never seem to want to talk about Florence.
Oh, Mr. Pagett, I believe you have a guilty
secret!"
I still had my hand on his arm, and I could
feel the sudden start he gave.
"Not at all. Miss Beddingfield, not at all,"
he said earnestly. "I should be only too
delighted to tell you all about it, but there
really are some cables——"
"Oh, Mr. Pagett, what a thin pretence! I
shall tell Sir Eustace——"
I got no further. He gave another jump.
The man's nerves seemed in a shocking state.
"What is it you want to know?"
The resigned martyrdom of his tone made
me smile inwardly.
"Oh, everything! The pictures, the olive
trees——"
I paused, rather at a loss myself.
"I suppose you speak Italian?" I resumed.
164
"Not a word, unfortunately. But of course,
with hall porters and—er—guides."
"Exactly," I hastened to reply. "And
which was your favourite picture?"
"Oh, er—the Madonna—er, Raphael, you
know."
"Dear old Florence," I murmured
sentimentally. "So picturesque on the banks
of the Arno. A beautiful river. And the
Duomo, you remember the Duomo?"
"Of course, of course."
"Another beautiful river, is it not?" I
hazarded. "Almost more beautiful than the
Arno?" -—— --
"Decidedly so, I should say."
Emboldened by the success of my little
trap, I proceeded further. But there was little
room for doubt. Mr. Pagett delivered himself
into my hands with every word he uttered.
The man had never been in Florence in his
life.
But if not in Florence, where had he been?
In England? Actually in England at the time
of the Mill House Mystery? I decided on a
bold step.
"The curious thing is," I said, "that I
fancied I had seen you before somewhere.
— 165
But I must be mistaken—since you were in
Florence at the time. And yet——"
I studied him frankly. There was a hunted
look in his eyes. He passed his tongue over
his dry lips.
"Where-er-where——"
"Did I think I had seen you?" I finished for
him. "At Marlow. You know Marlow? Why,
of course, how stupid of me. Sir Eustace has a
house there!"
But with an incoherent muttered excuse,
my victim rose and fled.
That night I invaded Suzanne's cabin,
alight with excitement.
"You see, Suzanne," I urged, as I finished
my tale, "he was in England, in Marlow, at
the time of the murder. Are you so sure now
that 'The Man in the Brown Suit' is guilty?"
"I'm sure of one thing," said Suzanne,
twinkling, unexpectedly.
"What's that?"
"That 'The Man in the Brown Suit' is
better looking than poor Mr. Pagett. No,
Anne, don't get cross. I was only teasing. Sit
down here. Joking apart, I think you've made
a very important discovery. Up till now,
we've considered Pagett as having an alibi.
Now we know he hasn't."
166
"Exactly," I said. "We must keep an eye
on him."
"As well as everybody else," she said
ruefully. "Well, that's one of the things I
wanted to talk to you about. That—and
finance. No, don't stick your nose in the
air. I know you are absurdly proud and
independent, but you've got to listen to horse
sense over this. We're partners—1 wouldn't
offer you a penny because I liked you, or
because you're a friendless girl—what I want
is a thrill, and I'm prepared to pay for it.
We're going into this together regardless of
expense. To begin with you'll come with me
to the Mount Nelson Hotel at my expense,
and we'll plan out our campaign."
We argued the point. In the end I gave in.
But I didn't like it. I wanted to do the thing
on my own.
"That's settled," said Suzanne at last,
getting up and stretching herself with a big
yawn. "I'm exhausted with my own
eloquence. Now then, let us discuss our
victims. Mr. Chichester is going on to
Durban. Sir Eustace is going to the Mount
Nelson Hotel in Cape Town and then up to
Rhodesia. He's going to have a private car on
the railway, and in a moment of expansion,
167
after his fourth glass of champagne the other
night, he offered me a place in it. I dare say
he didn't really mean it, but, all the same, he
can't very well back out if I hold him to it."
"Good," I approved. "You keep an eye on
Sir Eustace and Pagett, and I take on
Chichester. But what about Colonel Race?"
Suzanne looked at me queerly.
"Anne, you can't possibly suspect----"
"I do. I suspect everybody. I'm in the
mood when one looks round for the most
unlikely person."
"Colonel Race is going to Rhodesia too,"
said Suzanne thoughtfully. "If we could
arrange for Sir Eustace to invite him
also----"
"You can manage it. You can manage
anything."
"I love butter," purred Suzanne.
We parted on the understanding that
Suzanne should employ her talents to the best
advantage.
I felt too excited to go to bed immediately.
It was my last night on board. Early tomorrow
morning we should be in Table Bay.
I slipped up on deck. The breeze was fresh
and cool. The boat was rolling a little in the
168
choppy sea. The decks were dark and deserted.
It was after midnight.
I leaned over the rail, watching the
phosphorescent trail of foam. Ahead of us lay
Africa, we were rushing towards it through
the dark water. I felt alone in a wonderful
world. Wrapped in a strange peace, I stood
there, taking no heed of time, lost in a dream.
And suddenly I had a curious intimate
premonition of danger. I had heard nothing,
but I swung round instinctively. A shadowy
form had crept up behind me. As I turned, it
sprang. One hand gripped my throat, stifling
any cry I might have uttered. I fought
desperately, but I had no chance. I was half
choking from the grip on my throat, but I bit
and clung and scratched in the most approved
feminine fasion. The man was handicapped
by having to keep me from crying out. If he
had succeeded in reaching me unawares it
would have been easy enough for him to sling
me overboard with a sudden heave. The
sharks would have taken care of the rest.
Struggle as I would. I felt myself
weakening. My assailant felt it too. He put
out all his strength. And then, running on
swift noiseless feet, another shadow jo
ined in.
With one blow of his fist, he sent my
I 169
opponent crashing headlong to the deck.
Released, I fell back against the rail, sick and
trembling.
My rescuer turned to me with a quick
movement.
"You're hurt!"
There was something savage in his tone--a
menace against the person who had dared to
hurt me. Even before he spoke I had
recognized him. It was my man--the man
with the scar.
But that one moment in which his attention
had been diverted to me had been enough for
the fallen enemy. Quick as a flash he had
risen to his feet and taken to his heels down
the deck. With an oath Rayburn sprang after
him.
I always hate being out of things. I joined
the chase--a bad third. Round the deck we
went to the starboard side of the ship. There
by the saloon door lay the man in a crumpled
heap. Rayburn was bending over him.
"Did you hit him again?" I called breathlessly.
"There was no need," he replied grimly. "I
found him collapsed by the door. Or else he
couldn't get it open and is shamming. We'll
170
soon see about that. And we'll see who he is
too."
With a beating heart I drew near. I had
realized at once that my assailant was a bigger
man than Chichester. Anyway, Chichester
was a flabby creature who might use a knife at
a pinch, but who would have little strength in
his bare hands.
Rayburn struck a match. We both uttered
an ejaculation. The man was Guy Pagett.
Rayburn appeared absolutely stupefied by
the discovery.
"Pagett," he muttered. "My God, Pagett." I felt a slight sense of superiotity.
"You seem surprised."
"I am," he said heavily. "I never
suspected----" He wheeled suddenly round
on me. "And you? You're not? You recognized
him, I suppose, when he attacked
you?"
"No, I didn't. All the same, I'm not so very
surprised."
He stared at me suspiciously.
"Where do you come in, I wonder? And
how much do you know?"
I smiled.
"A good deal, Mr.--er--Lucas!"
TMITBS 12 171
He caught my arm, the unconscious
strength of his grip made me wince.
"Where did you get that name?" he asked
hoarsely.
"Isn't it yours?" I demanded sweetly. "Or
do you prefer to be called 'The Man in the
Brown Suit'?"
That did stagger him. He released my arm
and fell back a pace or two.
"Are you a girl or a witch?" he breathed.
"I'm a friend," I advanced a step towards
him. "I offered you my help once—I offer it
again. Will you have it?"
The fierceness of his answer took me aback.
"No. I'll have no truck with you or with
any woman. Do your damnedest."
As before, my own temper began to rise.
"Perhaps," I said, "you don't realize how
much in my power you are! A word from me
to the Captain——"
"Say it," he sneered. Then advancing with
a quick step: "And whilst we're realizing
things, my dear girl, do you realize that
you're in my power this minute? I could take
you by the throat like this." With a swift
gesture he suited the action to the word. I felt
his two hands clasp my throat and press—
ever so little. "Like this—and squeeze the life
172
out of you! And then--like our unconscious
friend here, but with more success--fling
your dead body to the sharks. What do you
say to that?"
I said nothing. I laughed. And yet I knew
that the danger was real. Just at that moment
he hated me. But I knew that I loved the
danger, loved the feeling of his hands on my
throat. That I would not have exchanged that
moment for any other moment in my life.
With a short laugh he released me.
"What^s your name?" he asked abruptly.
"Anne Beddingfield."
"Does nothing frighten you, Anne
Beddingfield?"
"Oh, yes," I said, with an assumption of
coolness I was far from feeling. "Wasps,
sarcastic women, very young men, cockroaches, and superior shop assistants."
He gave the same short laugh as before.
Then he stirred the unconscious form of
Pagett with his feet.
"What shall we do with this junk? Throw it
overboard?" he asked carelessly. "If you like," I answered with equal calm.
"I admire your whole-hearted, bloodthirsty
instincts. Miss Beddingfield. But we will
173
leave him to recover at his leisure. He is not
seriously hurt."
"You shrink from a second murder, I see,"
I said sweetly.
"A second murder?"
He looked genuinely puzzled.
"The woman at Marlow," I reminded him,
watching the effect of my words closely.
An ugly brooding expression settled down
on his face. He seemed to have forgotten my
presence.
"I might have killed her," he said. "Sometimes
I believe that I meant to kill her ..."
A wild rush of feeling, hatred of the dead
woman, surged through me. I could have
killed her that moment, had she stood before
me. . . . For he must have loved her once--he
must--he must--to have felt like that!
I regained control of myself and spoke in
my normal voice:
"We seemed to have said all there is to be
said--except good night."
"Good night and good-bye. Miss Beddingfield."
"Au
revoir, Mr. Lucas."
Again he flinched at the name. He came
nearer.
"Why do you say that--au revoir, I mean?"
174
"Because I have a fancy that we shall meet
again."
"Not if I can help it!"
Emphatic as his tone was, it did not offend
me. On the contrary, I hugged myself with
secret satisfaction. I am not quite a fool.
"All the same," I said gravely, "I think we
shall."
"Why?"
I shook my head, unable to explain the
feeling that had actuated my words.
"I never wish to see you again," he said
suddenly, and violently.
It was really a very rude thing to say, but I
only laughed softly and slipped away into the
darkness.
I heard him start after me, and then pause,
and a word floated down the deck. I think it
was "witch"!
^
175
17
(Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler)
mount nelson hotel, cape town.
IT is really the greatest relief to get off the
Kilmorden. The whole time that I was on
board I was conscious of being surrounded
by a network of intrigue. To put the lid on
everything
. Guy Pagett must needs engage in
a drunken brawl the last night. It is all very
well to explain it away, but that is what it
actually amounts to. What else would you
think if a man comes to you with a lump the
size of an egg on the side of his head and an
eye coloured all the tints of the rainbow?
Of course Pagett would insist on trying to
be mysterious about the whole thing.
According to him, you would think his black
eye was the direct result of his devotion to my
interests. His story was extraordinarily vague
and rambling and it was a long time before I
could make head or tail of it.
To begin with, it appears he caught sight of
a man behaving suspiciously. Those are
Pagett's words. He has taken them straight
176
from the pages of a German spy story. What
he means by a man behaving suspiciously he
doesn't know himself. I said so to him.
"He was slinking along in a very furtive
manner, and it was the middle of the night,
Sir Eustace."
"Well, what were you doing yourself? Why
weren't you in bed and asleep like a good
Christian?" I demanded irritably.
"I had been coding those cables of yours,
Sir Eustace, and typing the diary up to date."
Trust Pagett to be always in the right and a
martyr over it!
"Well?"
"I just thought I would have a look round
before turning in. Sir Eustace. The man was
coming down the passage from your cabin. I
thought at once there was something wrong
by the way he looked about him. He slunk up
the stairs by the saloon. I followed him."
"My dear Pagett," I said, "why shouldn't
the poor chap go on deck without having his
footsteps dogged? Lots of people even sleep
on deck—very uncomfortable, I've always
thought. The sailors wash you down with the
rest of the deck at five in the morning," I
shuddered at the idea.
"Anyway," I continued, "if you went
177
worrying some poor devil who was suffering
from insomnia, I don't wonder he landed you
one."
Pagett looked patient.
"If you would hear me out. Sir Eustace. I
was convinced the man had been prowling
about near your cabin where he had no
business to be. The only two cabins down
that passage are yours and Colonel Race's."
"Race," I said, lighting a cigar carefully, "can look after himself without your
assistance, Pagett." I added as an afterthought:
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