The Man in the Brown Suit
we’re realizing things, my 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 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 Beddingfeld.”
“Does nothing frighten you, Anne Beddingfeld?”
“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, blood-thirsty instincts, Miss
Beddingfeld. But we will 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 seem to have said all there is to be said—except good night.”
“Good night and good-bye, Miss Beddingfeld.”
“Au revoir, Mr. Lucas.”
Again he flinched at the name. He came nearer.
“Why do you say that—au revoir, I mean?”
“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 a “witch”!
CHAPTER XVII
_(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
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 around 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 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. 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.
Altogether 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 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 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 above 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.
“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 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 street-brawl.”
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.
“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 any one else?” I said nervously. One does these
things in moments 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 a weakness that way. I
haven’t asked any one else, have I, Pagett?”
“Not that I know of, Sir Eustace.”
I heaved a sigh of relief.
“There’s Miss Beddingfeld,” 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 a secretary. She can typewrite, I know, for
she told me so.”
To my surprise, Pagett opposed the idea vehemently. He does not
like Anne Beddingfeld. Ever since the night of the black eye, he