how I
pieced the thing together. Either because
they feared they were being watched or from
some other reason, they chose the rather
ingenious method of both getting an order to
view the same house. Thus their meeting
there might have the appearance of pure
chance.
That the Moth Ball man had suddenly
62
caught sight of the "doctor," and that the
meeting was totally unexpected and alarming
to him, was another fact of which I was fairly
sure. What had happened next? The
"doctor" had removed his disguise and
followed the woman to Marlow. But it was
possible that had he removed it rather hastily
traces of gum-spirit might still linger on his
chin. Hence my question to Mrs. James.
Whilst occupied with my thoughts I had
arrived at the low old-fashioned door of the
Mill House. Unlocking it with the key, I
passed inside. The hall was low and dark, the
place smelt forlorn and mildewy. In spite of
myself, I shivered. Did the woman who had
come here "smiling to herself" a few days
ago feel no chill of premonition as she entered
this house? I wondered. Did the smile fade
from her lips, and did a nameless dread close
round her heart? Or had she gone upstairs,
smiling still, unconscious of the doom that
was so soon to overtake her? My heart beat a
little faster. Was the house really empty? Was
doom waiting for me in it also? For the first
time, I understood the meaning of the muchused
word, "atmosphere." There was an
atmosphere in this house, an atmosphere of
cruelty, of menace, of evil.
63
7
SHAKING off the feelings that oppressed
me, I went quickly upstairs. I had no
difficulty in finding the room of the
tragedy. On the day the body was discovered
it had rained heavily, and large muddy boots
had trampled the uncarpeted floor in every
direction. I wondered if the murderer had left
any footmarks the previous day. It was likely
that the police would be reticent on the
subject if he had, but on consideration I
decided it was unlikely. The weather had
been fine and dry.
There was nothing of interest about the
room. It was almost square with two big bay
windows, plain white walls and a bare floor,
the boards being stained round the edges
where the carpet had ceased. I searched it
carefully, but there was not so much as a pin
lying about. The gifted young detective did
not seem likely to discover a neglected clue.
I had brought with me a pencil and
notebook. There did not seem much to note,
but I duly dotted down a brief sketch of the
64
room to cover my disappointment at the
failure of my quest. As I was in the act of
returning the pencil to my bag, it slipped
from my fingers and rolled along the floor.
The Mill House was really old, and the
floors were very uneven. The pencil rolled
steadily, with increasing momentum, until it
came to rest under one of the windows. In the
recess of each window there was a broad
window-seat, underneath which there was a
cupboard. My pencil was lying right against
the cupboard door. The cupboard was shut,
but it suddenly occurred to me that if it had
been open my pencil would have rolled
inside. I opened the door, and my pencil
immediately rolled in and sheltered modestly
in the farthest corner. I retrieved it, noting as
I did so that owing to the lack of light and the
peculiar formation of the cupboard one could
not see it, but had to feel for it. Apart from
my pencil the cupboard was empty, but being
thorough my nature I tried the one under the
opposite window.
At first sight, it looked as though that also
was empty, but I grubbed about perseveringly,
and was rewarded by feeling my hand
close on a hard paper cylinder which lay in a
sort of trough, or depression, in the far corner
65
of the cupboard. As soon as I had it in my
hand, I knew what it was. A roll of Kodak
films. Here was a find!
I realized of course, that these films might
very well be an old roll belonging to Sir
Eustace Pedler which had rolled in here and
had not been found when the cupboard was
emptied. But I did not think so. The red
paper was far too fresh-looking. It was just as
dusty as it would have been had it laid there
for two or three days—that is to say, since the
murder. Had it been there for any length of
time, it would have been thickly coated.
Who had dropped it? The woman or the
man? I remembered that the contents of her
handbag had appeared to be intact. If it had
been jerked open in the struggle and the roll
of films had fallen out, surely some of the
loose money would have been scattered about
also? No, it was not the woman who had
dropped the films.
I sniffed suddenly and suspiciously. Was
the smell of moth-balls becoming an
obsession with me? I could swear that the roll
of films smelt of it also. I held them under my
nose. They had, as usual, a strong smell of
their own, but apart from that I could clearly
detect the odour I disliked so much. I soon
66
found the cause. A minute shred of cloth had
caught on a rough edge of the centre wood,
and that shred was strongly impregnated with
moth-balls. At some time or another the films
had been carried in the overcoat pocket of the
man who was killed in the Tube. Was it he
who had dropped them here? Hardly. His
movements were all accounted for.
No, it was the other man, the "doctor." He
had taken the films when he had taken the
paper. It was he who had dropped them here
during his struggle with the woman.
I had got my clue! I would have the roll
developed, and then I would have further
developments to work upon.
Very elated, I left the house, returned the
keys to Mrs. James and made my way as
quickly as possible to the station. On the way
back to town, I took out my paper and
studied it afresh. Suddenly the figures took
on a new significance. Suppose they were a
date? 17 1 22. The 17th of January, 1922.
Surely that must be it! Idiot that I was not to
have thought of it before. But in that case I
must find out the whereabouts of Kilmorden
Castle, for to-day was actually the 14th.
Three days. Little enough—almost hopeless
when one had no idea of where to look!
67
It was too late to hand in my roll to-day. I
had to hurry home to Kensington so as not to
be late for dinner. It occurred to me that
there was an easy way of verifying whether
some of my conclusions were correct. I asked
Mr. Flemming whether there had been a
camera amongst the dead man's belongings. I
knew that he had taken an interest in the case
and was conversant with all the details.
To my surprise and annoyance he replied
that there had been no camera. All Carton's
effects had been gone over very carefully in
the hopes of finding something that might
throw light upon his state of mind. He was
positive that there had been no photographic
apparatus of any kind.
That was rather a set-back to my theory. If
he had no camera, why should he be carrying
a roll of films?
I set out early next morning to take my
precious roll to be developed. I was so fussy
that I went all the way to Regent Street to the
big Kodak place. I handed it in and asked for
a print of each film. The man finished
stacking together a heap of films packed in
yellow tin cylinders for the tropics, and
picked up my roll.
He looked at me.
68
"You've made a mistake, I think," he said,
smiling.
"Oh, no," I said. "I'm sure I haven't."
"You've given me the wrong roll. This is
an unexposed one."
I walked out with what dignity I could
muster. I dare say it is good for one now and
again to realize what an idiot one can be! But
nobody relishes the process.
And then, just as I was passing one of the
big shipping offices, I came to a sudden halt.
In the window was a beautiful model of one
of the company's boats, and it was labelled
"Kenilworth Castle." A wild idea shot
through my brain. I pushed the door open
and went in. I went up to the counter and in a
faltering voice (genuine this time!) I
murmured:
"Kilmorden Castle?"
"On the 17th from Southampton. Cape
Town? First or second class?"
"How much is it?"
"First class, eighty-seven pounds——"
I interrupted him. The coincidence was too
much for me. Exactly the amount of my
legacy! I would put all my eggs in one basket.
69
"First class," I said.
I was now definitely committed to the
adventure.
70
8
(Extracts from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler,
M.P.)
IT is an extraordinary thing that I never
seem to get any peace. I am a man who
likes a quiet life. I like my Club, my
rubber of Bridge, a well-cooked meal, a sound
wine. I like England in the summer, and the
Riviera in the winter. I have no desire to
participate in sensational happenings. Sometimes,
in front of a good fire, I do not object
to reading about them in the newspaper. But
that is as far as I am willing to go. My object
in life is to be thoroughly comfortable. I have
devoted a certain amount of thought, and a
considerable amount of money, to further
that end. But I cannot say that I always
succeed. If things do not actually happen to
me, they happen round me, and frequently,
in spite of myself, I become involved. I hate
being involved.
All this because Guy Pagett came into my
bedroom this morning with a telegram in his
71
hand and a face as long as a mute at a funeral.
Guy Pagett is my secretary, a zealous, painstaking, hard-working fellow, admirable in
every respect. I know no one who annoys me
more. For a long time I have been racking my
brains as to how to get rid of him. But you
cannot very well dismiss a secretary because
he prefers work to play, likes getting up early
in the morning, and has positively no vices.
The only amusing thing about the fellow is
his face. He has the face of a fourteenthcentury
poisoner--the sort of man the Borgias
got to do their odd jobs for them.
I wouldn't mind so much if Pagett didn't
make me work too. My idea of work is
something that should be undertaken lightly
and airily--trifled with, in fact! I doubt if
Guy Pagett has ever trifled with anything in
his life. He takes everything seriously. That is
what makes him so difficult to live with.
Last week I had the brilliant idea of sending
him off to Florence. He talked about Florence
and how much he wanted to go there.
"My dear fellow," I cried, "you shall go tomorrow.
I will pay all your expenses."
January isn't the usual time for going to
Florence, but it would be all one to Pagett. I
could imagine him going about, guidebook in
72
hand, religiously doing all the picture
galleries. And a week's freedom was cheap to
me at the price.
It has been a delightful week. I have done
everything I wanted to, and nothing that I did
not want to do. But when I blinked my eyes
open, and perceived Pagett standing between
me and the light at the unearthly hour of
9 a.m. this morning, I realized that freedom
was over.
"My dear fellow," I said, "has the funeral
already taken place, or is it for later in the
morning?"
Pagett does not appreciate dry humour. He
merely stared.
"So you know. Sir Eustace?"
"Know what?" I said crossly. "From the
expresion of your face I inferred that one of
your near and dear relatives was to be
interred this morning."
Pagett ignored the sally as far as possible.
"I thought you couldn't know about this."
He tapped the telegram. "I know you dislike
being aroused early—but it is nine
o'clock"—Pagett insists on regarding 9 a.m.
as practically the middle of the day—"and I
thought that under the circumstances——"
He tapped the telegram again.
73
"What is that thing?" I asked.
"It's a telegram from the police at Marlow.
A woman has been murdered in your house."
That aroused me in earnest.
"What colossal cheek," I exclaimed. "Why
in my house? Who murdered her?"
"They don't say. I suppose we shall go
back to England at once. Sir Eustace?"
"You need suppose nothing of the kind.
Why should we go back?"
"The police——"
"What on earth have I to do with the
police?"
"Well, it was your house."
"That," I said, "appears to be more my
misfortune than my fault."
Guy Pagett shook his head gloomily.
"It will have a very unfortunate effect upon
the constituency," he remarked lugubriously.
I don't see why it should have—and yet I
have a feeling that in such matters Pagett's
instincts are always right. On the face of it, a
Member of Parliament will be none the less
efficient because a stray young woman comes
and gets herself murdered in an empty house
that belongs to him—but there is no
accounting for the view the respectable
British public takes of a matter.
74
"She's a foreigner too, and that makes it
worse," continued Pagett gloomily.
Again I believe he is right. If it is
disreputable to have a woman murdered in
your house, it becomes more disreputable if
the woman is a foreigner. Another idea struck
me.
"Good heavens," I exclaimed, "I hope this
won't upset Caroline."
Caroline is the lady who cooks for me.
Incidentally she is the wife of my gardener.
What kind of a wife she makes I do not know,
but she is an excellent cook. James, on the
other hand, is not a good gardener—but I
support him in idleness and give him the
lodge to live in solely on account of
Caroline's cooking.
"I don't suppose she'll stay after this," said
Pagett.
"You always were a cheerful fellow," I
said.
I expect I shall have to go back to England,
Pagett clearly intends that I shall. And there
is Caroline to pacify.
Three days later.
It is incredible to me that anyone who can
get away from England in winter does not do
TMITBS6 75
so! It is an abominable climate. All this
trouble is very annoying. The house-agents
say it will be next to impossible to let the Mill
House after all the publicity. Caroline has
been pacified--with double pay. We could
have sent her a cable to that effect from
Cannes. In fact, as I have said all along, there
was no earthly purpose to serve by our
coming over. I shall go back tomorrow.
One day later.
Several very surprising things have
occurred. To begin with, I met Augustus
Milray, the most perfect example of an old
ass the present Government has produced.
His manner oozed diplomatic secrecy as he
drew me aside in the Club into a quiet corner.
He talked a good deal. About South Africa
and the industrial situation there. About the
growing rumours of a strike on the Rand. Of
the secret causes actuating that strike. I
listened as patiently as I could. Finally, he
dropped his voice to a whisper and explained
that certain documents had come to light
which ought to be placed in the hands of
General Smuts.
"I've no doubt you're quite right," I said, stifling a yawn.
76
"But how are we to get them to him? Our
position in the matter is delicate--very
delicate."
"What's wrong with the post?" I said
cheerfully. "Put a two-penny stamp on and
drop 'em in the nearest letterbox."
He seemed quite shocked at the suggestion.
"My dear Pedler! The common post!"
It has always been a mystery to me why
Governments employ Kings' Messengers and
draw such attention to their confidential
documents.
"If you don't like the post, send one of your
own young fellows. He'll enjoy the trip."
"Impossible," said Milray, wagging his
head in a senile fashion. "There are reasons,
my dear Pedler--I assure you there are
reasons."
"Well," I said, rising, "all this is very
interesting, but I must be off--"
"One minute, my dear Pedler, one minute,
I beg of you. Now tell me, in confidence, is it
not true that you intend visiting South Africa
shortly yourself? You have large interests in
Rhodesia, I know, and the question of
Rhodesia joining in the Union is one in
which you have a vital interest."
77
"Well, I had thought of going out in about
a month's time."
"You couldn't possibly make it sooner?
This month? This week, in fact?"
"I could," I said, eyeing him with some
interest. "But I don't know that I particularly
want to."
"You would be doing the Government a
great service--a very great service. You would
not find them--er--ungrateful."
"Meaning you want me to be the
postman?"
"Exactly. Your position is an unofficial
one, your journey is bona ride. Everything
would be eminently satisfactory."
"Well," I said slowly, "I don't mind if I
do. The one thing I am anxious to do is to get
out of England again as soon as possible."
"You will find the climate of South Africa
delightful--quite delightful."
"My dear fellow, I know all about the
climate. I was out there shortly before the
war."
"I am really much obliged to you, Pedler. I
will send you round the package by
messenger. To be placed in General Smuts's
own hands, you understand? The Kilmorden
Castle sails on Saturday--quite a good boat."
78
I accompanied him a short way along Pall
Mall, before we parted. He shook me warmly
by the hand, and thanked me again effusively.
I walked home reflecting on the curious byways
of Governmental policy.
It was the following evening that Jarvis, my
butler, informed me that a gentleman wished
to see me on private business, but declined to
give his name. I have always a lively
apprehension of insurance touts, so told
Jarvis to say I could not see him. Guy Pagett,
unfortunately, when he might for once have
been of real use, was laid up with a bilious
attack. These earnest, hard-working young
men with weak stomachs are always liable to
bilious attacks.
Jarvis returned.
"The gentleman asked me to tell you, Sir
Eustace, that he comes to you from Mr.
Milray."
That altered the complexion of things. A
few minutes later I was confronting my
visitor in the library. He was a well-built
young fellow with a deeply tanned face. A
scar ran diagonally from the corner of his eye
to the jaw, disfiguring what would otherwise
have been a handsome though somewhat
reckless countenance.
79
"Well," I said, "what's the matter?"
"Mr. Milray sent me to you, Sir Eustace. I
am to accompany you to South Africa as your
secretary."
"My dear fellow," I said, "I've got a
secretary already. I don't want another."
"I think you do. Sir Eustace. Where is your
secretary now?"
"He's down with a bilious attack," I
explained.
"You are sure it's only a bilious attack?"
"Of course it is. He's subject to them."
My visitor smiled.
"It may or may not be a bilious attack.
Time will show. But I can tell you this. Sir
Eustace, Mr. Milray would not be surprised
if an attempt were made to get your secretary
out of the way. Oh, you need have no fear for
yourself—I suppose a momentary alarm had
flickered across my face—"you are not
threatened. Your secretary out of the way,
access to you would be easier. In any case,
Mr. Milray wishes me to accompany you.
The passage-money will be our affair, of
course, but you will take the necessary steps
about the passport, as though you had
decided that you needed the services of a
second secretary."
80
He seemed a determined young man. We
stared at each other and he stared me down.
"Very well," I said feebly.
"You will say nothing to anyone as to my
accompanying you."
"Very well," I said again.
After all, perhaps it was better to have this
fellow with me, but I had a premonition that
I was getting into deep waters. Just when I
thought I had attained peace!
I stopped my visitor as he was turning to
depart.
"It might be just as well if I knew my new
secretary^ name," I observed sarcastically.
He considered for a minute.
"Harry Rayburn seems quite a suitable
name," he observed.
It was a curious way of putting it.
"Very well," I said for the third time.
81
9
(Anne's Narrative Resumed)
IT is most undignified for a heroine to be
sea-sick. In books the more it rolls and
tosses, the better she likes it. When everybody
else is ill, she alone staggers along the
deck, braving the elements and positively
rejoicing in the storm. I regret to say that at
the first roll the Kilmorden gave, I turned pale
and hastened below. A sympathetic stewardess
received me. She suggested dry toast and
ginger ale.
I remained groaning in my cabin for three
days. Forgotten was my quest. I had no
longer any interest in solving mysteries. I was
a totally different Anne to the one who had
rushed back to the South Kensington square
so jubilantly from the shipping office.
I smile now as I remember my abrupt entry
into the drawing-room. Mrs. Flemming was
alone there. She turned her head as I entered.
"Is that you, Anne, my dear? There is
something I want to talk over with you."
"Yes?" I said, curbing my impatience.
82
"Miss Emery is leaving me." Miss Emery
was the governess. "As you have not yet
succeeded in finding anything, I wondered if
you would care—it would be so nice if you
remained with us altogether?"
I was touched. She didn't want me, I knew.
It was sheer Christian charity that prompted
the offer. I felt remorseful for my secret
criticism other. Getting up, I ran impulsively
across the room and flung my arms round her
neck.
"You're a dear," I said. "A dear, a dear, a
dear! And thank you ever so much. But it's all
right, I'm off to South Africa on Saturday."
My abrupt onslaught had startled the good
lady. She was not used to sudden
demonstrations of affections. My words
startled her still more.
"To South Africa? My dear Anne. We
would have to look into anything of that kind
very carefully."
That was the last thing I wanted. I
explained that I had already taken my
passage, and that upon arrival I proposed to
take up the duties of a parlourmaid. It was the
only thing I could think of on the spur of the
moment. There was, I said, a great demand
for parlourmaids in South Africa. I assured
83
her that I was equal to taking care of myself,
and in the end, with a sigh of relief at getting
me off her hands, she accepted the project
without further query. At parting, she
slipped an envelope into my hand. Inside it I
found five new crisp five-pound notes and the
words: "I hope you will not be offended and
will accept this with my love." She was a very
good, kind woman. I could not have
continued to live in the same house with her,
but I did recognize her intrinsic worth.
So here I was, with twenty-five pounds in
my pocket, facing the world and pursuing my
adventure.
It was on the fourth day that the stewardess
finally urged me up on deck. Under the
impression that I should die quicker below, I
had steadfastly refused to leave my bunk. She
now tempted me with the advent of Madeira.
Hope rose in my breast. I could leave the boat
and go ashore and be a parlourmaid there.
Anything for dry land.
Muffled in coats and rugs, and weak as a
kitten on my legs, I was hauled up and deposited,
an inert mass, on a deck-chair. I lay
there with my eyes closed, hating life. The
purser, a fair-haired, young man, with a round
boyish face, came and sat down beside me.
84
"Hullo! Feeling rather sorry for yourself,
eh?"
"Yes," I replied, hating him.
"Ah, you won't know yourself in another
day or two. We've had rather a nasty dusting
in the Bay, but there's smooth weather ahead.
I'll be taking you on at quoits tomorrow."
I did not reply.
"Think you'll never recover, eh? But I've
seen people much worse than you, and two
days later they were the life and soul of the
ship. You'll be the same."
I did not feel sufficiently pugnacious to tell
him outright that he was a liar. I endeavoured
to convey it by a glance. He chatted
pleasantly for a few minutes more, then he
mercifully departed. People passed and
repassed, brisk couples "exercising," curveting
children, laughing young people. A
few other pallid sufferers lay, like myself, in
deck-chairs.
The air was pleasant, crisp, not too cold,
and the sun was shining brightly. Insensibly,
I felt a little cheered. I began to watch the
people. One woman in particular attracted
me. She was about thirty, of medium height
and very fair with a round dimpled face and
very blue eyes. Her clothes, though perfectly
85
plain, had that indefinable air of "cut" about
them which spoke of Paris. Also, in a pleasant
but self-possessed way, she seemed to own
the ship!
Deck stewards ran to and fro obeying her
commands. She had a special deck-chair, and
an apparently inexhaustible supply of
cushions. She changed her mind three times
as to where she would like it placed.
Throughout everything she remained
attractive and charming. She appeared to be
one of those rare people in the world who
know what they want, see that they get it, and
manage to do so without being offensive. I
decided that if I ever recovered—but of
course I shouldn't—it would amuse me to talk
to her.
We reached Madeira about midday. I was
still too inert to move, but I enjoyed the
picturesque-looking merchants who came on
board and spread their merchandise about the
decks. There were flowers too. I buried my
nose in an enormous bunch of sweet wet
violets and felt distinctly better. In fact, I
thought I might just possibly last out the end
of the voyage. When my stewardess spoke of
the attractions of a little chicken broth. I only
protested feebly. When it came I enjoyed it.
86
My attractive woman had been ashore. She
came back escorted by a tall, soldierly-looking
man with dark hair and a bronzed face whom
I had noticed striding up and down the deck
earlier in the day. I put him down at once as
one of the strong silent men of Rhodesia. He
was about forty, with a touch of greying hair
at either temple, and was easily the bestlooking
man on board.
When the stewardess brought me up an
extra rug, I asked her if she knew who my
attractive woman was.
"That's a well-known society lady, the
Hon. Mrs. Clarence Blair. You must have
read about her in the papers."
I nodded, looking at her with renewed
interest. Mrs. Blair was very well known
indeed as one of the smartest women of the
day. I observed, with some amusement, that
she was the centre of a good deal of attention.
Several people essayed to scrape acquaintance
with the pleasant informality that a boat
allows. I admired the polite way that Mrs.
Blair snubbed them. She appeared to have
adopted the strong, silent man as her special
cavalier, and he seemed duly sensible of the
privilege accorded him.
The following morning, to my surprise,
87
after taking a few turns round the deck with
her attentive companion, Mrs. Blair came to
a halt by my chair.
"Feeling better this morning?"
I thanked her, and said I felt slightly more
like a human being.
"You did look ill yesterday. Colonel Race
and I decided that we should have the
excitement of a funeral at sea—but you've
disappointed us."
I laughed.
"Being up in the air has done me good."
"Nothing like fresh air," said Colonel
Race, smiling.
"Being shut up in those stuffy cabins
would kill anyone," declared Mrs. Blair,
dropping into a seat by my side and
dismissing her companion with a little nod.
"You've got an outside one, I hope?"
I shook my head.
"My dear girl! Why don't you change?
There's plenty of room. A lot of people got
off at Madeira, and the boat's very empty.
Talk to the purser about it. He's a nice little
boy—he changed me into a beautiful cabin
because I didn't care for the one I'd got. You
talk to him at lunch-time when you go
down."
88
I shuddered.
"I couldn't move."
"Don't be silly. Come and take a walk now
with me."
She dimpled at me encouragingly. I felt
very weak on my legs at first, but as we
walked briskly up and down I began to feel a
brighter and better being.
After a turn or two. Colonel Race joined us
again.
"You can see the Grand Peak of Tenerife
from the other side."
"Can we? Can I get a photograph of it, do
you think?"
"No—but that won't deter you from
snapping off at it."
Mrs. Blair laughed.
"You are unkind. Some of my photographs
are very good."
"About three per cent effective, I should
say."
We all went round to the other side of the
deck. There, glimmering white and snowy,
enveloped in a delicate rose-coloured mist,
rose the glistening pinnacle. I uttered an
exclamation of delight. Mrs. Blair ran for her
camera.
89
Undeterred by Colonel Race's sardonic
comments, she snapped vigorously:
"There, that's the end of the roll. Oh," her
tone changed to one of chagrin, "I've had the
thing at 'bulb' all the time."
"I always like to see a child with a new
toy," murmured the Colonel.
"How horrid you are--but I've got another
roll."
She produced it in triumph from the pocket
of her sweater. A sudden roll of the boat
upset her balance, and as she caught at the
rail to steady herself the roll of films flashed
over the side.
"Oh!" cried Mrs. Blair, comically dismayed.
She leaned over. "Do you think they
have gone overboard?"
"No, you may have been fortunate enough
to brain an unlucky steward in the deck
below."
A small boy who had arrived unobserved a
few paces to our rear blew a deafening blast
on a bugle.
"Lunch," declared Mrs. Blair ecstatically.
"I've had nothing to eat since breakfast, except two cups of beef-tea. Lunch, Miss
Beddingfield?"
90
"Well," I said waveringly. "Yes, I do feel
rather hungry."
"Splendid. You're sitting at the purser's
table, I know. Tackle him about the cabin."
I found my way down to the saloon, began
to eat gingerly, and finished by consuming an
enormous meal. My friend of yesterday
congratulated me on my recovery. Everyone
was changing cabins, to-day, he told me, and
he promised that my things should be moved
to an outside one without delay.
There were only four at our table, myself, a
couple of elderly ladies, and a missionary who
talked a lot about "our poor black brothers."
I looked round at the other tables. Mrs.
Blair was sitting at the Captain's table.
Colonel Race next to her. On the other side of
the Captain was a distinguished-looking,
grey-haired man. A good many people I had
already noticed on deck, but there was one
man who had not previously appeared. Had
he done so, he could hardly have escaped my
notice. He was tall and dark, and had such a
peculiarly sinister type of countenance that I
was quite startled. I asked the purser, with
some curiosity, who he was.
"That man? Oh, that's Sir Eustace Pedler's
TMITBS 7 91
secretary. Been very sea-sick, poor chap, and
not appeared before. Sir Eustace has got two
secretaries with him, and the sea's been too
much for both of them. The other fellow
hasn't turned up yet. This man's name is
Pagett."
So Sir Eustace Pedler, the owner of the
Mill House, was on board. Probably only a
coincidence, and yet——
"That's Sir Eustace," my informant
continued, "sitting next to the Captain.
Pompous old ass."
The more I studied the secretary's face, the
less I liked it. Its even pallor, the secretive,
heavy-lidded eyes, the curiously flattened
head—it all gave me a feeling of distaste, of
apprehension.
Leaving the saloon at the same time as he
did, I was close behind him as he went up on
deck. He was speaking to Sir Eustace, and I
overheard a fragment or two.
"I'll see about the cabin at once then, shall
I? It's impossible to work in yours, with all
your trunks."
"My dear fellow," Sir Eustace replied.
"My cabin is intended (a) for me to sleep in,
and (b) to attempt to dress in. I never had any
intentions of allowing you to sprawl about the
92
place making an infernal clicking with that
typewriter of yours."
"That's just what I say. Sir Eustace, we
must have somewhere to work——"
Here I parted company from them, and
went below to see if my removal was in
progress. I found my steward busy at the task.
"Very nice cabin, miss. On D deck. No.
13."
"Oh, no!" I cried. "Not 13."
13 is the one thing I am superstitious
about. It was a nice cabin too. I inspected it,
wavered, but a foolish superstition prevailed.
I appealed almost tearfully to the steward.
"Isn't there any other cabin I can have?"
The steward reflected.
"Well, there's 17, just along on the
starboard side. That was empty this morning,
but I rather fancy it's been allotted to
someone. Still, as the gentleman's things
aren't in yet, and as gentlemen aren't
anything like so superstitious as ladies, I dare
say he wouldn't mind changing."
I hailed the proposition gratefully, and the
steward departed to obtain permission from
the purser. He returned grinning.
"That's all right, miss. We can go along."
He led the way to 17. It was not quite as
93
large as No. 13, but I found it eminently
satisfactory.
"I'll fetch your things right away, miss,"
said the steward.
»?
But at that moment the man with the
sinister face (as I had nicknamed him)
appeared in the doorway.
"Excuse me," he said, "but this cabin is
reserved for the use of Sir Eustace Pedler."
"That's all right, sir," explained the
steward. "We're fitting up No. 13 instead."
"No, it was No. 17 I was to have."
"No. 13 is a better cabin, sir—larger."
"I specially selected No. 17, and the purser
said I could have it."
"I'm sorry," I said coldly. "But No. 17 has
been allotted to me."
"I can't agree to that."
The steward put in his oar.
"The other cabin's just the same, only
better."
"I want No. 17."
"What's all this?" demanded a new voice.
"Steward, put my things in here. This is my
cabin."
It was my neighbour at lunch, the Rev.
Edward Chichester.
94
"I beg your pardon," I said. "It's my
cabin."
"It is allotted to Sir Eustace Pedler," said
Mr. Pagett.
We were all getting rather heated.
"I'm sorry to have to dispute the matter,"
said Chichester with a meek smile which
failed to mask his determination to get his
own way. Meek men are always obstinate, I
have noticed.
He edged himself sideways into the
doorway.
"You're to have No. 28 on the port side,"
said the steward. "A very good cabin, sir."
"I am afraid that I must insist. No. 17 was
the cabin promised to me."
We had come to an impasse. Each one of us
was determined not to give way. Strictly
speaking, I, at any rate, might have retired
from the contest and eased matters by
offering to accept Cabin 28. So long as I did
not have 13 it was immaterial to me what
other cabin I had. But my blood was up. I
had not the least intention of being the first to
give way. And I disliked Chichester. He had
false teeth which clicked when he ate. Many
men have been hated for less.
We all said the same things over again. The
95
steward assured us, even more strongly, that
both the other cabins were better cabins.
None of us paid any attention to him.
Pagett began to lose his temper. Chichester
kept his serenely. With an effort I also kept
mine. And still none of us would give way an
inch.
A wink and a whispered word from the
steward gave me my cue. I faded
unobtrusively from the scene. I was lucky
enough to encounter the purser almost
immediately.
"Oh, please," I said, "you did say I could
have Cabin 17? And the others won't go
away. Mr. Chichester and Mr. Pagett. You
will let me have it, won't you?"
I always say that there are no people like
sailors for being nice to women. My little
purser came to the scratch splendidly. He
strode to the scene, informed the disputants
that No. 17 was my cabin, they could have
Nos. 13 and 28 respectively or stay where
they were—whichever they chose.
I permitted my eyes to tell him what a hero
he was and then installed myself in my new
domain. The encounter had done me worlds
of good. The sea was smooth, the weather
96
growing daily warmer. Sea-sickness was a
thing of the past!
I went up on deck and was initiated into the
mysteries of deck-quoits, I entered my name
for various sports. Tea was served on deck,
and I ate heartily. After tea, I played shovelboard
with some pleasant young men. They
were extraordinarily nice to me. I felt that life
was satisfactory and delightful.
The dressing bugle came as a surprise and I
hurried to my new cabin. The stewardess was
awaiting me with a troubled face.
"There's a terrible smell in your cabin,
miss. What it is, I'm sure I can't think, but I
doubt if you'll be able to sleep here. There's a
deck cabin up on C deck, I believe. You
might move into that—just for the night,
anyway."
The smell really was pretty bad—quite
nauseating. I told the stewardess I would
think over the question of moving whilst I
dressed. I hurried over my toilet, sniffing
distastefully as I did so.
What was the smell? Dead rat? No, worse
than that—and quite different. Yet I knew it!
It was something I had smelt before. Something——Ah!
I had got it. Asafoetida! I had
worked in a hospital dispensary during the
97
war for a short time and had become
acquainted with various nauseous drugs.
Asafbetida, that was it. But how——
I sank down on the sofa, suddenly realizing
the thing. Somebody had put a pinch of
asafoetida in my cabin. Why? So that I should
vacate it? Why were they so anxious to get me
out? I thought of the scene this afternoon
from a rather different point of view. What
was there about Cabin 17 that made so many
people anxious to get hold of it? The other
two cabins were better cabins; why had both
men insisted on sticking to 17?
17. How the number persisted! It was on
the 17th I had sailed from Southampton. It
was a 17--I stopped with a sudden gasp.
Quickly I unlocked my suit-case, and took my
precious paper from its place of concealment
in some rolled stockings.
17 1 22—1 had taken that for a date, the
date of departure of the Kilmorden Castle.
Supposing I was wrong. When I came to
think of it, would anyone, write down a date,
think it necessary to put the year as well as
the month? Supposing 17 meant Cabin 17?
And I? The time—one o'clock. Then 22 must
be the date. I looked up my little almanac.
To-morrow was the 22nd!
98
10
I WAS violently excited. I was sure that I
had hit on the right trail at last. One thing
was clear, I must not move out of the
cabin. The asafoetida had got to be borne. I
examined my facts again.
To-morrow was the 22nd, and at 1 a.m. or
1 p.m. something would happen. I plumped
for 1 a.m. It was now seven o'clock. In six
hours I should know.
I don't know how I got through the
evening. I retired to my cabin fairly early. I
had told the stewardess that I had a cold in
the head and didn't mind smells. She still
seemed distressed, but I was firm.
The evening seemed interminable. I duly
retired to bed, but in view of emergencies I
swathed myself in a thick flannel dressinggown,
and encased my feet in slippers. Thus
attired I felt that I could spring up and take
an active part in anything that happened.
What did I expect to happen? I hardly
knew. Vague fancies, most of them wildly
improbable, flitted through my brain. But
99
one thing I was firmly convinced of, at one
o'clock something would happen.
At various times I heard my fellowpassengers
coming to bed. Fragments of
conversation, laughing good-nights, floated
in through the open transom. Then silence.
Most of the lights went out. There was still
one in the passage outside, and there was
therefore a certain amount of light in my
cabin. I heard eight bells go. The hour that
followed seemed the longest I had ever
known. I consulted my watch surreptitiously
to be sure I had not overshot the time.
If my deductions were wrong, if nothing
happened at one o'clock, I should have made
a fool of myself, and spent all the money I
had in the world on a mare's nest. My heart
beat painfully.
Two bells went overhead. One o'clock!
And nothing. Wait--what was that? I heard
the quick light patter of feet running--running
along the passage.
Then with the suddenness of a bombshell
my cabin door burst open and a man almost
fell inside.
"Save me," he said hoarsely. "They're
after me."
100
It was not a moment for argument or
explanation. I could hear footsteps outside. I
had about forty seconds in which to act. I had
sprung to my feet and was standing facing the
stranger in the middle of the cabin.
A cabin does not abound in hiding-places
for a six-foot man. With one arm I pulled out
my cabin trunk. He slipped down behind it
under the bunk. I raised the lid. At the same
time, with the other hand I pulled down the
wash-basin. A deft movement and my hair
was screwed into a tiny knot on the top of my
head. From the point of view of appearance it
was inartistic, from another standpoint it was
supremely artistic. A lady, with her hair
screwed into an unbecoming knob and in
the act of removing a piece of soap from her
trunk with which, apparently, to wash her
neck, could hardly be suspected of
harbouring a fugitive.
There was a knock at the door, and without
waiting for me to say "Come in" it was
pushed open.
I don't know what I expected to see. I think
I had vague ideas of Mr. Pagett brandishing a
revolver. Or my missionary friend with a
sandbag, or some other lethal weapon. But
certainly I did not expect to see a night
101
stewardess, with an inquiring face and
looking the essence of respectability.
<<I beg your pardon, miss, I thought you
called out."
"No," I said, "I didn't."
"I'm sorry for interrupting you."
"That's all right," I said. "I couldn't sleep.
I thought a wash would do me good." It
sounded rather as though it were a thing I
never had as a general rule.
"I'm so sorry, miss," said the stewardess
again. "But there's a gentleman about who's
rather drunk and we are afraid he might get
into one of the ladies' cabins and frighten
them."
"How dreadful!" I said, looking alarmed.
"He won't come in here, will he?"
"Oh, I don't think so, miss. Ring the bell if
he does. Good night."
"Good night."
I opened the door and peeped down the
corridor. Except for the retreating form of the
stewardess, there was nobody in sight.
Drunk! So that was the explanation of it.
My histrionic talents had been wasted. I
pulled the cabin trunk out a little farther and
said: "Come out at once, please," in an acid
voice.
102
There was no answer. I peered under the
bunk. My visitor lay immovable. He seemed
to be asleep. I tugged at his shoulder. He did
not move.
"Dead drunk," I thought vexedly. "What
am I to do?"
Then I saw something that made me catch
my breath, a small scarlet spot on the floor.
Using all my strength, I succeeded in
dragging the man out into the middle of the
cabin. The dead whiteness of his face showed
that he had fainted. I found the cause of his
fainting easily enough. He had been stabbed
under the left shoulder-blade—a nasty deep
wound. I got his coat off and set to work to
attend to it.
At the sting of the cold water he stirred,
then sat up.
"Keep still, please," I said.
He was the kind of young man who
recovers his faculties very quickly. He pulled
himself to his feet and stood there swaying a
little.
"Thank you; I don't need anything done
for me."
His manner was defiant, almost aggressive.
Not a word of thanks—of even common
gratitude!
103
"That is a nasty wound. You must let me
dress it."
"You will do nothing of the kind."
He flung the words in my face as though I
had been begging a favour of him. My
temper, never placid, rose.
"I cannot congratulate you upon your
manners," I said coldly.
"I can at least relieve you of my presence."
He started for the door, but reeled as he did
so. With an abrupt movement I pushed him
down upon the sofa.
"Don't be a fool," I said unceremoniously.
"You don't want to go bleeding all over the
ship, do you?"
He seemed to see the sense of that, for he
sat quietly whilst I bandaged up the wound as
best I could.
"There," I said, bestowing a pat on my
handiwork, "that will have to do for the
present. Are you better-tempered now and do
you feel inclined to tell me what it's all
about?"
"I'm sorry that I can't satisfy your very
natural curiosity."
"Why not?" I said, chagrined.
He smiled nastily.
104
"If you want a thing broadcast, tell a
woman. Otherwise keep your mouth shut."
"Don't you think I could keep a secret?"
"I don't think-I know."
He rose to his feet.
"At any rate," I said spitefully, "I shall be
able to do a little broadcasting about the
events of this evening."
"I've no doubt you will too," he said
indifferently.
"How dare you!" I cried angrily.
We were facing each other, glaring at each
other with the ferocity of bitter enemies. For
the first time, I took in the details of his
appearance, the close-cropped dark head, the
lean jaw, the scar on the brown cheek, the
curious light grey eyes that looked into mine
with a sort of reckless mockery hard to
describe. There was something dangerous
about him.
"You haven't thanked me yet for saving
your life!" I said with false sweetness.
I hit him there. I saw him flinch distinctly.
Intuitively I knew that he hated above all to
be reminded that he owed his life to me. I
didn't care. I wanted to hurt him. I had never
wanted to hurt anyone so much.
"I wish to God you hadn't!" he said
105
explosively. "I'd be better dead and out of
it."
"I'm glad you acknowledge the debt. You
can't get out of it. I saved your life and I'm
waiting for you to say *Thank you'."
If looks could have killed, I think he would
have liked to kill me then. He pushed roughly
past me. At the door he turned back, and
spoke over his shoulder.
"I shall not thank you—now or at any other
time. But I acknowledge the debt. Some day I
will pay it."
He was gone, leaving me with clenched
hands, and my heart beating like a mill race.
106
11
THERE were no further excitements
that night. I had breakfast in bed and
got up late the next morning. Mrs.
Blair hailed me as I came on deck.
"Good morning, gipsy girl. Sit down here
by me. You look as though you hadn't slept
well."
"Why do you call me that?" I asked, as I sat
down obediently.
"Do you mind? It suits you somehow. I've
called you that in my own mind from the
beginning. It's the gipsy element in you that
makes you so different from anyone else. I
decided in my own mind that you and
Colonel Race were the only two people on
board who wouldn't bore me to death to talk
to."
"That's funny," I said. "I thought the
same about you--only it's more understandable
in your case. You're--you're such an
exquisitely finished product."
"Not badly put," said Mrs. Blair, nodding
her head. "Tell me all about yourself, gipsy
tmitbss 107
girl. Why are you going to South Africa?"
I told her something about Papa's lifework.

"So you're Charles Beddingfield's
daughter? I thought you weren't a mere
provincial miss! Are you going to Broken Hill
to grub up more skulls?"
"I may," I said cautiously. "I've got other
plans as well."
"What a mysterious minx you are. But you
do look tired this morning. Didn't you sleep
well? I can't keep awake on board a boat. Ten
hours' sleep for a fool, they say! I could do
with twenty!"
She yawned, looking like a sleepy kitten.
"An idiot of a steward woke me up in the
middle of the night to return me that roll of
films I dropped yesterday. He did it in the
most melodramatic manner, stuck his arm
through the ventilator and dropped them
neatly in the middle of my tummy. I thought
it was a bomb for a moment!"
"Here's your Colonel," I said, as the tall
soldierly figure of Colonel Race appeared on
the deck.
"He's not my Colonel particularly. In fact
he admires you very much, gipsy girl. So
don't run away."
108
"I want to tie something round my head. It
will be more comfortable than a hat."
I slipped quickly away. For some reason or
other I was uncomfortable with Colonel
Race. He was one of the few people who were
capable of making me feel shy.
I went down to my cabin and began looking
for something with which I could restrain my
rebellious locks. Now I am a tidy person, I
like my things always arranged in a certain
way and I keep them so. I had no sooner
opened my drawer than I realized that somebody
had been disarranging my things.
Everything had been turned over and
scattered. I looked in the other drawers and
the small hanging cupboard. They told the
same tale. It was as though someone had been
making a hurried and ineffectual search for
something.
I sat down on the edge of the bunk with a
grave face. Who had been searching my cabin
and what had they been looking for? Was it
the half-sheet of paper with scribbled figures
and words? I shook my head, dissatisfied.
Surely that was past history now. But what
else could there be?
I wanted to think. The events of last night, though exciting, had not really done anything
109
to elucidate matters. Who was the young man
who had burst into my cabin so abruptly? I
had not seen him on board previously, either
on deck or in the saloon. Was he one of the
ship's company or was he a passenger? Who
had stabbed him? Why had they stabbed
him? And why, in the name of goodness, should Cabin No. 17 figure so prominently?
It was all a mystery, but there was no doubt
that some very peculiar occurrences were
taking place on the Kilmorden Castle.
I counted off on my fingers the people on
whom it behoved me to keep a watch.
Setting aside my visitor of the night before, but promising myself that I would discover
him on board before another day had passed,
I selected the following persons as worthy of
my notice:
(1) Sir Eustace Pedler. He was the owner of
the Mill House, and his presence on the Kilmorden Castle seemed something of a coincidence.

(2) Mr. Pagett, the sinister-looking
secretary, whose eagerness to obtain Cabin 17
had been so very marked. N.B.--Find out
whether he had accompanied Sir Eustace to
Cannes.
(3) The Rev. Edward Chichester. All I had
110
against him was his obstinacy over Cabin 17, and that might be entirely due to his own
peculiar temperament. Obstinacy can be an
amazing thing.
But a little conversation with Mr.
Chichester would not come amiss, I decided.
Hastily tying a handkerchief round my hair, I
went up on deck again, full of purpose. I was
in luck. My quarry was leaning against the
rail, drinking beef-tea. I went up to him.
"I hope you've forgiven me over Cabin
17," I said, with my best smile.
<<I consider it unchristian to bear a
grudge," said Mr. Chichester coldly. "But
the purser had distinctly promised me that
cabin."
"Pursers are such busy men, aren't they?"
I said vaguely. "I suppose they're bound to
forget sometimes."
Mr. Chichester did not reply.
"Is this your first visit to Africa?" I
inquired conversationally.
"To South Africa, yes. But I have worked
for the last two years among the cannibal
tribes in the interior of East Africa."
"How thrilling! Have you had many
narrow escapes?"
"Escapes?"
Ill
"Of being eaten, I mean?"
"You should not treat sacred subjects with
levity. Miss Beddingfield."
"I didn't know that cannibalism was a
sacred subject," I retorted, stung.
As the words left my lips, another idea
struck me. If Mr. Chichester had indeed
spent the last two years in the interior of
Africa, how was it that he was not more sunburnt?
His skin was as pink and white as a
baby's. Surely there was something fishy
there? Yet his manner and voice were so
absolutely it. Too much so, perhaps. Was
he--or was he not--just a little like a stage clergyman?
I cast my mind back to the curates I had
known at Little Hampsley. Some of them I
had liked, some of them I had not, but
certainly none of them had been quite like
Mr. Chichester. They had been human--he
was a glorified type.
I was debating all this when Sir Eustace
Pedler passed down the deck. Just as he was
abreast of Mr. Chichester, he stooped and
picked up a piece of paper which he handed
to him, remarking, "You've dropped
something."
He passed on without stopping, and so
112
probably did not notice Mr. Chichester's
agitation. I did. Whatever it was he had
dropped, its recovery agitated him considerably.
He turned a sickly green, and crumpled
up the sheet of paper into a ball. My
suspicions were accentuated a hundredfold.
He caught my eye, and hurried into
explanations.
"A--a--fragment of a sermon I was
composing," he said with a sickly smile.
"Indeed?" I rejoined politely.
A fragment of a sermon, indeed! No, Mr.
Chichester--too weak for words!
He soon left me with a muttered excuse. I
wished, oh, how I wished, that I had been the
one to pick up that paper and not Sir Eustace
Pedler! One thing was clear, Mr. Chichester
could not be exempted from my list of
suspects. I was inclined to put him top of the
three.
After lunch, when I came up to the lounge
for coffee, I noticed Sir Eustace and Pagett
sitting with Mrs. Blair and Colonel Race.
Mrs. Blair welcomed me with a smile, so I
went over and joined them. They were
talking about Italy.
"But it is misleading," Mrs. Blair insisted.
113
"Aqua calda certainly ought to be cold
water--not hot."
"You're not a Latin scholar," said Sir
Eustace, smiling.
"Men are so superior about their Latin,"
said Mrs. Blair. "But all the same I notice
that when you ask them to translate
inscriptions in old churches they never can do
it! They hem and haw, and get out of it somehow."

"Quite right," said Colonel Race. "I
always do."
"But I love the Italians," continued Mrs.
Blair. "They're so obliging--though even
that has its embarrassing side. You ask them
the way somewhere, and instead of saying 'first to the right, second to the left' or
something that one could follow, they pour
out a flood of well-meaning directions, and
when you look bewildered they take you
kindly by the arm and walk all the way there
with you."
"Is that your experience in Florence, Pagett?" asked Sir Eustace, turning with a
smile to his secretary.
For some reason the question seemed to
disconcert Mr. Pagett. He stammered and
flushed.
114
"Oh, quite so, yes—er quite so.
Then with a murmured excuse, he rose and
left the table.
"I am beginning to suspect Guy Pagett
of having committed some dark deed in
Florence," remarked Sir Eustace, gazing after
his secretary's retreating figure. "Whenever
Florence or Italy is mentioned, he changes
the subject, or bolts precipitately."
"Perhaps he murdered someone there,"
said Mrs. Blair hopefully. "He looks—1 hope
I'm not hurting your feelings. Sir
Eustace—but he does look as though he
might murder someone."
"Yes, pure Cinquecento! It amuses me
sometimes—especially when one knows as
well as I do how essentially law-abiding and
respectable the poor fellow really is."
"He's been with you some time, hasn't he,
Sir Eustace?" asked Colonel Race.
"Six years," said Sir Eustace, with a deep
sigh.
"He must be quite invaluable to you," said
Mrs. Blair.
"Oh, invaluable! Yes, quite invaluable."
The poor man sounded even more depressed,
as though the invaluableness of Mr. Pagett
was a secret grief to him. Then he added
115
more briskly: "But his face should really
inspire you with confidence, my dear lady.
No self-respecting murderer would ever
consent to look like one. Crippen, now, I
believe, was one of the pleasantest fellows
imaginable."
"He was caught on a liner, wasn't he?"
murmured Mrs. Blair.
There was a slight rattle behind us. I
turned quickly. Mr. Chichester had dropped
his coffee-cup.
Our party soon broke up, Mrs. Blair went
below to sleep and I went out on deck.
Colonel Race followed me.
"You're very elusive. Miss Beddingfield. I
looked for you everywhere last night at the
dance."
"I went to bed early," I explained.
"Are you going to run away to-night too?
Or are you going to dance with me?"
"I shall be very pleased to dance with you,"
I murmured shyly. "But Mrs. Blair——"
"Our friend, Mrs. Blair, doesn't care for
dancing."
"And you do?"
"I care for dancing with you."
"Oh!" I said nervously.
I was a little afraid of Colonel Race.
116
Nevertheless I was enjoying myself. This was
better than discussing fossilized skulls with
stuffy old professors! Colonel Race was really
just my ideal of a stern silent Rhodesian.
Possibly I might marry him! I hadn't been
asked, it is true, but, as the Boy Scouts say,
Be Prepared! And all women, without in the
least meaning it, consider every man they
meet as a possible husband for themselves or
for their best friend.
I danced several times with him that
evening. He danced well. When the dancing
was over, and I was thinking of going to bed,
he suggested a turn round the deck. We
walked round three times and finally
subsided into two deck-chairs. There was
nobody else in sight. We made desultory
conversation for some time.
"Do you know. Miss Beddingfield, I think
that I once met your father? A very
interesting man—on his own subject, and it's
a subject that has a special fascination for me.
In my humble way, I've done a bit in that line
myself. Why, when I was in the Dordogne
region——"
Our talk became technical. Colonel Race's
boast was not an idle one. He knew a great
deal. At the same time, he made one or two
117
curious mistakes—slips of the tongue, I might
almost have thought them. But he was quick
to take his cue from me and to cover them up.
Once he spoke of the Mousterian period as
succeeding the Aurignacian—an absurd
mistake for one who knew anything of the
subject.
It was twelve o'clock when I went to my
cabin. I was still puzzling over those queer
discrepancies. Was it possible that he had
"got the whole subject up" for the occasion—
that really he knew nothing of archaeology? I
shook my head, vaguely dissatisfied with that
solution.
Just as I was dropping off to sleep, I sat up
with a sudden start as another idea flashed
into my head. Had he been pumping me?
Were those slight inaccuracies just tests—to
see whether I really knew what I was talking
about? In other words, he suspected me of
not being genuinely Anne Beddingfield.
Why?
118
12
(Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler)
THERE is something to be said for life
on board ship. It is peaceful. My grey
hairs fortunately exempt me from the
indignities of bobbing for apples, running up
and down the deck with potatoes and eggs,
and the more painful sports of "Brother
Bill" and Bolster Bar. What amusement
people can find in these painful proceedings
has always been a mystery to me. But there
are many fools in the world. One praises God
for their existence and keeps out of their way.
Fortunately I am an excellent sailor. Pagett, poor fellow, is not. He began turning green as
soon as we were out of the Solent. I presume
my other so-called secretary is also seasick.
At any rate he has not yet made his
appearance. But perhaps it is not seasickness,
but high diplomacy. The great
thing is that / have not been worried by him.
On the whole, the people on board are a mangy lot. Only two decent Bridge players
and one decent-looking woman--Mrs.
119
Clarence Blair. I've met her in town, of
course. She is one of the only women I know
who can lay claim to a sense of humour. I
enjoy talking to her, and should enjoy it more
if it were not for a long-legged taciturn ass
who attached himself to her like a limpet. I
cannot think that this Colonel Race really
amuses her. He's good-looking in his way, but dull as ditch water. One of these strong
silent men that lady novelists and young girls
always rave over.
Guy Pagett struggled up on deck after we
left Madeira and began babbling in a hollow
voice about work. What the devil does anyone
want to work for on board ship? It is true that
I promised my publishers my "Reminiscences"
early in the summer, but what of it?
Who really reads reminiscences? Old ladies in
the suburbs. And what do my reminiscences
amount to? I've knocked against a certain
number of so-called famous people in my
lifetime. With the assistance of Pagett, I
invent insipid anecdotes about them. And, the truth of the matter is, Pagett is too honest
for the job. He won't let me invent anecdotes
about the people I might have met but
haven't.
I tried kindness with him.
120
"You look a perfect wreck still, my dear
chap," I said easily. "What you need is a
deck-chair in the sun. No—not another word.
The work must wait."
The next thing I knew he was worrying
about an extra cabin. "There's no room to
work in your cabin. Sir Eustace. It's full of
trunks."
From his tone, you might have thought
that trunks were black beetles, something that
had no business to be there.
I explained to him that, though he might
not be aware of the fact, it was usual to take a
change of clothing with one when travelling.
He gave the wan smile with which he always
greets my attempts at humour, and then
reverted to the business in hand.
"And we could hardly work in my little
hole."
I know Pagett's "little holes"—he usually
has the best cabin on the ship.
"I'm sorry the Captain didn't turn out for
you this time," I said sarcastically. "Perhaps
you'd like to dump some of your extra
^ggage in my cabin?"
Sarcasm is dangerous with a man like
Pagett. He brightened up at once.
121
"Well, if I could get rid of the typewriter
and the stationery trunk——"
The stationery trunk weighs several solid
tons. It causes endless unpleasantness with
the porters, and it is the aim ofPagett's life to
foist it on me. It is a perpetual struggle
between us. He seems to regard it as my
special personal property. I, on the other
hand, regard the charge of it as the only thing
where a secretary is really useful.
"We'll get an extra cabin," I said hastily.
The thing seemed simple enough, but
Pagett is a person who loves to make
mysteries. He came to me the next day with a
face like a Renaissance conspirator.
"You know you told me to get Cabin 17 for
an office?"
"Well, what of it? Has the stationery trunk
jammed in the doorway?"
"The doorways are the same size in all the
cabins," replied Pagett seriously. "But I tell
you. Sir Eustace, there's something very
queer about that cabin."
Memories of reading The Upper Berth
floated through my mind.
"If you mean that it's haunted," I said,
"we're not going to sleep there, so I don't see
122
that it matters. Ghosts don't affect
typewriters."
Pagett said that it wasn't a ghost and that,
after all, he hadn't got Cabin 17. He told me a
long, garbled story. Apparently, he and a Mr.
Chichester, and a girl called Beddingfield,
had almost come to blows over the cabin.
Needless to say, the girl had won, and Pagett
was apparently feeling sore over the matter.
"Both 13 and 28 are better cabins," he
reiterated. "But they wouldn't look at them."
»»
"Well," I said, stifling a yawn, "for that
matter, no more would you, my dear Pagett."
He gave me a reproachful look.
"You told me to get Cabin 17."
There is a touch of the "boy upon the
burning deck" about Pagett.
"My dear fellow," I said testily, "I
mentioned No. 17 because I happened to
observe that it was vacant. But I didn't mean
you to make a stand to the death about it—13
or 28 would have done us equally well."
He looked hurt.
"There's something more, though," he
insisted. "Miss Beddingfield got the cabin,
but this morning I saw Chichester coming
out of it in a furtive sort of way."
I looked at him severely.
TMITBS9 123
"If you're trying to get up a nasty scandal
about Chichester, who is a missionary--
though a perfectly poisonous person--and
that attractive child, Anne Beddingfield, I
don't believe a word of it," I said coldly.
"Anne Beddingfield is an extremely nice
girl--with particularly good legs. I should say
she had far and away the best legs on board."
Pagett did not like my reference to Anne
Beddingfield's legs. He is the sort of man
who never notices legs himself--or, if he
does, would die sooner than say so. Also he
thinks my appreciation of such things
frivolous. I like annoying Pagett, so I
continued maliciously:
"As you've made her acquaintance, you
might ask her to dine at our table tomorrow
night. It's the Fancy Dress dance. By the
way, you'd better go down to the barber and
select a fancy costume for me."
"Surely you will not go in fancy dress?"
said Pagett, in tones of horror.
I could see that it was quite incompatible
with his idea of my dignity. He looked
shocked and pained. I had really had no
intention of donning fancy dress, but the
complete discomfiture of Pagett was too
tempting to be foreborne.
124
"What do you mean?" I said. "Of course I
shall wear fancy dress. So will you."
Pagett shuddered.
"So go down to the barber's and see about
it," I finished.
"I don't think he'll have any outsizes,"
murmured Pagett, measuring my figure with
his eye.
Without meaning it, Pagett can occasionally
be extremely offensive.
"And order a table for six in the saloon," I
said. "We'll have the Captain, the girl with
the nice legs, Mrs. Blair----"
"You won't get Mrs. Blair, without
Colonel Race," Pagett interposed. "He's
asked her to dine with him, I know."
Pagett always knows everything. I was
justifiably annoyed.
"Who is Race?" I demanded, exasperated.
As I said before, Pagett always knows
everything--or thinks he does. He looked
mysterious again.
"They say he's a Secret Service chap. Sir
Eustace. Rather a great gun too. But of course
I don't know for certain."
"Isn't that like the Government?" I
exclaimed. "Here's a man on board whose
business it is to carry about secret documents,
125
and they go giving them to a peaceful
outsider, who only asks to be let alone."
Pagett looked even more mysterious. He
came a pace nearer and dropped his voice.
"If you ask me, the whole thing is very
queer. Sir Eustace. Look at that illness of
mine before we started——"
"My dear fellow," I interrupted brutally,
"that was a bilious attack. You're always
having bilious attacks."
Pagett winced slightly.
"It wasn't the usual sort of bilious attack.
This time——"
"For God's sake, don't go into the details of
your condition, Pagett. I don't want to hear
them."
"Very well, Sir Eustace. But my belief is
that I was deliberately poisoned^
"Ah!" I said. "You've been talking to
Rayburn."
He did not deny it.
"At any rate. Sir Eustace, he thinks so—
and he should be in a position to know."
"By the way, where is the chap?" I asked.
"I've not set eyes on him since we came on
board."
«T?
"He gives out that he's ill, and stays in his
cabin. Sir Eustace." Pagett's voice dropped
126
again. "But that's camouflage, I'm sure. So
that he can watch better."
"Watch?"
"Over your safety. Sir Eustace. In case an
attack should be made upon you."
"You're such a cheerful fellow, Pagett," I
said. "I trust that your imagination runs away
with you. If I were you I should go to the
dance as the death's head or an executioner. It
will suit your mournful style of beauty."
That shut him up for the time being. I went
on deck. The Beddingfield girl was deep in
conversation with the missionary parson,
Chichester. Women always flutter round
parsons.
A man of my figure hates stooping, but I
had the courtesy to pick up a bit of paper that
was fluttering round the parson's feet.
I got no word of thanks for my pains. As a
matter of fact I couldn't help seeing what was
written on the sheet of paper. There was just
one sentence.
"Don't try to play a lone hand or it will be
the worse for you."
That's a nice thing for a parson to have.
^^ho is this fellow Chichester, I wonder? He
looks mild as milk. But looks are deceptive. I
127
shall ask Pagett about him. Pagett always
knows everything.
I sank gracefully into my deck-chair by the
side of Mrs. Blair, thereby interrupting her tete-a-tete with Race, and remarked that I
didn't know what the clergy were coming to
nowadays.
Then I asked her to dine with me on the
night of the Fancy Dress dance. Somehow or
other Race managed to get included in the
invitation.
After lunch the Beddingfield girl came and
sat with us for coffee. I was right about her
legs. They are the best on the ship. I shall
certainly ask her to dinner as well.
I would very much like to know what
mischief Pagett was up to in Florence. Whenever
Italy is mentioned, he goes to pieces. If I
did not know how intensely respectable he
is--I should suspect him of some disreputable amour . . .
I wonder now! Even the most respectable
men---- It would cheer me up enormously if
it was so.
Pagett--with a guilty secret! Splendid!
128
13
IT has been a curious evening.
The only costume that fitted me in the
barber's emporium was that of a Teddy
Bear. I don't mind playing bears with some
nice young girls on a winter's evening in
England—but it's hardly an ideal costume for
the equator. However, I created a good deal
of merriment, and won first prize for
"brought on board"—an absurd term for a
costume hired for the evening. Still, as
nobody seemed to have the least idea whether
they were made or brought, it didn't matter.
Mrs. Blair refused to dress up. Apparently
she is at one with Pagett on the matter.
Colonel Race followed her example. Anne
Beddingfield had concocted a gipsy costume
for herself, and looked extraordinarily well.
Pagett said he had a headache and didn't
appear. To replace him I asked a quaint little
fellow called Reeves. He's a prominent
member of the South African Labour party.
Horrible little man, but I want to keep in
with him, as he gives me information that I
129
need. I want to understand this Rand
business from both sides.
Dancing was a hot affair. I danced twice
with Anne Beddingfield and she had to
pretend she liked it. I danced once with Mrs.
Blair, who didn't trouble to pretend, and I
victimized various other damsels whose
appearance struck me favourably.
Then we went down to supper. I had
ordered champagne, the steward suggested
Clicquot 1911 as being the best they had on
the boat and I fell in with his suggestion. I
seemed to have hit on the one thing that
would loosen Colonel Race's tongue. Far
from being taciturn, the man became actually
talkative. For a while this amused me, then it
occurred to me that Colonel Race, and not
myself, was becoming the life and soul of the
party. He chaffed me at length about keeping
a diary.
"It will reveal all your indiscretions one of
these days, Pedler."
"My dear Race," I said, "I venture to
suggest that I am not quite the fool you think
me. I may commit indiscretions, but I don't
write them down in black and white. After
my death, my executors will know my
opinion of a great many people, but I doubt if
130
they will find anything to add or detract from
their opinion of me. A diary is useful for
recording the idiosyncrasies of other peoplebut not one's own."
"There is such a thing as unconscious selfrevelation,
though."
"In the eyes of the psycho-analyst, all
things are vile." I replied sententiously.
"You must have had a very interesting life,
Colonel Race?" said Miss Beddingfield,
gazing at him with wide, starry eyes.
That's how they do it, these girls! Othello
charmed Desdemona by telling her stories,
but, oh, didn't Desdemona charm Othello by
the way she listened?
Anyway, the girl set Race off all right. He
began to tell lion stories. A man who has shot
lions in large quantities has an unfair
advantage over other men. It seemed to me
that it was time I, too, told a lion story. One
of a more sprightly character.
"By the way," I remarked, "that reminds
me of a rather exciting tale I heard. A friend
of mine was out on a shooting trip somewhere
in East Africa. One night he came out of his
tent for some reason, and was startled by a
low growl. He turned sharply and saw a lion
crouching to spring. He had left his rifle in
'•&'••
131
the tent. Quick as thought, he ducked, and
the lion sprang right over his head. Annoyed
at having missed him, the animal growled
and prepared to spring again. Again he
ducked, and again the lion sprang right over
him. This happened a third time, but by now
he was close to the entrance of the tent, and
he darted in and seized his rifle. When he
emerged, rifle in hand, the lion had
disappeared. That puzzled him greatly. He
crept round the back of the tent, where there
was a little clearing. There, sure enough, was
the lion, busily practising low jumps."
This was received with a roar of applause. I
drank some champagne.
"On another occasion," I remarked, "this
friend of mine had a second curious
experience. He was trekking across country,
and being anxious to arrive at his destination
before the heat of the day he ordered his boys
to inspan whilst it was still dark. They had
some trouble in doing so, as the mules were
very restive, but at last they managed it, and a
start was made. The mules raced along like
the wind, and when daylight came they saw
why. In the darkness, the boys had inspanned
a lion as the near wheeler."
This, too, was well received, a ripple of
132
merriment going round the table, but I am
not sure that the greatest tribute did not come
from my friend the Labour Member, who
remained pale and serious.
"My God!" he said anxiously. "Who
un'arnessed them!"
"I must go to Rhodesia," said Mrs. Blair.
"After what you have told us. Colonel Race, I
simply must. It's a horrible journey though,
five days in the train."
"You must join me on my private car," I
said gallantly.
"Oh, Sir Eustace, how sweet of you! Do
you really mean it?"
"Do I mean it!" I exclaimed reproachfully,
and drank another glass of champagne.
"Just about another week, and we shall be
in South Africa," sighed Mrs. Blair.
"Ah, South Africa," I said sentimentally,
and began to quote from a recent speech of
mine at the Colonial Institute. "What has
South Africa to show the world? What
indeed? Her fruit and her farms, her wool
and her wattles, her herds and her hides, her
gold and her diamonds——"
I was hurrying on, because I knew that as
soon as I paused Reeves would butt in and
inform me that the hides were worthless
133
because the animals hung themselves up on
barbed wire or something of that sort, would
crab everything else, and end up with the
hardships of the miners on the Rand. And I
was not in the mood to be abused as a
Capitalist. However, the interruption came
from another source at the magic word
diamonds.
"Diamonds!" said Mrs. Blair ecstatically.
"Diamonds!" breathed Miss Beddingfield.
They both addressed Colonel Race.
"I suppose you've been to Kimberley?"
I had been to Kimberley too, but I didn't
manage to say so in time. Race was being
inundated with questions. What were mines
like? Was it true that the natives were kept
shut up in compounds? And so on.
Race answered their questions and showed
a good knowledge of his subject. He
described the methods of housing the natives,
the searches instituted, and the various
precautions that De Beers took.
"Then it's practically impossible to steal
any diamonds?" asked Mrs. Blair with as
keen an air of disappointment as though she
had been journeying there for the express
purpose.
"Nothing's impossible, Mrs. Blair. Thefts
134
do occur--like the case I told you of where
the Kafir hid the stone in his wound."
"Yes, but on a large scale?"
"Once, in recent years. Just before the
War, in fact. You must remember the case,
Pedler. You were in South Africa at the
time?"
I nodded.
"Tell us," cried Miss Beddingfield. "Oh,
do tell us!"
Race smiled.
"Very well, you shall have the story. I
suppose most of you have heard of Sir
Laurence Eardsley, the great South African
mining magnate? His mines were gold mines, but he comes into the story through his son.
You may remember that just before the War
rumours were afield of a new potential
Kimberley hidden somewhere in the rocky
floor of the British Guiana jungles. Two
young explorers, so it was reported, had
returned from that part of South America
bringing with them a remarkable collection of
rough diamonds, some of them of considerable
size. Diamonds of small size had been
found before in the neighbourhood of the
Essequibo and Mazaruni rivers, but these
two young men, John Eardsley and his friend
135
Lucas, claimed to have discovered beds of
great carbon deposits at the common head of
two streams. The diamonds were of every
colour, pink, blue, yellow, green, black, and
the purest white. Eardsley and Lucas came to
Kimberley, where they were to submit their
gems to inspection. At the same time a
sensational robbery was found to have taken
place at De Beers'. When sending diamonds
to England they are made up into a packet.
This remains in the big safe, of which the two
keys are held by two different men whilst a
third man knows the combination. They are
handed to the Bank, and the Bank send them
to England. Each package is worth, roughly,
about £100,000.
"On this occasion the Bank was struck by
something a little unusual about the sealing
of the packet. It was opened, and found to
contain knobs of sugar!
"Exactly how suspicion came to fasten on
John Eardsley I do not know. It was
remembered that he had been very wild at
Cambridge and that his father had paid his
debts more than once. Anyhow, it soon got
about that this story of South American
diamond fields was all a fantasy. John
Eardsley was arrested. In his possession was
136
found a portion of the De Beers diamonds.
"But the case never came to court. Sir
Laurence Eardsley paid over a sum equal to
the missing diamonds, and De Beers did not
prosecute. Exactly how the robbery was
committed has never been known. But the
knowledge that his son was a thief broke the
old man's heart. He had a stroke shortly afterwards.
As for John, his Fate was in a way
merciful. He enlisted, went to the War, fought there bravely, and was killed, thus
wiping out the stain on his name. Sir
Laurence himself had a third stroke and died
about a month ago. He died intestate and his
vast fortune passed to his next of kin, a man
whom he hardly knew."
The Colonel paused. A babel of ejaculations
and questions broke out. Something
seemed to attract Miss Beddingfield's
attention, and she turned in her chair. At the
little gasp she gave, I, too, turned.
My new secretary, Rayburn, was standing
in the doorway. Under his tan, his face had
the pallor of one who has seen a ghost.
Evidently Race's story had moved him
profoundly.
Suddenly conscious of our scrutiny, he
turned abruptly and disappeared.
^ ' 137
"Do you know who that is?" asked Anne
Beddingfield abruptly.
"That's my other secretary," I explained.
"Mr. Rayburn. He's been seedy up to now."
She toyed with the bread by her plate.
"Has he been your secretary long?"
"Not very long," I said cautiously.
But caution is useless with a woman, the
more you hold back, the more she presses
forward. Anne Beddingfield made no bones
about it.
"How long?" she asked bluntly.
"Well—er—I engaged him just before I
sailed. Old friend of mine recommended
him."
She said nothing more, but relapsed into a
thoughtful silence. I turned to Race with the
feeling that it was my turn to display an
interest in his story.
"Who is Sir Laurence's next of kin. Race?
Do you know?"
"I should do so," he replied, with a smile.
"I am!"
138
14
(Anne's Narrative Resumed)
T was on the night of the Fancy Dress dance that I decided that the time had
come for me to confide in someone. So far
I had played a lone hand and rather enjoyed
it. Now suddenly everything was changed. I
distrusted my own judgement and for the
first time a feeling of loneliness and desolation
crept over me.
I
I sat on the edge of my bunk, still in my
gipsy dress, and considered the situation. I
thought first of Colonel Race. He had seemed
to like me. He would be kind, I was sure. And
he was no fool. Yet, as I thought it over, I
wavered. He was a man of commanding
personality. He would take the whole matter
out of my hands. And it was my mystery!
There were other reasons, too, which I would
hardly acknowledge to myself, but which
made it inadvisable to confide in Colonel
Race.
Then I thought of Mrs. Blair. She, too, had
been kind to me. I did not delude myself into
1MITBS10 139
the belief that that really meant anything. It
was probably a mere whim of the moment.
All the same, I had it in my power to interest
her. She was a woman who had experienced
most of the ordinary sensations of life. I
proposed to supply her with an extraordinary
one! And I liked her, liked her ease of
manner, her lack of sentimentality, her
freedom from any form of affection.
My mind was made up. I decided to seek
her out then and there. She would hardly be
in bed yet.
Then I remembered that I did not know the
number of her cabin. My friend, the night
stewardess, would probably know.
I rang the bell. After some delay it was
answered by a man. He gave me the information
I wanted. Mrs. Blair's cabin was No.
71. He apologized for the delay in answering
the bell, but explained that he had all the
cabins to attend to.
"Where is the stewardess, then?" I asked.
"They all go off duty at ten o'clock."
"No--I mean the night stewardess."
"No stewardess on at night, miss."
"But--but a stewardess came the other
night--about one o'clock."
"You must have been dreaming, miss.
140
There's no stewardess on duty after ten."
He withdrew and I was left to digest this
morsel of information. Who was the woman
who had come to my cabin on the night of the
22nd? My face grew graver as I realized the
cunning and audacity of my unknown
antagonists. Then, pulling myself together, I
left my own cabin and sought that of Mrs.
Blair. I knocked at the door.
"Who's that?" called her voice from
within.
"It's me—Anne Beddingfield."
"Oh, come in, gipsy girl."
I entered. A good deal of scattered clothing
lay about, and Mrs. Blair herself was draped
in one of the loveliest kimonos I had ever
seen. It was all orange and gold and black and
made my mouth water to look at it.
"Mrs. Blair," I said abruptly, "I want to
tell you the story of my life—that is, if it isn't
too late, and you won't be bored."
"Not a bit. I always hate going to bed,"
said Mrs. Blair, her face crinkling into smiles
in the delightful way it had. "And I should
love to hear the story of your life. You're a
most unusual creature, gipsy girl. Nobody
else would think of bursting in on me at
1 a.m. to tell me the story of their life.
141
Especially after snubbing my natural
curiosity for weeks as you have done! I'm not
accustomed to being snubbed. It's been quite
a pleasing novelty. Sit down on the sofa and
unburden your soul."
I told her the whole story. It took some
time as I was conscientious over all the
details. She gave a deep sigh when I had
finished, but she did not say at all what I had
expected her to say. Instead she looked at me,
laughed a little and said:
"Do you know, Anne, you're a very
unusual girl? Haven't you ever had qualms?"
"Qualms?" I asked, puzzled.
"Yes, qualms, qualms, qualms! Starting off
alone with practically no money. What will
you do when you find yourself in a strange
country with all your money gone?"
"It's no good bothering about that until it
comes. I've got plenty of money still. The
twenty-five pounds that Mrs. Flemming gave
me is practically intact, and then I won the
sweep yesterday. That's another fifteen
pounds. Why, I've got lots of money. Forty
pounds!"
"Lots of money! My God!" murmured
Mrs. Blair. "I couldn't do it, Anne, and I've
plenty of pluck in my own way. I couldn't
142
start off gaily with a few pounds in my pocket
and no idea as to what I was doing and where
I was going."
"But that's the fun of it," I cried,
thoroughly roused. "It gives one such a
splendid feeling of adventure."
She looked at me, nodded once or twice, and then smiled.
"Lucky Anne! There aren't many people in
the world who feel as you do."
"Well," I said impatiently, "what do you
think of it all. Mrs. Blair?"
"I think it's the most thrilling thing I ever
heard! Now, to begin with, you will stop
calling me Mrs. Blair. Suzanne will be ever so
much better. Is that agreed?"
"I should love it, Suzanne."
"Good girl. Now let's get down to business.
You say that in Sir Eustace's secretary--
not that long-faced Pagett, the other
one--you recognized the man who was
stabbed and came into your cabin for shelter?"
I nodded.
"That gives us two links connecting Sir
Eustace with the tangle. The woman was
murdered in his house, and it's his secretary
who gets stabbed at the mystic hour of one
& 143
o'clock. I don't suspect Sir Eustace himself,
but it can't be all coincidence. There's a
connection somewhere even if he himself is
unaware of it.
"Then there's the queer business of the
stewardess," she continued thoughtfully.
"What was she like?"
"I hardly noticed her. I was so excited and
strung up—and a stewardess seemed such an
anticlimax. But—yes—I did think her face
was familiar. Of course it would be if I'd seen
her about the ship."
"Her face seemed familiar to you," said
Suzanne. "Sure she wasn't a man?"
"She was very tall," I admitted.
"Hum. Hardly Sir Eustace, I should think,
nor Mr. Pagett——Wait!"
She caught up a scrap of paper and began
drawing feverishly. She inspected the result
with her head poised on one side.
"A very good likeness of the Rev. Edward
Chichester. Now for the etceteras." She
passed the paper over to me. "Is that your
stewardess?"
"Why, yes," I cried. "Suzanne, how clever
of you!"
She disdained the compliment with a light
gesture.
144
"I've always had suspicions of that
Chichester creature. Do you remember how
he dropped his coffee-cup and turned a sickly
green when we were discussing Crippen the
other day?"
"And he tried to get Cabin 17!"
"Yes, it all fits in so far. But what does it all
mean? What was really meant to happen at
one o'clock in Cabin 17? It can't be the
stabbing of the secretary. There would be no
point in timing that for a special hour on a
special day in a special place. No, it must
have been some kind of appointment and he
was on his way to keep it when they knifed
him. But who was the appointment with?
Certainly not with you. It might have been
with Chichester. Or it might have been with
Pagett."
"That seems unlikely," I objected, "they
can see each other any time."
We both sat silent for a minute or two, then
Suzanne started off on another tack.
"Could there have been anything hidden
in the cabin?"
"That seems more probable," I agreed. "It
would explain my things being ransacked the
next morning. But there was nothing hidden
there, I'm sure of it."
145
"The young man couldn't have slipped
something into a drawer the night before?"
I shook my head.
"I should have seen him."
"Could it have been your precious piece of
paper they were looking for?"
"It might have been, but it seems rather
senseless. It was only a time and a date—and
they were both past by then."
Suzanne nodded.
"That's so, of course. No, it wasn't the
paper. By the way, have you got it with you?
I'd rather like to see it."
I had brought the paper with me as Exhibit
A, and handed it over to her. She scrutinized
it, frowning.
"There's a dot after the 17. Why isn't there
a dot after the 1 too?"
"There's a space," I pointed out.
"Yes, there's a space, but——"
Suddenly she rose and peered at the paper,
holding it as close under the light as possible.
There was a repressed excitement in her
manner.
"Anne, that isn't a dot! That's a flaw in the
paper! A flaw in the paper, you see? So
you've got to ignore it, and just go by the
spaces—the spaces!"
146
I had risen and was standing by her. I read
out the figures as I now saw them.
"I 71 22."
"You see," said Suzanne. "It's the same, but not quite. It's one o'clock still, and the
22nd--but it's Cabin 71! My cabin, Anne!"
We stood staring at each other, so pleased
with our new discovery and so rap with
excitement that you might have thought we
had solved the whole mystery. Then I fell to
earth with a bump.
"But, Suzanne, nothing happened here at
one o'clock on the 22nd?"
Her face fell also.
"No-it didn't."
Another idea struck me.
"This isn't your own cabin, is it, Suzanne?
I mean not the one you originally booked?"
"No, the purser changed me into it."
"I wonder if it was booked before sailing
for someone--someone who didn't turn up. I
suppose we could find out."
"We don't need to find out, gipsy girl,"
cried Suzanne. "I know! The purser was
telling me about it. The cabin was booked in
the name of Mrs. Grey--but it seems that Mrs. Grey was merely a pseudonym for the
famous Madame Nadina. She's a celebrated
147
Russian dancer, you know. She's never
appeared in London, but Paris has been quite
mad about her. She had a terrific success
there all through the War. A thoroughly bad
lot, I believe, but most attractive. The purser
expressed his regrets that she wasn't on board
in a most heartfelt fashion when he gave me
her cabin, and then Colonel Race told me a
lot about her. It seems there was very queer
stories afloat in Paris. She was suspected of
espionage, but they couldn't prove anything.
I rather fancy Colonel Race was over there
simply on that account. He's told me some
very interesting things. There was a regular
organized gang, not German in origin at all.
In fact the head of it, a man always referred to
as "the Colonel," was thought to be an
Englishman, but they never got any clue as to
his identity. But there is no doubt that he
controlled a considerable organization of
international crooks. Robberies, espionage,
assaults, he undertook them all—and usually
provided an innocent scapegoat to pay the
penalty. Diabolically clever, he must have
been! This woman was supposed to be one of
his agents, but they couldn't get hold of
anything to go upon. Yes, Anne, we're on the
right tack. Nadina is just the woman to be
148
mixed up in this business. The appointment
on the morning of the 22nd was with her in
this cabin. But where is she? Why didn't she
sail?"
A light flashed upon me.
"She meant to sail," I said slowly.
"Then why didn't she?"
^Because she was dead. Suzanne, Nadina
was the woman murdered at Marlow!"
My mind went back to the bare room in the
empty house and there swept over me again
that indefinable sensation of menace and evil.
With it came the memory of the falling pencil
and the discovery of the roll of films. A roll of
films—that struck a more recent note. Where
had I heard of a roll of films? And why did I
connect that thought with Mrs. Blair?
Suddenly I flew at her and almost shook
her in my excitement.
"Your films! The ones that were passed to
you through the ventilator? Wasn't that on
the 22nd?"
"The ones I lost?"
"How do you know they were the same?
Why would anyone return them to you that
way—in the middle of the night? It's a mad
idea. No—they were a message, the films had
been taken out of the yellow tin case, and
149
something else put inside. Have you got it
still?"
"I may have used it. No, here it is. I
remember I tossed it into the rack at the side
of the bunk."
She held it out to me.
It was an ordinary round tin cylinder, such
as films are packed in for the tropics. I took it
with trembling hand, but even as I did so my
heart leapt. It was noticeably heavier than it
should have been.
With shaking fingers I peeled off the strip
of adhesive plaster that kept it air-tight. I
pulled off the lid, and a stream of dull glassy
pebbles rolled on to the bed.
"Pebbles," I said, keenly disappointed.
"Pebbles?" cried Suzanne.
The ring in her voice excited me.
"Pebbles? No, Anne, not pebbles!
Diamonds^
150
15
DIAMONDS!
I stared, fascinated, at the glassy
heap on the bunk. I picked up one
which, but for the weight, might have been a
fragment of broken bottle.
"Are you sure, Suzanne?"
"Oh, yes, my dear. I've seen rough
diamonds too often to have any doubts.
They're beauties too, Anne--and some of
them are unique, I should say. There's a
history behind these."
"The history we heard to-night," I cried.
"You mean----?"
"Colonel Race's story. It can't be a coincidence.
He told it for a purpose."
"To see its effect, you mean?"
I nodded.
"Its effect on Sir Eustace?"
"Yes."
But, even as I said it, a doubt assailed me. Was it Sir Eustace who had been subjected to
a test, or had the story been told for my benefit? I remembered the impression I had
151
received on that former night of having been
deliberately "pumped." For some reason or
other. Colonel Race was suspicious. But
where did he come in? What possible
connection could he have with the affair?
"Who is Colonel Race?" I asked.
"That's rather a question," said Suzanne.
"He's pretty well known as a big-game
hunter, and, as you heard him say tonight, he was a distant cousin of Sir Laurence
Eardsley. I've never actually met him until
this trip. He journeys to and from Africa a
good deal. There's a general idea that he does
Secret Service work. I don't know whether
it's true or not. He's certainly rather a
mysterious creature."
"I suppose he came into a lot of money as
Sir Laurence Eardsley's heir?"
"My dear Anne, he must be rolling. You
know, he'd be a splendid match for you."
"I can't have a good go at him with you
aboard the ship." I said, laughing. "Oh, these
married women!"
"We do have a pull," murmured Suzanne
complacently. "And everybody knows that I
am absolutely devoted to Clarence--my
husband, you know. It's so safe and pleasant
to make love to a devoted wife."
152
"It must be very nice for Clarence to be
married to someone like you."
"Well, I'm wearing to live with! Still, he
can always escape to the Foreign Office,
where he fixes his eyeglass in his eye, and
goes to sleep in a big arm-chair. We might
cable him to tell us all he knows about Race. I
love sending cables. And they annoy Clarence
so. He always says a letter would have done as
well. I don't suppose he'd tell us anything
though. He is so frightfully discreet. That's
what makes him so hard to live with for long
on end. But let us go on with our matchmaking.
I'm sure Colonel Race is very
attracted to you, Anne. Give him a couple of
glances from those wicked eyes of yours, and
the deed is done. Everyone gets engaged on
board ship. There's nothing else to do."
"I don't want to get married."
"Don't you?" said Suzanne. "Why not? I
love being married--even to Clarence!"
I disdained her flippancy.
"What I want to know is," I said with
determination, "what has Colonel Race got to
do with this? He's in it somewhere."
"You don't think it was mere chance, his
telling that story?"
"No, I don't," I said decidedly. "He was
!^ 153
watching us all narrowly. You remember,
some of the diamonds were recovered, not all.
Perhaps these are the missing ones—or
perhaps——"
"Perhaps what?"
I did not answer directly.
"I should like to know," I said, "what
became of the other young man. Not
Eardsley but—what was his name?—Lucas!"
"We're getting some light on the thing,
anyway. It's the diamonds all these people are
after. It must have been to obtain possession
of the diamonds that "The Man in the Brown
Suit' killed Nadina."
"He didn't kill her," I said sharply.
"Of course he killed her. Who else could
have done so?"
"I don't know. But I'm sure he didn't kill
her."
"He went into that house three minutes
after her and came out as white as a sheet."
"Because he found her dead."
"But nobody else went in."
"Then the murderer was in the house
already, or else he got in some other way.
There's no need for him to pass the lodge, he
could have climbed over the wall."
Suzanne glanced at me sharply.
154
FR1;" 'The Man in the Brown Suit,5 " she
mused. "Who was he, I wonder? Anyway, he
was identical with the 'doctor' in the Tube.
He would have had time to remove his makeup
and follow the woman to Marlow. She and
Carton were to have met there, they both had
an order to view the same house, and if they
took such elaborate precautions to make their
meeting appear accidental they must have
suspected they were being followed. All the
same. Carton did not know that his shadower
was 'The Man in the Brown Suit." When he
recognized him, the shock was so great that
he lost his head completely and stepped back
on to the line. That all seems pretty clear,
don't you think so, Anne!"
I did not reply.
"Yes, that's how it was. He took the paper
from the dead man, and in his hurry to get
away he dropped it. Then he followed the
woman to Marlow. What did he do when he
left there, when he had killed her--or, according to you, found her dead? Where did
he go?"
Still I said nothing.
"I wonder, now," said Suzanne musingly. "Is it possible that he induced Sir Eustace
Pedler to bring him on board as his secretary?
TMITBS11 155
It would be a unique chance of getting safely
out of England, and dodging the hue and cry.
But how did he square Sir Eustace? It looks
as though he had some hold over him."
"Or over Pagett," I suggested in spite of
myself.
"You don't seem to like Pagett, Anne. Sir
Eustace says he's a most capable and hardworking
young man. And, really, he may be
for all we know against him. Well, to
continue my surmises. Rayburn is 'The Man
in the Brown Suit.' He had read the paper he
dropped. Therefore, misled by the dot as you
were, he attempts to reach Cabin 17 at one
o'clock on the 22nd, having previously tried
to get possession of the cabin through Pagett.
On the way there somebody knifes him----"
"Who?" I interpolated.
"Chichester. Yes, it all fits in. Cable to
Lord Nasby that you have found 'The Man
in the Brown Suit,' and your fortune's made, Anne!"
"There are several things you've
overlooked."
"What things? Rayburn's got a scar, I
know--but a scar can be faked easily enough.
He's the right height and build. What's the
156
description of a head with which you
pulverized them at Scotland Yard?"
I trembled. Suzanne was a well-educated,
well-read woman, but I prayed that she might
not be conversant with technical terms of
anthropology.
"Dolichocephalic," I said lightly.
Suzanne looked doubtful.
"Was that it?"
"Yes. Long-headed, you know. A head
whose width is less than 75 per cent of its
length," I explained fluently.
There was a pause. I was just beginning to
breathe freely when Suzanne said suddenly:
"What's the opposite?"
"What do you mean--the opposite?"
"Well, there must be an opposite. What do
you call the heads whose breadth is more than
75 per cent of their length?"
"Brachycephalic," I murmured unwillingly.

"That's it. I thought that was what you
said."
"Did I? It was a slip of the tongue. I meant
dolichocephalic," I said with all the
assurance I could muster.
Suzanne looked at me searchingly. Then
she laughed.
157
"You lie very well, gipsy girl. But it will
save time and trouble now if you tell me all
about it."
"There's nothing to tell," I said unwillingly.

"Isn't there?" said Suzanne gently.
"I suppose I shall have to tell you," I said
slowly. "I'm not ashamed of it. You can't be
ashamed of something that just--happens to
you. That's what he did. He was detestable- rude and ungrateful--but that I think I
understand. It's like a dog that's been chained
up--or badly treated--it'll bite anybody.
That's what he was like--bitter and snarling.
I don't know why I care--but I do. I care
horribly. Just seeing him has turned my
whole life upside-down. I love him. I want
him. I'll walk all over Africa barefoot till I
find him, slave for him, steal for him, even
beg or borrow for him! There--now you
know!"
Suzanne looked at me for a long time.
"You're very un-English, gipsy girl," she
said at last. "There's not a scrap of the
sentimental about you. I've never met anyone
who was at once so practical and so
passionate. I shall never care for anyone like
that--mercifully for me--and yet--and yet I
158
envy you, gipsy girl. It's something to be able
to care. Most people can't. But what a mercy
for your little doctor man that you didn't
marry him. He doesn't sound at all the sort of
individual who would enjoy keeping high
explosive in the house! So there's to be no
cabling to Lord Nasby?"
I shook my head.
"And yet you believe him to be innocent?"
"I also believe that innocent people can be
hanged."
"H'm! yes. But, Anne dear, you can face
facts, face them now. In spite of all you say,
he may have murdered this woman."
"No," I said. "He didn't."
"That's sentiment."
"No, it isn't. He might have killed her. He
may even have followed her there with that
idea in his mind. But he wouldn't take a bit of
black cord and strangle her with it. If he'd
done it, he would have strangled her with his
bare hands."
Suzanne gave a little shiver. Her eyes
narrowed appreciatively.
"H'm! Anne, I am beginning to see why
you find this young man of yours so
attractive!"
159
16
I GOT an opportunity of tackling Colonel
Race on the following morning. The
auction of the sweep had just been concluded, and we walked up and down the deck
together.
"How's the gipsy this morning? Longing
for land and her caravan."
I shook my head.
"Now that the sea is behaving so nicely, I
feel I should like to stay on it for ever and
ever."
"What enthusiasm!"
"Well, isn't it lovely this morning?"
We leant together over the rail. It was a
glassy calm. The sea looked as though it had
been oiled. There were great patches of
colour on it, blue, pale green, emerald,
purple and deep orange, like a cubist picture.
There was an occasional flash of silver that
showed the flying fish. The air was moist and
warm, almost sticky. Its breath was like a
perfumed caress.
"That was a very interesting story you told
160
us last night," I said, breaking the silence.
"Which one?"
"The one about the diamonds."
"I believe women are always interested in
diamonds."
"Of course we are. By the way, what
became of the other young man? You said
there were two of them."
"Young Lucas? Well, of course, they
couldn't prosecute one without the other, so
he went scot-free too."
"And what happened to him—eventually,
I mean? Does anyone know?"
Colonel Race was looking straight ahead of
him out to sea. His face was as devoid of
expression as a mask, but I had an idea that
he did not like my questions. Nevertheless,
he replied readily enough.
"He went to the War and acquitted himself
bravely. He was reported missing and
wounded—believed killed."
That told me what I wanted to know. I
asked no more. But more than ever I
wondered how much Colonel Race knew.
The part he was playing in all this puzzled
me.
One other thing I did. That was to
interview the night steward. With a little
161
financial encouragement, I soon got him to
talk.
"The lady wasn't frightened, was she miss?
It seemed a harmless sort of joke. A bet, or so
I understood."
I got it all out of him, little by little. On the
voyage from Cape Town to England one of
the passengers had handed him a roll of films
with instructions that they were to be
dropped on to the bunk in Cabin 71 at 1 a.m.
on January 22nd on the outward journey. A
lady would be occupying the cabin, and the
affair was described as a bet. I gathered that
the steward had been liberally paid for his
part in the transaction. The lady's name had
not been mentioned. Of course, as Mrs. Blair
went straight into Cabin 71, interviewing the
purser as soon as she got on board, it never
occurred to the steward that she was not the
lady in question. The name of the passenger
who had arranaged the transaction was
Carton, and his description tallied exactly
with that of the man killed on the Tube.
So one mystery, at all events, was cleared
up, and the diamonds were obviously the key
to the whole situation.
Those last days on the Kilmorden seemed
to pass very quickly. As we drew nearer and
162
nearer to Cape Town, I was forced to
consider carefully my future plans. There
were so many people I wanted to keep an eye
on. Mr. Chichester, Sir Eustace and his
secretary, and--yes. Colonel Race! What was
I to do about it? Naturally it was Chichester
who had first claim on my attention. Indeed,
I was on the point of reluctantly dismissing
Sir Eustace and Mr. Pagett from their
position of suspicious characters, when a
chance conversation awakened fresh doubts
in my mind.
I had not forgotten Mr. Pagett's incomprehensible
emotion at the mention of Florence.
On the last evening on board we were all
sitting on deck and Sir Eustace addressed a
perfectly innocent question to his secretary. I
forget exactly what it was, something to do
with railway delays in Italy, but at once I
noticed that Mr. Pagett was displaying the
same uneasiness which had caught my
attention before. When Sir Eustace claimed
Mrs. Blair for a dance, I quickly moved into
the chair next to the secretary. I was
determined to get to the bottom of the matter.
"I have always longed to go to Italy," I
said. "And especially to Florence. Didn't you
enjoy it very much there?"
163
"Indeed I did. Miss Beddingfield. If you
will excuse me, there is some correspondence
of Sir Eustace's that——"
I took hold of him firmly by his coat sleeve.
"Oh, you mustn't run away!" I cried with
the skittish accent of an elderly dowager.
"I'm sure Sir Eustace wouldn't like you to
leave me alone with no one to talk to. You
never seem to want to talk about Florence.
Oh, Mr. Pagett, I believe you have a guilty
secret!"
I still had my hand on his arm, and I could
feel the sudden start he gave.
"Not at all. Miss Beddingfield, not at all,"
he said earnestly. "I should be only too
delighted to tell you all about it, but there
really are some cables——"
"Oh, Mr. Pagett, what a thin pretence! I
shall tell Sir Eustace——"
I got no further. He gave another jump.
The man's nerves seemed in a shocking state.
"What is it you want to know?"
The resigned martyrdom of his tone made
me smile inwardly.
"Oh, everything! The pictures, the olive
trees——"
I paused, rather at a loss myself.
"I suppose you speak Italian?" I resumed.
164
"Not a word, unfortunately. But of course,
with hall porters and—er—guides."
"Exactly," I hastened to reply. "And
which was your favourite picture?"
"Oh, er—the Madonna—er, Raphael, you
know."
"Dear old Florence," I murmured
sentimentally. "So picturesque on the banks
of the Arno. A beautiful river. And the
Duomo, you remember the Duomo?"
"Of course, of course."
"Another beautiful river, is it not?" I
hazarded. "Almost more beautiful than the
Arno?" -—— --
"Decidedly so, I should say."
Emboldened by the success of my little
trap, I proceeded further. But there was little
room for doubt. Mr. Pagett delivered himself
into my hands with every word he uttered.
The man had never been in Florence in his
life.
But if not in Florence, where had he been?
In England? Actually in England at the time
of the Mill House Mystery? I decided on a
bold step.
"The curious thing is," I said, "that I
fancied I had seen you before somewhere.
— 165
But I must be mistaken—since you were in
Florence at the time. And yet——"
I studied him frankly. There was a hunted
look in his eyes. He passed his tongue over
his dry lips.
"Where-er-where——"
"Did I think I had seen you?" I finished for
him. "At Marlow. You know Marlow? Why,
of course, how stupid of me. Sir Eustace has a
house there!"
But with an incoherent muttered excuse,
my victim rose and fled.
That night I invaded Suzanne's cabin,
alight with excitement.
"You see, Suzanne," I urged, as I finished
my tale, "he was in England, in Marlow, at
the time of the murder. Are you so sure now
that 'The Man in the Brown Suit' is guilty?"
"I'm sure of one thing," said Suzanne,
twinkling, unexpectedly.
"What's that?"
"That 'The Man in the Brown Suit' is
better looking than poor Mr. Pagett. No,
Anne, don't get cross. I was only teasing. Sit
down here. Joking apart, I think you've made
a very important discovery. Up till now,
we've considered Pagett as having an alibi.
Now we know he hasn't."
166
"Exactly," I said. "We must keep an eye
on him."
"As well as everybody else," she said
ruefully. "Well, that's one of the things I
wanted to talk to you about. That—and
finance. No, don't stick your nose in the
air. I know you are absurdly proud and
independent, but you've got to listen to horse
sense over this. We're partners—1 wouldn't
offer you a penny because I liked you, or
because you're a friendless girl—what I want
is a thrill, and I'm prepared to pay for it.
We're going into this together regardless of
expense. To begin with you'll come with me
to the Mount Nelson Hotel at my expense,
and we'll plan out our campaign."
We argued the point. In the end I gave in.
But I didn't like it. I wanted to do the thing
on my own.
"That's settled," said Suzanne at last,
getting up and stretching herself with a big
yawn. "I'm exhausted with my own
eloquence. Now then, let us discuss our
victims. Mr. Chichester is going on to
Durban. Sir Eustace is going to the Mount
Nelson Hotel in Cape Town and then up to
Rhodesia. He's going to have a private car on
the railway, and in a moment of expansion,
167
after his fourth glass of champagne the other
night, he offered me a place in it. I dare say
he didn't really mean it, but, all the same, he
can't very well back out if I hold him to it."
"Good," I approved. "You keep an eye on
Sir Eustace and Pagett, and I take on
Chichester. But what about Colonel Race?"
Suzanne looked at me queerly.
"Anne, you can't possibly suspect----"
"I do. I suspect everybody. I'm in the
mood when one looks round for the most
unlikely person."
"Colonel Race is going to Rhodesia too,"
said Suzanne thoughtfully. "If we could
arrange for Sir Eustace to invite him
also----"
"You can manage it. You can manage
anything."
"I love butter," purred Suzanne.
We parted on the understanding that
Suzanne should employ her talents to the best
advantage.
I felt too excited to go to bed immediately.
It was my last night on board. Early tomorrow
morning we should be in Table Bay.
I slipped up on deck. The breeze was fresh
and cool. The boat was rolling a little in the
168
choppy sea. The decks were dark and deserted.
It was after midnight.
I leaned over the rail, watching the
phosphorescent trail of foam. Ahead of us lay
Africa, we were rushing towards it through
the dark water. I felt alone in a wonderful
world. Wrapped in a strange peace, I stood
there, taking no heed of time, lost in a dream.
And suddenly I had a curious intimate
premonition of danger. I had heard nothing,
but I swung round instinctively. A shadowy
form had crept up behind me. As I turned, it
sprang. One hand gripped my throat, stifling
any cry I might have uttered. I fought
desperately, but I had no chance. I was half
choking from the grip on my throat, but I bit
and clung and scratched in the most approved
feminine fasion. The man was handicapped
by having to keep me from crying out. If he
had succeeded in reaching me unawares it
would have been easy enough for him to sling
me overboard with a sudden heave. The
sharks would have taken care of the rest.
Struggle as I would. I felt myself
weakening. My assailant felt it too. He put
out all his strength. And then, running on
swift noiseless feet, another shadow joined in.
With one blow of his fist, he sent my
I 169
opponent crashing headlong to the deck.
Released, I fell back against the rail, sick and
trembling.
My rescuer turned to me with a quick
movement.
"You're hurt!"
There was something savage in his tone--a
menace against the person who had dared to
hurt me. Even before he spoke I had
recognized him. It was my man--the man
with the scar.
But that one moment in which his attention
had been diverted to me had been enough for
the fallen enemy. Quick as a flash he had
risen to his feet and taken to his heels down
the deck. With an oath Rayburn sprang after
him.
I always hate being out of things. I joined
the chase--a bad third. Round the deck we
went to the starboard side of the ship. There
by the saloon door lay the man in a crumpled
heap. Rayburn was bending over him.
"Did you hit him again?" I called breathlessly.

"There was no need," he replied grimly. "I
found him collapsed by the door. Or else he
couldn't get it open and is shamming. We'll
170
soon see about that. And we'll see who he is
too."
With a beating heart I drew near. I had
realized at once that my assailant was a bigger
man than Chichester. Anyway, Chichester
was a flabby creature who might use a knife at
a pinch, but who would have little strength in
his bare hands.
Rayburn struck a match. We both uttered
an ejaculation. The man was Guy Pagett.
Rayburn appeared absolutely stupefied by
the discovery.
"Pagett," he muttered. "My God, Pagett." I felt a slight sense of superiotity.
"You seem surprised."
"I am," he said heavily. "I never
suspected----" He wheeled suddenly round
on me. "And you? You're not? You recognized
him, I suppose, when he attacked
you?"
"No, I didn't. All the same, I'm not so very
surprised."
He stared at me suspiciously.
"Where do you come in, I wonder? And
how much do you know?"
I smiled.
"A good deal, Mr.--er--Lucas!"
TMITBS 12 171
He caught my arm, the unconscious
strength of his grip made me wince.
"Where did you get that name?" he asked
hoarsely.
"Isn't it yours?" I demanded sweetly. "Or
do you prefer to be called 'The Man in the
Brown Suit'?"
That did stagger him. He released my arm
and fell back a pace or two.
"Are you a girl or a witch?" he breathed.
"I'm a friend," I advanced a step towards
him. "I offered you my help once—I offer it
again. Will you have it?"
The fierceness of his answer took me aback.
"No. I'll have no truck with you or with
any woman. Do your damnedest."
As before, my own temper began to rise.
"Perhaps," I said, "you don't realize how
much in my power you are! A word from me
to the Captain——"
"Say it," he sneered. Then advancing with
a quick step: "And whilst we're realizing
things, my dear girl, do you realize that
you're in my power this minute? I could take
you by the throat like this." With a swift
gesture he suited the action to the word. I felt
his two hands clasp my throat and press—
ever so little. "Like this—and squeeze the life
172
out of you! And then--like our unconscious
friend here, but with more success--fling
your dead body to the sharks. What do you
say to that?"
I said nothing. I laughed. And yet I knew
that the danger was real. Just at that moment
he hated me. But I knew that I loved the
danger, loved the feeling of his hands on my
throat. That I would not have exchanged that
moment for any other moment in my life.
With a short laugh he released me.
"What^s your name?" he asked abruptly.
"Anne Beddingfield."
"Does nothing frighten you, Anne
Beddingfield?"
"Oh, yes," I said, with an assumption of
coolness I was far from feeling. "Wasps,
sarcastic women, very young men, cockroaches, and superior shop assistants."
He gave the same short laugh as before.
Then he stirred the unconscious form of
Pagett with his feet.
"What shall we do with this junk? Throw it
overboard?" he asked carelessly. "If you like," I answered with equal calm.
"I admire your whole-hearted, bloodthirsty
instincts. Miss Beddingfield. But we will
173
leave him to recover at his leisure. He is not
seriously hurt."
"You shrink from a second murder, I see,"
I said sweetly.
"A second murder?"
He looked genuinely puzzled.
"The woman at Marlow," I reminded him,
watching the effect of my words closely.
An ugly brooding expression settled down
on his face. He seemed to have forgotten my
presence.
"I might have killed her," he said. "Sometimes
I believe that I meant to kill her ..."
A wild rush of feeling, hatred of the dead
woman, surged through me. I could have
killed her that moment, had she stood before
me. . . . For he must have loved her once--he
must--he must--to have felt like that!
I regained control of myself and spoke in
my normal voice:
"We seemed to have said all there is to be
said--except good night."
"Good night and good-bye. Miss Beddingfield."
"Au
revoir, Mr. Lucas."
Again he flinched at the name. He came
nearer.
"Why do you say that--au revoir, I mean?"
174
"Because I have a fancy that we shall meet
again."
"Not if I can help it!"
Emphatic as his tone was, it did not offend
me. On the contrary, I hugged myself with
secret satisfaction. I am not quite a fool.
"All the same," I said gravely, "I think we
shall."
"Why?"
I shook my head, unable to explain the
feeling that had actuated my words.
"I never wish to see you again," he said
suddenly, and violently.
It was really a very rude thing to say, but I
only laughed softly and slipped away into the
darkness.
I heard him start after me, and then pause,
and a word floated down the deck. I think it
was "witch"!
^
175
17
(Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler)
mount nelson hotel, cape town.
IT is really the greatest relief to get off the
Kilmorden. The whole time that I was on
board I was conscious of being surrounded
by a network of intrigue. To put the lid on
everything. Guy Pagett must needs engage in
a drunken brawl the last night. It is all very
well to explain it away, but that is what it
actually amounts to. What else would you
think if a man comes to you with a lump the
size of an egg on the side of his head and an
eye coloured all the tints of the rainbow?
Of course Pagett would insist on trying to
be mysterious about the whole thing.
According to him, you would think his black
eye was the direct result of his devotion to my
interests. His story was extraordinarily vague
and rambling and it was a long time before I
could make head or tail of it.
To begin with, it appears he caught sight of
a man behaving suspiciously. Those are
Pagett's words. He has taken them straight
176
from the pages of a German spy story. What
he means by a man behaving suspiciously he
doesn't know himself. I said so to him.
"He was slinking along in a very furtive
manner, and it was the middle of the night,
Sir Eustace."
"Well, what were you doing yourself? Why
weren't you in bed and asleep like a good
Christian?" I demanded irritably.
"I had been coding those cables of yours,
Sir Eustace, and typing the diary up to date."
Trust Pagett to be always in the right and a
martyr over it!
"Well?"
"I just thought I would have a look round
before turning in. Sir Eustace. The man was
coming down the passage from your cabin. I
thought at once there was something wrong
by the way he looked about him. He slunk up
the stairs by the saloon. I followed him."
"My dear Pagett," I said, "why shouldn't
the poor chap go on deck without having his
footsteps dogged? Lots of people even sleep
on deck—very uncomfortable, I've always
thought. The sailors wash you down with the
rest of the deck at five in the morning," I
shuddered at the idea.
"Anyway," I continued, "if you went
177
worrying some poor devil who was suffering
from insomnia, I don't wonder he landed you
one."
Pagett looked patient.
"If you would hear me out. Sir Eustace. I
was convinced the man had been prowling
about near your cabin where he had no
business to be. The only two cabins down
that passage are yours and Colonel Race's."
"Race," I said, lighting a cigar carefully, "can look after himself without your
assistance, Pagett." I added as an afterthought:
"So can I."
Pagett came nearer and breathed heavily as
he always does before imparting a secret.
"You see. Sir Eustace, I fancied--and now
indeed I am sure--it was Rayburn."
"Rayburn?"
"Yes, Sir Eustace."
I shook my head.
"Rayburn has far too much sense to
attempt to wake me up in the middle of the
night."
"Quite so. Sir Eustace. I think it was
Colonel Race he went to see. A secret
meeting--for orders!"
"Don't hiss at me, Pagett," I said, drawing
back a little, "and do control your breathing.
178
Your idea is absurd. Why should they want to
have a secret meeting in the middle of the
night? If they'd anything to say to each other,
they could hob-nob over beef-tea in a
perfectly casual and natural manner."
I could see that Pagett was not in the least
convinced.
"Something was going on last night. Sir
Eustace," he urged, "or why should Rayburn
assault me so brutally?"
"You're quite sure it was Rayburn?"
Pagett appeared to be perfectly convinced
of that. It was the only part of the story that
he wasn't vague about.
"There's something very queer about all
this," he said. "To begin with, where is
Rayburn?"
It's perfectly true that we haven't seen the
fellow since we came on shore. He did not
come up to the hotel with us. I decline to
believe that he is afraid of Pagett, however.
Although the whole thing is very annoying.
One of my secretaries has vanished into the
blue, and the other looks like a disreputable
prize-fighter. I can't take him about with me
in his present condition. I shall be the
laughing-stock of Cape Town. I have an
appointment later in the day to deliver old
179
Milray's billet-doux, but I shall not take
Pagett with me. Confound the fellow and his
prowling ways.
Altogether I am decidedly out of temper.
I had a poisonous breakfast with poisonous
people. Dutch waitresses with thick ankles
who took half an hour to bring me a bad bit of
fish. And this farce of getting up at 5 a.m. on
arrival at the port to see a blinking doctor and
hold your hands about your head simply
makes me tired.
Later.
A very serious thing has occurred. I went to
my appointment with the Prime Minister,
taking Milray's sealed letter. It didn't look as
though it had been tampered with, but inside
was a blank sheet of paper!
Now, I suppose, I'm in the devil of a mess.
Why I ever let that bleating old fool Milray
embroil me in the matter I can't think.
Pagett is a famous Job's comforter. He
displays a certain gloomy satisfaction that
maddens me. Also, he has taken advantage of
my perturbation to saddle me with the
stationery trunk. Unless he is careful, the
next funeral he attends will be his own.
However, in the end I had to listen to him.
180
"Supposing, Sir Eustace, that Rayburn had
overheard a word or two of your conversation
with Mr. Milray in the street? Remember,
you had no written authority from Mr.
Milray. You accepted Rayburn on his own
valuation."
"You think Rayburn is a crook, then?" I
said slowly.
Pagett did. How far his views were
influenced by resentment over his black eye I
don't know. He made out a pretty fair case
against Rayburn. And the appearance of the
latter told against him. My idea was to do
nothing in the matter. A man who has
permitted himself to be made a thorough fool
of is not anxious to broadcast the fact.
But Pagett, his energy unimpaired by his
recent misfortunes, was all for vigorous
measures. He had his way, of course. He
bustled out to the police station, sent
innumerable cables, and brought a herd of
English and Dutch officials to drink whiskies
and sodas at my expense.
We got Milray's answer that evening. He
knew nothing of my late secretary! There was
only one spot of comfort to be extracted from
the situation.
"At any rate," I said to Pagett, "you
181
weren't poisoned. You had one of your
ordinary bilious attacks."
I saw him wince. It was my only score.
Later. Pagett is in his element. His brain
positively scintillates with bright ideas. He
will have it now that Rayburn is none other
than the famous "Man in the Brown Suit." I
dare say he is right. He usually is. But all this
is getting unpleasant. The sooner I get off to
Rhodesia the better. I have explained to
Pagett that he is not to accompany me.
"You see, my dear fellow," I said, "you
must remain here on the spot. You might be
required to identify Rayburn any minute.
And, besides, I have my dignity as an English
Member of Parliament to think of. I can't go
about with a secretary who has apparently
recently been indulging in a vulgar streetbrawl."
Pagett
winced. He is such a respectable
fellow that his appearance is pain and
tribulation to him.
"But what will you do about your correspondence, and the notes for your speeches, Sir Eustace?"
"I shall manage," I said airily.
182
"Your private car is to be attached to the
eleven o'clock train to-morrow, Wednesday,
morning," Pagett continued. "I have made
all arrangements. Is Mrs. Blair taking a maid
with her?"
"Mrs. Blair?" I gasped.
"She tells me you offered her a place."
So I did, now I come to think of it. On the
night of the Fancy Dress ball. I even urged
her to come. But I never thought she would.
Delightful as she is, I do not know that I want
Mrs. Blair's society all the way to Rhodesia
and back. Women require such a lot of
attention. And they are confoundedly in the
way sometimes.
"Have I asked anyone else?" I said
nervously. One does these things in a
moment of expansion.
"Mrs. Blair seemed to think you had asked
Colonel Race as well."
I groaned.
"I must have been very drunk if I asked
Race. Very drunk indeed. Take my advice,
Pagett, and let your black eye be a warning to
you, don't go on the bust again."
"As you know, I am a teetotaller. Sir
Eustace."
"Much wiser to take the pledge if you have
. 183
a weakness that way. I haven't asked anyone
else, have I, Pagett?"
"Not that I know of. Sir Eustace."
I heaved a sigh of relief.
"There's Miss Beddingfield," I said
thoughtfully. "She wants to get to Rhodesia
to dig up bones, I believe. I've a good mind to
offer her a temporary job as secretary. She
can typewrite, I know, for she told me so."
To my surprise, Pagett opposed the idea
vehemently. He does not like Anne Beddingfield.
Ever since the night of the black eye,
he has displayed uncontrollable emotion
whenever she is mentioned. Pagett is full of
mysteries nowadays.
Just to annoy him. I shall ask the girl. As I
said before, she has extremely nice legs.
184
18
(Anne's Narrative Resumed)
I DON'T suppose that as long as I live I
shall forget my first sight of Table
Mountain. I got up frightfully early and
went out on deck. I went right up to the boat
deck, which I believe is a heinous offence, but
I decided to dare something in the cause of
solitude. We were just steaming into Table
Bay. There were fleecy white clouds hovering
above Table Mountain, and nestling on the
slopes below, right down to the sea, was the
sleeping town, gilded and bewitched by the
morning sunlight.
It made me catch my breath and have that
curious hungry pain inside that seizes one
sometimes when one comes across something
that's extra beautiful. I'm not very good at
expressing these things, but I knew well
enough that I had found, if only for a fleeting
moment, the thing that I had been looking for
ever since I left Little Hampsley. Something
"ew, something hitherto undreamed of,
185
something that satisfied my aching hunger
for romance.
Perfectly silently, or so it seemed to me, the Kilmorden glided nearer and nearer. It was
still very like a dream. Like all dreamers, however, I could not let my dream alone. We
poor humans are so anxious not to miss anything.

"This is South Africa," I kept saying to
myself industriously. "South Africa, South
Africa. You are seeing the world. This is the
world. You are seeing it. Think of it, Anne
Beddingfield, you pudding-head. You're
seeing the world."
I had thought that I had the boat deck to
myself, but now I observed another figure
leaning over the rail, absorbed as I had been
in the rapidly approaching city. Even before
he turned his head I knew who it was. The
scene of last night seemed unreal and
melodramatic in the peaceful morning sunlight.
What must he have thought of me? It
made me hot to realize the things that I had
said. And I hadn't meant them--or had I?
I turned my head resolutely away, and
stared hard at Table Mountain. If Rayburn
had come up here to be alone, I, at least, need
not disturb him by advertising my presence.
186
But to my intense surprise I heard a light
footfall on the deck behind me, and then his
voice, pleasant and normal:
"Miss Beddingfield."
"Yes?"
I turned.
"I want to apologize to you. I behaved like
a perfect boor last night."
"It—it was a peculiar night," I said hastily.
It was not a very lucid remark, but it was
absolutely the only thing I could think of.
"Will you forgive me?"
I held out my hand without a word. He
took it.
"There's something else I want to say."
His gravity deepened. "Miss Beddingfield,
you may not know it, but you are mixed up in
a rather dangerous business."
"I gather as much," I said.
"No, you don't. You can't possibly know. I
want to warn you. Leave the whole thing
alone. It can't concern you really. Don't let
your curiosity lead you to tamper with other
people's business. No, please don't get angry
again. I'm not speaking of myself. You've no
idea of what you might come up against—
these men will stop at nothing. They are
absolutely ruthless. Already you're in
miTBSl^Bl ' 187
danger—look at last night. They fancy you
know something. Your only chance is to
persuade them that they're mistaken. But be
careful, always be on the lookout for danger,
and, look here, if at any time you should fall
into their hands, don't try and be clever—tell
the whole truth, it will be your only chance."
"You make my flesh creep, Mr. Rayburn,"
I said, with some truth. "Why do you take
the trouble to warn me?"
He did not answer for some minutes, then
he said in a low voice:
"It may be the last thing I can do for you.
Once on shore I shall be all right—but I may
not get on shore."
"What?" I cried.
"You see, I'm afraid you're not the only
person on board who knows that I am 'The
Man in the Brown Suit'."
"If you think that I told——" I said hotly.
He reassured me with a smile.
"I don't doubt you. Miss Beddingfield. If I
ever said I did, I lied. No, but there's one
person on board who's known all along. He's
only got to speak—and my number's up. All
the same, I'm taking a sporting chance that he
won't speak."
"Why?"
188
"Because he's a man who likes playing a
lone hand. And when the police have got me I
should be of no further use to him. Free I
might be! Well, an hour will show."
He laughed rather mockingly, but I saw his
face harden. If he had gambled with Fate, he
was a good gambler. He could lose and smile.
"In any case," he said lightly, "I don't
suppose we shall meet again."
"No," I said slowly. "I suppose not."
"So-good-bye."
"Goodbye."
He gripped my hand hard, just for a minute
his curious light eyes seemed to burn into
mine, then he turned abruptly and"Teft me. I
heard his footsteps ringing along the deck.
They echoed and re-echoed. I felt that I
should hear them always. Footsteps--going
out of my life.
I can admit frankly that I did not enjoy the
next two hours. Not till I stood on the wharf,
having finished with most of the ridiculous
formalities that bureaucracies require, did I
breathe freely once more. No arrest had been
made, and I realized that it was a heavenly day, and that I was extremely hungry. I Joined Suzanne. In any case, I was staying the
night with her at the hotel. The boat did not
189
go on to Port Elizabeth and Durban until the
following morning. We got into a taxi and
drove to the Mount Nelson.
It was all heavenly. The sun, the air, the
flowers! When I thought of Little Hampsley
in January, the mud knee-deep, and the sureto-be-falling
rain, I hugged myself with
delight. Suzanne was not nearly so enthusiastic.
She has travelled a great deal of
course. Besides, she is not the type that gets
excited before breakfast. She snubbed me
severely when I let out an enthusiastic yelp at
the sight of a giant blue convolvulus.
By the way, I should like to make it clear
here and now that this story will not be a
story of South Africa. I guarantee no genuine
local colour--you know the sort of
thing--half a dozen words in italics on every
page. I admire it very much, but I can't do it.
In South Sea Islands, of course, you make an
immediate reference to beche-de-mer. I don't
know what beche-de-mer is, I never have
known, I probably never shall know. I've
guessed once or twice and guessed wrong. In
South Africa I know you at once begin to talk
about a stoep--1 do know what a stoep is--it's
a thing round a house and you sit on it. In
various other parts of the world you call it a
190
veranda, a piazza, and a ha-ha. Then again,
there are pawpaws. I had often read of
pawpaws. I discovered at once what they
were, because I had one plumped down in
front of me for breakfast. I thought at first
that it was a melon gone bad. The Dutch
waitress enlightened me, and persuaded me
to use lemon juice and sugar and try again. I
was very pleased to meet a pawpaw. I had
always vaguely associated it with a hula-hula,
which, I believe, though I may be wrong, is a
kind of straw skirt that Hawaiian girls dance
in. No, I think I am wrong—that is a lavalava.
At any rate, all these things are very
cheering after England. I can't help thinking
that it would brighten our cold Island life if
one could have a breakfast of' bacon-bacon^ and
then go out clad in ^jumper-jumper to pay the
books.
Suzanne was a little tamer after breakfast.
They had given me a room next to hers with a
lovely view right out over Table Bay. I looked
at the view whilst Suzanne hunted for some
special face-cream. When she had found it
and started an immediate application, she
became capable of listening to me.
"Did you see Sir Eustace?" I asked. "He
191
was marching out of the breakfast-room as we
went in. He'd had some bad fish or something
and was just telling the head waiter
what he thought about it, and he bounced a
peach on the floor to show how hard it
was--only it wasn't quite as hard as he
though and it squashed."
Suzanne smiled.
"Sir Eustace doesn't like getting up early
any more than I do. But, Anne, did you see
Mr. Pagett? I ran against him in the passage.
He's got a black eye. What can he have been
doing?"
"Only trying to push me overboard," I
replied nonchalantly.
It was a distinct score for me. Suzanne left
her face half anointed and pressed for details.
I gave them to her.
"It all gets more and more mysterious," she
cried. "I thought I was going to have the soft
job sticking to Sir Eustace, and that you
would have all the fun with the Rev. Edward
Chichester, but now I'm not so sure. I hope
Pagett won't push me off the train some dark
night."
"I think you're still above suspicion, Suzanne. But, if the worst happens, I'll wire
to Clarence."
192
"That reminds me—give me a cable form.
Let me see now, what shall I say? "Implicated
in the most thrilling mystery please send me a
thousand pounds at once Suzanne'."
I took the form from her, and pointed out
that she could eliminate a "the," an "a," and
possibly, if she didn't care about being polite,
a "please." Suzanne, however, appears to be
perfectly reckless in money matters. Instead
of attending to my economical suggestions,
she added three words more: "enjoying
myself hugely."
Suzanne was engaged to lunch with friends
of hers, who came to the hotel about eleven
o'clock to fetch her. I was left to my own
devices. I went down through the grounds of
the hotel crossed the tram-lines and followed
a cool shady avenue right down till I came to
the main street. I strolled about, seeing the
sights, enjoying the sunlight and the blackfaced
sellers of flowers and fruits. I also
discovered a place where they had the most
delicious ice-cream sodas. Finally, I bought a
sixpenny basket of peaches and retraced my
steps to the hotel.
To my surprise and pleasure I found a note
awaiting me. It was from the curator of the
Museum. He had read of my arrival on the
193
Kilmorden, in which I was described as the
daughter of the late Professor Beddingfield.
He had known my father slightly and had a
great admiration for him. He went on to say
that his wife would be delighted if I would
come out and have tea with them that afternoon
at their Villa at Muizenberg. He gave
me instructions for getting there.
It was pleasant to think that poor Papa was
still remembered and highly thought of. I
foresaw that I would have to be personally
escorted round the Museum before I left
Cape Town, but I risked that. To most
people it would have been a treat--but one
can have too much of a good thing if one is
brought up on it, morning, noon, and night.
I put on my best hat (one ofSuzanne's castoffs)
and my least crumpled white linen and
started off after lunch. I caught a fast train to
Muizenberg and got there in about half an
hour. It was a nice trip. We wound slowly
round the base of Table Mountain, and some
of the flowers were lovely. My geography
being weak, I had never fully realized that
Cape Town is on a peninsula, consequently I
was rather surprised on getting out of the
train to find myself facing the sea once more.
There was some perfectly entrancing bathing
194
going on. The people had short curved
boards and came floating in on the waves. It
was far too early to go to tea. I made for the
bathing pavilion, and when they said would I
have a surf board, I said "Yes, please."
Surfing looks perfectly easy. It isn't. I say no
more. I got very angry and fairly hurled my
plank from me. Nevertheless, I determined to
return on the first possible opportunity and
have another go. I would not be beaten. Quite
by mistake I then got a good run on my
board, and came out delirious with
happiness. Surfing is like that. You are either
vigorously cursing or else you are idiotically
pleased with yourself.
I found the Villa Medgee after some little
difficulty. It was right up on the side of the
mountain, isolated from the other cottages
and villas. I rang the bell, and a smiling Kafir
boy answered it.
"Mrs. Raffini?" I inquired.
He ushered me in, preceded me down the
passage and flung open a door. Just as I was
about to pass in, I hesitated. I felt a sudden
misgiving. I stepped over the threshold and
the door swung sharply to behind me.
A man rose from his seat behind a table and
tame forward with outstretched hands.
195
"So glad we have persuaded you to visit us,
Miss Beddingfield," he said.
He was a tall man, obviously a Dutchman,
with a flaming orange beard. He did not look
in the least like the curator of a museum. In
fact, I realized in a flash that I had made a
fool of myself.
I was in the hands of the enemy.
196
19
IT reminded me forcibly of Episode III in
"The Perils of Pamela." How often had I
not sat in the sixpenny seats, eating a twopenny
bar of milk chocolate, and yearning for
similar things to happen to me! Well, they
had happened with a vengeance. And somehow
it was not nearly so amusing as I had
imagined. It's all very well on the screen--
you have the comfortable knowledge that
there's bound to be an Episode IV. But in real
life there was absolutely no guarantee that
Anna the Adventuress might not terminate
abruptly at the end of any Episode.
Yes, I was in a tight place. All the things
that Rayburn had said that morning came
back to me with unpleasant distinctness. Tell
the truth, he had said. Well, I could always
do that, but was it going to help me? To
begin with, would my story be believed?
Would they consider it likely or possible that
I had started off on this mad escapade simply
on the strength of a scrap of paper smelling of "loth-balls? It sounded to me a wildly incred-
197
ibie tale. In that moment of cold sanity I
cursed myself for a melodramatic idiot, and
yearned for the peaceful boredom of Little
Hampsley.
All this passed through my mind in less
time than it takes to tell. My first instinctive
movement was to step backwards and feel for
the handle of the door. My captor merely
grinned.
"Here you are and here you stay," he
remarked facetiously.
I did my best to put a bold face upon the
matter.
"I was invited to come here by the curator
of the Cape Town Museum. If I have made a
mistake——"
"A mistake? Oh, yes, a big mistake!"
He laughed coarsely.
"What right have you to detain me? I shall
inform the police——"
"Yap, yap, yap—like a little toy dog." He
laughed.
I sat down on a chair.
"I can only conclude that you are a
dangerous lunatic," I said coldly.
"Indeed?"
"I should like to point out to you that my
friends are perfectly well aware where I have
198
gone, and that if I have not returned by this
evening, they will come in search of me. You
understand?"
"So your friends know where you are, do
they? Which of them?"
Thus challenged, I did a lightning
calculation of chances. Should I mention Sir
Eustace? He was a well-known man, and his
name might carry weight. But if they were in
touch with Pagett, they might know I was
lying. Better not risk Sir Eustace.
"Mrs. Blair, for one," I said lightly. "A
friend of mine with whom I am staying."
"I think not," said my captor, slyly shaking
his orange head. "You have not seen her
since eleven this morning. And you received
your note, bidding you come here, at lunchtime."
His words showed me how closely my
movements had been followed, but I was not
going to give in without a fight.
"You are very clever," I said. "Perhaps
you have heard of that useful invention, the
telephone? Mrs. Blair called me up on it
when I was resting in my room after lunch. I
told her then where I was going this afternoon."

To my great satisfaction, I saw a shade of
199
uneasiness pass over his face. Clearly he had
overlooked the possibility that Suzanne might
have telephoned to me. I wished she really
had done so!
"Enough of this," he said harshly, rising.
"What are you going to do with me?" I
asked, still endeavouring to appear
composed.
"Put you where you can do no harm in case
your friends come after you."
For a moment my blood ran cold, but his
next words reassured me.
"To-morrow you'll have some questions to
answer, and after you've answered them we
shall know what to do with you. And I can
tell you, young lady, we've more ways than
one of making obstinate little fools talk."
It was not cheering, but it was at least a
respite. I had until to-morrow. This man was
clearly an underling obeying the orders of a
superior. Could that superior by any chance
be Pagett?
He called and two Kafirs appeared. I was
taken upstairs. Despite my struggles, I was
gagged and then bound hand and foot. The
room into which they had taken me was a
kind of attic right under the roof. It was dusty
and showed little signs of having been
200
occupied. The Dutchman made a mock bow
and withdrew, closing the door behind him.
I was quite helpless. Turn and twist as I
would, I could not loosen my hands in the
slightest degree, and the gag prevented me
from crying out. If, by any possible chance,
anyone did come to the house, I could do
nothing to attract their attention. Down
below I heard the sound of a door shutting.
Evidently the Dutchman was going out.
It was maddening not to be able to do
anything. I strained again at my bonds, but
the knots held. I desisted at last, and either
fainted or fell asleep. When I awoke I was in
pain all over. It was quite dark now, and I
judged that the night must be well advanced,
for the moon was high in the heavens and
shining down through the dusty skylight.
The gag was half choking me and the stiffness
and pain were unendurable.
It was then that my eyes fell on a bit of
broken glass lying in the corner. A
moonbeam slanted right down on it, and its
glistening had caught my attention. As I
looked at it, an idea came into my head.
My arms and legs were helpless, but surely
I could still roll. Slowly and awkwardly, I set
myself in motion. It was not easy. Besides
201
being extremely painful, since I could not
guard my face with my arms, it was also
exceedingly difficult to keep any particular
direction.
I tended to roll in every direction except
the one I wanted to go. In the end, however, I
came right up against my objective. It almost
touched my bound hands.
Even then it was not easy. It took an
infinity of time before I could wriggle the
glass into such a position, wedged against the
wall, that it would rub up and down on my
bonds. It was a long heart-rending process,
and I almost despaired, but in the end I
succeeded in sawing through the cords that
bound my wrists. The rest was a matter of
time. Once I had restored the circulation to
my hands by rubbing the wrists vigorously, I
was able to undo the gag. One or two full
breaths did a lot for me.
Very soon I had undone the last knot,
though even then it was some time before I
could stand on my feet, but at last I stood
erect, swinging my arms to and fro to restore
the circulation, and wishing above all things
that I could get hold of something to eat.
I waited about a quarter of an hour, to be
quite sure of my recovered strength. Then I
202
tiptoed noiselessly to the door. As I had
hoped, it was not locked, only latched. I
unlatched it and peeped cautiously out.
Everything was still. The moonlight came
in through a window and showed me the
dusty uncarpeted staircase. Cautiously I crept
down it. Still no sound—but as I stood on the
landing below, a faint murmur of voices
reached me. I stopped dead, and stood there
for some time. A clock on the wall registered
the fact that it was after midnight.
I was fully aware of the risks I might run if
I descended lower, but my curiosity was too
much for me. With infinite precautions I
prepared to explore. I crept softly down the
last flight of stairs and stood in the square
hall. I looked round me—and then caught my
breath with a gasp. A Kafir boy was sitting by
the hall door. He had not seen me, indeed I
soon realized by his breathing that he was fast
asleep.
Should I retreat, or should I go on? The
voices came from the room I had been shown
into on arrival. One of them was that of my
Dutch friend, the other I could not for the
moment recognize, though it seemed vaguely
familiar.
Tn rhe end I decided that it was clearly my
tmitbs 14 203
duty to hear all I could. I must risk the Kafir
boy waking up. I crossed the hall noiselessly
and knelt by the study door. For a moment or
two I could hear no better. The voices were
louder, but I could not distinguish what they
said.
I applied my eye to the keyhole instead of
my ear. As I had guessed, one of the speakers
was the big Dutchman. The other man was
sitting outside my circumscribed range of
vision.
Suddenly he rose to get himself a drink. His
back, black-clad and decorous, came into
view. Even before he turned round I knew
who he was.
Mr. Chichester!
Now I began to make out the words.
"All the same, it is dangerous. Suppose her
friends come after her?"
It was the big man speaking. Chichester
answered him. He had dropped his clerical
voice entirely. No wonder I had not
recognized it.
"All bluff. They haven't an idea where she
is."
"She spoke very positively."
"I dare say. I've looked into the matter, and
we've nothing to fear. Anyway, it's the
204
'Colonel's' orders. You don't want to go
against them, I suppose?"
The Dutchman ejaculated something in his
own language. I judged it to be a hasty
disclaimer.
"But why not knock her on the head?" he
growled. "It would be simple. The boat is all
ready. She could be taken out to sea."
"Yes," said Chichester meditatively.
"That is what I should do. She knows too
much, that is certain. But the 'Colonel' is a
man who likes to play a lone hand—though
no one else must do so." Something in his
own words seemed to awaken a memory that
annoyed him. "He wants information of
some kind from this girl."
He had paused before the "information,"
and the Dutchman was quick to catch him
up.
"Information?"
"Something of the kind."
"Diamonds," I said to myself.
"And now," continued Chichester, "give
me the lists."
For a long time their conversation was
quite incomprehensible to me. It seemed to
deal with large quantities of vegetables. Dates
were mentioned, prices, and various names of
205
places which I did not know. It was quite half
an hour before they had finished their
checking and counting.
"Good," said Chichester, and there was a
sound as thought he pushed back his chair. "I
will take these with me for the 'Colonel' to
see."
"When do you leave?"
"Ten o'clock to-morrow morning will do."
"Do you want to see the girl before you
go?"
"No. There are strict orders that no one is
to see her until the 'Colonel* comes. Is she all
right?"
"I looked in on her when I came in for
dinner. She was asleep, I think. What about
food?"
"A little starvation will do no harm. The 'Colonel* will be here some time tomorrow.
She will answer questions better if she is
hungry. No one had better go near her till
then. Is she securely tied up!"
The Dutchman laughed.
"What do you think?"
They both laughed. So did I, under my
breath. Then, as the sounds seemed to betoken
that they were about to come out of the
room, I beat a hasty retreat, I was just in
206
time. As I reached the head of the stairs. I
heard the door of the room open, and at the
same time the Kafir stirred and moved. My
retreat by the way of the hall door was not to
be thought of. I retired prudently to the attic,
gathered my bonds round me and lay down
again on the floor, in case they should take it
into their heads to come and look at me.
They did not do so, however. After about
an hour, I crept down the stairs, but the Kafir
by the door was awake and humming softly to
himself. I was anxious to get out of the house,
but I did not quite see how to manage it.
In the end, I was forced to retreat to the
attic again. The Kafir was clearly on guard
for the night. I remained there patiently all
through the sounds of early morning
preparation. The men breakfasted in the hall,
I could hear their voices distinctly floating up
the stairs. I was getting thoroughly unnerved.
How on earth was I to get out of the house?
I counselled myself to be patient. A rash
move might spoil everything. After breakfast
came the sounds of Chichester departing.
To my intense relief, the Dutchman
accompanied him.
I waited breathlessly. Breakfast was being
cleared away, the work of the house was being
207
done. At last, the various activities seemed to
die down. I slipped out from my lair once
more. Very carefully I crept down the stairs.
The hall was empty. Like a flash I was across
it, had unlatched the door, and was outside in
the sunshine. I ran down the drive like one
possessed.
Once outside, I resumed a normal walk.
People stared at me curiously, and I do not
wonder. My face and clothes must have been
covered in dust from rolling about in the
attic. At last I came to a garage. I went in.
"I have met with an accident," I explained.
"I want a car to take me to Cape Town at
once. I must catch the boat to Durban."
I had not long to wait. Ten minutes later I
was speeding along in the direction of Cape
Town. I must know if Chichester was on the
boat. Whether to sail on her myself or not, I
could not determine, but in the end I decided
to do so. Chichester would not know that I
had seen him in the Villa at Muizenberg. He
would doubtless lay further traps for me, but
I was forewarned. And he was the man I was
after, the man who was seeking the diamonds
on behalf of the mysterious "Colonel."
Alas, for my plans! As I arrived at the
208
docks, the Kilmorden Castle was steaming out
to sea. And I had no means of knowing
whether Chichester had sailed on her or not!
n
&!-
V
03209
20
I DROVE to the hotel. There was no one in
the lounge that I knew. I ran upstairs and
tapped on Suzanne's door. Her voice bade
me "come in." When she saw who it was she
literally fell on my neck.
"Anne, dear, where have you been? I've
been worried to death about you. What have
you been doing?"
"Having adventures," I replied. "Episode
III of'The Perils of Pamela'."
I told her the whole story. She gave vent to
a deep sigh when I finished.
"Why do these things always happen to
you?" she demanded plaintively. "Why does
no one gag me and bind me hand and foot?"
"You wouldn't like it if they did," I
assured her. "To tell you the truth, I'm not
nearly so keen on having adventures myself as
I was. A little of that sort of thing goes a long
way."
Suzanne seemed unconvinced. An hour or
two of gagging and binding would have
changed her view quickly enough. Suzanne
210
likes thrills, but she hates being
uncomfortable.
"And what are we all doing now?" she
asked.
"I don't quite know," I said thoughtfully.
"You still go to Rhodesia, of course, to keep
an eye ofPagett——"
"And you?"
That was just my difficulty. Had
Chichester gone on the Kilmorden, or had he
not? Did he mean to carry out his original
plan of going to Durban? The hour of his
leaving Muizenberg seemed to point to an
affirmative answer to both questions. In that
case, I might go to Durban by train. I fancied
that I should get there before the boat. On the
other hand, if the news of my escape were
wired to Chichester, and also the information
that I had left Cape Town for Durban,
nothing was simpler for him than to leave the
boat at either Port Elizabeth or East London
and so give me the slip completely.
It was rather a knotty problem.
"We'll inquire about trains to Durban
anyway," I said.
"And it's not too late for morning tea,"
said Suzanne. "We'll have it in the lounge."
The Durban train left at 8.15 that evening,
211
so they told me at the office. For the moment
I postponed a decision, and joined Suzanne
for somewhat belated "eleven o'clock tea."
"Do you feel that you would really
recognize Chichester again--in any other
disguise, I mean?" asked Suzanne.
I shook my head ruefully.
"I certainly didn't recognize him as the
stewardess, and never should have but for
your drawing."
"The man's a professional actor, I'm sure
of it," said Suzanne thoughtfully. "His makeup
is perfectly marvellous. He might come
off the boat as a navvy or something, and
you'd never spot him."
"You're very cheering," I said.
At that minute Colonel Race stepped in
through the window and came and joined us.
"What is Sir Eustace doing?" asked
Suzanne. "I haven't seen him about today."
Rather an odd expression passed over the
Colonel's face.
"He's got a little trouble of his own to
attend to which is keeping him busy."
"Tell us about it."
"I mustn't tell tales out of school."
"Tell us something--even if you want to
invent it for our special benefit."
212
"Well, what would you say to the famous
*Man in the Brown Suit' having made the
voyage with us?"
"What?"
I felt the colour die out of my face and then
surge back again. Fortunately Colonel Race
was not looking at me.
"It's a fact, I believe. Every port watched
for him and he bamboozled Pedler into
bringing him out as his secretary!"
"Not Mr. Pagett?"
"Oh, not Pagett—the other fellow.
Rayburn, he called himself."
"Have they arrested him?" asked Suzanne.
Under the table she gave my hand a
reassuring squeeze. I waited breathlessly for
an answer.
"He seems to have disappeared into thin
air."
"How does Sir Eustace take it?"
"Regards it as a personal insult offered him
by Fate."
An opportunity of hearing Sir Eustace's
views on the matter presented itself later in
the day. We were awakened from a refreshing
afternoon nap by a page-boy with a note. In
touching terms it requested the pleasure of
°ur company at tea in his sitting-room.
i 213
The poor man was indeed in a pitiable
state. He poured out his troubles to us,
encouraged by Suzanne's sympathetic
murmurs. (She does that sort of thing very
well.)
"First a perfectly strange woman has the
impertinence to get herself murdered in my
house—on purpose to annoy me. I do believe.
Why my house? Why, of all the houses in
Great Britain, choose the Mill House? What
harm had I ever done the woman that she
must needs get herself murdered there?"
Suzanne made one of her sympathetic
noises again and Sir Eustace proceeded, in a
still more aggrieved tone:
"And, if that's not enough, the fellow who
murdered her has the impudence, the colossal
impudence, to attach himself to me as my
secretary. My secretary, if you please! I'm
tired of secretaries, I won't have any more
secretaries. Either they're concealed
murderers or else they're drunken brawlers.
Have you seen Pagett's black eye? But of
course you have. How can I go about with a
secretary like that? And his face is such a
nasty shade of yellow too—just the colour
that doesn't go with a black eye. I've done
with secretaries—unless I have a girl. A nice
214
girl, with liquid eyes, who'll hold my hand
when I'm feeling cross. What about you, Miss Anne? Will you take on the job?"
"How often shall I have to hold your
hand?" I asked, laughing.
"All day long," replied Sir Eustace
gallantly.
"I shan't get much typing done at that
rate," I reminded him.
"That doesn't matter. All this work is
Pagett's idea. He works me to death. I'm
looking forward to leaving him behind in
Cape Town."
"He is staying behind?"
"Yes, he'll enjoy himself thoroughly
sleuthing about after Rayburn. That's the
sort of thing that suits Pagett down to the
ground. He adores intrigue. But I'm quite
serious in my offer. Will you come? Mrs.
Blair here is a competent chaperone, and you
can have a half-holiday every now and again
to dig for bones."
"Thank you very much. Sir Eustace," I
said cautiously, "but I think I'm leaving for
Durban tonight."
"Now don't be an obstinate girl.
Remember, there are lots of lions in
Rhodesia. You'll like lions. All girls do."
215
"Will they be practising low jumps?" I
asked, laughing. "No, thank you very much,
but I must go to Durban."
Sir Eustace looked at me, sighed deeply,
then opened the door of the adjoining room,
and called to Pagett.
"If you've quite finished your afternoon
sleep, my dear fellow, perhaps you'd do a
little work for a change."
Guy Pagett appeared in the doorway. He
bowed to us both, starting slightly at the sight
of me, and replied in a melancholy voice:
"I have been typing that memorandum all
this afternoon. Sir Eustace."
"Well, stop typing it then. Go down to the
Trade Commissioner's Office, or the Board
of Agriculture, or the Chamber of Mines, or
one of these places, and ask them to lend me
some kind of a woman to take to Rhodesia.
She must have liquid eyes and not object to
my holding her hand."
"Yes, Sir Eustace. I will ask for a
competent shorthand-typist."
"Pagett's a malicious fellow," said Sir
Eustace, after the secretary had departed.
"I'd be prepared to bet that he'll pick out
some slab-faced creature on purpose to annoy
216
me. She must have nice feet too—I forgot to
mention that."
I clutched Suzanne excitedly by the hand
and almost dragged her along to her room.
"Now, Suzanne," I said, "we've got to
make plans—and make them quickly. Pagett
is staying behind here—you heard that?"
"Yes. I suppose that means that I shan't be
allowed to go to Rhodesia—which is very
annoying, because I want to go to Rhodesia.
How tiresome."
"Cheer up," I said. "You're going all right.
I don't see how you could back out at the last
moment without its appearing frightfully
suspicious. And, besides, Pagett might
suddenly be summoned by Sir Eustace, and it
would be far harder for you to attach yourself
to him for the journey up."
"It would hardly be respectable," said
Suzanne, dimpling. "I should have to
develop a fatal passion for him as an excuse."
"On the other hand, if you were there
when he arrived, it would all be perfectly
simple and natural. Besides, I don't think we
ought to lose sight of the other two entirely."
"Oh, Anne, you surely can't suspect
Colonel Race or Sir Eustace?"
"I suspect everybody," I said darkly, "and
I 217
if you've read any detective stories, Suzanne,
you must know that it's always the most
unlikely person who's the villain. Lots of
criminals have been cheerful fat men like Sir
Eustace."
"Colonel Race isn't particularly fat—or
particularly cheerful either."
"Sometimes they're lean and saturnine," I
retorted. "I don't say I seriously suspect
either of them, but, after all, the woman was
murdered in Sir Eustace's house——"
"Yes, yes, we needn't go over all that again.
I'll watch him for you, Anne, and if he gets
any fatter and any more cheerful, I'll send
you a telegram at once. 'Sir E. swelling
highly suspicious. Come at once'."
"Really, Suzanne," I cried, "you seem to
think all this is a game!"
"I know I do," said Suzanne, unabashed.
"It seems like that. It's your fault, Anne.
I've got imbued with your 'Let's have an
adventure' spirit. It doesn't seem a bit real.
Dear me, if Clarence knew that I was running
about Africa tracking dangerous criminals,
he'd have a fit."
"Why don't you cable him about it?" I
asked sarcastically.
Suzanne's sense of humour always fails her
218
when it comes to sending cables. She
considered my suggestion in perfectly good
faith.
"I might. It would have to be a very long
one." Her eyes brightened at the thought.
"But I think it's better not. Husbands always
want to interfere with perfectly harmless
amusements."
"Well," I said, summing up the situation,
"you will keep an eye on Sir Eustace and
Colonel Race——"
"I know why I've got to watch Sir
Eustace," interrupted Suzanne, "because of
his figure and his humorous conversation.
But I think it's carrying it rather far to
suspect Colonel Race; I do indeed. Why, he's
something to do with the Secret Service. Do
you know, Anne, I believe the best thing we
could do would be to confide in him and tell
him the whole story."
I objected vigorously to this unsporting
proposal. I recognized in it the disastrous
effects of matrimony. How often have I not
heard a perfectly intelligent female say, in the
tone of one clinching an argument, "Edgar
says—-" And all the time you are perfectly
aware that Edgar is a perfect fool. Suzanne,
iMiTBsis 219
by reason of her married state, was yearning
to lean upon some man or other.
However, she promised faithfully that she
would not breathe a word to Colonel Race,
and we went on with our plan-making.
"It's quite clear that I must stay here and
watch Pagett, and this is the best way to do it.
I must pretend to leave for Durban this
evening, take my luggage down and so on,
but really I shall go to some small hotel in the
town. I can alter my appearance a little—wear
a fair toupee and one of those thick white lace
veils, and I shall have a much better chance of
seeing what he's really at if he thinks I'm
safely out of the way."
Suzanne approved this plan heartily. We
made due and ostentatious preparations,
inquiring once more about the departure of
the train at the office and packing my
luggage.
We dined together in the restaurant.
Colonel Race did not appear, but Sir Eustace
and Pagett were at their table in the window.
Pagett left the table half-way through the
meal, which annoyed me, as I had planned to
say good-bye to him. However, doubtless Sir
Eustace would do as well. I went over to him
when I had finished.
220
"Good-bye, Sir Eustace," I said. "I'm off
to-night to Durban."
Sir Eustace sighed heavily.
"So I heard. You wouldn't like me to come
with you, would you?"
"I should love it."
"Nice girl. Sure you won't change your
mind and come and look for lions in
Rhodesia?"
"Quite sure."
"He must be a very handsome fellow," said
Sir Eustace plaintively. "Some young
whipper-snapper in Durban, I suppose, who
puts my mature charms completely in the
shade. By the way, Pagett's going down in
the car in a minute or two. He could take you
to the station."
"Oh, no, thank you," I said hastily. "Mrs.
Blair and I have got our own taxi ordered."
To go down with Guy Pagett was the last
thing I wanted! Sir Eustace looked at me
attentively.
"I don't believe you like Pagett. I don't
blame you. Of all the officious, interfering
asses—going about with the air of a martyr,
and doing everything he can to annoy and
upset me!"
221
"What has he done now?" I inquired with
some curiosity.
"He's got hold of a secretary for me. You
never saw such a woman! Forty, if she's a
day, wears pince-nez and sensible boots and
an air of brisk efficiency that will be the death
of me. A regular slab-faced woman."
"Won't she hold your hand?"
"I devoutly hope not!" exclaimed Sir
Eustace. "That would be the last straw. Well,
good-bye, liquid eyes. If I shoot a lion I shan't
give you the skin—after the base way you've
deserted me."
He squeezed my hand warmly and we
parted. Suzanne was waiting for me in the
hall. She was to come down to see me off.
"Let's start at once," I said hastily, and
motioned to the man to get a taxi.
Then a voice behind me made a start:
"Excuse me. Miss Beddingfield, but I'm
just going down in a car. I can drop you and
Mrs. Blair at the station."
"Oh, thank you," I said hastily. "But
there's no need to trouble you. I——"
"No trouble at all, I assure you. Put the
luggage in, porter."
I was helpless. I might have protested
222
further, but a slight warning nudge from
Suzanne urged me to be on my guard.
"Thank you, Mr. Pagett," I said coldly.
We all got into the car. As we raced down
the road into the town, I racked my brains for
something to say. In the end Pagett himself
broke the silence.
"I have secured a very capable secretary for
Sir Eustace," he observed. "Miss Pettigrew."
"He wasn't exactly raving about her just
now," I remarked.
Pagett looked at me coldly.
"She is a proficient shorthand-typist," he
said repressively.
We pulled up in front of the station. Here
surely he would leave us. I turned with
outstretched hand—but no.
"I'll come and see you off. It's just eight
o'clock, your train goes in a quarter of an
hour."
He gave efficient directions to porters. I
stood helpless, not daring to look at Suzanne.
The man suspected. He was determined to
make sure that I did go by the train. And
what could I do? Nothing. I saw myself, in a
quarter of an hour's time, steaming out of the
station with Pagett planted on the platform
waving me adieu. He had turned the tables on
223
me adroitly. His manner towards me had
changed, moreover. It was full of an uneasy
geniality which sat ill upon him, and which
nauseated me. The man was an oily
hypocrite. First he tried to murder me, and
now he paid me compliments! Did he
imagine for one minute that I hadn't
recognized him that night on the boat? No, it
was a pose, a pose which he forced me to
acquiesce in, his tongue in his cheek all the
while.
Helpless as a sheep, I moved along under
his expert directions. My luggage was piled
in my sleeping compartment—I had a twoberth
one to myself. It was twelve minutes
past eight. In three minutes the train would
start.
But Pagett had reckoned without Suzanne.
"It will be a terribly hot journey, Anne,"
she said suddenly. "Especially going through
the Karoo to-morrow. You've got some eaude-Cologne
or lavender water with you,
haven't you?"
My cue was plain.
"Oh, dear," I cried. "I left my eau-deCologne
on the dressing-table at the hotel."
Suzanne's habit of command served her
well. She turned imperiously to Pagett.
224
"Mr. Pagett. Quick. You've just time.
There's a chemist almost opposite the station.
Anne must have some eau-de-Cologne."
He hesitated, but Suzanne's imperative
manner was too much for him. She is a born
autocrat. He went. Suzanne followed him
with her eyes till he disappeared.
"Quick, Anne, get out the other side--in
case he hasn't really gone but is watching us
from the end of the platform. Never mind
your luggage. You can telegraph about that
to-morrow. Oh, if only the train starts on
time!"
I opened the gate on the opposite side to the
platform and climbed down. Nobody was
observing me. I could just see Suzanne
standing where I had left her, looking up at
the train and apparently chatting to me at the
window. A whistle blew, the train began to
draw out. Then I heard feet racing furiously
up the platform. I withdrew to the shadow of
a friendly bookstall and watched.
Suzanne turned from waving her
handkerchief to the retreating train.
"Too late, Mr. Pagett," she said cheerfully.
"She's gone. Is that the eau-deCologne?
What a pity we didn't think of it
sooner!"
225
They passed not far from me on their way
out of the station. Guy Pagett was extremely
hot. He had evidently run all the way to the
chemist and back.
"Shall I get you a taxi, Mrs. Blair?"
Suzanne did not fail in her role.
"Yes, please. Can't I give you a lift back?
Have you much to do for Sir Eustace? Dear
me, I wish Anne Beddingfield was coming
with us to-morrow. I don't like the idea of a
young girl like that travelling off to Durban
all by herself. But she was set upon it. Some
little attraction there, I fancy——"
They passed out of earshot. Clever
Suzanne. She had saved me.
I allowed a minute or two to elapse and
then I too made my way out of the station,
almost colliding as I did so with a man—an
unpleasant-looking man with a nose
disproportionately big for his face.
226
21
I HAD no further difficulty in carrying out
my plans. I found a small hotel in a back
street, got a room there, paid a deposit as I
had no luggage with me, and went placidly to
bed.
On the following morning I was up early
and went out into the town to purchase a
modest wardrobe. My idea was to do nothing
until after the departure of the eleven o'clock
train to Rhodesia with most of the party on
board. Pagett was not likely to indulge in any
nefarious activities until he had got rid of
them. Accordingly I took a train out of the
town and proceeded to enjoy a country walk.
It was comparatively cool, and I was glad to
stretch my legs after the long voyage and my
close confinement at Muizenberg.
A lot hinges on small things. My shoelace
came untied, and I stopped to do it up. The
road had just turned a corner, and as I was
bending over the offending shoe a man came
nght round and almost walked into me. He lifted his hat, murmuring an apology, and
227
went on. It struck me at the time that his face
was vaguely familiar, but at the moment I
thought no more of it. I looked at my wristwatch.
The time was getting on. I turned my
feet in the direction of Cape Town.
There was a tram on the point of going and
I had to run for it. I heard other footsteps
running behind me. I swung myself on and so
did the other runner. I recognized him at
once. It was the man who had passed me on
the road when my shoe came untied, and in a
flash I knew why his face was familiar. It was
the small man with the big nose whom I had
run into on leaving the station the night
before.
The coincidence was rather startling.
Could it be possible that the man was
deliberately following me? I resolved to test
that as promptly as possible. I rang the bell
and got off at the next stop. The man did not
get off. I withdrew into the shadow of a shop
doorway and watched. He alighted at the next
stop and walked back in my direction.
The case was clear enough. I was being
followed. I had crowed too soon. My victory
over Guy Pagett took on another aspect. I
hailed the next tram and, as I expected, my
228
shadower also got on. I gave myself up to
some very serious thinking.
It was perfectly apparent that I had
stumbled on a bigger thing than I knew. The
murder in the house at Marlow was not an
isolated incident committed by a solitary
individual. I was up against a gang, and
thanks to Colonel Race's revelations to
Suzanne, and what I had overheard at the
house at Muizenberg, I was beginning to
understand some of its manifold activities.
Systematized crime, organized by the man
known to his followers as the "Colonel"! I
remembered some of the talk I had heard on
board ship, of the strike on the Rand and the
causes underlying it—and the belief that some
secret organization was at work fomenting the
agitation. That was the "Colonel's" work, his
emissaries were acting according to plan. He
took no part in these things himself, I had
always heard, as he limited himself to
directing and organizing. The brainwork—not
the dangerous labour—for him.
But still it well might be that he himself was
on the spot, directing affairs from an
apparently impeccable position.
That, then, was the meaning of Colonel
Race's presence on the Kilmorden Castle. He
229
was out after the arch-criminal. Everything
filled in with that assumption. He was someone
high up in the Secret Service whose
business it was to lay the "Colonel" by the
heels.
I nodded to myself--things were becoming
very clear to me. What of my part in the
affair? Where did I come in? Was it only
diamonds they were after? I shook my head.
Great as the value of the diamonds might be, they hardly accounted for the desperate
attempts which had been made to get me out
of the way. No, I stood for more than that. In
some way, unknown to myself, I was a
menace, a danger! Some knowledge that I
had, or that they thought I had, made them
anxious to remove me at all costs--and that
knowledge was bound up somehow with the
diamonds. There was one person, I felt sure,
who could enlighten me--if he would! "The
Man in the Brown Suits'--Harry Rayburn.
He knew the other half of the story. But he
had vanished into the darkness, he was a
hunted creature flying from pursuit. In all
probability he and I would never meet
again. . . .
I brought myself back with a jerk to the
actualities of the moment. It was no good
230
thinking sentimentally of Harry Rayburn. He
had displayed the greatest antipathy to me
from the first. Or, at least—— There I was
again—dreaming! The real problem was what
to do—now\
I, priding myself upon my role of watcher,
had become the watched. And I was afraid!
For the first time, I began to lose my nerve. I
was a little bit of grit that was impeding the
smooth working of the great machine—and I
fancied that the machine would have a short
way with little bits of grit. Once Harry
Rayburn had saved me, once I had saved myself—but
I felt suddenly that the odds were
heavily against me. My enemies were all
around me in every direction, and they were
closing in. If I continued to play a lone hand I
was doomed.
I rallied myself with an effort. After all,
what could they do? I was in a civilized
city—with policemen every few yards. I
would be wary in future. They should not
trap me again as they had done in
Muizenberg.
As I reached this point in my meditations,
the tram arrived at Adderley Street. I got out.
Undecided what to do, I walked slowly up
the left-hand side of the street. I did not
231
trouble to look if my watcher was behind me.
I knew he was. I walked into Cartwright's
and ordered two coffee ice-cream sodas—to
steady my nerves. A man, I suppose, would
have had a stiff peg; but girls derive a lot of
comfort from ice-cream sodas. I applied
myself to the end of the straw with gusto.
The cool liquid went trickling down my
throat in the most agreeable manner. I
pushed the first glass aside empty.
I was sitting on one of the little high stools
in front of the counter. Out of the tail of my
eye, I saw my tracker come in and sit down
unostentatiously at a little table near the door.
I finished the second coffee soda and
demanded a maple one. I can drink
practically an unlimited amount of ice-cream
sodas.
Suddenly the man by the door got up and
went out. This surprised me. If he was going
to wait outside, why not wait outside from
the beginning? I slipped down from my stool
and went cautiously to the door. I drew back
quickly into the shadow. The man was
talking to Guy Pagett.
If I had ever had any doubts, that would
have settled it. Pagett had his watch out and
was looking at it. They exchanged a few brief
232
words, and then the secretary swung on down
the street towards the station. Evidently he
had given his orders. But what were they?
Suddenly my heart leapt into my mouth.
The man who had followed me crossed to the
middle of the road and spoke to a policeman.
He spoke at some length, gesticulating
towards Cartwrighfs and evidently explaining
something. I saw the plan at once.
I was to be arrested on some charge or
other--pocket-picking, perhaps. It would be
easy enough for the gang to put through a
simple little matter like that. Of what good to
protest my innocence? They would have seen
to every detail. Long ago they had brought a
charge of robbing De Beers against Harry
Rayburn, and he had not been able to
disprove it, though I had little doubt but that
he had been absolutely blameless. What
chance had I against such a "frame up" as the
"Colonel" could devise?
I glanced up at the clock almost
mechanically, and immeditely another aspect
of the case struck me. I saw the point of Guy
Pagetfs looking at his watch. It was just on eleven, and at eleven the mail train left for
Rhodesia bearing with it the influential
friends who might otherwise come to my
233
rescue. That was the reason of my immunity
up to now. From last night till eleven this
morning I had been safe, but now the net was
closing in upon me.
I hurriedly opened my bag and paid for my
drinks, and as I did so, my heart seemed to
stand still, for inside it was a man's wallet
stuffed with notes\ It must have been deftly
introduced into my handbag as I left the
tram.
Promptly I lost my head. I hurried out of
Cartwrights. The little man with the big nose
and the policeman were just crossing the
road. They saw me, and the little man
designated me excitedly to the policeman. I
took to my heels and ran. I judged him to be a
slow policeman. I should get a start. But I
had no plan, even then. I just ran for my life
down Adderley Street. People began to stare.
I felt that in another minute someone would
stop me.
An idea flashed into my head.
"The station?" I asked, in a breathless
gasp.
"Just down on the right."
I sped on. It is permissible to run for a
train. I turned into the station, but as I did so
I heard footsteps close behind me. The little
234
man with the big nose was a champion
sprinter. I foresaw that I should be stopped
before I got to the platform I was in search of.
I looked up to the clock--one minute to
eleven. I might just do it if my plan
succeeded.
I had entered the station by the main
entrance in Adderley Street. I now darted out
again through the side exit. Directly opposite
me was the side entrance to the post office,
the main entrance to which is in Adderley
Street.
As I expected, my pursuer, instead of
following me in, ran down the street to cut
me off when I emerged by the main entrance,
or to warn the policeman to do so.
In an instant I slipped across the street
again and back into the station. I ran like a
lunatic. It was just eleven. The long train was
moving as I appeared on the platform. A
porter tried to stop me, but I wriggled myself
out of his grasp and sprang upon the footboard.
I mounted the two steps and opened
the gate. I was safe! The train was gathering
way.
We passed a man standing by himself at the end of the platform. I waved to him.
"Good-bye, Mr. Pagett," I shouted.
TM1TBS16 235
Never have I seen a man more taken aback.
He looked as though he had seen a ghost.
In a minute or two I was having trouble
with the conductor. But I took a lofty tone.
"I am Sir Eustace Pedler's secretary," I
said haughtily. "Please take me to his private
car."
Suzanne and Colonel Race were standing
on the rear observation platform. They both
uttered an exclamation of utter surprise at
seeing me.
"Hullo, Miss Anne," cried Colonel Race,
"where have you turned up from? I thought
you'd gone to Durban. What an unexpected
person you are!"
Suzanne said nothing, but her eyes asked a
hundred questions.
"I must report myself to my chief," I said
demurely. "Where is he!"
"He's in the office—middle compartmentdictating at an incredible rate to the
unfortunate Miss Pettigrew."
"This enthusiasm for work is something
new," I commented.
"H'm!" said Colonel Race. "His idea is, I
think, to give her sufficient work to chain her
to her typewriter in her own compartment for
the rest of the day."
236
I laughed. Then, followed by the other two, I sought out Sir Eustace. He was striding up
and down the circumscribed space, hurling a
flood of words at the unfortunate secretary
whom I now saw for the first time. A tall, square woman in drab clothing, with pincenez
and an efficient air. I judged that she was
finding it difficult to keep pace with Sir
Eustace, for her pencil was flying along, and
she was frowning horribly.
I stepped into the compartment.
"Come aboard, sir," I said saucily.
Sir Eustace paused dead in the middle of a
complicated sentence on the labour situation, and stared at me. Miss Pettigrew must be a
nervous creature, in spite of her efficient air, for she jumped as though she had been shot.
"God bless my soul!" ejaculated Sir
Eustace. "What about the young man in
Durban?"
"I prefer you," I said softly.
"Darling," said Sir Eustace. "You can start
holding my hand at once."
Miss Pettigrew coughed, and Sir Eustace
hastily withdrew his hand.
"Ah, yes," he said. "Let me see, where
were we? Yes. Tyiman Roos. in his speech
237
at---- What's the matter? Why aren't you
taking it down?"
"I think," said Colonel Race gently, "that
Miss Pettigrew has broken her pencil."
He took it from her and sharpened it. Sir
Eustace stared, and so did I. There was something
in Colonel Race's tone that I did not
quite understand.
238
22
(Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler)
I AM inclined to abandon my Reminiscences.
Instead, I shall write a short
article entitled "Secretaries I have had."
As regards secretaries, I seem to have fallen
under a blight. At one minute I have no
secretaries, at another I have too many. At the
present minute I am journeying to Rhodesia
with a pack of women. Race goes off with the
two best-looking, of course, and leaves me
with the dud. That is what always happens to
me--and, after all, this is my private car, not
Race's.
Also Anne Beddingfield is accompanying
me to Rhodesia on the pretext of being my
temporary secretary. But all this afternoon
she has been out on the observation platform
with Race exclaiming at the beauty of the
Hex River Pass. It is true that I told her her
principal duty would be to hold my hand.
But she isn't even doing that. Perhaps she is
afraid of Miss Pettigrew. I don't blame her if
so. There is nothing attractive about Miss
239
Pettigrew—she is a repellent female with
large feet, more like a man than a woman.
There is something very mysterious about
Anne Beddingfield. She jumped on board the
train at the last minute, puffing like a steamengine,
for all the world as though she'd been
running a race—and yet Pagett told me that
he'd seen her off to Durban last night! Either
Pagett has been drinking again or else the girl
must have an astral body.
And she never explains. Nobody ever
explains. Yes, "Secretaries I have had." No.
1, a murderer fleeing from justice. No. 2, a
secret drinker who carries on disreputable
intrigues in Italy. No. 3, a beautiful girl who
possesses the useful faculty of being in two
places at once. No. 4, Miss Pettigrew, who, I
have no doubt, is really a particularly
dangerous crook in disguise! Probably one of
Pagett's Italian friends that he has palmed off
on me. I shouldn't wonder if the world found
some day that it had been grossly deceived by
Pagett. On the whole, I think Rayburn was
the best of the bunch. He never worried me
or got in my way. Guy Pagett has had the
impertinence to have the stationery trunk put
in here. None of us can move without falling
over it.
240
I went out on the observation platform just
now, expecting my appearance to be greeted
with hails of delight. Both the women were
listening spellbound to one of Race's
traveller's tales. I shall label this car—not
"Sir Eustace Pedler and Party," but
"Colonel Race and Harem."
Then Mrs. Blair must needs begin taking
silly photographs. Every time we went round
a particularly appalling curve, as we climbed
higher and higher, she snapped at the engine.
"You see the point," she cried delightedly.
"It must be some curve if you can
photograph the front part of the train from
the back, and with the mountain background
it will look awfully dangerous."
I pointed out to her that no one could
possibly tell it had been taken from the back
of the train. She looked at me pityingly.
"I shall write underneath it. 'Taken from
the train. Engine going round a curve'."
"You could write that under any snapshot
of a train," I said. Women never think of
these simple things.
"I'm glad we've come up here in daylight,"
cried Anne Beddingfield. "I shouldn't have
seen this if I'd gone last night to Durban,
should I?"
241
"No," said Colonel Race, smiling. "You'd
have woken up to-morrow morning to find
yourself in the Karoo, a hot, dusty desert of
stones and rocks."
"I'm glad I changed my mind," said Anne,
sighing contentedly, and looking round.
It was rather a wonderful sight. The great
mountains all around, through which we
turned and twisted and laboured ever steadily
upwards.
"Is this the best train in the day to
Rhodesia?" asked Anne Beddingfield.
"In the day?" laughed Race. "Why, my
dear Miss Anne, there are only three trains a
week. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays.
Do you realize that you don't arrive at the
Falls until Saturday next?"
"How well we shall know each other by
that time!" said Mrs. Blair maliciously.
"How long are you going to stay at the Falls.
Sir Eustace?"
"That depends," I said cautiously.
"On what?"
"On how things go at Johannesburg. My
original idea was to stay a couple of days or so
at the Falls—which I've never seen, though
this is my third visit to Africa—and then go
on to Jo'burg and study the conditions of
242
things on the Rand. At home, you know, I
pose as being an authority on South African
politics. But from all I hear, Jo'burg will be a
particularly unpleasant place to visit in about
a week's time. I don't want to study
conditions in the midst of a raging
revolution."
Race smiled in a rather superior manner.
"I think your fears are exaggerated. Sir
Eustace. There will be no great danger in
Jo'burg."
The women immediately looked at him in
the "What a brave hero you are" manner. It
annoyed me intensely. I am every bit as
brave as Race--but I lack the figure. These
long, lean, brown men have it all their own
way.
"I suppose you'll be there," I said coldly.
"Very possibly. We might travel together."
"I'm not sure that I shan't stay on at the
Falls a bit," I answered noncommittally.
Why is Race so anxious that I should go to
Jo'burg. He's got his eye on Anne, I believe.
"What are your plans. Miss Anne?"
"That depends," she replied demurely, copying me.
I thought you were my secretary," I
objected.
243
"Oh, but I've been cut out. You've been
holding Miss Pettigrew's hand all the
afternoon."
"Whatever I've been doing, I can swear
I've not been doing that," I assured her.
Thursday night.
We have just left Kimberley. Race was
made to tell the story of the diamond robbery
all over again. Why are women so excited by
anything to do with diamonds?
At last Anne Beddingfield has shed her veil
of mystery. It seems that she's a newspaper
correspondent. She sent an immense cable
from De Aar this morning. To judge by the
jabbering that went on nearly all night in
Mrs. Blair's cabin, she must have been
reading aloud all her special articles for years
to come.
It seems that all along she's been on the
track of "The Man in the Brown Suit."
Apparently she didn't spot him on the
Kilmorden—'m fact, she hardly had the
chance, but she's now very busy cabling
home: "How I journeyed out with the
Murderer," and inventing highly fictitious
stories of "What he said to me," etc. I know
how these things are done. I do them myself,
244
in my Reminiscences when Pagett will let
me. And of course one of Nasby's efficient
staff will brighten up the details still more, so
that when it appears in the Daily Budget
Rayburn won't recognize himself.
The girl's clever, though. All on her own,
apparently, she's ferreted out the identity of
the woman who was killed in my house. She
was a Russian dancer called Nadina. I asked
Anne Beddingfield if she was sure of this. She
replied that it was merely a deduction—quite
in the Sherlock Holmes manner. However, I
gather that she had cabled it home to Nasby
as a proved fact. Women have these
intuitions—I've no doubt that Anne Beddingfield
is perfectly right in her guess—but to
call it a deduction is absurd.
How she ever got on the staff of the Daily
Budget is more than I can imagine. But she is
the kind of young woman who does these
things. Impossible to withstand her. She is
full of coaxing ways that mask an invincible
determination. Look how she has got into my
private car!
I am beginning to have an inkling why.
Race said something about the police
suspecting that Rayburn would make for
Rhodesia. He might just have got off by
245
Monday's train. They telegraphed all along
the line, I presume, and no one of his
description was found, but that says little.
He's an astute young man and he knows
Africa. He's probably exquisitely disguised as
an old Kafir woman—and the simple police
continue to look for a handsome young man
with a scar, dressed in the height of European
fashion. I never did quite swallow that scar.
Anyway, Anne Beddingfield is on his track.
She wants the glory of discovering him for
herself and the Daily Budget. Young women
are very cold-blooded nowadays. I hinted to
her that it was an unwomanly action. She
laughed at me. She assured me that did she
run him to earth her fortune was made. Race
doesn't like it, either, I can see. Perhaps
Rayburn is on this train. If so, we may all be
murdered in our beds. I said so to Mrs.
Blair—but she seemed quite to welcome the
idea, and remarked that if I were murdered it
would be really a terrific scoop for Anne! A
scoop for Anne, indeed!
To-morrow we shall be going through
Bechuanaland. The dust will be atrocious.
Also at every station little Kafir children
come and sell you quaint wooden animals
that they carve themselves. Also mealie bowls
246
and baskets. I am rather afraid that Mrs. Blair
may run amok. There is a primitive charm
about these toys that I feel will appeal to her.
Friday evening.
As I feared. Mrs. Blair and Anne have
bought forty-nine wooden animals!
247
23
(Anne's Narrative Resumed)
I THOROUGHLY enjoyed the journey up
to Rhodesia. There was something new
and exciting to see every day. First the
wonderful scenery of the Hext River valley,
then the desolate grandeur of the Karoo, and
finally that wonderful straight stretch of line
in Bechuanaland, and the perfectly adorable
toys the natives brought to sell. Suzanne and
I were nearly left behind at each station—if
you could call them stations. It seemed to me
that the train just stopped whenever it felt
like it, and no sooner had it done so than a
horde of natives materialized out of the
empty landscape, holding up mealie bowls
and sugar canes and fur karosses and adorable
carved wooden animals. Suzanne began at
once to make a collection of the latter. I
imitated her example—most of them cost a
"ttki" (threepence) and each was different.
There were giraffes and tigers and snakes and
a melancholy-looking eland and absurd little
248
black warriors. We enjoyed ourselves
enormously.
Sir Eustace tried to restrain us—but in
vain. I still think it was a miracle we were not
left behind at some oasis of the line. South
African trains don't hoot or get excited when
they are going to start off again. They just
glide quietly away, and you look up from
your bargaining and run for your life.
Suzanne's amazement at seeing me climb
upon the train at Cape Town can be
imagined. We held an exhaustive survey of
the situation on the first evening out. We
talked half the night.
It had become clear to me that defensive
tactics must be adopted as well as aggressive
ones. Travelling with Sir Eustace Pedler and
his party, I was fairly safe. Both he and
Colonel Race were powerful protectors, and I
judged that my enemies would not wish to
stir up a hornet's nest about my ears. Also, as
long as I was near Sir Eustace, I was more or
less in touch with Guy Pagett—and Guy
Pagett was the heart of the mystery. I asked
Suzanne whether in her opinion it was
Possible that Pagett himself was the
mysterious "Colonel." His subordinate
position was, of course, against the
249
assumption, but it had struck me once or
twice that, for all his autocratic ways. Sir
Eustace was really very much influenced by
his secretary. He was an easy-going man, and
one whom an adroit secretary might be able
to twist round his little finger. The
comparative obscurity of his position might
in reality be useful to him, since he would be
anxious to be well out of the limelight.
Suzanne, however, negatived these ideas
very strongly. She refused to believe that Guy
Pagett was the ruling spirit. The real
head—the "Colonel"—was somewhere in the
background and had probably been already in
Africa at the time of our arrival.
I agreed that there was much to be said for
her view, but I was not entirely satisfied. For
in each suspicious instance Pagett had been
shown as the directing genius. It was true that
his personality seemed to lack the assurance
and decision that one would expect from a
master criminal—but after all, according to
Colonel Race, it was brain-work only that this
mysterious leader supplied, and creative
genius is often allied to a weak and timorous
physical constitution.
"There speaks the Professor's daughter,"
250
interrupted Suzanne, when I had got to this
point in my argument.
"It's true, all the same. On the other hand,
pagett may be the Grand Vizier, so to speak,
of the All Highest." I was silent for a minute
or two, and then went on musingly: "I wish I
knew how Sir Eustace made his money!"
"Suspecting him again?"
"Suzanne, I've got into that state that I
can't help suspecting somebody! I don't
really suspect him—but, after all, he is
Pagett's employer, and he did own the Mill
House."
"I've always heard that he made his money
in some way he isn't anxious to talk about,"
said Suzanne thoughtfully. "But that doesn't
necessarily mean crime—it might be tin-tacks
or hair restorer!"
I agreed ruefully.
"I suppose," said Suzanne doubtfully,
"that we're not barking up the wrong tree?
Being led completely astray, I mean, by
assuming Pagett's complicity? Supposing
that, after all, he is a perfectly honest man?"
I considered that for a minute or two, then
I shook my head.
"I can't believe that."
TMITBS17 951
"After all, he has his explanations for
everything."
"Y—es, but they're not very convincing.
For instance, the night he tried to throw me
overboard on the Kilmorden, he says he
followed Rayburn up on deck and Rayburn
turned and knocked him down. Now we
know that's not true."
"No," said Suzanne unwillingly. "But we
only heard the story at second-hand from Sir
Eustace. If we'd heard it direct from Pagett
himself, it might have been different. You
know how people always get a story a little
wrong when they repeat it."
I turned the thing over in my mind.
"No," I said at last, "I don't see any way
out. Pagett's guilty. You can't get away from
the fact that he tried to throw me overboard,
and everything else fits in. Why are you so
persistent in this new idea of yours?"
"Because of his face."
"His face? But——"
"Yes, I know what you're going to say. It's
a sinister face. That's just it. No man with a
face like that could be really sinister. It must
be a colossal joke on the part of Nature."
I did not believe much in Suzanne's
argument. I know, a lot about Nature in past
252
ages. If she's got a sense of humour, she
doesn't show it much. Suzanne is just the sort
of person who would clothe Nature with all
her own attributes.
We passed on to discuss our immediate
plans. It was clear to me that I must have
some kind of standing. I couldn't go on
avoiding explanations for ever. The solution
of all my difficulties lay ready to my hand,
though I didn't think of it for some time. The
Daily Budget\ My silence or my speech could
no longer affect Harry Rayburn. He was
marked down as "The Man in the Brown
Suit" through no fault of mine. I could help
him best by seeming to be against him. The
"Colonel" and his gang must have no
suspicion that there existed any friendly
feeling between me and the man they had
elected to be the scapegoat of the murder at
Marlow. As far as I knew, the woman killed
was still unidentified. I would cable to Lord
Nasby, suggesting that she was no other than
the famous Russian dancer "Nadina" who
had been delighting Paris for so long. It
seemed incredible to me that she had not
been identified already—but when I learnt
"^ore of the case long afterwards I saw how
natural it really was.
253
Nadina had never been to England, during
her successful career in Paris. She was
unknown to London audiences. The pictures
in the papers of the Marlow victim were so
blurred and unrecognizable that it is small
wonder no one identified them. And, on the
other hand, Nadina had kept her intention of
visiting England a profound secret from
everyone. The day after the murder, a letter
had been received by her manager purporting
to be from the dancer, in which she said that
she was returning to Russia on urgent private
affairs and that he must deal with her broken
contract as best he could.
All this, of course, I only learned afterwards.
With Suzanne's full approval, I sent a
long cable from De Aar. It arrived at a
psychological moment (this again, of course, I
learned afterwards). The Daily Budget was
hard up for a sensation. My guess was
verified and proved to be correct and the Daily Budget had the scoop of its lifetime.
"Victim of the Mill House Murder identified
by our special reporter." And so on. "Our
reporter makes voyage with the murderer.
The Man in the Brown Suit. What he is
really like."
The main facts were, of course, cabled to
254
the South African papers, but I only read my
own lengthy articles at a much later date! I
received approval and full instructions by
cable at Bulawayo. I was on the staff of the
Daily Budget, and I had a private word of
congratulation from Lord Nasby himself. I
was definitely accredited to hunt down the
murderer, and I, and only I, knew that the
murderer was not Harry Rayburn! But let
the world think that it was he—best so for the
present.
255
24
WE arrived at Bulawayo early on
Saturday morning. I was disappointed
in the place. It was very
hot, and I hated the hotel. Also Sir Eustace
was what I can only describe as thoroughly
sulky. I think it was all our wooden animals
that annoyed him--especially the big giraffe.
It was a colossal giraffe with an impossible
neck, a mild eye and a dejected tail. It had
character. It had charm. A controversy was
already arising as to whom it belonged
to--me or Suzanne. We had each contributed
a tiki to its purchase. Suzanne advanced the
claims of seniority and the married state, I
stuck to the position that I had been the first
to behold its beauty.
In the meantime, I must admit, it occupied
a good deal of this three-dimensional space of
ours. To carry forty-nine wooden animals, all
of awkward shape, and all of extremely brittle
wood, is somewhat of a problem. Two porters
were laden with a bunch of animals each--
and one promptly dropped a ravishing group
256
of ostriches and broke their heads off.
Warned by this, Suzanne and I carried all we
could. Colonel Race helped, and I pressed the
big giraffe into Sir Eustace's arms. Even the
correct Miss Pettigrew did not escape, a large
hippopotamus and two black warriors fell to
her share. I had a feeling Miss Pettigrew
didn't like me. Perhaps she fancied I was a
bold hussy. Anyway, she avoided me as much
as she could. And the funny thing was, her
face seemed vaguely familiar to me, though I
couldn't quite place it.
We reposed ourselves most of the morning,
and in the afternoon we drove out to the
Matoppos to see Rhodes's grave. That is to
say, we were to have done so, but at the last
moment Sir Eustace backed out. He was very
nearly in as bad a temper as the morning we
arrived at Cape Town—when he bounced the
peaches on the floor and they squashed!
Evidently arriving early in the morning at
places is bad for his temperament. He cursed
the porters, he cursed the waiter at breakfast,
he cursed the whole hotel management, he
would doubtless have liked to curse Miss
^ttigrew, who hovered around with her
Pencil and pad, but I don't think even Sir
Eustace would have dared to curse Miss
257
Pettigrew. She's just like the efficient
secretary in a book. I only just rescued our
dear giraffe in time. I feel Sir Eustace would
have liked to dash him to the ground.
To return to our expedition, after Sir
Eustace had backed out, Miss Pettigrew said
she would remain at home in case he might
want her. And at the very last minute
Suzanne sent down a message to say she had a
headache. So Colonel Race and I drove off
alone.
He is a strange man. One doesn't notice it
so much in a crowd. But when one is alone
with him the sense of his personality seems
really almost overpowering. He becomes
more taciturn, and yet his silence seems to say
more than speech might do.
It was so that day that we drove to the
Matoppos through the soft yellow-brown
scrub. Everything seemed strangely silent—
except our car, which I should think was the
first Ford ever made by man! The upholstery
of it was torn to ribbons and, though I know
nothing about engines, even I could guess
that all was not as it should be in its interior.
By and by the character of the country
changed. Great boulders appeared, piled up
into fantastic shapes. I felt suddenly that I
258
had got into a primitive era. Just for a
moment Neanderthal men seemed quite as
real to me as they had to Papa. I turned to
Colonel Race.
"There must have been giants once," I said
dreamily. "And their children were just like
children are to-day—they played with
handfuls of pebbles, piling them up and
knocking them down, and the more cleverly
they balanced them, the better pleased they
were. If I were to give a name to this place I
should call it The Country of Giant
Children."
"Perhaps you're nearer the mark than you
know," said Colonel Race gravely. "Simple,
primitive, big—that is Africa."
I nodded appreciatively.
"You love it, don't you?" I asked.
"Yes. But to live in it long—well, it makes
one what you would call cruel. One comes to
hold life and death very lightly."
"Yes," I said, thinking of Harry Rayburn.
He had been like that too. "But not cruel to
weak things?"
'Opinions differ as to what are and are not
'weak things,' Miss Anne."
There was a note of seriousness in his voice
which almost startled me. I felt that I knew
259
very little really of this man at my side.
"I meant children and dogs, I think."
"I can truthfully say I've never been cruel
to children or dogs. So you don't class women
as 'weak things'?"
I considered.
"No, I don't think I do—though they are, I
suppose. That is, they are nowadays. But
Papa always said that in the beginning men
and women roamed the world together, equal
in strength—like lions and tigers——"
"And giraffes?" interpolated Colonel Race
slyly.
I laughed. Everyone makes fun of that
giraffe.
"And giraffes. They were nomadic, you
see. It wasn't till they settled down in
communities, and women did one kind of
thing and men another, that women got
weak. And of course, underneath, one is still
the same—one feels the same, I mean—and
that is why women worship physical strength
in men: it's what they once had and have
lost."
"Almost ancestor worship, in fact?"
"Something of the kind."
"And you really think that's true? That
women worship strength, I mean?"
260
FR1;"I think it's quite true--if one's honest.
You think you admire moral qualities, but
when you fall in love, you revert to the
primitive where the physical is all that
counts. But I don't think that's the end, if
you lived in primitive conditions it would be
all right, but you don't--and so, in the end, the other thing wins after all. It's the things
that are apparently conquered that always do
win, isn't it? They win in the only way that
counts. Like what the Bible says about losing
your life and finding it."
"In the end," said Colonel Race thoughtfully, "you fall in love--and you fall out of it,
is that what you mean?"
"Not exactly, but you can put it that way if
you like."
"But I don't think you've ever fallen out of
love. Miss Anne?"
"No, I haven't," I admitted frankly.
"Or fallen in love, either?"
I did not answer.
The car drew up at our destination and
brought the conversation to a close. We got
out and began the slow ascent to the World's
View. Not for the first time, I felt a slight
discomfort in Colonel Race's company. He
veiled his thoughts so well behind those
Jyy 261
impenetrable black eyes. He frightened me a
little. He had always frightened me. I never
knew where I stood with him.
We climbed in silence till we reached the
spot where Rhodes lies guarded by giant
boulders. A strange eerie place, far from the
haunts of men, that sings a ceaseless paean of
rugged beauty.
We sat there for some time in silence. Then
descended once more, but diverging slightly
from the path. Sometimes it was a rough
scramble and once we came to a sharp slope
or rock that was almost sheer.
Colonel Race went first, then turned to
help me.
"Better lift you," he said suddenly, and
swung me off my feet with a quick gesture.
I felt the strength of him as he set me down
and released his clasp. A man of iron, with
muscles like taut steel. And again I felt afraid,
especially as he did not move aside, but stood
directly in front of me, staring into my face.
"What are you really doing here, Anne
Beddingfield?" he said abruptly.
"I'm a gipsy seeing the world."
"Yes, that's true enough. The newspaper
correspondent is only a pretext. You've not
the soul of the journalist. You're out for your
262
own hand—snatching at life. But that's not
all."
What was he going to make me tell him? I
was afraid—afraid. I looked him full in the
face. My eyes can't keep secrets like his, but
they can carry the war into the enemy's
country.
"What are you really doing here. Colonel
Race?" I asked deliberately.
For a moment I thought he wasn't going to
answer. He was clearly taken aback, though.
At last he spoke, and his words seemed to
afford him a grim amusement.
"Pursuing ambition," he said. "Just thatpursuing ambition. You will remember. Miss
Beddingfield, that 'by that sin fell the angels,'
etc."
"They say," I said slowly, "that you are
really connected with the Government—that
you are in the Secret Service. Is that true?"
Was it my fancy, or did he hesitate for a
fraction of a second before he answered?
"I can assure you. Miss Beddingfield, that I
am out here strictly as a private individual
travelling for my own pleasure."
Thinking the answer over later, it struck
m^ as slightly ambiguous. Perhaps he meant
^ to be so.
263
We rejoined the car in silence. Halfway
back to Bulawayo we stopped for tea at a
somewhat primitive structure at the side of
the road. The proprietor was digging in the
garden, and seemed annoyed at being
disturbed. And he graciously promised to see
what he could do. After an interminable wait, he brought us some stale cakes and some
lukewarm tea. Then he disappeared to his
garden again.
No sooner had he departed than we were
surrounded by cats, six of them all miaowing
piteously at once. The racket was deafening. I
offered them some pieces of cake. They
devoured them ravenously. I poured all the
milk there was into a saucer and they fought
each other to get it.
"Oh," I cried indignantly, "they're
starved! It's wicked. Please, please, order
some more milk and another plate of cake."
Colonel Race departed silently to do my
bidding. The cats had begun miaowing again.
He returned with a big jug of milk and the
cats finished it all.
I got up with determination on my face.
"I'm going to take those cats home with
us--I shan't leave them here."
"My dear child, don't be absurd. You can't
264
carry six cats as well as fifty wooden animals
round with you."
"Never mind the wooden animals. These
cats are alive. I shall take them back with
me."
"You will do nothing of the kind." I looked
at him resentfully, but he went on: "You
think me cruel--but one can't go through life
sentimentalizing over these things. It's no
good standing out--1 shan't allow you to take
them. It's a primitive country, you know, and I'm stronger than you."
I always know when I am beaten. I went
down to the car with tears in my eyes.
"They're probably short of food just today,"
he explained consolingly. "That man's
wife has gone into Bulawayo for stores. So it
will be all right. And anyway, you know, the
world's full of starving cats."
"Don't-don't," I said fiercely.
"I'm teaching you to realize life as it is. I'm
teaching you to be hard and ruthless--like I
am. That's the secret of strength--and the
secret of success."
"I'd sooner be dead than hard," I said
passionately.
We got into the car and started off. I pulled ^yself together again slowly. Suddenly, to
265
my intense astonishment, he took my hand in
his
"Anne," he said gently, "I want you. Will
you marry me?"
I was utterly taken aback.
"Oh, no," I stammered. <<I can't.'1
"Why not?"
"I don't care for you in that way. I've never
thought of you like that."
"I see. Is that the only reason?"
I had to be honest. I owed it him.
"No," I said, "it is not. You see-I--care
for someone else."
"I see," he said again. "And was that true
at the beginning--v^hen I first saw you--on
the Kilmordeny9 "No," I whispered. "It was--since then."
"I see," he said for the third time, but this
time there was a purposeful ring in his voice
that made me turn and look at him, His face
was grimmer than I had ever seen it.
"What--what do you mean?" I faltered.
He looked at me, inscrutable, dominating.
"Only--that I know now what I have to
do."
His words sent a shiver through ine. There
was a determination behind them that I did
not understand--and it frightened me.
266
We neither of us said any more until we got
back to the hotel. I went straight up to
Suzanne. She was lying on her bed reading,
and did not look in the least as though she
had a headache.
"Here reposes the perfect gooseberry," she
remarked. "Alias the tactful chaperone. Why, Anne dear, what's the matter?"
For I had burst into a floor of tears.
I told her about the cats--1 felt it wasn't fair
to tell her about Colonel Race. But Suzanne
is very sharp. I think she saw that there was
something more behind.
"You haven't caught a chill, have you, Anne? Sounds absurd even to suggest such
things in this heat, but you keep on
shivering."
"It's nothing," I said. "Nerves--or
someone walking over my grave. I keep
feeling something dreadful's going to
happen."
"Don't be silly," said Suzanne, with decision.
"Let's talk of something interesting.
Anne, about those diamonds----"
"What about them?"
"I'm not sure they're safe with me. It was all right before, no one could think they'd be
amongst my things. But now that everyone
^ITBS 18 267
I
knows we're such friends, you and I, I'll be
under suspicion too."
"Nobody knows they're in a roll of films,
though," I argued. "It's a splendid hidingplace
and I really don't think we could better
it."
She agreed doubtfully, but said we would
discuss it again when we got to the Falls.
Our train went at nine o'clock. Sir
Eustace's temper was still far from good, and
Miss Pettigrew looked subdued. Colonel
Race was completely himself. I felt that I had
dreamed the whole conversation on the way
back.
I slept heavily that night on my hard bunk,
struggling with ill-defined, menacing dreams.
I awoke with a headache and went out on the
observation platform of the car. It was fresh
and lovely, and everywhere, as far as one
could see, were the undulating wooded hills.
I loved it—loved it more than any place I had
ever seen. I wished then that I could have a
little hut somewhere in the heart of the scrub
and live there always—always. . . .
Just before half-past two, Colonel Race
called me out from the "office" and pointed
to a bouquet-shaped white mist that hovered
over one portion of the bush.
268
"The spray from the Falls," he said. "We
are nearly there."
I was still wrapped in that strange dream
feeling of exaltation that had succeeded my
troubled night. Very strongly implanted in
me was the feeling that I had come home....
Home! And yet I had never been here
before—or had I in dreams?
We walked from the train to the hotel, a
big white building closely wired against
mosquitoes. There were no roads, no houses.
We went out on the stoep and I uttered a gasp.
There, half a mile away, facing us, were the
Falls. I've never seen anything so grand and
beautiful—I never shall.
"Anne, you're fey," said Suzanne, as we sat
down to lunch. "I've never seen you like this
before."
She stared at me curiously.
"Am I?" I laughed, but I felt that my laugh
was unnatural. "It's just that I love it all."
"It's more than that."
A little frown crossed her brow—one of
apprehension.
Yes, I was happy, but beyond that I had the
curious feeling that I was waiting for something—something
that would happen soon. I
^s excited—restless.
269
After tea we strolled out, got on the trolley
and were pushed by smiling blacks down the
little tracks of rails to the bridge.
It was a marvellous sight, the great chasm
and the rushing waters below, and the veil of
mist and spray in front of us that parted every
now and then for one brief minute to show
the cataract of water and then closed up again
in its impenetrable mystery. That, to my
mind, has always been the fascination of the
Falls—their elusive quality. You always think
you're going to see—and you never do.
We crossed the bridge and walked slowly
on by the path that was marked out with
white stone on either side and led round the
brink of the gorge. Finally we arrived in a big
clearing where on the left a path led
downwards towards the chasm.
"The palm gully," explained Colonel
Race. "Shall we go down? Or shall we leave it
until tomorrow? It will take some time, and
it's a good climb up again."
"We'll leave it until to-morrow," said Sir
Eustace with decision. He isn't at all fond of
strenuous physical exercise, I have noticed.
He led the way back. As we went, we
passed a fine native stalking along. Behind
him came a woman who seemed to have the
270
entire household belongings piled upon her
head! The collection included a frying-pan.
"I never have my camera when I want it,"
groaned Suzanne.
"That's an opportunity that will occur
often enough, Mrs. Blair," said Colonel
Race. "So don't lament."
We arrived back on the bridge.
"Shall we go into the rainbow forest?" he
continued. "Or are you afraid of getting
wet?"
Suzanne and I accompanied him. Sir
Eustace went back to the hotel. I was rather
disappointed in the rainbow forest. There
weren't nearly enough rainbows, and we got
soaked to the skin, but every now and then we
got a glimpse of the Falls opposite and
realized how enormously wide they are. Oh,
dear, dear Falls, how I love and worship you
and always shall!
We got back to the hotel just in time to
change for dinner. Sir Eustace seems to have
taken a positive antipathy to Colonel Race.
Suzanne and I rallied him gently, but didn't
get much satisfaction.
After dinner he retired to his sitting-room,
dragging Miss Pettigrew with him. Suzanne
^d I talked for a while with Colonel Race,
271
and then she declared, with an immense
yawn, that she was going to bed. I didn't
want to be left alone with him, so I got up too
and went to my room.
But I was far too excited to go to sleep. I
did not even undress. I lay back in a chair and
gave myself up to dreaming. And all the time
I was conscious of something coming nearer
and nearer. . . .
There was a knock at the door, and I
started. I got up and went to it. A little black
boy held out a note. It was addressed to me in
a handwriting I did not know. I took it and
came back into the room. I stood there
holding it. At last I opened it. It was very
short!
"I must see you. I dare not come to the
hotel. Will you come to the clearing by the
palm gully? In memory of Cabin 17 please
come. The man you knew as Harry Rayburn."
My
heart beat to suffocation. He was here
then! Oh, I had known it—1 had known it all
along! I had felt him near me. All unwittingly
I had come to his place of retreat.
I wound a scarf round my head and stole to
the door. I must be careful. He was hunted
272
down. No one must see me meet him. I stole
along to Suzanne's room. She was fast asleep.
I could hear her breathing evenly.
Sir Eustace? I paused outside the door of
his sitting-room. Yes, he was dictating to
Miss Pettigrew, I could hear her monotonous
voice repeating: "I therefore venture to
suggest, that in tackling this problem of
coloured labour——" She paused for him to
continue, and I heard him grunt something
angrily.
I stole on again. Colonel Race's room was
empty. I did not see him in the lounge. And
he was the man I feared most! Still, I could
waste no more time. I slipped quietly out of
the hotel, and took the path to the bridge.
I crossed it and stood there waiting in the
shadow. If anyone had followed me, I should
see them crossing the bridge. But the minutes
passed, and no one came. I had not been
followed. I turned and took the path to the
clearing. I took six paces or so, and then
stopped. Something had rustled behind me.
It could not be anyone who had followed me
from the hotel. It was someone who was
already here, waiting.
And immediately, without rhyme or
reason, but with the sureness of instinct, I
273
knew that it was I myself who was threatened.
It was the same feeling as I had had on the Kilmorden that night--a sure instinct warning
me of danger.
I looked sharply over my shoulder. Silence.
I moved on a pace or two. Again I heard that
rustle. Still walking, I looked over my
shoulder again. A man's figure came out of
the shadow. He saw that I saw him, and
jumped forward, hard on my track.
It was too dark to recognize anybody. All I
could see was that he was tall, and a
European, not a native. I took to my heels
and ran. I heard him pounding behind. I ran
quicker, keeping my eyes fixed on the white
stones that showed me where to step, for
there was no moon that night.
And suddenly my foot felt nothingness. I
heard the man behind me laugh, an evil, sinister laugh. It rang in my ears, as I fell
headlong--down--down--down to destruction
far beneath.
274
25
I CAME to myself slowly and painfully. I
was conscious of an aching head and a
shooting pain down my left arm when I
tried to move, and everything seemed dreamlike
and unreal. Nightmare visions floated
before me. I felt myself falling--falling again.
Once Harry Rayburn's face seemed to come
to me out of the mist. Almost I imagined it
real. Then it floated away again, mocking me.
Once, I remember, someone put a cup to my
lips and I drank. A black face grinned into
mine--a devil's face. I thought it, and
screamed out. Then dreams again--long
troubled dreams in which I vainly sought
Harry Rayburn to warn him--warn him--
what of? I did not know myself. But there
was some great danger--and I alone could
save him. Then darkness again, merciful
darkness, and real sleep.
I woke at last myself again. The long
nightmare was over. I remembered perfectly
everything that had happened: my hurried
flight from the hotel to meet Harry, the man
275
in the shadows and that last terrible moment
of falling. . . .
By some miracle or other I had not been
killed. I was bruised and aching, and very
weak, but I was alive. But where was I?
Moving my head with difficulty I looked
round me. I was in a small room with rough
wooden walls. On them were hung skins of
animals and various tusks of ivory. I was
lying on a kind of rough couch, also covered
with skins, and my left arm was bandaged up
and felt stiff and uncomfortable. At first I
thought I was alone, and then I saw a man's
figure sitting between me and the light, his
head turned towards the window. He was so
still that he might have been carved out of
wood. Something in the close-cropped black
head was familiar to me, but I did not dare to
let my imagination run astray. Suddenly he
turned, and I caught my breath. It was Harry
Rayburn. Harry Rayburn in the flesh.
He rose and came over to me.
"Feeling better?" he said a trifle
awkwardly.
I could not answer. The tears were running
down my face. I was weak still, but I held his
hand in both of mine. If only I could die like
276
this, whilst he stood there looking down on
me with that new look in his eyes.
"Don't cry, Anne. Please don't cry. You're
safe now. No one shall hurt you."
He went and fetched a cup and brought it
to me.
"Drink some of this milk."
I drank obediently. He went on talking, in a
low coaxing tone such as he might have used
to a child.
"Don't ask any more questions now. Go to
sleep again. You'll be stronger by and by. I'll
go away if you like."
"No," I said urgently. "No, no."
"Then I'll stay."
He brought a small stool over beside me
and sat there. He laid his hand over mine,
and, soothed and comforted, I dropped off to
sleep once more.
It must have been evening then, but when I
woke again the sun was high in the heavens. I
was alone in the hut, but as I stirred an old
native woman came running in. She was
hideous as sin, but she grinned at me
encouragingly. She brought me water in a
basin and helped me wash my face and hands.
Then she brought me a large bowl of soup,
and I finished it every drop! I asked her
277
several question, but she only grinned and
nodded and chattered away in a guttural
language, so I gathered she knew no English.
Suddenly she stood up and drew back
respectfully as Harry Rayburn entered. He
gave her a nod of dismissal and she went out
leaving us alone. He smiled at me.
"Really better today!"
"Yes, indeed, but very bewildered still.
Where am I?"
"You're on a small island on the Zambesi
about four miles up from the Falls."
"Do--do my friends know Fin here?"
He shook his head.
"I must send word to them."
"That is as you like, of course, but if I were
you I should wait until you are a little
stronger."
"Why?"
He did not answer immediately, so I went
on:
"How long have I been here?"
His answer amazed me.
"Nearly a month."
"Oh!" I cried. "I must send word to
Suzanne. She'll be terrible anxious."
"Who is Suzanne?"
"Mrs. Blair. I was with her and Sir Eustace
278
and Colonel Race at the hotel—but you knew
that, surely?"
He shook his head.
"I know nothing, except that I found you,
caught in the fork of a tree, unconscious and
with a badly wrenched arm."
"Where was the tree?"
"Overhanging the ravine. But for your
clothes catching on the branches, you would
certainly have been dashed to pieces."
I shuddered. Then a thought struck me.
"You say you didn't know I was there.
What about the note then?"
"What note?"
"The note you sent me, asking me to meet
you in the clearing."
He stared at me.
"I sent no note."
I felt myself flushing up to the roots of my
hair. Fortunately he did not seem to notice.
"How did you come to be on the spot in
such a marvellous manner?" I asked, in as
nonchalant a manner as I could assume.
"And what are you doing in this part of the
world, anyway?"
"I live here," he said simply.
"On this island?"
"Yes, I came here after the War.
279
Sometimes I take parties from the hotel out in
my boat, but it costs me very little to live, and
mostly I do as I please."
"You live here all alone?"
"I am not pining for society, I assure you,"
he replied coldly.
"I am sorry to have inflicted mine upon
you," I retorted, "but I seem to have had very
little to say in the matter."
To my surprise, his eyes twinkled a little.
"None whatever. I slung you across my
shoulders like a sack of coal and carried you
to my boat. Quite like a primitive man of the
Stone Age."
"But for a different reason," I put in.
He flushed this time, a deep burning blush.
The tan of his face was suffused.
"But you haven't told me how you came to
be wandering about so conveniently for me?"
I said hastily, to cover his confusion.
"I couldn't sleep. I was restless--disturbed--had
the feeling something was going
to happen. In the end I took the boat and
came ashore and tramped down towards the
Falls. I was just at the head of the palm gully
when I heard you scream."
."Why didn't you get help from the hotel
280
instead of carting me all the way here?" I
asked.
He flushed again.
"I suppose it seems an unpardonable
liberty to you—but I don't think that even
now you realize your danger! You think I
should have informed your friends! Pretty
friends, who allowed you to be decoyed out to
death. No, I swore to myself that I'd take
better care of you than anyone else could. Not
a soul comes to this island. I got old Batani,
whom I cured of a fever once, to come and
look after you. She's loyal. She'll never say a
word. I could keep you here for months and
no one would ever know."
I could keep you here for months and no one
would ever know! How some words please
one!
"You did quite right," I said quietly. "And
I shall not send word to anyone. A day or so
more anxiety doesn't make much difference.
It's not as though they were my own people.
They're only acquaintances really—even
Suzanne. And whoever wrote that note must
have known—a great deal! It was not the work
of an outsider."
I managed to mention the note this time
without blushing at all.
281
"If you would be guided by me——" he
said, hesitating.
"I don't expect I shall be," I answered
candidly. "But there's no harm in hearing."
"Do you always do what you like. Miss
Beddingfield?"
"Usually," I replied cautiously. To anyone
else I would have said "Always."
"I pity your husband," he said
unexpectedly.
"You needn't," I retorted. "I shouldn't
dream of marrying anyone unless I was madly
in love with him. And of course there is really
nothing a woman enjoys so much as doing all
the things she doesn't like for the sake of
someone she does like. And the more selfwilled
she is, the more she likes it."
"I'm afraid I disagree with you. The boot
is on the other leg as a rule." He spoke with a
slight sneer.
"Exactly," I cried eagerly. "And that's why
there are so many unhappy marriages. It's all
the fault of the men. Either they give way to
their women—and then the women despise
them-or else they are utterly selfish, insist on
their own way and never say 'thank you.'
Successful husbands make their wives do just
what they want, and then make a frightful
282
fuss of them for doing it. Women like to be
mastered, but they hate not to have their
sacrifices appreciated. On the other hand,
men don't really appreciate women who are
nice to them all the time. When I am married,
I shall be a devil most of the time, but every
now and then, when my husband least
expects it, I shall show him what a perfect
angel I can be!"
Harry laughed outright.
"What a cat-and-dog life you will lead!"
"Lovers always fight," I assured him.
"Because they don't understand each other.
And by the time they do understand each
other they aren't in love any more."
"Does the reverse hold true? Are people
who fight each other always lovers?"
"I—I don't know," I said, momentarily
confused.
He turned away to the fireplace.
"Like some more soup?" he asked in a
casual tone.
"Yes, please. I'm so hungry that I would
eat a hippopotamus."
"That's good."
He busied himself with the fire, I watched.
"When I can get off the couch, I'll cook for
you," I promised.
TMITBS 19
283

"I don't suppose you know anything about
cooking."
"I can warm up things out of tins as well as
you can," I retorted, pointing to a row of tins
on the mantelpiece.
l<Toucher he said and laughed.
His whole face changed when he laughed.
It became boyish, happy—a different
personality.
I enjoyed my soup. As I ate it I reminded
him that he had not, after all, tendered me his
advice.
"Ah, yes, what I was going to say was this.
If I were you I would stay quietly perdu here
until you are quite strong again. Your
enemies will believe you dead. They will
hardly be surprised at not finding the body. It
would have been dashed to pieces on the
rocks and carried down with the torrent."
I shivered.
"Once you are completely restored to
health, you can journey quietly on to Beira
and get a boat to take you back to England."
"That would be very tame," I objected
scornfully.
"There speaks a foolish schoolgirl."
"I'm not a foolish schoolgirl," I cried
indignantly. "I'm a woman."
284
He looked at me with an expression I could
not fathom, as I sat up flushed and excited.
"God help me, so you are," he muttered
and went abruptly out.
My recovery was rapid. The two injuries I
had sustained were a knock on the head and a
badly wrenched arm. The latter was the most
serious and, to begin with, my rescuer had
believed it to be actually broken. A careful
examination, however, convinced him that it
was not so, and although it was very painful I
was recovering the use of it quite quickly.
It was a strange time. We were cut off from
the world, alone together as Adam and Eve
might have been--but with what a difference!
Old Batani hovered about, counting no more
than a dog might have done. I insisted on
doing the cooking, or as much of it as I could
manage with one arm. Harry was out a good
part of the time, but we spent long hours
together lying out in the shade of the palms,
talking and quarrelling--discussing everything
under high heaven, quarrelling and
making it up again. We bickered a good deal, but there grew up between us a real and
lasting comradeship such as I could never
have believed possible. That--and something
else.
285
The time was drawing near, I knew it,
when I should be well enough to leave, and I
realized it with a heavy heart. Was he going
to let me go? Without a word? Without a
sign? He had fits of silence, long moody
intervals, moments when he would spring up
and tramp off by himself. One evening the
crisis came. We had finished our simple meal
and were sitting in the doorway of the hut.
The sun was sinking.
Hairpins were necessities of life with which
Harry had not been able to provide me, and
my hair, straight and black, hung to my
knees. I sat, my chin on my hands, lost in
meditation. I felt rather than saw Harry
looking at me.
"You look like a witch, Anne," he said at
last, and there was something in his voice that
had never been there before.
He reached out his hand and just touched
my hair. I shivered. Suddenly he sprang up
with an oath.
"You must leave here to-morrow, do you
hear?" he cried. "I—I can't bear any more.
I'm only a man after all. You must go, Anne.
You must. You're not a fool. You know
yourself that this can't go on."
286
"I suppose not," I said slowly. "But—it's
been happy, hasn't it?"
"Happy? It's been hell!"
"As bad as that!"
"What do you torment me for? Why are
you mocking at me? Why do you say thatlaughing into your hair?"
"I wasn't laughing. And I'm not mocking.
If you want me to go, I'll go. But if you want
me to stay—I'll stay."
"Not that!" he cried vehemently. "Not
that. Don't tempt me, Anne. Do you realize
what I am? A criminal twice over. A man
hunted down. They know me here as Harry
Parker—they think I've been away on a trek
up country, but any day they may put two
and two together—and then the blow will fall.
You're so young, Anne, and so beautiful—
with the kind of beauty that sends men mad.
All the world's before you—love, life,
everything. Mine's behind me—scorched,
spoiled, with a taste of bitter ashes."
"If you don't want me——"
"You know I want you. You know that I'd
give my soul to pick you up in my arms and
keep you here, hidden away from the world,
for ever and ever. And you're tempting me,
Anne. You, with your long witch's hair, and
287
your eyes that are golden and brown and
green and never stop laughing even when
your mouth is grave. But I'll save you from
yourself and from me. You shall go tonight.
You shall go to Beira----"
"I'm not going to Beira," I interrupted.
"You are. You shall go to Beira if I have to
take you there myself and throw you on to the
boat. What do you think I'm made of? Do
you think I'll wake up night after night, fearing they've got you? One can't go on
counting on miracles happening. You must
go back to England, Anne--and--and marry
and be happy."
"With a steady man who'll give me a good
home!"
"Better that than--utter disaster."
"And what of you?"
His face grew grim and set.
"I've got my work ready to hand. Don't ask
what it is. You can guess, I dare say. But I'll
tell you this--I'll clear my name, or die in the
attempt, and I'll choke the life out of the
damned scoundrel who did his best to murder
you the other night."
"We must be fair," I said. "He didn't
actually push me over."
"He'd no need to. His plan was cleverer
288
than that. I went up to the path afterwards.
Everything looked all right, but by the marks
on the ground I saw that the stones which
outlined the path had been taken up and put
down again in a slightly different place.
There are tall bushes growing just over the
edge. He'd balanced the outside stones on
them, so that you'd think you were still on
the path when in reality you were stepping
into nothingness. God help him if I lay my
hands upon him!"
He paused a minute and then said, in a
totally different tone:
"We've never spoken of these things,
Anne, have we? But the time's come. I want
you to hear the whole story—from the
beginning."
"If it hurts you to go over the past, don't
tell me," I said in a low voice.
"But I want you to know. I never thought I
should speak of that part of my life to anyone.
Funny, isn't it, the tricks Fate plays?"
He was silent for a minute or two. The sun
has set, and the velvety darkness of the
African night was enveloping us like a
mantle.
"Some of it I know," I said gently.
"What do you know?"
289
<<I know that your real name is Harry
Lucas."
Still he hesitated--not looking at me, but
staring straight out in front of him. I had no
clue as to what was passing in his mind, but
at last he jerked his head forward as though
acquiescing in some unspoken decision of his
own, and began his story.
290
26
" ^^ 7^ OU are right. My real name is ^[ Harry Lucas. My father was a reA. tired soldier who came out to farm
in Rhodesia. He died when I was in my
second year at Cambridge."
"Were you fond of him?" I asked suddenly.
"I-don't know."
Then he flushed and went on with sudden
vehemence:
"Why do I say that? I did love my father.
We said bitter things to each other the last
time I saw him, and we had many rows over
my wildness and my debts, but I cared for the
old man. I know how much now--when it's
too late," he continued more quietly. "It was
at Cambridge that I met the other fellow----"
"Young Eardsley?"
"Yes--young Eardsley. His father, as you
know, was one of South Africa's most
prominent men. We drifted together at once, my friend and I. We had our love of South
Africa in common and we both had a taste for
the untrodden places of the world. After we
291
left Cambridge, Eardsley had a final quarrel
with his father. The old man had paid his
debts twice, he refused to do so again. There
was a bitter scene between them. Sir
Laurence declared himself at the end of his
patience—he would do no more for his son.
He must stand on his own legs for a while.
The result was, as you know, that those two
young men went off to South America
together, prospecting for diamonds. Fin not
going into that now, but we had a wonderful
time out there. Hardships in plenty, you
understand, but it was a good life—a hand-tomouth
scramble for existence far from the
beaten track—and, my God that's the place to
know a friend. There was a bond forged
between us two out there that only death
could have broken. Well, as Colonel Race
told you, our efforts were crowned with
success, We found a second Kimberley in the
heart of the British Guiana jungles. I can't
tell you our elation. It wasn't so much the
actual yalue in money of the find—you see,
Eardsley was used to money, and he knew
that wtien his father died he would be a
millionaire, and Lucas had always been poor
and was used to it. No, it was the sheer
delight of discovery."
292
He paused, and then added, almost
apologetically.
"You don't mind my telling it this way, do
you? As though I wasn't in it at all. It seems
like that now when I look back and see those
two boys. I almost forgot that one of them
was—Harry Rayburn."
"Tell it any way you like," I said, and he
went on:
"We came to Kimberley—very cock-a-hoop
over our find. We brought a magnificent
selection of diamonds with us to submit to
the experts. And then—in the hotel at
Kimberley—we met her——"
I stiffened a little, and the hand that rested
on the door-post clenched itself involuntarily.
"Anita Griinberg—that was her name. She
was an actress. Quite young and very
beautiful. She was South African born, but
her mother was a Hungarian, I believe. There
was some sort of mystery about her, and that,
of course, heightened her attraction for two
boys home from the wilds. She must have had
an easy task. We both fell for her right away,
and we both took it hard. It was the first
shadow that had ever come between us—but
even then it didn't weaken our friendship.
Each of us, I honestly believe, was willing to
293
stand aside for the other to go in and win. But
that wasn't her game. Sometimes, afterwards,
I wondered why it hadn't been, for Sir
Laurence Eadsley's only son was quite a
parti. But the truth of it was that she was
married—to a sorter in De Beers'—though
nobody knew of it. She pretended enormous
interest in our discovery, and we told her all
about it and even showed her the diamonds.
Delilah—that's what she should have been
called—and she played her part well!
"The De Beers robbery was discovered,
and like a thunderclap the police came down
upon us. They seized our diamonds. We only
laughed at first—the whole thing was so
absurd. And then the diamonds were
produced in court—and without question
they were the stones stolen from De Beers'.
Anita Griinberg had disappeared. She had
effected the substitution neatly enough, and
our story that these were not the stones
originally in our possession was laughed to
scorn.
"Sir Laurence Eardsley had enormous
influence. He succeeded in getting the case
dismissed—but it left two young men ruined
and disgraced to face the world with the
stigma of thief attached to their name, but it
294
pretty well broke the old fellow's heart. He
had one bitter interview with his son in
which he heaped upon him every reproach
imaginable. He had done what he could to
save the family name, but from that day on
his son was his son no longer. He cast him off
utterly. And the boy, like the proud young
fool that he was, remained silent, disdaining
to protest his innocence in the face of his
father's disbelief. He came out furious from
the interview—his friend was waiting for
him. A week later, war was declared. The two
friends enlisted together. You know what
happened. The best pal a man ever had was
killed, partly through his own mad
recklessness in rushing into unnecessary
danger. He died with his name tarnished. . ..
"I swear to you, Anne, that it was mainly
on his account that I was so bitter against that
woman. It had gone deeper with him than
with me. I had been madly in love with her
for the moment—1 even think that I
frightened her sometimes—but with him it
was a quieter and deeper feeling. She had
been the very centre of his universe—and her
betrayal of him tore up the very roots of life.
The blow stunned him and left him
paralysed."
295
RE
Harry paused. After a minute or two he
went on:
"As you know, I was reported "Missing,
presumed killed'. I never troubled to correct
the mistake. I took the name of Parker and
came to this island, which I knew of old. At
the beginning of the War I had had ambitious
hopes of proving my innocence, but now all
that spirit seemed dead. All I felt was,
"What's the good?' My pal was dead, neither
he nor I had any living relations who would
care. I was supposed to be dead too, let it
remain at that. I led a peaceful existence here,
neither happy nor unhappy—numbed of all
feeling. I see now, though I did not realize it
at the time, that that was partly the effect of
the War.
"And then one day something occurred to
wake me right up again. I was taking a party
of people in my boat on a trip up the river,
and I was standing at the landing-stage,
helping them in, when one of the men uttered
a startled exclamation. It focused my
attention to him. He was a small, thin man
with a beard, and he was staring at me for all
he was worth as though I was a ghost. So
powerful was his emotion that it awakened
my curiosity. I made inquiries about him at
296
the hotel a11^ learned that his name was
Carton tha^ he came from Kimberley, and
that he was ^ diamond-sorter employed by De Beers'. In a "imute all the old sense of wrong
surged over rne again. I left the island and
went to Kimberley.
"I could ^d out little more about him, however. It^ ^ enc^ ^ decided that I must
force an int^i^' ^ t00^ my fevolver with
me. In the piet glimpse I had had of him, I
had realized ^at he was a physical coward.
No sooner were we ^ace to ^ace ^an I
recognized ^at he was afraid of me. I soon
forced him to te^ me a^ he knew. He had
engineered Pa^ °^ the robbery and Anita
Grunberg W98 his wife. He had once caught
sight ofboti^ o^us when we were dining with
her at the b01^ anc^ having read that I was
killed, my aPP^1'2111^ in ^e flesh at the Falls
had startled him badly. He and Anita had
married qui^ y01111^? but she had soon drifted
away from ^lln- She had got in with a bad lot, he told me^^d it was then for the first time
that I heard °fthe "Colonel." Carton himself
had never b^" "^i^d up in anything except
this one afl^111'"80 he solemnly assured me, and I was pclined to believe him. He was
297
emphatically not of the stuff of which
successful criminals are made.
"I still had the feeling that he was keeping
back something. As a test, I threatened to
shoot him there and then, declaring that I
cared very little what became of me now. In a
frenzy of terror he poured out a further story.
It seems that Anita Griinberg did not quite
trust the "Colonel." Whilst pretending to
hand over to him the stones she had taken
from the hotel, she kept back some in her
own possession. Carton advised her, with his
technical knowledge, which to keep. If, at any
time, these stones were produced, they were
of such colour and quality as to be readily
identifiable, and the experts at De Beers'
would admit at once that these stones had
never passed through their hands. In this
way, my story of a substitution would be
supported, my name would be cleared, and
suspicion would be diverted to the proper
quarter. I gathered that, contrary to his usual
practice, the "Colonel" himself had been
concerned in this affair, therefore Anita felt
satisfied that she had a real hold over him,
should she need it. Carton now proposed that
I should make a bargain with Anita
Gninberg, or Nadina, as she now called
298
herself. For a sufficient sum of money, he
thought that she would be willing to give up
the diamonds and betray her former
employer. He would cable to her
immediately.
"I was still suspicious of Carton. He was a
man whom it was easy enough to frighten,
but who, in his fright, would tell so many lies
that to sift the truth out from them would be
no easy job. I went back to the hotel and
waited. By the following evening I judged
that he would have received the reply to his
cable. I called round at his house and was told
that Mr. Carton was away, but would be
returning on the morrow. Instantly I became
suspicious. In the nick of time I found out
that he was in reality sailing for England on
the Kilmorden Castle, which left Cape Town
in two day's time. I had just time to journey
down and catch the same boat.
"I had no intention of alarming Carton by
revealing my presence on board. I had done a
good deal of acting in my time at Cambridge,
and it was comparatively easy for me to
transform myself into a grave bearded
gentleman of middle age. I avoided Carton
carefully on board the boat, keeping to my
TMITBS20 299
own cabin as far as possible under the
pretence of illness.
"I had no difficulty in trailing him when
we got to London. He went straight to an
hotel and did not go out until the following
day. He left the hotel shortly before one
o'clock. I was behind him. He went straight
to a house-agent in Knightsbridge. There he
asked for particulars of houses to let on the
river.
"I was at the next table also inquiring about
houses. Then suddenly in walked Anita
Gninberg, Nadina—whatever you like to call
her. Superb, insolent, and almost as beautiful
as ever. God! how I hated her. There she was,
the woman who had ruined my life—and who
had also ruined a better life than mine. At
that minute I could have put my hands round
her neck and squeezed the life out other inch
by inch! Just for a minute or two I saw red. I
hardly took in what the agent was saying. It
was her voice that I heard next, high and
clear, with an exaggerated foreign accent:
"The Mill House, Marlow. The property of
Sir Eustace Pedler. That sounds as though it
might suit me. At any rate, I will go and see
it.'
"The man wrote her an order, and she
300
walked out again in her regal insolent
manner. Not by word or a sign had she
recognized Carton, yet I was sure that their
meeting there was a preconceived plan. Then
I started to jump to conclusions. Not
knowing that Sir Eustace was at Cannes, I
thought that this house-hunting business was
a mere pretext for meeting him in the Mill
House. I knew that he had been in South
Africa at the time of the robbery, and never
having seen him I immediately leaped to the
conclusion that he himself was the mysterious
"Colonel" of whom I had heard so much.
"I followed my two suspects along
Knightsbridge. Nadina went into the Hyde
Park Hotel. I quickened my pace and went in
also. She walked straight into the restaurant,
and I decided that I would not risk her
recognizing me at the moment, but would
continued to follow Carton. I was in great
hopes that he was going to get the diamonds,
and that by suddenly appearing and making
myself known to him when he least expected
it I might startle the truth out of him. I
followed him down into the Tube station at
Hyde Park Corner. He was standing by
himself at the end of the platform. There was
some girl standing near, but no one else. I
301
decided that I would accost him then and
there. You know what happened. In the
sudden shock of seeing a man whom he
imagined far away in South Africa, he lost his
head and stepped back upon the line. He was
always a coward. Under the pretext of being a
doctor, I managed to search his pockets.
There was a wallet with some notes in it and
one or two unimportant letters, there was a
roll of films—which I must have dropped
somewhere later—and there was a piece of
paper with an appointment made on it for the
22nd on the Kilmorden Castle. In my haste to
get away before anyone detained me, I
dropped that also, but fortunately I
remembered the figures.
"I hurried to the nearest cloak-room and
hastily removed my make-up. I did not want
to be laid by the heels for picking a dead
man's pocket. Then I retraced my steps to the
Hyde Park Hotel. Nadina was still having
lunch. I needn't describe in detail how I
followed her down to Marlow. She went into
the house, and I spoke to the woman at the
lodge, pretending that I was with her. Then
I, too, went in."
He stopped. There was a tense silence.
"You will believe me, Anne, won't you? I
302
swear before God that what I am going to say
is true. I went into the house after her with
something very like murder in my heart—and
she was dead! I found her in the first-floor
room—God! It was horrible. Dead—and I was
not more than three minutes behind her. And
there was no sign of anyone else in the house!
Of course I realized at once the terrible
position I was in. By one master-stroke the
blackmailed had rid himself of the
blackmailer, and at the same time had
provided a victim to whom the crime would
be ascribed. The hand of the "Colonel" was
very plain. For the second time I was to be his
victim. Fool that I had been to walk into the
trap so easily!
"I hardly know what I did next. I managed
to go out of the place looking fairly normal,
but I knew that it would not be long before
the crime was discovered and a description of
my appearance telegraphed all over the
country.
"I lay low for some days, not daring to
make a move. In the end, chance came to my
aid. I overheard a conversation between two
middle-aged gentlemen in the street, one of
whom proved to be Sir Eustace Pedler. I at
once conceived the idea of attaching myself to
303
him as his secretary. The fragment of
conversation I had overheard gave me my
clue. I was now no longer so sure that Sir
Eustace Pedler was the "Colonel." His house
might have been appointed as a rendezvous
by accident, or for some obscure motive that I
had not fathomed."
"Do you know," I interrupted, "that Guy
Pagett was in Marlow at the date of the
murder?"
"That settles it then. I thought he was at
Cannes with Sir Eustace."
"He was supposed to be in Florence—but
he certainly never went there. I'm pretty
certain he was really in Marlow, but of course
I can't prove it."
"And to think I never suspected Pagett for
a minute until the night he tried to throw you
overboard. The man's a marvellous actor."
"Yes, isn't he?"
"That explains why the Mill House was
chosen. Pagett could probably get in and out
of it unobserved. Of course he made no
objection to my accompanying Sir Eustace
across in the boat. He didn't want me laid by
the heels immediately. You see, evidently
Nadina didn't bring the jewels with her to the
rendezvous, as they had counted on her
304
doing. I fancy that Carton really had them
and concealed them somewhere on the
Kilmorden Castle— that's where he came in.
They hoped that I might have some clue as to
where they were hidden. As long as the
"Colonel" did not recover the diamonds, he
was still in danger—hence his anxiety to get
them at all costs. Where the devil Carton hid
them—if he did hide them—I don't know."
"That's another story," I quoted. "My
story. And I'm going to tell it to you now."
to
%•:•1
if-;' •
i^.
305
27
ARRY listened attentively whilst I
recounted all the events that I have
narrated in these pages. The thing
that bewildered and astonished him most was
to find that all along the diamonds had been
in my possession—or rather in Suzanne's.
That was a fact he had never suspected. Of
course, after hearing his story, I realized the
point of Carton's little arrangement—or
rather Nadina's, since I had no doubt that it
was her brain which had conceived the plan.
No surprise tactics executed against her or
her husband could result in the seizure of the
diamonds. The secret was locked in her own
brain, and the "Colonel" was not likely to
guess that they had been entrusted to the
keeping of an ocean steward!
H
Harry's vindication from the old charge of
theft seemed assured. It was the other graver
charge that paralysed all our activies. For, as
things stood, he could not come out in the
open to prove his case.
The one thing we came back to, again and
306
again, was the identity of the "Colonel." Was
he, or was he not. Guy Pagett?
"I should say he was but for one thing,"
said Harry. "It seems pretty much of a
certainty that it was Pagett who murdered
Anita Griinberg at Marlow--and that
certainly lends colour to the supposition that
he is actually the 'Colonel,' since Anita's
business was not of the nature to be discussed
with a subordinate. No--the only thing that
militates against that theory is the attempt to
put you out of the way on the night of your
arrival here. You saw Pagett left behind at
Cape Town--by no possible means could he
have arrived here before the following
Wednesday. He is unlikely to have any
emissaries in this part of the world, and all his
plans were laid to deal with you in Cape
Town. He might, of course, have cabled
instructions to some lieutenant of his in
Johannesburg, who could have joined the
Rhodesian train at Mafeking, but his instructions
would have had to be particularly
definite to allow of that note being written."
We sat silent for a moment, then Harry
went on slowly:
"You say that Mrs. Blair was asleep when
you left the hotel and that you heard Sir
307
Eustace dictating to Miss Pettigrew? Where
was Colonel Race?"
"I could not find him anywhere."
"Had he any reason to believe that--you
and I might be friendly with each other?"
"He might have had," I answered thoughtfully,
remembering our conversation on the
way back from Matoppos. "He's a very powerful personality," I continued, "but not
at all my idea of the 'Colonel.' And, anyway, such an idea would be absurd. He's in the
Secret Service."
"How do we know that he is? It's the
easiest thing in the world to throw out a hint
of that kind. No one contradicts it, and the
rumour spreads until everyone believes it as
gospel truth. It provides an excuse for all
sorts of doubtful doings. Anne, do you like
Race?"
"I do--and I don't. He repels me and at the
same time fascinates me; but I know one
thing, I'm always a little afraid of him."
"He was in South Africa, you know, at the
time of the Kimberley robbery," said Harry
slowly.
"But it was he who told Suzanne all about
the 'Colonel' and how he had been in Paris
trying to get on his track."
308
" Camouflage—of a particularly clever
kind."
"But where does Pagett come in? Is he in
Race's pay?"
"Perhaps," said Harry slowly, "he doesn't
come in at all."
"What?"
"Think back, Anne. Did you ever hear
Pagett's own account of that night on the
Kilmorden?"
"Yes—through Sir Eustace."
I repeated it. Harry listened closely.
"He saw a man coming from the direction
of Sir Eustace's cabin and followed him up on
deck. Is that what he says? Now, who had the
cabin opposite to Sir Eustace? Colonel Race.
Supposing Colonel Race crept up on deck,
and, foiled in his attack on you, fled round
the deck and met Pagett just coming through
the saloon door. He knocks him down and
springs inside, closing the door. We dash
round and find Pagett lying there. How's
that?"
"You forget that he declares positively it
was you who knocked him down."
"Well, suppose that just as he regains
consciousness he sees me disappearing in the
distance? Wouldn't he take it for granted that
309
I was his assailant? Especially as he thought
all along it was I he was following?"
"It's possible, yes," I said slowly. "But it
alters all our ideas. And there are other
things."
"Most of them are open to explanation.
The man who followed you in Cape Town
spoke to Pagett, and Pagett looked at his
watch. The man might have merely asked
him the time."
"It was just a coincidence, you mean?"
"Not exactly. There's a method in all this,
connecting Pagett with the affair. Why was
the Mill House chosen for the murder? Was
it because Pagett had been in Kimberley
when the diamonds were stolen? Would he
have been made the scapegoat if I had not
appeared so providentially upon the scene?"
"Then you think he may be entirely
innocent?"
"It looks like it, but, if so, we've got to find
out what he was doing in Marlow. If he's got
a reasonable explanation of that, we're on the
right tack."
He got up.
"It's past midnight. Turn in, Anne, and get
some sleep. Just before dawn I'll take you
over in the boat. You must catch the train at
310
Livingstone. I've got a friend there who will
keep you hidden away until the train starts.
You go to Bulawayo and catch the Beira train
there. I can find out from my friend in
Livingstone what's going on at the hotel and
where your friends are now."
"Beira," I said meditatively.
"Yes, Anne, it's Beira for you. This is
man's work. Leave it to me."
We had had a momentary respite from
emotion whilst we talked the situation out,
but it was on us again now. We did not even
look at each other.
"Very well," I said, and passed into the
hut.
I lay down on the skin-covered couch, but I
didn't sleep, and outside I could hear Harry
Rayburn pacing up and down, up and down
through the long dark hours. At last he called
me:
"Come, Anne, it's time to go."
I got up and came out obediently. It was
still quite dark, but I knew that dawn was not
far off.
"We'll take the canoe, not the motorboat----"
Harry began, when suddenly he
stopped dead and held up his hand.
"Hush! What's that?"
311
I listened, but could hear nothing. His ears
were sharper than mine, however, the ears of
a man who has lived long in the wilderness.
Presently I heard it too—the faint splash of
paddles in the water coming from the
direction of the right bank of the river and
rapidly approaching our little landing-stage.
We strained our eyes in the darkness, and
could make out a dark blur on the surface of
the water. It was a boat. Then there was a
momentary spurt of flame. Someone had
struck a match. By its light I recognized one
figure, the red-bearded Dutchman of the villa
at Muizenberg. The others were natives.
"Quick—back to the hut."
Harry swept me back with him. He took
down a couple of rifles and a revolver from
the wall.
"Can you load a rifle?"
"I never have. Show me how."
I grasped his instructions well enough. We
closed the door and Harry stood by the
window which overlooked the landing-stage.
The boat was just about to run alongside it.
"Who's that?" called out Harry, in a
ringing voice.
Any doubt we might have had as to our
visitors' intentions was swiftly resolved. A
312
hail of bullets splattered round us.
Fortunately neither of us was hit. Harry
raised the rifle. It spat murderously, and
again and again. I heard two groans and a
splash.
"That's given 'em something to think
about," he muttered grimly, as he reached for
the second rifle. "Stand well back, Anne, for
God's sake. And load quickly."
More bullets. One just grazed Harry's
cheek. His answering fire was more deadly
than theirs. I had the rifle reloaded when he
turned for it. He caught me close with his left
arm and kissed me once savagely before he
turned to the window again. Suddenly he
uttered a shout.
"They're going—had enough of it. They're
a good mark out there on the water, and they
can't see how many of us there are. They're
routed for the moment—but they'll come
back. We'll have to get ready for them." He
flung down the rifle and turned to me.
"Anne! You beauty! You wonder! You
little queen! As brave as a lion. Black-haired
witch!"
He caught me in his arms. He kissed my
hair, my eyes, my mouth.
"And now to business," he said, suddenly
313
releasing me. "Get out those tins of
paraffin."
I did as I was told. He was busy inside the
hut. Presently I saw him on the roof of the
hut, crawling along with something in his
arms. He rejoined me in a minute or two.
"Go down to the boat. We'll have to carry
it across the island to the other side."
He picked up the paraffin as I disappeared.
"They're coming back," I called softly. I
had seen the blur moving out from the
opposite shore.
He ran down to me.
"Just in time. Why—where the hell's the
boat?"
Both had been cut adrift. Harry whistled
softly.
"We're in a tight place, honey. Mind?"
"Not with you."
"Ah, but dying together's not much fun.
We'll do better than that. See—they've got
two boat-loads this time. Going to land at two
different points. Now for my little scenic
effect."
Almost as he spoke a long flame shot up
from the hut. Its light illuminated two
crouching figures huddled together on the
roof.
314
"My old clothes—stuffed with rugs—but
they won't tumble to it for some time. Come,
Anne, we've got to try desperate means."
Hand in hand, we raced across the island.
Only a narrow channel of water divided it
from the shore on that side.
"We've got to swim for it. Can you swim at
all, Anne? Not that it matters. I can get you
across. It's the wrong side for a boat—too
many rocks, but the right side for swimming,
and the right side for Livingstone."
"I can swim a little—further than that.
What's the danger. Harry?" For I had seen
the grim look on his face. "Sharks?"
"No, you little goose. Sharks live in the sea.
But you're sharp, Anne. Crocs, that's the
trouble."
"Crocodiles?"
"Yes, don't think of them—or say your
prayers, whichever you feel inclined."
We plunged in. My prayers must have been
efficacious, for we reached the shore without
adventure, and drew ourselves up wet and
dripping on the bank.
"Now for Livingstone. It's rough going,
I'm afraid, and wet clothes won't make it any
better. But it's got to be done."
That walk was a nightmare. My wet skirts
TMITBS 21 315
flapped round my legs, and my stockings
were soon torn off by the thorns. Finally, I
stopped, utterly exhausted. Harry came back
to me.
"Hold up, honey. I'll carry you for a bit."
That was the way I came into Livingstone,
slung across his shoulder like a sack of coals.
How he did it for all that way, I don't know.
The first faint light of dawn was just
breaking. Harry's friend was a young man of
twenty years old who kept a store of native
curios. His name was Ned—perhaps he had
another, but I never heard it. He didn't seem
in the least surprised to see Harry walk in,
dripping wet, holding an equally dripping
female by the hand. Men are very wonderful.
He gave us food to eat, and hot coffee, and
got our clothes dried for us whilst we rolled
ourselves in Manchester blankets of gaudy
hue. In the tiny back room of the hut we were
safe from observation whilst he departed to
make judicious inquiries as to what had
become of Sir Eustace's party, and whether
any of them were still at the hotel.
It was then that I informed Harry that
nothing would induce me to go to Beira. I
never meant to, anyway, but now all reason
for such proceedings had vanished. The point
316
of the plan had been that my enemies
believed me dead. Now that they knew I
wasn't dead, my going to Beira would do no
good whatever. They could easily follow me
there and murder me quietly. I should have
no one to protect me. It was finally arranged
that I should join Suzanne, wherever she was,
and devote all my energies to taking care of
myself. On no account was I to seek
adventures or endeavour to checkmate the
"Colonel."
I was to remain quietly with her and await
instructions from Harry. The diamonds were
to be deposited in the Bank at Kimberley
under the name of Parker.
"There's one thing," I said thoughtfully,
"we ought to have a code of some kind. We
don't want to be hoodwinked again by
messages purporting to come from one to the
other."
"That's easy enough. Any message that
comes genuinely from me will have the word
'and' crossed out in it."
"Without trade-mark, none genuine," I
murmured. "What about wires?"
"Any wires from me will be signed
'Andy'."
'Train will be in before long. Harry," said
317
«•
Ned, putting his head in, and withdrawing it
immediately.
I stood up.
"And shall I marry a nice steady man if I
find one?" I asked demurely.
Harry came close to me.
"My God! Anne, if you ever marry anyone
else but me, I'll wring his neck. And as for
you——"
"Yes," I said, pleasurably excited.
"I shall carry you away and beat you black
and blue!"
"What a delightful husband I have
chosen!" I said satirically. "And doesn't he
change his mind overnight!"
318
28
(Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler)
A I remarked once before, I am essentially
a man of peace. I yearn for a
quiet life--and that's just the one
thing I don't seem able to have. I am always
in the middle of storms and alarms. The relief
of getting away from Pagett with his
incessant nosing out of intrigues was enormous,
and Miss Pettigrew is certainly a useful
creature. Although there is nothing of the
houri about her, one or two of her accomplishments
are invaluable. It is true that I had
a touch of liver at Bulawayo and behaved like
a bear in consequence, but I had had a
disturbed night in the train. At 3 a.m. an
exquisitely dressed young man looking like a
musical-comedy hero of the Wild West
entered my compartment and asked where I
was going. Disregarding my first murmur of
"Tea--and for God's sake don't put sugar in
it, he repeated his question, laying stress on
the fact that he was not a waiter but an
Immigration officer. I finally succeeded in
319
satisfying him that I was suffering from no
infectious disease, that I was visiting
Rhodesia from the purest of motives, and
further gratified him with my full Christian
names and my place of birth. I then
endeavoured to snatch a little sleep, but some
officious ass aroused me at 5.30 with a cup of
liquid sugar which he called tea. I don't think
I threw it at him, but I know that that was
what I wanted to do. He brought me
unsugared tea, stone cold, at 6, and I then fell
asleep utterly exhausted, to awaken just
outside Bulawayo and be landed with a
beastly wooden giraffe, all legs and neck!
But for these small contretemps, all had
been going smoothly. And then fresh
calamity befell.
It was the night of our arrival at the Falls. I
was dictating to Miss Pettigrew in my sittingroom,
when suddenly Mrs. Blair burst in
without a word of excuse and wearing most
compromising attire.
"Where's Anne?" she cried.
A nice question to ask. As though I were
responsible for the girl. What did she expect
Miss Pettigrew to think? That I was in the
habit of producing Anne Beddingfield from
320
my pocket at midnight or thereabouts? Very
compromising for a man in my position. <<I presume," I said coldly, "that she is in
her bed."
I cleared my throat and glanced at Miss
Pettigrew, to show that I was ready to resume
dictating. I hoped Mrs. Blair would take the
hint. She did nothing of the kind. Instead she
sank into a chair, and waved a slippered foot
in an agitated manner.
"She's not in her room. I've been there, I
had a dream--a terrible dream--that she was
in some awful danger, and I got up and went
to her room, just to reassure myself, you
know. She wasn't there and her bed hadn't
been slept in."
She looked at me appealingly.
"What shall I do. Sir Eustace?"
Repressing the desire to reply, "Go to bed, and don't worry over nothing. An ablebodied
young woman like Anne Beddingfield
is perfectly well able to take care of herself." I
frowned judicially.
"What does Race say about it?"
Why should Race have it all his own way?
Let him have some of the disadvantages as
well as the advantages of female society.
"I can't find him anywhere."
321
She was evidently making a night of it. I
sighed, and sat down in a chair.
"I don't quite see the reason for your
agitation," I said patiently.
"My dream——"
"That curry we had for dinner!"
"Oh, Sir Eustace!"
The woman was quite indignant. And yet
everybody knows that nightmares are a direct
result of injudicious eating.
"After all," I continued persuasively, "why
shouldn't Anne Beddingfield and Race go out
for a little stroll without having the hotel
aroused about it?"
"You think they've just gone out for a stroll
together? But it's after midnight?"
"One does these foolish things when one is
young," I murmured, "though Race is
certainly old enough to know better."
"Do you really think so?"
"I dare say they've run away to make a
match of it," I continued soothingly, though
fully aware that I was making an idiotic
suggestion. For, after all, at a place like this,
where is there to run away to?
I don't know how much longer I should
have gone on making feeble remarks, but at
that moment Race himself walked in upon us.
322
At any rate, I had been partly right—he had
been out for a stroll, but he hadn't taken
Anne with him. However, I had been quite
wrong in my way of dealing with the
situation. I was soon shown that. Race had
the whole hotel turned upside-down in three
minutes. I've never seen a man more upset.
The thing is very extraordinary. Where did
the girl go? She walked out of the hotel, fully
dressed, about ten minutes past eleven, and
she was never seen again. The idea of suicide
seems impossible. She was one of those
energetic young women who are in love with
life, and have not the faintest intention of
quitting it. There was no train either way
until midday on the morrow, so she can't
have left the place. Then where the devil is
she?
Race is almost beside himself, poor fellow.
He has left no stone unturned. All the D.C.'s,
or whatever they call themselves, for
hundreds of miles round have been pressed
into the service. The native trackers have run
about on all fours. Everything that can be
done is being done—but no sign of Anne
Beddingfield. The accepted theory is that she
walked in her sleep. There are signs on the
path near the bridge which seem to show that
323
the girl walked deliberately off the edge. If so,
of course, she must have been dashed to
pieces on the rocks below. Unfortunately,
most of the footprints were obliterated by a
party of tourists who chose to walk that way
early on the Monday morning.
I don't know that it's a very satisfactory
theory. In my young days, I was always told
that sleep-walkers couldn't hurt themselves—
that their own sixth sense took care of them. I
don't think the theory satisfies Mrs. Blair
either.
I can't make that woman out. Her whole
attitude towards Race has changed. She
watches him now like a cat a mouse, and she
makes obvious efforts to bring herself to be
civil to him. And they used to be such
friends. Altogether she is unlike herself,
nervous, hysterical, starting and jumping at
the least sound. I am beginning to think that
it is high time I went to Jo'burg.
A rumour came along yesterday of a
mysterious island somewhere up the river,
with a man and a girl on it. Race got very
excited. It turned out to be all a mare's nest,
however. The man had been there for years,
and is well known to the manager of the
hotel. He takes parties up and down the river
324
in the season and points out crocodiles and a
stray hippopotamus or so to them. I believe
that he keeps a tame one which is trained to
bite pieces out of the boat on occasions. Then
he fends it off with a boathook, and the party
feel they have really got to the back of beyond
at last. How long the girl has been there is not
definitely known, but it seems pretty clear
that she can't be Anne, and there is a certain
delicacy in interfering in other people's
affairs. If I were this young fellow, I should
certainly kick Race off the island if he came
asking questions about my love affairs.
Later.
It is definitely settled that I go to Jo'burg
to-morrow. Race urges me to do so. Things
are getting unpleasant there, by all I hear, but
I might as well go before they get worse. I
dare say I shall be shot by a striker, anyway.
Mrs. Blair was to have accompanied me, but
at the last minute she changed her mind and
decided to stay on at the Falls. It seems as
though she couldn't bear to take her eyes off
Race. She came to me to-night, and said, with
some hesitation, that she had a favour to ask.
Would I take charge other souvenirs for her?
"Not the animals?" I asked, in lively alarm.
325
I always felt that I should get stuck with those
beastly animals sooner or later.
In the end, we effected a compromise. I
took charge of two small wooden boxes for
her which contained fragile articles. The
animals are to be packed by the local store in
vast crates and sent to Cape Town by rail, where Pagett will see to their being stored.
The people who are packing them say that
they are of a particularly awkward shape (I), and that special cases will have to be made. I pointed out to Mrs. Blair that by the time she
has got them home those animals will have
cost her easily a pound apiece!
Pagett is straining at the leash to rejoin me
in Jo'burg. I shall make an excuse of Mrs.
Blair's cases to keep him in Cape Town. I
have written him that he must receive the
cases and see to their safe disposal, as they
contain rare curios of immense value.
So all is settled, and I and Miss Pettigrew
go off into the blue together. And anyone
who has seen Miss Pettigrew will admit that
it is perfectly respectable.
326
29
johannesburg, March 6th.
THERE is something about the state of
things here that is not at all healthy.
To use the well-known phrase that I
have so often read, we are all living on the
edge of a volcano. Bands of strikers, or socalled
strikers, patrol the streets and scowl at
one in a murderous fashion. They are picking
out the bloated capitalists ready for when the
massacres begin, I suppose. You can't ride in
a taxi—if you do, strikers pull you out again.
And the hotels hint pleasantly that when the
food gives out they will fling you out on the
mat!
I met Reeves, my labour friend of the
Kilmorden, last night. He has cold feet worse
than any man I ever saw. He's like all the rest
of these people, they make inflammatory
speeches of enormous length, solely for
political purposes, and then wish they hadn't.
He's busy now going about and saying he
didn't really do it. When I met him, he was
)ust off to Cape Town, where he meditates
327
making a three days* speech in Dutch,
vindicating himself, and pointing out that the
things he said really meant something
entirely different. I am thankful that I do not
have to sit in the Legislative Assembly of
South Africa. The House of Commons is bad
enough, but at least we have only one
language, and some slight restriction as to
length of speeches. When I went to the
Assembly before leaving Cape Town, I
listened to a grey-haired gentleman with a
drooping moustache who looked exactly like
the Mock Turtle in Alice in Wonderland. He
dropped out his words one by one in a
particularly melancholy fashion. Every now
and then he galvanized himself to further
efforts by ejaculating something that sounded
like "Platt Skeet," uttered fortissimo and in
marked contrast to the rest of his delivery.
When he did this, half his audience yelled
"Whoof, whoof!" which is possibly Dutch
for "Hear, hear," and the other half woke up
with a start from the pleasant nap they had
been having. I was given to understand that
the gentleman had been speaking for at least
three days. They must have a lot of patience
in South Africa.
I have invented endless jobs to keep Pagett
328
in Cape Town, but at last the fertility of my
imagination has given out, and he joins me
to-morrow in the spirit of the faithful dog
who comes to die by his master's side. And I
was getting on so well with my Reminiscences
too! I had invented some extraordinarily
witty things that the strike leaders
said to me and I said to the strike leaders.
This morning I was interviewed by a
Government official. He was urbane, persuasive
and mysterious in turn. To begin with, he alluded to my exalted position and
importance, and suggested that I should
remove myself, or be removed by him, to
Pretoria.
"You expect trouble, then?" I asked.
His reply was so worded as to have no
meaning whatsoever, so I gathered that they
were expecting serious trouble. I suggested to
him that his Government were letting things
go rather far.
"There is such a thing as giving a man
enough rope, and letting him hang himself, Sir Eustace."
"Oh, quite so, quite so."
"It is not the strikers themselves who are
causing the trouble. There is some organization
at work behind them. Arms and
329
explosives have been pouring in, and we have
made a haul of certain documents which
throw a good deal of light on the methods
adopted to import them. There is a regular
code. Potatoes mean 'detonators,' cauliflower,
'rifles,' other vegetables stand for
various explosives."
"That's very interesting," I commented.
"More than that. Sir Eustace, we have
every reason to believe that the man who runs
the whole show, the directing genius of the
affair, is at this minute in Johannesburg."
He stared at me so hard that I began to fear
that he suspected me of being the man. I
broke out in a cold perspiration at the
thought, and began to regret that I had ever
conceived the idea of inspecting a miniature
revolution at first hand.
"No trains are running from Jo'burg to
Pretoria," he continued. "But I can arrange
to send you over by private car. In case you
should be stopped on the way, I can provide
you with two separate passes, one issued by
the Union Government, and the other stating
that you are an English visitor who has
nothing whatsoever to do with the Union."
"One for your people, and one for the
strikers, eh?"
330
"Exactly."
The project did not appeal to me—I know
what happens in a case of that kind. You get
flustered and mix the things up. I should
hand the wrong pass to the wrong person,
and it would end in my being summarily shot
by a bloodthirsty rebel, or one of the
supporters of law and order whom I notice
guarding the streets wearing bowler hats and
smoking pipes, with rifles tucked carelessly
under their arms. Besides, what should I do
with myself in Pretoria? Admire the
architecture of the Union buildings, and
listen to the echoes of the shooting round
Johannesburg? I should be penned up there
God knows how long. They've blown up the
railway line already, I hear. It isn't even as if
one could get a drink there. They put the
place under martial law two days ago.
"My dear fellow," I said, "you don't seem
to realize that I'm studying conditions on the
Rand. How the devil am I going to study
them from Pretoria? I appreciate your care
for my safety, but don't you worry about me.
I shall be all right."
"I warn you. Sir Eustace, that the food
question is already serious."
TMITBS22 331
"A little fasting will improve my figure," I
said, with a sigh.
We were interrupted by a telegram being
handed to me. I read it with amazement:
"Anne is safe. Here with me at Kimberley.
Suzanne Blair."
I don't think I ever really believed in the
annihilation of Anne. There is something
peculiarly indestructible about that young
woman—she is like the patent balls that one
gives to terriers. She has an extraordinary
knack of turning up smiling. I still don't see
why it was necessary for her to walk out of
the hotel in the middle of the night in order
to get to Kimberley. There was no train,
anyway. She must have put on a pair of
angel's wings and flown there. And I don't
suppose she will ever explain. Nobody does—
to me. I always have to guess. It becomes
monotonous after a while. The exigencies of
journalism are at the bottom of it, I suppose.
"How I shot the rapids," by our Special
Corrspondent.
I refolded the telegram and got rid of my
Government friend. I don't like the prospect
of being hungry, but I'm not alarmed for my
personal safety. Smuts is perfectly capable of
dealing with the revolution. But I would give
332
a considerable sum of money for a drink! I
wonder ifPagett will have the sense to bring a
bottle of whisky with him when he arrives tomorrow?

I put on my hat and went out, intending to
buy a few souvenirs. The curio-shops in
Jo'burg are rather pleasant. I was just
studying a window full of imposing karosses,
when a man coming out of the shop cannoned
into me. To my surprise it turned out to be
Race. Y K
I can't flatter myself that he looked pleased
to see me. As a matter of fact, he looked
distinctly annoyed, but I insisted on his
accompanying me back to the hotel. I get
tired of having no one but Miss Pettigrew to
talk to.
"I had no idea you were in Jo'burg," I said
chattily. "When did you arrive?"
"Last night."
"Where are you staying?"
"With friends."
He was disposed to be extraordinarily
taciturn, and seemed to be embarrassed by
my questions.
"I hope they keep poultry," I remarked.
A diet of new-laid eggs, and the occasional
333
slaughtering of an old cock, will be decidedly
agreeable soon, from all I hear."
"By the way," I said, when we were back in
the hotel, "have you heard that Miss
Beddingfield is alive and kicking?"
He nodded.
"She gave us quite a fright," I said airily.
"Where the devil did she go to that night,
that's what I'd like to know."
"She was on the island all the time."
"Which island? Not the one with the young
man on it?"
"Yes."
"How very improper," I said. "Pagett will
be quite shocked. He always did disapprove
ofAnne Beddingfield. I suppose that was the
young man she originally intended to meet in
Durban?"
"I don't think so."
"Don't tell me anything you don't want
to," I said, by way of encouraging him.
"I fancy that this is a young man we should
all be very glad to lay our hands on."
"Not——?" I cried, in rising excitement.
He nodded.
"Harry Rayburn, alias Harry Lucas—that's
his real name, you know. He's given us all the
334
slip once more, but we're bound to rope him
.- »>
in soon.
"Dear me, dear me," I murmured.
"We don't suspect the girl of complicity in
any case. On her side it's—just a love-affair."
I always did think Race was in love with
Anne. The way he said those last few words
made me feel sure of it.
"She's gone to Beira," he continued rather
hastily.
"Indeed," I said, staring. "How do you
know?"
"She wrote to me from Bulawayo, telling
me she was going home that way. The best
thing she can do, poor child."
"Somehow, I don't fancy she is in Beira," I
said meditatively.
"She was just starting when she wrote."
I was puzzled. Somebody was clearly lying.
Without stopping to reflect that Anne might
have excellent reasons for her misleading
statements, I gave myself up to the pleasure
of scoring off Race. He is always so cocksure.
I took the telegram from my pocket and
handed it to him.
"Then how do you explain this?" I asked
nonchalantly.
He seemed dumbfounded. "She said she
335
was just starting for Beira," he said, in a
dazed voice.
I know that Race is supposed to be clever.
He is, in my opinion, a rather stupid man. It
never seemed to occur to him that girls do not
always tell the truth.
"Kimberley too. What are they doing
there?" he muttered.
"Yes, that surprised me. I should have
thought Miss Anne would have been in the
thick of it here, gathering copy for the Daily
Budget"
"Kimberley," he said again. The place
seemed to upset him. "There's nothing to see
there--the pits aren't being worked."
"You know what women are," I said
vaguely.
He shook his head and went off. I have
evidently given him something to think
about.
No sooner had he departed than my
Government official reappeared.
"I hope you will forgive me for troubling
you again. Sir Eustace," he apologized. "But
there are one or two questions I should like to
ask you."
"Certainly, my dear fellow," I said cheerfully.
"Ask away."
336
"It concerns your secretary----
"I know nothing about him," I said hastily. "He foisted himself upon me in London, robbed me of valuable papers--for which I
shall be hauled over the coals--and disappeared
like a conjuring trick at Cape
Town. It's true that I was at the Falls at the
same time as he was, but I was at the hotel, and he was on an island. I can assure you that
I never set eyes upon him the whole time I
was there."
I paused for breath.
"You misunderstand me: It was of your
other secretary that I spoke."
"What? Pagett?" I cried, in lively astonishment.
"He's been with me eight years--a
most trustworthy fellow."
My interlocutor smiled.
"We are still at cross-purposes. I refer to
the lady."
"Miss Pettigrew?" I exclaimed.
"Yes. She has been seen coming out of
Agrasato's Native Curio-shop."
"God bless my soul!" I interrupted. "I was
going into that place myself this afternoon.
You might have caught me coming out!"
There doesn't seem to be any innocent
337
thing that one can do in Jo'burg without
being suspected for it.
"Ah! but she has been there more than
once—and in rather doubtful circumstances. I
may as well tell you—in confidence. Sir
Eustace—that the place is suspected of being
a well-known rendezvous used by the secret
organization behind this revolution. That is
why I should be glad to hear all that you can
tell me about this lady. Where and how did
you come to engage her?"
"She was lent to me," I replied coldly, "by
your own Government."
He collapsed utterly.
338
30
(Anne's Narrative Resumed)
A soon as I got to Kimberley I wired to
Suzanne. She joined me there with
the utmost dispatch, heralding her
arrival with telegrams sent off en route. I was
awfully surprised to find that she really was
fond of me—I thought I had been just a new
sensation, but she positively fell on my neck
and wept when we met.
When we had recovered from our emotion
a little, I sat down on the bed and told her the
whole story from A to Z.
"You always did suspect Colonel Race,"
she said thoughtfully, when I had finished. "I
didn't until the night you disappeared. I liked
him so much all along and thought he would
make such a nice husband for you. Oh, Anne,
dear, don't be cross, but how do you know
that this young man of yours is telling the
truth? You believe every word he says."
"Of course I do," I cried indignantly.
"But what is there in him that attracts you
so? I don't see that there's anything in him at
339
all except his rather reckless good looks and
his modern Sheik-cum-Stone-Age lovemaking."

I poured out the vials of my wrath upon
Suzanne for some minutes.
"Just because you're comfortably married
and getting fat, you've forgotten that there's
any such thing as romance," I ended.
"Oh, I'm not getting fat, Anne. All the
worry I've had about you lately must have
worn me to a shred."
"You look particularly well nourished," I
said coldly. "I should say you must have put
on about half a stone."
"And I don't know that I'm so comfortably
married either," continued Suzanne in a
melancholy voice. "I've been having the most
dreadful cables from Clarence ordering me to
come home at once. At last I didn't answer
them, and now I haven't heard for over a fortnight."

I'm afraid I didn't take Suzanne's
matrimonial troubles very seriously. She will
be able to get round Clarence all right when
the time comes. I turned the conversation to
the subject of the diamonds.
Suzanne looked at me with a dropped jaw.
"I must explain, Anne. You see, as soon as
340
I began to suspect Colonel Race, I was
terribly upset about the diamonds. I wanted
to stay on at the Falls in case he might have
kidnapped you somewhere close by, but
didn't know what to do about the diamonds.
I was afraid to keep them in my possession----"

Suzanne looked round her uneasily, as
though she feared the walls might have ears,
and then whispered vehemently in my ear.
"A distinctly good idea," I approved. "At
the time, that is. It's a bit awkward now.
What did Sir Eustace do with the cases?"
"The big ones were sent down to Cape
Town. I heard from Pagett before I left the
Falls, and he enclosed the receipt for their
storage. He's leaving Cape Town to-day, by
the by, to join Sir Eustace in Johannesburg."
"I see," I said thoughtfully. "And the
small ones, where are they?"
"I suppose Sir Eustace has got them with
him."
I turned the matter over in my mind.
"Well," I said at last, "it's awkward--but
it's safe enough. We'd better do nothing for
the present."
Suzanne looked at me with a little smile.
I . 341
"You don't like doing nothing, do you,
Anne?"
"Not very much," I replied honestly.
The one thing I could do was to get hold of
a time-table and see what time Guy Pagett's
train would pass through Kimberley. I found
that it would arrive at 5.40 on the following
afternoon and depart again at 6. I wanted to
see Pagett as soon as possible, and that
seemed to me a good opportunity. The
situation on the Rand was getting very
serious, and it might be a long time before I
got another chance.
The only thing that livened up the day was
a wire dispatched from Johannesburg. A most
innocent-sounding telegram:
"Arrived safely. All going well. Eric here,
also Eustace, but not Guy. Remain where
you are for the present. Andy."
Eric was our pseudonym for Race. I chose
it because it is a name I dislike exceedingly.
There was clearly nothing to be done until I
could see Pagett. Suzanne employed herself
in sending off a long soothing cable to the faroff
Clarence. She became quite sentimental
over him. In her way—which of course is
342
quite different from me and Harry--she is
really fond of Clarence.
"I do wish he was here, Anne," she gulped.
"It's such a long time since I've seen him."
"Have some face-cream," I said soothingly.
Suzanne rubbed a little on the tip of her
charming nose.
"I shall want some more face-cream soon
too," she remarked, "and you can only get
this kind in Paris." She sighed. "Paris!"
"Suzanne," I said, "very soon you'll have
had enough of South Africa and adventure."
"I should like a really nice hat," admitted
Suzanne wistfully. "Shall I come with you to
meet Guy Pagett tomorrow?"
"I prefer to go alone. He'd be shyer
speaking before two of us."
So it came about that I was standing in the
doorway of the hotel on the following
afternoon, struggling with a recalcitrant
parasol that refused to go up, whilst Suzanne
lay peacefully on her bed with a book and a
basket of fruit.
According to the hotel porter, the train was
on its good behaviour to-day and would be
almost on time, though he was extremely
doubtful whether it would ever get through ^ Johannesburg. The line had been blown
343
up, so he solemnly assured me. It sounded
cheerful!
The train drew in just ten minutes late.
Everybody tumbled out on the platform and
began walking up and down feverishly. I had
no difficulty in espying Pagett. I accosted
him eagerly. He gave his usual nervous start
at seeing me--somewhat accentuated this
time.
"Dear me. Miss Beddingfield, I understood
that you had disappeared."
"I have reappeared again," I told him
solemnly. "And how are you, Mr. Pagett?"
"Very well, thank you--looking forward to
taking up my work again with Sir Eustace."
"Mr. Pagett," I said, "there is something I
want to ask you. I hope that you won't be
offended, but a lot hangs on it, more than you
can possibly guess. I want to know what you
were doing at Marlow on the 8th of January
last?"
He started violently.
"Really, Miss BeddingfieldI-indeed----"
"You
were there, weren't you?"
"I--for reasons of my own I was in the
neighbourhood, yes."
344
"Won't you tell me what those reasons
were?"
"Sir Eustace has not already told you?"
"Sir Eustace? Does he know?"
"I am almost sure that he does. I hoped he
had not recognized me, but from the hints he
has let drop, and his remarks, I fear it is only
too certain. In any case, I meant to make a
clean breast of the matter and offer him my
resignation. He is a peculiar man. Miss
Beddingfield, with an abnormal sense of
humour. It seems to amuse him to keep me
on tenterhooks. All the time, I dare say, he
was perfectly well aware of the true facts.
Possibly he has known them for years."
I hoped that sooner or later I should be able
to understand what Pagett was talking about.
He went on fluently:
"It is difficult for a man of Sir Eustace's
standing to put himself in my position. I
know that I was in the wrong, but it seemed a
harmless deception. I would have thought it
better taste on his part to have tackled me
outright—instead of indulging in covert jokes
at my expense."
A whistle blew, and the people began to
surge back into the train.
"Yes, Mr. Pagett," I broke in, "I'm sure I
345
quite agree with all you're saying about Sir
Eustace. But why did you go to Marlowe
"It was wrong of me, but natural under the
circumstances—yes, I still feel natural under
the circumstances."
"What circumstances?" I cried desperately.
For the first time, Pagett seemed to
recognize that I was asking him a question.
His mind detached itself from the
peculiarities of Sir Eustace, and his own
justification, and came to rest on me.
"I beg your pardon. Miss Beddingfield,"
he said stiffly, "but I fail to see your concern
in the matter."
He was back in the train now, leaning down
to speak to me. I felt desperate. What could
one do with a man like that?
"Of course, if it's so dreadful that you'd be
ashamed to speak of it to me——" I began
spitefully.
At last I had found the right stop. Pagett
stiffened and flushed.
"Dreadful? Ashamed? I don't understand
>»
you.
"Then tell me."
In three short sentences he told me. At last
I knew Pagett's secret! It was not in the least
what I expected.
346
I walked slowly back to the hotel. There a
wire was handed to me. I tore it open. It
contained full and definite instructions for
me to proceed forthwith to Johannesburg, or
rather to a station this side of Johannesburg,
where I should be met by a car. It was signed,
not Andy, but Harry.
I sat down in a chair to do some very
serious thinking.
tm^s, 347
^1
31
(From the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler)
johannesburg, March 7th.
PAGE-
funk,
we sl:
kAGETT has arrived. He is in a blue
funk, of course. Suggested at once that
we should go off to Pretoria. Then,
when I had told him kindly but firmly that
we were going to remain here, he went to the
other extreme, wished he had his rifle here,
and began bucking about some bridge he
guarded during the Great War. A railway
bridge at Little Puddlecombe junction, or
something of that sort.
I soon cut that short by telling him to
unpack the big typewriter. I thought that that
would keep him employed for some time,
because the typewriter was sure to have gone
wrong—it always does—and he would have to
take it somewhere to be mended. But I had
forgotten Pagett's powers of being in the
right.
"I've already unpacked all the cases. Sir
Eustace. The typewriter is in perfect
condition."
348
"What do you mean--all the cases?"
"The two small cases as well."
"I wish you wouldn't be so officious, Pagett. Those small cases were no business of
yours. They belong to Mrs. Blair."
Pagett looked crestfallen. He hates to make
a mistake.
"So you can just pack them up again
neatly," I continued. "After that you can go
out and look around you. Jo'burg will
probably be a heap of smoking ruins by tomorrow,
so it may be your last chance."
I thought that that would get rid of him
successfully for the morning, at any rate.
"There is something I want to say to you
when you have the leisure. Sir Eustace."
"I haven't got it now," I said hastily. "At
this minute I have absolutely no leisure whatsoever."
Pagett retired.
"By the way," I called after him, "what
was there in those cases of Mrs. Blair's?"
"Some fur rugs, and a couple of fur--hats, I
think."
"That's right," I assented. "She bought
them on the train. They are hats--of a kind--
though I hardly wonder at your not
recognizing them. I dare say she's going to
349
wear one of them at Ascot. What else was
there?"
"Some rolls of films, and some baskets--a
lot of baskets----"
"There would be," I assured him. "Mrs.
Blair is the kind of woman who never buys
less than a dozen or so of anything."
"I think that's all. Sir Eustace, exept some
miscellaneous odds and ends, a motor-veil
and some odd gloves--that sort of thing."
"If you hadn't been a born idiot, Pagett, you would have seen from the start that those
couldn't possibly be my belongings."
"I thought some of them might belong to
Miss Pettigrew."
"Ah, that reminds me--what do you mean
by picking me out such a doubtful character
as a secretary?"
And I told him about the searching crossexamination
I had been put through.
Immediately I was sorry, I saw a glint in his
eye that I knew only too well. I changed the
conversation hurriedly. But it was too late.
Pagett was on the warpath.
He next proceeded to bore me with a long
pointless story about the Kilmorden. It was
about a roll of films and a wager. The roll of
films being thrown through a port-hole in the
350
middle of the night by some steward who
ought to have known better. I hate horseplay.
I told Pagett so, and he began to tell me
the story all over again. He tells a story
extremely badly, anyway. It was a long time
before I could make head or tail of this one.
I did not see him again until lunchtime.
Then he came in brimming over with
excitement, like a bloodhound on the scent. I
never have cared for bloodhounds. The
upshort of it all was that he had seen
Rayburn.
"What?" I cried, startled.
Yes, he had caught sight of someone whom
he was sure was Rayburn crossing the street.
Pagett had followed him.
"And who do you think I saw him stop and
speak to? Miss Pettigrew!"
"What?"
"Yes, Sir Eustace. And that's not all. I've
been making inquiries about her----"
"Wait a bit. What happened to Rayburn?"
"He and Miss Pettigrew went into that
corner curio-shop----"
I uttered an involuntary exclamation.
Pagett stopped inquiringly.
^Nothing," I said. "Go on."
"I waited outside for ages--but they didn't
351
come out. At last I went in. Sir Eustace, there
was no one in the shop! There must be
another way out."
I stared at him.
"As I was saying, I came back to the hotel
and made some inquiries about Miss
Pettigrew." Pagett lowered his voice and
breathed hard as he always does when he
wants to be confidential. "Sir Eustace, a man
was seen coming out of her room last night."
I raised my eyebrows.
"And I always regarded her as a lady of
such eminent respectability," I murmured.
Pagett went on without heeding.
"I went straight up and searched her room.
What do you think I found?"
I shook my head.
"This!"
Pagett held up a safety razor and a stick of
shaving soap.
"What would a woman want with these?"
I don't suppose Pagett ever reads the
advertisements in the high-class ladies'
papers. I do. Whilst not proposing to argue
with him on the subject, I refused to accept
the presence of the razor as proof positive of
Miss Pettigrew's sex. Pagett is so hopelessly
behind the times. I should not have been at
352
all surprised if he had produced a cigarettecase
to support his theory. However, even
Fagett has his limits.
"You're not convinced. Sir Eustace. What
do you say to this?"
I inspected the article which he dangled
aloft triumphantly.
"It looks like hair," I remarked distastefully.

"It is hair. I think it's what they call a
toupee."
"Indeed," I commented.
"Now are you convinced that that
Pettigrew woman is a man in disguise?"
"Really, my dear Pagett, I think I am. I
might have known it by her feet."
"Then that's that. And now. Sir Eustace. I
want to speak to you about my private affairs.
I cannot doubt, from your hints and your
continual allusions to the time I was in
Florence, that you have found me out."
At last the mystery of what Pagett did in Florence is going to be revealed!
"Make a clean breast of it, my dear fellow,"
I said kindly. "Much the best way."
"Thank you. Sir Eustace."
"Is it her husband? Annoying fellows,
353
husbands. Always turning up when they're
least expected."
"I fail to follow you. Sir Eustace. Whose
husband?"
"The lady's husband."
"What lady?"
"God bless my soul, Pagett, the lady you
met in Florence. There must have been a
lady. Don't tell me that you merely robbed a
church or stabbed an Italian in the back
because you didn't like his face."
"I am quite at a loss to understand you. Sir
Eustace. I suppose you are joking."
"I am an amusing fellow sometimes, when
I take the trouble, but I can assure you that I
am not trying to be funny this minute."
"I hoped that as I was a good way off you
had not recognized me. Sir Eustace."
"Recognized you where?"
"At Marlow, Sir Eustace?"
"At Marlow? What the devil were you
doing at Marlow?"
"I thought you understood that——"
"I'm beginning to understand less and less.
Go back to the beginning of the story and
start again. You went to Florence——"
"Then you don't know after all—and you
didn't recognize me!"
354
"As far as I can judge, you seem to have
given yourself away needlessly—made a
coward of by your conscience. But I shall be
able to tell better when I've heard the whole
story. Now, then, take a deep breath and start
again. You went to Florence——"
"But I didn't go to Florence. That is just
it."
"Well, where did you go, then?"
"I went home—to Marlow."
"What the devil did you want to go to
Marlow for?"
"I wanted to see my wife. She was in
delicate health and expecting——"
"Your wife? But I didn't know you were
married!"
"No, Sir Eustace, that is just what I am
telling you. I deceived you in this matter."
"How long have you been married?"
"Just over eight years. I had been married
just six months when I became your
secretary. I did not want to lose the post. A
resident secretary is not supposed to have a
wife, so I suppressed the fact."
"You take my breath away," I remarked.
"Where has she been all these years?"
"We have had a small bungalow on the
355
river at Marlow, quite close to the Mill
House, for over five years."
"God bless my soul," I muttered. "Any
children?"
"Four children. Sir Eustace."
I gazed at him in a kind of stupor. I might
have known, all along, that a man like Pagett
couldn't have a guilty secret. The respectability
of Pagett has always been my bane.
That's just the kind of secret he would
have--a wife and four children.
"Have you told this to anyone else?" I
demanded at last, when I had gazed at him in
fascinated interest for quite a long while.
"Only Miss Beddingfield. She came to the
station at Kimberley."
I continued to stare at him. He fidgeted
under my glance.
"I hope. Sir Eustace, that you are not
seriously annoyed?"
"My dear fellow," I said. "I don't mind
telling you here and now that you've blinking
well torn it!"
I went out seriously ruffled. As I passed the
corner curio-shop, I was assailed by a sudden
irresistible temptation and went in. The
proprietor came forward obsequiously,
rubbing his hands.
356
"Can I show you something? Furs, curiosf"
"I want something quite out of the
ordinary," I said. "It's for a special occasion.
Will you show me what you've got?"
"Perhaps you will come into my back
room? We have many specialities there."
That is where I made a mistake. And I
thought I was going to be so clever. I
followed him through the swinging portieres.
•io
357
32
(Anne's Narrative Resumed)
I HAD great trouble
argued, she pleaded,
she would let me carr
HAD great trouble with Suzanne. She
argued, she pleaded, she even wept before
she would let me carry out my plan. But in
the end I got my own way. She promised to
carry out my instructions to the letter and
came down to the station to bid me a tearful
farewell.
I arrived at my destination the following
morning early. I was met by a short blackbearded
Dutchman whom I had never seen
before. He had a car waiting and we drove
off. There was a queer booming in the
distance, and I asked him what it was.
"Guns," he answered laconically. So there
was fighting going on in Jo'burg!
I gathered that our objective was a spot
somewhere in the suburbs of the city. We
turned and twisted and made several detours
to get there, and every minute the guns were
nearer. It was an exciting time. At last we
stopped before a somewhat ramshackle
building. The door was opened by a Kafir
358
boy. My guide signed to me to enter. I stood
irresolute in the dingy square hall. The man
passed me and threw open a door.
"The young lady to see Mr. Harry
Rayburn," he said, and laughed.
Thus announced, I passed in. The room
was sparsely furnished and smelt of cheap
tobacco smoke. Behind a desk a man sat
writing. He looked up and raised his eyebrows.

"Dear me," he said, "if it isn't Miss
Beddingfield!"
"I must be seeing double," I apologized.
"Is it Mr. Chichester, or is it Miss Pettigrew?
There is an extraordinary resemblance to
both of them."
"Both characters are in abeyance for the
moment. I have doffed my petticoats--and
my cloth likewise. Won't you sit down?"
I accepted a seat composedly.
"It would seem," I remarked, "that I have
come to the wrong address."
"From your point of view, I am afraid you
have. Really, Miss Beddingfield, to fall into
the trap a second time!"
"It was not very bright of me," I admitted
meekly.
359
Something about my manner seemed to
puzzle him.
"You hardly seem upset by the occurrence,"
he remarked dryly.
"Would my going into heroics have any
effect upon you?" I asked.
"It certainly would not."
"My Great-aunt Jane always used to say
that a true lady was neither shocked nor
surprised at anything that might happen," I
murmured dreamily. "I endeavour to live up
to her precepts."
I read Mr. Chichester-Pettigrew's opinion
so plainly written on his face that I hastened
into speech once more.
"You really are positively marvellous at
make-up," I said generously. "All the time
you were Miss Pettigrew I never recognized
you--even when you broke your pencil in the
shock of seeing me climb upon the train at
Cape Town."
He tapped upon the desk with the pencil he
was holding in his hand at the minute.
"All this is very well in its way, but we
must get to business. Perhaps, Miss Beddingfield,
you can guess why we required your
presence here?"
"You will excuse me," I said, "but I never
360
do business with anyone but principals."
I had read the phrase or something like it in
a moneylender's circular, and I was rather
pleased with it. It certainly had a devastating
effect upon Mr. Chichester-Pettigrew. He
opened his mouth and then shut it again. I
beamed upon him.
"My Great-uncle George's maxim," I
added, as an afterthought. "Great-aunt Jane's
husband, you know. He made knobs for brass
beds."
I doubt if Chichester-Pettigrew had ever
been ragged before. He didn't like it at all.
"I think you would be wise to alter your
tone, young lady."
I did not reply, but yawned—a delicate
little yawn that hinted at intense boredom.
"What the devil——" he began forcibly.
I interrupted him.
"I can assure you it's no good shouting at
me. We are only wasting time here. I have no
intention of talking with underlings. You will
save a lot of time and annoyance by taking me
straight to Sir Eustace Pedler."
"To——"
He looked dumbfounded.
"Yes," I said. "Sir Eustace Pedler."
"I—I— excuse me——"
361
He bolted from the room like a rabbit. I
took advantage of the respite to open my bag
and powder my nose thoroughly. Also I
settled my hat at a more becoming angle.
Then I settled myself to wait with patience
for my enemy's return.
He reappeared in a subtly changed mood.
"Will you come this way. Miss Beddingfield?"
I
followed him up the stairs. He knocked at
the door of a room, a brisk "Come in"
sounded from inside, and he opened the door
and motioned to me to pass inside.
Sir Eustace Pedler sprang up to greet me,
genial and smiling.
"Well, well. Miss Anne." He shook me
warmly by the hand. "I'm delighted to see
you. Come and sit down. Not tired after your
journey? That's good."
He sat down facing me, still beaming. It
left me rather at a loss. His manner was so
completely natural.
"Quite right to insist on being brought
straight to me," he went on. "Minks is a fool.
A clever actor—but a fool. That was Minks
you saw downstairs."
"Oh, really," I said feebly.
"And now," said Sir Eustace cheerfully,
362
FR1;"let's get down to facts. How long have you
known that I was the 'Colonel'?"
"Ever since Mr. Pagett told me that he had
seen you in Marlow when you were supposed
to be in Cannes."
Sir Eustace nodded ruefully.
"Yes, I told the fool he'd blinking well torn
it. He didn't understand, of course. His
whole mind was set on whether Pd recognized
him. It never occurred to him to
wonder what I was doing down there. A piece
of sheer bad luck that was. I arranged it all so
carefully too, sending him off to Florence, telling the hotel I was going over to Nice for
one night or possibly two. Then by the time
the murder was discovered, I was back again
in Cannes, with nobody dreaming that I'd
ever left the Riviera."
He still spoke quite naturally and
unaffectedly. I had to pinch myself to understand
that this was all real--that the man in
front of me was really that deep-dyed
criminal, the "Colonel." I followed things
out in my mind.
"Then it was you who tried to throw me
overboard on the Kilmorden^ I said slowly. 'It was you that Pagett followed up on deck
that night?"
TMITBS24 363
He shrugged his shoulders.
"I apologize, my dear child, I really do. I
always liked you--but you were so confoundedly
interfering. I couldn't have all my
plans brought to naught by a chit of a girl."
"I think your plan at the Falls was really
the cleverest," I said, endeavouring to look at
the thing in a detached fashion. "I would
have been ready to swear anywhere that you
were in the hotel when I went out. Seeing is
believing in future."
"Yes, Minks had one of his greatest
successes, as Miss Pettigrew, and he can
imitate my voice quite creditably."
"There is one thing I should like to know."
"Yes?"
"How did you induce Pagett to engage
her?"
"Oh, that was quite simple. She met Pagett
in the doorway of the Trade Commissioner's
office or the Chamber of Mines, or wherever
it was he went--told him I had 'phoned down
in a hurry, and that she had been selected by
the Government department in question.
Pagett swallowed it like a lamb."
"You're very frank," I said, studying him.
"There's no earthly reason why I shouldn't
be."
364
I didn't like the sound of that. I hastened to
put my own interpretation on it.
"You believe in the success of this
Revolution? You've burnt your boats."
"For an otherwise intelligent young
woman, that's a singularly unintelligent
remark. No, my dear child, I do not believe in
this Revolution. I give it a couple of days
longer and it will fizzle out ignominiously."
"Not one of your successes, in fact?" I said
nastily.
"Like all women, you've no idea of
business. The job I took on was to supply
certain explosives and arms—heavily paid
for—to foment feeling generally, and to
incriminate certain people up to the hilt. I've
carried out my contract with complete
success, and I was careful to be paid in
advance. I took special care over the whole
thing, as I intended it to be my last contract
before retiring from business. As for burning
my boats, as you call it, I simply don't know
what you mean. I'm not the rebel chief, or
anything of that kind—I'm a distinguished
Bnglish visitor, who had the misfortune to go
nosing into a certain curio-shop—and saw a
1 * « JL
little more than he was meant to, and so the
poor fellow was kidnapped. To-morrow, or
365
the day after, when circumstances permit. I
shall be found tied up somewhere, in a
pitiable state of terror and starvation."
"Ah!" I said slowly. "But what about me?"
"That's just it," said Sir Eustace softly.
"What about you? I've got you here—I don't
want to rub it in in any way—but I've got you
here very neatly. The question is, what am I
going to do with you? The simplest way of
disposing of you—and, I may add, the
pleasantest to myself—is the way of marriage.
Wives can't accuse their husbands, you
know, and I'd rather like a pretty young wife
to hold my hand and glance at me out of
liquid eyes—don't flash them at me so! You
quite frighten me. I see that the plan does not
commend itself to you?"
"It does not."
Sir Eustace sighed.
"A pity! But I am no Adelphi villain. The
usual trouble, I suppose. You love another, as
the books say."
"I love another."
"I thought as much—first I thought it was
that long-legged, pompous ass, Race, but I
suppose it's the young hero who fished you
out of the Falls that night. Women have no
taste. Neither of those two have half the
366
brains that I have. I'm such an easy person to
underestimate."
I think he was right about that. Although I
knew well enough the kind of man he was and
must be, I could not bring myself to realize it.
He had tried to kill me on more than one
occasion, he had actually killed another
woman, and he was responsible for endless
other deeds of which I knew nothing, and yet
I was quite unable to bring myself into the
frame of mind for appreciating his deeds as
they deserved. I could not think of him as
other than our amusing, genial travelling
companion. I could not even feel frightened
of him—and yet I knew he was capable of
having me murdered in cold blood if it struck
him as necessary. The only parallel I can
thinly of is the case of Stevenson's Long John
Silver. He must have been much the same
kind of man.
"Well, well," said this extraordinary
person, leaning back in his chair. "It's a pity
that the idea of being Lady Pedler doesn't
appeal to you. The other alternatives are
rather crude."
I felt a nasty feeling going up and down my
spi^. Of course I had known all along that I
wa$ taking a big risk, but the prize had
367
seemed worth it. Would things turn out as I
had calculated, or would they not?
"The fact of the matter is," Sir Eustace was
continuing, "I've a weakness for you. I really
don't want to proceed to extremes. Suppose
you tell me the whole story, from the very
beginning and let's see what we can make of
it. But no romancing, mind—I want the
truth."
I was not going to make any mistake over
that. I had a great deal of respect for Sir
Eustace's shrewdness. It was a moment for
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth. I told him the whole story,
omitting nothing, up to the moment of my
rescue by Harry. When I had finished, he
nodded his head in approval.
"Wise girl. You've made a clean breast of
the thing. And let me tell you I should soon
have caught you out if you hadn't. A lot of
people wouldn't believe your story, anyway,
especially the beginning part, but I do.
You're the kind of girl who would start off
like that—at a moment's notice, on the
slenderest of motives. You've had amazing
luck, of course, but sooner or later the
amateur runs up against the professional and
then the result is a foregone conclusion. I am
368
the professional. I started on this business
when I was quite a youngster. All things
considered, it seemed to me a good way of
getting rich quickly. I always could think
things out and devise ingenious schemes--
and I never made the mistake of trying to
carry out my schemes myself. Always employ
the expert--that has been my motto. The one
time I departed from it I came to grief--but I
couldn't trust anyone to do that job for me.
Nadina knew too much. I'm an easygoing
man, kind-hearted and good-tempered so
long as I'm not thwarted. Nadina both
thwarted me and threatened me--just as I was
at the apex of a successful career. Once she
was dead and the diamonds were in my
possession, I was safe. I've come to the
conclusion now that I bungled the job. That
idiot Pagett, with his wife and family! My
fault--it tickled my sense of humour to
employ the fellow, with his Cinquecento
poisoner's face and his mid-Victorian soul. A
maxim for you, my dear Anne. Don't let your
sense of humour carry you away. For years
I've had an instinct that it would be wise to
get rid of Pagett, but the fellow was so hardworking
and conscientious that I honestly
369
couldn't find an excuse for sacking him. So I
let things drift.
"But we're wandering from the point. The
question is what to do with you. Your
narrative was admirably clear, but there is
one thing that still escape me. Where are the
diamonds now?"
"Harry Rayburn has them," I said,
watching him.
His face did not change, it retained its
expression of sardonic good-humour.
"H'm. I want those diamonds."
"I don't see much chance of your getting
them," I replied.
"Don't you? Now I do. I don't want to be
unpleasant, but I should like you to reflect
that a dead girl or so found in this quarter of
the city will occasion no surprise. There's a
man downstairs who does those sort of jobs
very neatly. Now, you're a sensible young
woman. What I propose is this: you will sit
down and write to Harry Rayburn, telling
him to join you here and bring the diamonds
with him——"
"I won't do anything of the kind."
"Don't interrupt your elders. I propose to
make a bargain with you. The diamonds in
exchange for your life. And don't make any
370
mistake about it, your life is absolutely in my
power."
"And Harry?"
"I'm far too tender-hearted to part two
young lovers. He shall go free too—on the
understanding, of course, that neither of you
interfere with me in future."
"And what guarantee have I that you will
keep your side of the bargain?"
"None whatsoever, my dear girl. You'll
have to trust me and hope for the best. Of
course, if you're in an heroic mood and prefer
annihilation, that's another matter."
This was what I had been playing for. I was
careful not to jump at the bait. Gradually I
allowed myself to be bullied and cajoled into
yielding. I wrote at Sir Eustace's dictation:
"dear harry,
I think I see a chance of establishing your
innocence beyond any possible doubt. Please
follow my instructions minutely. Go to
Agrasato's curio-shop. Ask to see something
'out of the ordinary,' Tor a special occasion.'
The man will then ask you to 'come into the
back room.' Go with him. You will find a
messenger who will bring you to me. Do
exactly as he tells you. Be sure and bring the
diamonds with you. Not a word to anyone."
371
Sir Eustace stopped.
"I leave the fancy touches to your own
imagination," he remarked. "But be careful
to make no mistakes."
" 'Yours for ever and ever, Anne/ will be
sufficient," I remarked.
I wrote in the words. Sir Eustace stretched
out his hand for the letter and read it
through.
"That seems all right. Now the address."
I gave it him. It was that of a small shop
which received letters and telegrams for a
consideration.
He struck the bell upon the table with his
hand. Chichester-Pettigrew, alias Minks,
answered the summons.
"This letter is to go immediately—the
usual route."
"Very well. Colonel."
He looked at the name on the envelope. Sir
Eustace was watching him keenly.
"A friend of yours, I think?"
"Of mine?" The man seemed startled.
"You had a prolonged conversation with
him in Johannesburg yesterday."
"A man came up and questioned me about
your movements and those of Colonel Race. I
gave him misleading information."
372
"Excellent, my dear fellow, excellent," said
Sir Eustance genially. "My mistake."
I chanced to look at ChichesterPettigrew
as he left the room. He was white to the lips, as though in deadly terror. No sooner was he
outside, than Sir Eustace picked up a
speaking-tube that rested by his elbow, and
spoke down it. "That you, Schwart? Watch
Minks. He's not to leave the house without
orders."
He put the speaking-tube down again, and
frowned, slightly tapping the table with his
hand.
"May I ask you a few questions. Sir
Eustace," I said, after a minute or two of
silence.
"Certainly. What excellent nerves you
have, Anne! You are capable of taking an
intelligent interest in things when most girls
would be sniffing and wringing their hands."
"Why did you take Harry as your secretary
instead of giving him up to the police?"
"I wanted those cursed diamonds. Nadina, the little devil, was playing off your Harry
against me. Unless I gave her the price she
wanted, she threatened to sell them back to
him. That was another mistake I made--I
thought she'd have them with her that day.
373
But she was too clever for that. Carton, her
husband, was dead too—I'd no clue
whatsoever as to where the diamonds were
hidden. Then I managed to get a copy of a
wireless message sent to Nadina by someone
on board the Kilmorden— either Carton or
Rayburn, I don't know which. It was a
duplicate of that piece of paper you picked
up. Seventeen one twenty two,' it ran. I took
it to be an appointment with Rayburn, and
when he was so desperate to get aboard the
Kilmorden I was convinced that I was right.
So I pretended to swallow his statements, and
let him come. I kept a pretty sharp watch
upon him and hoped that I should learn
more. Then I found Minks trying to play a
lone hand, and interfering with me. I soon
stopped that. He came to heel all right. It was
annoying not getting Cabin 17, and it
worried me not being able to place you. Were
you the innocent young girl you seemed, or
were you not? When Rayburn set out to keep
the appointment that night. Minks was told
off to intercept him. Minks muffed it, of
• •
course."
"But why did the wireless message say
'seventeen' instead of 'seventy-one'?"
"I've thought that out. Carton must have
374
given that wireless operator his own
memorandum to copy off on to a form, and
he never read the copy through. The operator
made the same mistake we all did, and read it
as 17.1.22 instead of 1.71.22. The thing I
don't know is how Minks got on to Cabin 17.
It must have been sheer instinct."
"And the dispatch to General Smuts? Who
tampered with that?"
"My dear Anne, you don't suppose I was
going to have a lot of my plans given away,
without making an effort to save them? With
an escaped murderer as a secretary, I had no
hesitation whatever in substituting blanks.
Nobody would think of suspecting poor old
Pedler."
"What about Colonel Race?"
"Yes, that was a nasty jar. When Pagett
told me he was a Secret Service fellow, I had
an unpleasant feeling down the spine. I
remembered that he'd been nosing around
Nadina in Paris during the War—and I had a
horrible suspicion that he was out after me\ I
don't like the way he's stuck to me ever since.
He's one of those strong, silent men who have
always got something up their sleeve."
A whistle sounded. Sir Eustace picked up
375
the tube, listened for a minute or two, then
answered:
"Very well, I'll see him now."
"Business," he remarked. "Miss Anne, let
me show you your room."
He ushered me into a small shabby
apartment, a Kafir boy brought up my small
suit-case, and Sir Eustace, urged me to ask for
anything I wanted, withdrew, the picture of a
courteous host. A can of hot water was on the
washstand, and I proceeded to unpack a few
necessaries. Something hard and unfamiliar
in my sponge-bag puzzled me greatly. I
untied the string and looked inside.
To my utter amazement I drew out a small
pearl-handled revolver. It hadn't been there
when I started from Kimberley. I examined
the thing gingerly. It appeared to be loaded.
I handled it with a comfortable feeling. It
was a useful thing to have in a house such as
this. But modern clothes are quite unsuited to
the carrying of fire-arms. In the end I pushed
it gingerly into the top of my stocking. It
made a terrible bulge, and I expected every
minute that it would go off and shoot me in
the leg, but it really seemed the only place.
376
33
I WAS not summoned to Sir Eustace's
presence until late in the afternoon.
Eleven-o'clock tea and a substantial lunch
had been served to me in my own apartment,
and I felt fortified for further conflict.
Sir Eustace was alone. He was walking up
and down the room, there was a gleam in his
eye and a restlessness in his manner which
did not escape me. He was exultant about
something. There was a subtle change in his
manner towards me.
"I have news for you. Your young man is
on his way. He will be here in a few minutes.
Moderate your transports—1 have something
more to say. You attempted to deceive me
this morning. I warned you that you would
be wise to stick to the truth, and up to a
certain point you obeyed me. Then you ran
off the rails. You attempted to make me
believe that the diamonds were in Harry
Rayburn's possession. At the time I accepted
your statement because it facilitated my
task—the task of inducing you to decoy Harry
377
Rayburn here. But, my dear Anne, the
diamonds have been in my possession ever
since I left the Falls--though I only discovered
the fact yesterday."
"You know!" I gasped.
"It may interest you to hear that it was
Pagett who gave the show away. He insisted
on boring me with a long pointless story
about a wager and a tin of films. It didn't take
me long to put two and two together--Miss
B lair's distrust of Colonel Race, her agitation,
her entreaty that I would take care of her
souvenirs for her. The excellent Pagett had
already unfastened the cases through an
excess of zeal. Before leaving the hotel, I
simply transferred all the rolls of films to my
own pocket. They are in the corner there. I
admit that I haven't had time to examine
them yet, but I notice that one is of a totally
different weight to the the others, rattles in a
peculiar fashion, and has evidently been stuck
down with seccotine, which will necessitate
the use of a tin-opener. The cases seems clear, does it not? And now, you see, I have you
both nicely in the trap.... It's a pity that you
didn't take kindly to the idea of becoming
Lady Pedler."
I did not answer. I stood looking at him.
378
There was the sound of feet on the stairs,
the door was flung open, and Harry Rayburn
was hustled into the room between two men.
Sir Eustace flung me a look of triumph.
"According to plan," he said softly. "You
amateurs will pit yourselves against
professionals."
"What's the meaning of this?" cried Harry
hoarsely.
"It means that you have walked into my
parlour—said the spider to the fly," remarked
Sir Eustace facetiously. "My dear Rayburn,
you are extraordinarily unlucky."
"You said I could come safely, Anne?"
"Do not reproach her, my dear fellow.
That note was written at my dictation, and
the lady could not help herself. She would
have been wiser not to write it, but I did not
tell her so at the time. You followed her
instructions, went to the curio-shop, were
taken through the secret passage from the
back room—and found yourself in the hands
of your enemies!"
Harry looked at me. I understood his
glance and edged nearer to Sir Eustace.
"Yes," murmured the latter, "decidedly
you are not lucky! This is—let me see, the
third encounter."
TMITBS25 379
& E
"You are right," said Harry. "This is the
third encounter. Twice you have worsted
me—have you ever heard that the third time
the luck changes? This is my round—cover
him, Anne."
I was all ready. In a flash I had whipped the
pistol out of my stocking and was holding it
to his head. The two men guarding Harry
sprang forward, but his voice stopped them.
"Another step—and he dies! If they come
any nearer, Anne, pull the trigger—don't
hesitate."
"I shan't," I replied cheerfully. "I'm rather
afraid of pulling it, anyway."
I think Sir Eustace shared my fears. He was
certainly shaking like a jelly.
"Stay where you are," he commanded, and
the men stopped obediently.
"Tell them to leave the room," said Harry.
Sir Eustace gave the order. The men filed
out, and Harry shot the bolt across the door
behind them.
"Now we can talk," he observed grimly,
and, coming across the room, he took the
revolver out of my hand.
Sir Eustace uttered a sigh of relief and
wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
"I'm shockingly out of condition," he
380
observed. "I think I must have a weak heart. I
am glad that revolver is in competent hands. I
didn't trust Miss Anne with it. Well, my
young friend, as you say, now we can talk.
I'm willing to admit that you stole a march
upon me. Where the devil that revolver came
from I don't know. I had the girl's luggage
searched when she arrived. And where did
you produce it from now? You hadn't got it
on you a minute ago?"
"Yes, I had," I replied. "It was in my
stocking."
"I don't know enough about women. I
ought to have studied them more," said Sir
Eustace sadly. <<I wonder if Pagett would
have known that?"
Harry rapped sharply on the table.
"Don't play the fool. If it weren't for your
grey hairs, I'd throw you out of the window.
You damned scoundrel! Grey hairs, or no
grey hairs, I----"
He advanced a step or two, and Sir Eustace
skipped nimbly behind the table.
"The young are always so violent," he said
reproachfully. "Unable to use their brains, they rely solely on their muscles. Let us talk
sense. For the moment you have 'the upper
hand. But that state of affairs cannot
. 381 .
continue. The house is full of my men. You
are hopelessly outnumbered. Your momentary
ascendancy has been gained by an
accident----"
"Has it?"
Something in Harry's voice, a grim raillery,
seemed to attract Sir Eustace's attention. He
stared at him.
"Has it?" said Harry again. "Sit down. Sir
Eustace, and listen to what I have to say." Still covering him with the revolver, he went
on: "The cards are against you this time. To
begin with, listen to thatV
That was a dull banging at the door below.
There were shouts, oaths, and then a sound
of firing. Sir Eustace paled.
"What's that?"
"Race--and his people. You didn't know,
did you, Sir Eustace, that Anne had an
arrangement with me by which we should
know whether communications from one to
the other were genuine? Telegrams were to
be signed 'Andy,' letters were to have the
word 'and' crossed out somewhere in them.
Anne knew that your telegram was a fake. She
came here of her own free will, walked
deliberately into the snare, in the hope that
she might catch you in your own trap. Before
382
leaving Kimberley she wired both to me
and to Race. Mrs. Blair has been in
communication with us ever since. I received
the letter written at your dictation, which was
just what I expected. I had already discussed
the probabilities of a secret passage leading
out of the curio-shop with Race, and he had
discovered the place where the exit was
situated."
There was a screaming, tearing sound, and
a heavy explosion which shook the room.
"They're shelling this part of the town. I
must get you out of here, Anne."
A bright light flared up. The house
opposite was on fire. Sir Eustace had risen
and was pacing up and down. Harry kept him
covered with the revolver.
"So you see. Sir Eustace, the game is up. It
was you yourself who very kindly provided us
with the clue of your whereabouts. Race's
men were watching the exit of the secret
passage. In spite of the precautions you took,
they were successful in following me here."
Sir Eustace turned suddenly.
"Very clever. Very creditable. But I've still
a word to say. If I've lost the trick, so have
you. You'll never be able to bring the murder
of Nadina home to me. I was in Marlow on
383
i,
that day, that's all you've got against me. No
one can prove that I even knew the woman.
But you knew her, you had a motive for
killing her—and your record's against you.
You're a thief, remember, a thief. There's
one thing you don't know, perhaps. I've got
the diamonds. And here goes——"
With an incredibly swift movement, he
stooped, swung up his arm and threw. There
was a tinkle of breaking glass, as the object
went through the window and disappeared
into the blazing mass opposite.
"There goes your only hope of establishing
your innocence over the Kimberley affair.
And now we'll talk. I'll drive a bargain with
you. You've got me cornered. Race will find
all he needs in this house. There's a chance
for me if I can get away. I'm done for if I stay,
but so are you, young man! There's a skylight
in the next room. A couple of minutes' start
and I shall be all right. I've got one or two
little arrangements all ready made. You let
me out that way, and give me a start—and I
leave you a signed confession that I killed
Nadina."
"Yes, Harry," I cried. "Yes, yes, yes!"
He turned a stern face on me.
384
"No, Anne, a thousand times, no. You
don't know what you're saying."
"I do. It solves everything."
"I'd never be able to look Race in the face
again. I'll take my chance, but I'm damned if
I'll let this slippery old fox get away. It's no
good, Anne. I won't do it."
Sir Eustace chuckled. He accepted defeat
without the least emotion.
"Well, well," he remarked. "You seem to
have met your master, Anne. But I can assure
you both that moral rectitude does not always
pay."
There was a crash of rending wood, and
footsteps surged up the stairs. Harry drew
back the bolt. Colonel Race was the first to
enter the room. His face lit at the sight of us.
"You're safe, Anne. I was afraid——" He
turned to Sir Eustace. "I've been after you for
a long time, Pedler—and at last I've got you."
"Everybody seems to have gone completely
mad," declared Sir Eustace airily. "These
young people have been threatening me with
revolvers and accusing me of the most
shocking things. I don't know what it's all
about."
"Don't you? It means that I've found the
'Colonel.' It means that on January 8th last
385
you were not at Cannes, but at Marlow. It
means that when your tool, Madame Nadina,
turned against you, you planned to do away
with her—and at last we shall be able to bring
the crime home to you."
"Indeed? And from whom did you get all
this interesting information? From the man
who is even now being looked for by the
police? His evidence will be very valuable."
"We have other evidence. There is
someone else who knew that Nadina was
going to meet you at the Mill House."
Sir Eustace looked surprised. Colonel Race
made a gesture with his hand. Arthur Minks
alias the Rev. Edward Chichester alias Miss
Pettigrew stepped forward. He was pale and
nervous, but he spoke clearly enough:
"I saw Nadina in Paris the night before she
went over to England. I was posing at the
time as a Russian Count. She told me other
purpose. I warned her, knowing what kind of
man she had to deal with, but she did not take
my advice. There was a wireless message on
the table. I read it. Afterwards I thought I
would have a try for the diamonds myself. In
Johannesburg Mr. Rayburn accosted me. He
persuaded me to come over to his side."
386
Sir Eustace looked at him. He said nothing,
but Minks seemed visibly to wilt.
"Rats always leave a sinking ship,"
observed Sir Eustace. "I don't care for rats.
Sooner or later, I destroy vermin."
"There's just one thing I'd like to tell you,
Sir Eustace," I remarked. "That tin you
threw out of the window didn't contain the
diamonds. It had common pebbles in it. The
diamonds are in a perfectly safe place. As a
matter of fact they're in the big giraffe's
stomach. Suzanne hollowed it out, put the
diamonds in with cotton wool, so that they
wouldn't rattle, and plugged it up again."
Sir Eustace looked at me for some time. His
reply was characteristic:
"I always did hate that blinking giraffe," he
said. "It must have been instinct."
u
387
34
WE were not able to return to
Johannesburg that night. The shells
were coming over pretty fast, and I
gathered that we were now more or less cut
off, owing to the rebels having obtained
possession of a new part of the suburbs.
Our place of refuge was a farm some twenty
miles or so from Johannesburg—right out on
the veld. I was dropping with fatigue. All the
excitement and anxiety of the last two days
had left me a little better than a limp rag.
I kept repeating to myself, without being
able to believe it, that our troubles were really
over. Harry and I were together and we
should never be separated again. Yet all
through I was conscious of some barrier
between us—a constraint on his part, the
reason of which I could not fathom.
Sir Eustace had been driven off in an
opposite direction accompanied by a strong
guard. He waved his hand airily to us on
departing.
I came out on to the stoep early on the
388
following morning and looked across the veld
in the direction of Johannesburg. I could see
the great dumps glistening in the pale
morning sunshine, and I could hear the low
rumbling mutter of the guns. The Revolution
was not over yet.
The farmer's wife came out and called me
in to breakfast. She was a kind, motherly
soul, and I was already very fond of her.
Harry had gone out at dawn and had not yet
returned, so she informed me. Again I felt a
stir of uneasiness pass over me. What was this
shadow of which I was so conscious between
us?
After breakfast I sat out on the stoep, a book
in my hand which I did not read. I was so lost
in my own thoughts that I never saw Colonel
Race ride up and dismount from his horse. It
was not until he said "Good morning,
Anne," that I became aware of his presence.
"Oh," I said, with a Hush, "it's you."
"Yes. May I sit down?"
He drew a chair up beside me. It was the
first time we had been alone together since
that day at the Matoppos. As always, I felt
that curious mixture of fascination and fear
that he never failed to inspire in me.
"What is the news?" I asked.
389
"Smuts will be in Johannesburg tomorrow.
I give this outbreak three days more
before it collapses utterly. In the meantime
the fighting goes on."
<<I wish," I said, "that one could be sure
that the right people were the ones to get
killed. I mean the ones who wanted to
fight--not just all the poor people who
happen to live in the parts where the fighting
is going on."
He nodded.
"I know what you mean, Amie. That's the
unfairness of war. But I've other news for
you."
"Yes?"
"A confession ofincompetency on my part.
Pedler has managed to escape."
"What?"
"Yes. No one knows how he managed it.
He was securely locked up for the night--in
an upper story room of one of the farms
roundabout which the Military have taken
over, but this morning the room was empty
and the bird had flown."
Secretly, I was rather pleased. Never, to
this day, have I been able to rid myself of a
sneaking fondness for Sir Eustace. I dare say
it's reprehensible, but there it is. I admired
390
him. He was a thorough-going villain, I dare
say--but he was a pleasant one. Pve never
met anyone half so amusing since.
I concealed my feelings, of course.
Naturally Colonel Race would feel quite
differently about it. He wanted Sir Eustace
brought to justice. There was nothing very
surprising in his escape when one came to
think of it. All round Jo'burg he must have
innumerable spies and agents. And, whatever
Colonel Race might think, I was exceedingly
doubtful that they would ever catch him. He
probably had a well-planned line of retreat.
Indeed, he had said as much to us.
I expressed myself suitably, though in a
rather lukewarm manner, and the conversation
languished. Then Colonel Race
asked suddenly for Harry. I told him that he
had gone off at dawn and that I hadn't seen
him this morning.
"You understand, don't you, Anne, that
apart from formalities, he is completely
cleared? There are technicalities, of course,
but Sir Eustace's guilt is well assured. There
is nothing now to keep you apart."
He said this without looking at me, in a
slow, jerky voice.
"I understand," I said gratefully.
391
"And there is no reason why he should not
at once resume his real name."
"No, of course not."
"You know his real name?"
The question surprised me.
"Of course I do. Harry Lucas."
He did not answer, and something in the
quality of his silence struck me as peculiar.
"Anne, do you remember that, as we drove
home from the Matoppos that day, I told you
that I knew what I had to do?"
"Of course I remember."
"I think that I may fairly say I have done it.
The man you love is cleared of suspicion."
"Was that what you meant?"
"Of course."
I hung my head, ashamed of the baseless
suspicion I had entertained. He spoke again
in a thoughtful voice:
"When I was a mere youngster, I was in
love with a girl who jilted me. After that I
thought only of my work. My career meant
everything to me. Then I met you,
Anne—and all that seemed worth nothing.
But youth calls to youth. . . . I've still got my
work."
I was silent. I suppose one can't really love
two men at once—but you can feel like it.
392
The magnetism of this man was very great. I
looked up at him suddenly.
"I think that you'll go very far," I said
dreamily. "I think that you've got a great
career ahead of you. You'll be one of the
world's big men."
I felt as though I was uttering a prophecy.
"I shall be alone, though."
"All the people who do really big things
are."
"You think so?"
"I'm sure of it."
He took my hand, and said in a low voice:
"I'd rather have had—the other."
Then Harry came striding round the corner
of the house. Colonel Race rose.
"Good morning—Lucas," he said.
For some reason Harry flushed up to the
roots of his hair.
"Yes," I said gaily, "you must be known
by your real name now."
But Harry was still staring at Colonel Race.
"So you know, sir," he said at last.
"I never forget a face. I saw you once as a
boy."
"What's all this about?" I asked, puzzled,
looking from one to the other.
393
It seemed a conflict of wills between them.
Race won. Harry turned slightly away.
"I suppose you're right, sir. Tell her my
real name."
"Anne, this isn't Harry Lucas. Harry
Lucas was killed in the War. This is John
Harold Eardsley."
394
35
WITH his last words. Colonel Race
had swung away and left us. I
stood staring after him. Harry's
voice recalled me to myself.
"Anne, forgive me, say you forgive me."
He took my hand in his and almost
mechanically I drew it away.
"Why did you deceive me?"
"I don't know that I can make you understand.
I was afraid of all that sort of thing--
the power and fascination of wealth. I wanted
you to care for me just for myself--for the
man I was--without ornaments and
trappings."
"You mean you didn't trust me?"
"You can put it that way if you like, but it
isn't quite true. I'd become embittered, suspicious--always prone to look for ulterior
motives--and it was so wonderful to be cared
for in the way you cared for me."
"I see," I said slowly. I was going over in
my own mind the story he had told me. For
the first time I noted discrepancies in it
TMITBS26 395
which I had disregarded—an assurance of
money, the power to buy back the diamonds
ofNadina, the way in which he had preferred
to speak of both men from the point of view
of an outsider. And when he had said "my
friend" he had meant not Eardsley, but
Lucas. It was Lucas, the quiet fellow, who
had loved Nadina so deeply. <,
"How did it come about?" I asked.
"We were both reckless—anxious to get
killed. One night we exchanged identification
discs—for luck! Lucas was killed the next
day—blown to pieces."
I shuddered.
"But why didn't you tell me before? This
morning? You couldn't have doubted my
caring for you by this time?"
"Anne, I didn't want to spoil it all. I
wanted to take you back to the island. What's
the good of money? It can't buy happiness.
We'd have been happy on the island. I tell
you I'm afraid of that other life—it nearly
rotted me through once."
"Did Sir Eustace know who you really
were?"
"Oh, yes."
"And Carton?"
"No. He saw us both with Nadina at
396
Kimberley one night, but he didn't know
which was which. He accepted my statement
that I was Lucas, and Nadina was deceived by
his cable. She was never afraid of Lucas. He
was a quiet chap—very deep. But I always
had the devil's own temper. She'd have been
scared out of her life if she'd known that I'd
come to life .again."
"Harry, if Colonel Race hadn't told me,
what did you mean to do?"
"Say nothing. Go on as Lucas."
"And your father's millions?"
"Race was welcome to them. Anyway, he
would make a better use of them than I ever
shall. Anne, what are you thinking about?
You're frowning so."
"I'm thinking," I said slowly, "that I
almost wish Colonel Race hadn't made you
tell me."
"No. He was right. I owed you the truth."
He paused, then said suddenly:
"You know, Anne, I'm jealous of Race. He
loves you too—and he's a bigger man than I
am or ever shall be."
I turned to him, laughing.
"Harry, you idiot. It's you I want—and
that's all that matters."
As soon as possible we started for Cape
397
Town. There Suzanne was waiting to greet
me, and we disembowelled the big giraffe
together. When the Revolution was finally
quelled. Colonel Race came down to Cape
Town and at his suggestion the big villa at
Muizenberg that had belonged to Sir
Laurence Eardsley was reopened and we all
took up our abode in it.
There we made our plans. I was to return
to England with Suzanne and to be married
from her house in London. And the trousseau
was to be bought in Paris! Suzanne enjoyed
planning all these details enormously. So did
I. And yet the future seemed curiously
unreal. And sometimes, without knowing
why, I felt absolutely stifled—as though I
couldn't breathe.
It was the night before we were to sail. I
couldn't sleep. I was miserable, and I didn't
know why. I hated leaving Africa. When I
came back to it, would it be the same thing?
Would it ever be the same thing again?
And then I was startled by an authoritative
rap on the shutter. I sprang up. Harry was on
the stoep outside.
"Put some clothes on, Anne, and come out.
I want to speak to you."
I huddled on a few garments, and stepped
398
out into the cool night air—still and scented,
with its velvety feel. Harry beckoned me out
of earshot of the house. His face looked pale
and determined and his eyes were blazing.
"Anne, do you remember saying to me
once that women enjoyed doing the things
they disliked for the sake of someone they
liked?"
"Yes," I said, wondering what was coming.
He caught me in his arms.
"Anne, come away with me—now—tonight.
Back to Rhodesia—back to the island. I
can't stand all this tomfoolery. I can't wait for
you any longer."
I disengaged myself a minute.
"And what about my French frocks?" I
lamented mockingly.
To this day. Harry never knows when I'm
in earnest, and when I'm only teasing him.
"Damn your French frocks. Do you think I
want to put frocks on you? I'm a damned
sight more likely to want to tear them off you.
I'm not going to let you go, do you hear?
You're my woman. If I let you go away, I may
lose you. I've never sure of you. You're
coming with me now—to-night—and damn
everybody."
399
He held me to him, kissing me until I could
hardly breathe.
"I can't do without you any longer, Anne. I
can't indeed. I hate all this money. Let Race
have it. Come on. Let's go."
"My toothbrush?" I demurred.
"You can buy one. I know I'm a lunatic,
but for God's sake, comeV
.He stalked off at a furious pace. I followed
him as meekly as the Barotsi woman I had
observed at the Falls. Only I wasn't carrying
a frying-pan on my head. He walked so fast
that it was very difficult to keep up with him.
"Harry," I said at last, in a meek voice,
"are we going to walk all the way to
Rhodesia?"
He turned suddenly, and with a great shout
of laughter gathered me up in his arms.
"I'm mad, sweetheart, I know it. But I do
love you so."
"We're a couple of lunatics. And, oh,
Harry, you never asked me, but I'm not
making a sacrifice at all! I wanted to come!"
400
36
THAT was two years ago. We still live
on the island. Before me, on the rough
wooden table, is the letter that Suzanne
wrote me.
dear babes in the wood-dear lunatics
IN love,
I'm not surprised—not at all. All the time
we've been talking Paris and frocks I felt that
it wasn't a bit real—that you'd vanish into the
blue some day to be married over the tongs in
the good old gipsy fashion. But you are a
couple of lunatics! This idea of renouncing a
vast fortune is absurd. Colonel Race wanted
to argue the matter, but I have persuaded him
to leave the argument to time. He can
administer the estate for Harry—and none
better. Because, after all, honeymoons don't
last for ever—you're not here, Anne, so I can
safely say that without having you fly out at
me like a little wild-cat—Love in the
wilderness will last a good while, but one day
you will suddenly begin to dream of houses in
401
Park Lane, sumptuous furs, Paris frocks, the
largest thing in motors and the latest thing in
perambulators, French maids and Norland
nurses! Oh, yes, you will!
But have your honeymoon, dear lunatics,
and let it be a long one. And think of me
sometimes, comfortably putting on weight
amidst the fleshpots!
Your loving friend,
suzanne blair.
P.S.—I am sending you an assortment of
frying-pans as a wedding present, and an
enormous terrine of pate de foie gras to remind
you of me.
There is another letter that I sometimes
read. It came a good while after the other and
was accompanied by a bulky parcel. It
appeared to be written from somewhere in
Bolivia.
my dear anne beddingfield,
I can't resist writing to you, not so much
for the pleasure it gives me to write, as for the
enormous pleasure I know it will give you to
hear from me. Our friend Race wasn't quite
as clever as he thought himself, was he?
I think I shall appoint you my literary
402
executor. I'm sending you my diary. There's
nothing in it that would interest Race and his
crowd, but I fancy that there are passages in it
which may amuse you. Make use of it in any
way you like. I suggest an article for the Daily
Budget, "Criminals I have met." I only
stipulate that I shall be the central figure.
By this time I have no doubt that you are
no longer Anne Beddingfield, but Lady
Eardsley, queening it in Park Lane. I should
just like to say that I bear you no malice whatever.
It is hard, of course, to have to begin all
over again at my time of life, but, entre nous, I
had a little reserve fund carefully put aside
for such a contingency. It has come in very
usefully and I am getting together a nice little
connection. By the way, if you ever come
across the funny friend of yours, Arthur
Minks, just tell him that I haven't forgotten
him, will you? That will give him a nasty jar.
On the whole I think I have displayed a
most Christian and forgiving spirit. Even to
Pagett. I happened to hear that he--or rather
Mrs. Pagett--had brought a sixth child into
the world the other day. England will be
entirely populated by Pagetts soon. I sent the
child a silver mug, and, on a post card, declared my willingness to act as godfather. I
403
can see Pagett taking both mug and post card
straight to Scotland Yard without a smile on
his face!
Bless you, liquid eyes. Some day you will
see what a mistake you have made in not
marrying me.
Yours ever,
eustace pedler.
Harry was furious. It is the one point on
which he and I do not see eye to eye. To him,
Sir Eustace was the man who tried to murder
me and whom he regards as responsible for
the death of his friend. Sir Eustace's attempts
on my life have always puzzled me. They are
not in the picture, so to speak. For I am sure
that he always had a genuinely kindly feeling
towards me.
Then why did he twice attempt to take my
life? Harry says "because he's a damned
scoundrel," and seems to think that settles
the matter. Suzanne was more discriminating.
I talked it over with her, and she
put it down to a "fear complex." Suzanne
goes in rather for psycho-analysis. She
pointed out to me that Sir Eustace's whole
life was actuated by a desire to be safe and
comfortable. He had an acute sense of self404
preservation. And the murder of Nadina
removed certain inhibitions. His actions did
not represent the state of his feeling towards
me, but were the result of his acute fears for
his own safety. I think Suzanne is right. As
for Nadina, she was the kind of woman who
deserved to die. Men do all sorts of
questionable things in order to get rich, but
women shouldn't pretend to be in love when
they aren't for ulterior motives.
I can forgive Sir Eustace easily enough, but
I shall never forgive Nadina. Never, never
never!
The other day I was unpacking some tins
that were wrapped in bits of an old Daily
Budget, and I suddenly came upon the words,
"The Man in the Brown Suit." How long
ago it seemed! I had, of course, severed my
connection with the Daily Budget long ago—I
had done with it sooner than it had done with
me. my romantic wedding was given a
halo of publicity.
My son is lying in the sun, kicking his legs.
There's a "man in a brown suit" if you like.
He's wearing as little as possible, which is the
best costume for Africa, and is as brown as a
berry. He's always burrowing in the earth. I
405
think he takes after Papa. He'll have that
same mania for Pleistocene clay.
Suzanne sent me a cable when he was born:
"Congratulations and love to the latest
arrival on Lunatics' Island. Is his head
dolichocephalic or brachycephalic?"
I wasn't going to stand that from Suzanne.
I sent her a reply of one word, economical
and to the point:
"Platycephalic!"
A
THE END
Books by Agatha Christie in the
Ulverscroft Large Print Series:
POCKET FULL OF RYE
ORDEAL BY INNOCENCE
CAT AMONG THE PIGEONS
THE PALE HORSE
4.50 FROM PADDINGTON
MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS
THEY CAME TO BAGHDAD
A MURDER IS ANNOUNCED
MURDER IS EASY
THE MIRROR CRACK'D FROM SIDE TO SIDE
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CROOKED HOUSE
DEAD MAN'S FOLLY
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DESTINATION UNKNOWN
MURDER IN MESOPOTAMIA
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CARDS ON THE TABLE
LORD EDGWARE DIES
THE MOVING FINGER
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ENDLESS NIGHT
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THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD
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THE HOLLOW
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SAD CYPRESS
THE MYSTERY OF THE BLUE TRAIN
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THE MYSTERIOUS MR. QUIN
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THE LABOURS OF HERCULES
PARKER PYNE INVESTIGATES
PERIL AT END HOUSE
SPARKLING CYANIDE
THE MURDER AT THE VICARAGE
THE ABC MURDERS
FIVE LITTLE PIGS
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THE SEVEN DIALS MYSTERY
THE MAN IN THE BROWN SUIT
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