The Man in the Brown Suit
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
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 motor-boat——” Harry began, when
suddenly he stopped dead and held up his hand.
“Hush! What’s that?”
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. Some one 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 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 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.
“My old clothes—stuffed with rags—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—farther 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 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 odd 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 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 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 any one 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!”
CHAPTER XXVIII
_(Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler)_
As 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 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 sitting-room, 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 Beddingfeld from 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 able-bodied young woman like Anne Beddingfeld is