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
AgathaChristie-TheManInTheBrownSuit Page 7