The Man in the Brown Suit
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 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—I
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 to-day,” 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 myself together again
slowly. Suddenly, to 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.”
“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 some one else.”
“I see,” he said again. “And was that true at the beginning—when
I first saw you—on the _Kilmorden?”_
“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 me. There was a determination
behind them that I did not understand—and it frightened me.
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 flood of tears.
I told her about the cats—I 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 some one 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 every
one 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 hiding-place 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.
“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 creased 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
was excited—restless.
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 to-morrow? 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 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 and I talked for a while with Colonel
Race, 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—I 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 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 quickly out of the hotel and took
the path to the bridge.
I crossed it and stood there waiting in the shadow. If any one 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 any one who had
followed me from the hotel. It was some one who was already here,
waiting.
And immediately, without rhyme or reason, but with the sureness of
instinct, I 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.
CHAPTER XXV
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 dream-like 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, some one 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 danger—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 in the shadows and
that last terrible moment of falling. . . .