The Man in the Brown Suit (17 page)

“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 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 on Pagett—”

“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, so they told me at the office. For the moment I postponed 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 have to invent it for our special benefit.”

“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 our company at tea in his sitting room.

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 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.”

“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 those 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 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 pretend 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 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 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, 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 halfway 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.

“Good-bye, Sir Eustace,” I said. “I'm off tonight 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 whippersnapper 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!”

“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 me start:

“Excuse me, Miss Beddingfeld, 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 further, but a slight warning nudge from Suzanne urged me to be on my guard.

“Thank you, Mr. Pagett,” I said coldly.