AgathaChristie-TheManInTheBrownSuit
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Needless to say, the girl had won, and Pagett
was apparently feeling sore over the matter.
"Both 13 and 28 are better cabins," he
reiterated. "But they wouldn't look at them."
»»
"Well," I said, stifling a yawn, "for that
matter, no more would you, my dear Pagett."
He gave me a reproachful look.
"You told me to get Cabin 17."
There is a touch of the "boy upon the
burning deck" about Pagett.
"My dear fellow," I said testily, "I
mentioned No. 17 because I happened to
observe that it was vacant. But I didn't mean
you to make a stand to the death about it—13
or 28 would have done us equally well."
He looked hurt.
"There's something more, though," he
insisted. "Miss Beddingfield got the cabin,
but this morning I saw Chichester coming
out of it in a furtive sort of way."
I looked at him severely.
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"If you're trying to get up a nasty scandal
about Chichester, who is a missionary--
though a perfectly poisonous person--and
that attractive child, Anne Beddingfield, I
don't believe a word of it," I said coldly.
"Anne Beddingfield is an extremely nice
girl--with particularly good legs. I should say
she had far and away the best legs on board."
Pagett did not like my reference to Anne
Beddingfield's legs. He is the sort of man
who never notices legs himself--or, if he
does, would die sooner than say so. Also he
thinks my appreciation of such things
frivolous. I like annoying Pagett, so I
continued maliciously:
"As you've made her acquaintance, you
might ask her to dine at our table tomorrow
night. It's the Fancy Dress dance. By the
way, you'd better go down to the barber and
select a fancy costume for me."
"Surely you will not go in fancy dress?"
said Pagett, in tones of horror.
I could see that it was quite incompatible
with his idea of my dignity. He looked
shocked and pained. I had really had no
intention of donning fancy dress, but the
complete discomfiture of Pagett was too
tempting to be foreborne.
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"What do you mean?" I said. "Of course I
shall wear fancy dress. So will you."
Pagett shuddered.
"So go down to the barber's and see about
it," I finished.
"I don't think he'll have any outsizes,"
murmured Pagett, measuring my figure with
his eye.
Without meaning it, Pagett can occasionally
be extremely offensive.
"And order a table for six in the saloon," I
said. "We'll have the Captain, the girl with
the nice legs, Mrs. Blair----"
"You won't get Mrs. Blair, without
Colonel Race," Pagett interposed. "He's
asked her to dine with him, I know."
Pagett always knows everything. I was
justifiably annoyed.
"Who is Race?" I demanded, exasperated.
As I said before, Pagett always knows
everything--or thinks he does. He looked
mysterious again.
"They say he's a Secret Service chap. Sir
Eustace. Rather a great gun too. But of course
I don't know for certain."
"Isn't that like the Government?" I
exclaimed. "Here's a man on board whose
business it is to carry about secret documents,
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and they go giving them to a peaceful
outsider, who only asks to be let alone."
Pagett looked even more mysterious. He
came a pace nearer and dropped his voice.
"If you ask me, the whole thing is very
queer. Sir Eustace. Look at that illness of
mine before we started——"
"My dear fellow," I interrupted brutally,
"that was a bilious attack. You're always
having bilious attacks."
Pagett winced slightly.
"It wasn't the usual sort of bilious attack.
This time——"
"For God's sake, don't go into the details of
your condition, Pagett. I don't want to hear
them."
"Very well, Sir Eustace. But my belief is
that I was deliberately poisoned^
"Ah!" I said. "You've been talking to
Rayburn."
He did not deny it.
"At any rate. Sir Eustace, he thinks so—
and he should be in a position to know."
"By the way, where is the chap?" I asked.
"I've not set eyes on him since we came on
board."
«T?
"He gives out that he's ill, and stays in his
cabin. Sir Eustace." Pagett's voice dropped
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again. "But that's camouflage, I'm sure. So
that he can watch better."
"Watch?"
"Over your safety. Sir Eustace. In case an
attack should be made upon you."
"You're such a cheerful fellow, Pagett," I
said. "I trust that your imagination runs away
with you. If I were you I should go to the
dance as the death's head or an executioner. It
will suit your mournful style of beauty."
That shut him up for the time being. I went
on deck. The Beddingfield girl was deep in
conversation with the missionary parson,
Chichester. Women always flutter round
parsons.
A man of my figure hates stooping, but I
had the courtesy to pick up a bit of paper that
was fluttering round the parson's feet.
I got no word of thanks for my pains. As a
matter of fact I couldn't help seeing what was
written on the sheet of paper. There was just
one sentence.
"Don't try to play a lone hand or it will be
the worse for you."
That's a nice thing for a parson to have.
^^ho is this fellow Chichester, I wonder? He
looks mild as milk. But looks are deceptive. I
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shall ask Pagett about him. Pagett always
knows everything.
I sank gracefully into my deck-chair by the
side of Mrs. Blair, thereby interrupting her tete-a-tete with Race, and remarked that I
didn't know what the clergy were coming to
nowadays.
Then I asked her to dine with me on the
night of the Fancy Dress dance. Somehow or
other Race managed to get included in the
invitation.
After lunch the Beddingfield girl came and
sat with us for coffee. I was right about her
legs. They are the best on the ship. I shall
certainly ask her to dinner as well.
I would very much like to know what
mischief Pagett was up to in Florence. Whenever
Italy is mentioned, he goes to pieces. If I
did not know how intensely respectable he
is--I should suspect him of some disreputable amour . . .
I wonder now! Even the most respectable
men---- It would cheer me up enormously if
it was so.
Pagett--with a guilty secret! Splendid!
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IT has been a curious evening.
The only costume that fitted me in the
barber's emporium was that of a Teddy
Bear. I don't mind playing bears with some
nice young girls on a winter's evening in
England—but it's hardly an ideal costume for
the equator. However, I created a good deal
of merriment, and won first prize for
"brought on board"—an absurd term for a
costume hired for the evening. Still, as
nobody seemed to have the least idea whether
they were made or brought, it didn't matter.
Mrs. Blair refused to dress up. Apparently
she is at one with Pagett on the matter.
Colonel Race followed her example. Anne
Beddingfield had concocted a gipsy costume
for herself, and looked extraordinarily well.
Pagett said he had a headache and didn't
appear. To replace him I asked a quaint little
fellow called Reeves. He's a prominent
member of the South African Labour party.
Horrible little man, but I want to keep in
with him, as he gives me information that I
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need. I want to understand this Rand
business from both sides.
Dancing was a hot affair. I danced twice
with Anne Beddingfield and she had to
pretend she liked it. I danced once with Mrs.
Blair, who didn't trouble to pretend, and I
victimized various other damsels whose
appearance struck me favourably.
Then we went down to supper. I had
ordered champagne, the steward suggested
Clicquot 1911 as being the best they had on
the boat and I fell in with his suggestion. I
seemed to have hit on the one thing that
would loosen Colonel Race's tongue. Far
from being taciturn, the man became actually
talkative. For a while this amused me, then it
occurred to me that Colonel Race, and not
myself, was becoming the life and soul of the
party. He chaffed me at length about keeping
a diary.
"It will reveal all your indiscretions one of
these days, Pedler."
"My dear Race," I said, "I venture to
suggest that I am not quite the fool you think
me. I may commit indiscretions, but I don't
write them down in black and white. After
my death, my executors will know my
opinion of a great many people, but I doubt if
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they will find anything to add or detract from
their opinion of me. A diary is useful for
recording the idiosyncrasies of other peoplebut not one's own."
"There is such a thing as unconscious selfrevelation,
though."
"In the eyes of the psycho-analyst, all
things are vile." I replied sententiously.
"You must have had a very interesting life,
Colonel Race?" said Miss Beddingfield,
gazing at him with wide, starry eyes.
That's how they do it, these girls! Othello
charmed Desdemona by telling her stories,
but, oh, didn't Desdemona charm Othello by
the way she listened?
Anyway, the girl set Race off all right. He
began to tell lion stories. A man who has shot
lions in large quantities has an unfair
advantage over other men. It seemed to me
that it was time I, too, told a lion story. One
of a more sprightly character.
"By the way," I remarked, "that reminds
me of a rather exciting tale I heard. A friend
of mine was out on a shooting trip somewhere
in East Africa. One night he came out of his
tent for some reason, and was startled by a
low growl. He turned sharply and saw a lion
crouching to spring. He had left his rifle in
'•&'••
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the tent. Quick as thought, he ducked, and
the lion sprang right over his head. Annoyed
at having missed him, the animal growled
and prepared to spring again. Again he
ducked, and again the lion sprang right over
him. This happened a third time, but by now
he was close to the entrance of the tent, and
he darted in and seized his rifle. When he
emerged, rifle in hand, the lion had
disappeared. That puzzled him greatly. He
crept round the back of the tent, where there
was a little clearing. There, sure enough, was
the lion, busily practising low jumps."
This was received with a roar of applause. I
drank some champagne.
"On another occasion," I remarked, "this
friend of mine had a second curious
experience. He was trekking across country,
and being anxious to arrive at his destination
before the heat of the day he ordered his boys
to inspan whilst it was still dark. They had
some trouble in doing so, as the mules were
very restive, but at last they managed it, and a
start was made. The mules raced along like
the wind, and when daylight came they saw
why. In the darkness, the boys had inspanned
a lion as the near wheeler."
This, too, was well received, a ripple of
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merriment going round the table, but I am
not sure that the greatest tribute did not come
from my friend the Labour Member, who
remained pale and serious.
"My God!" he said anxiously. "Who
un'arnessed them!"
"I must go to Rhodesia," said Mrs. Blair.
"After what you have told us. Colonel Race, I
simply must. It's a horrible journey though,
five days in the train."
"You must join me on my private car," I
said gallantly.
"Oh, Sir Eustace, how sweet of you! Do
you really mean it?"
"Do I mean it!" I exclaimed reproachfully,
and drank another glass of champagne.
"Just about another week, and we shall be
in South Africa," sighed Mrs. Blair.
"Ah, South Africa," I said sentimentally,
and began to quote from a recent speech of
mine at the Colonial Institute. "What has
South Africa to show the world? What
indeed? Her fruit and her farms, her wool
and her wattles, her herds and her hides, her
gold and her diamonds——"
I was hurrying on, because I knew that as
soon as I paused Reeves would butt in and
inform me that the hides were worthless
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because the animals hung themselves up on
barbed wire or something of that sort, would
crab everything else, and end up with the
hardships of the miners on the Rand. And I
was not in the mood to be abused as a
Capitalist. However, the interruption came
from another source at the magic word
diamonds.
"Diamonds!" said Mrs. Blair ecstatically.
"Diamonds!" breathed Miss Beddingfield.
They both addressed Colonel Race.
"I suppose you've been to Kimberley?"
I had been to Kimberley too, but I didn't
manage to say so in time. Race was being
inundated with questions. What were mines
&n
bsp; like? Was it true that the natives were kept
shut up in compounds? And so on.
Race answered their questions and showed
a good knowledge of his subject. He
described the methods of housing the natives,
the searches instituted, and the various
precautions that De Beers took.
"Then it's practically impossible to steal
any diamonds?" asked Mrs. Blair with as
keen an air of disappointment as though she
had been journeying there for the express
purpose.
"Nothing's impossible, Mrs. Blair. Thefts
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do occur--like the case I told you of where
the Kafir hid the stone in his wound."
"Yes, but on a large scale?"
"Once, in recent years. Just before the
War, in fact. You must remember the case,
Pedler. You were in South Africa at the
time?"
I nodded.
"Tell us," cried Miss Beddingfield. "Oh,
do tell us!"
Race smiled.
"Very well, you shall have the story. I
suppose most of you have heard of Sir
Laurence Eardsley, the great South African
mining magnate? His mines were gold mines, but he comes into the story through his son.
You may remember that just before the War
rumours were afield of a new potential
Kimberley hidden somewhere in the rocky
floor of the British Guiana jungles. Two
young explorers, so it was reported, had
returned from that part of South America
bringing with them a remarkable collection of
rough diamonds, some of them of considerable
size. Diamonds of small size had been
found before in the neighbourhood of the
Essequibo and Mazaruni rivers, but these
two young men, John Eardsley and his friend
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Lucas, claimed to have discovered beds of
great carbon deposits at the common head of
two streams. The diamonds were of every
colour, pink, blue, yellow, green, black, and
the purest white. Eardsley and Lucas came to
Kimberley, where they were to submit their
gems to inspection. At the same time a
sensational robbery was found to have taken
place at De Beers'. When sending diamonds
to England they are made up into a packet.
This remains in the big safe, of which the two
keys are held by two different men whilst a
third man knows the combination. They are
handed to the Bank, and the Bank send them
to England. Each package is worth, roughly,
about £100,000.
"On this occasion the Bank was struck by