AgathaChristie-TheManInTheBrownSuit

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by The Man In The Brown Suit (lit)


  was--only it wasn't quite as hard as he

  though and it squashed."

  Suzanne smiled.

  "Sir Eustace doesn't like getting up early

  any more than I do. But, Anne, did you see

  Mr. Pagett? I ran against him in the passage.

  He's got a black eye. What can he have been

  doing?"

  "Only trying to push me overboard," I

  replied nonchalantly.

  It was a distinct score for me. Suzanne left

  her face half anointed and pressed for details.

  I gave them to her.

  "It all gets more and more mysterious," she

  cried. "I thought I was going to have the soft

  job sticking to Sir Eustace, and that you

  would have all the fun with the Rev. Edward

  Chichester, but now I'm not so sure. I hope

  Pagett won't push me off the train some dark

  night."

  "I think you're still above suspicion, Suzanne. But, if the worst happens, I'll wire

  to Clarence."

  192

  "That reminds me—give me a cable form.

  Let me see now, what shall I say? "Implicated

  in the most thrilling mystery please send me a

  thousand pounds at once Suzanne'."

  I took the form from her, and pointed out

  that she could eliminate a "the," an "a," and

  possibly, if she didn't care about being polite,

  a "please." Suzanne, however, appears to be

  perfectly reckless in money matters. Instead

  of attending to my economical suggestions,

  she added three words more: "enjoying

  myself hugely."

  Suzanne was engaged to lunch with friends

  of hers, who came to the hotel about eleven

  o'clock to fetch her. I was left to my own

  devices. I went down through the grounds of

  the hotel crossed the tram-lines and followed

  a cool shady avenue right down till I came to

  the main street. I strolled about, seeing the

  sights, enjoying the sunlight and the blackfaced

  sellers of flowers and fruits. I also

  discovered a place where they had the most

  delicious ice-cream sodas. Finally, I bought a

  sixpenny basket of peaches and retraced my

  steps to the hotel.

  To my surprise and pleasure I found a note

  awaiting me. It was from the curator of the

  Museum. He had read of my arrival on the

  193

  Kilmorden, in which I was described as the

  daughter of the late Professor Beddingfield.

  He had known my father slightly and had a

  great admiration for him. He went on to say

  that his wife would be delighted if I would

  come out and have tea with them that afternoon

  at their Villa at Muizenberg. He gave

  me instructions for getting there.

  It was pleasant to think that poor Papa was

  still remembered and highly thought of. I

  foresaw that I would have to be personally

  escorted round the Museum before I left

  Cape Town, but I risked that. To most

  people it would have been a treat--but one

  can have too much of a good thing if one is

  brought up on it, morning, noon, and night.

  I put on my best hat (one ofSuzanne's castoffs)

  and my least crumpled white linen and

  started off after lunch. I caught a fast train to

  Muizenberg and got there in about half an

  hour. It was a nice trip. We wound slowly

  round the base of Table Mountain, and some

  of the flowers were lovely. My geography

  being weak, I had never fully realized that

  Cape Town is on a peninsula, consequently I

  was rather surprised on getting out of the

  train to find myself facing the sea once more.

  There was some perfectly entrancing bathing

  194

  going on. The people had short curved

  boards and came floating in on the waves. It

  was far too early to go to tea. I made for the

  bathing pavilion, and when they said would I

  have a surf board, I said "Yes, please."

  Surfing looks perfectly easy. It isn't. I say no

  more. I got very angry and fairly hurled my

  plank from me. Nevertheless, I determined to

  return on the first possible opportunity and

  have another go. I would not be beaten. Quite

  by mistake I then got a good run on my

  board, and came out delirious with

  happiness. Surfing is like that. You are either

  vigorously cursing or else you are idiotically

  pleased with yourself.

  I found the Villa Medgee after some little

  difficulty. It was right up on the side of the

  mountain, isolated from the other cottages

  and villas. I rang the bell, and a smiling Kafir

  boy answered it.

  "Mrs. Raffini?" I inquired.

  He ushered me in, preceded me down the

  passage and flung open a door. Just as I was

  about to pass in, I hesitated. I felt a sudden

  misgiving. I stepped over the threshold and

  the door swung sharply to behind me.

  A man rose from his seat behind a table and

  tame forward with outstretched hands.

  195

  "So glad we have persuaded you to visit us,

  Miss Beddingfield," he said.

  He was a tall man, obviously a Dutchman,

  with a flaming orange beard. He did not look

  in the least like the curator of a museum. In

  fact, I realized in a flash that I had made a

  fool of myself.

  I was in the hands of the enemy.

  196

  19

  IT reminded me forcibly of Episode III in

  "The Perils of Pamela." How often had I

  not sat in the sixpenny seats, eating a twopenny

  bar of milk chocolate, and yearning for

  similar things to happen to me! Well, they

  had happened with a vengeance. And somehow

  it was not nearly so amusing as I had

  imagined. It's all very well on the screen--

  you have the comfortable knowledge that

  there's bound to be an Episode IV. But in real

  life there was absolutely no guarantee that

  Anna the Adventuress might not terminate

  abruptly at the end of any Episode.

  Yes, I was in a tight place. All the things

  that Rayburn had said that morning came

  back to me with unpleasant distinctness. Tell

  the truth, he had said. Well, I could always

  do that, but was it going to help me? To

  begin with, would my story be believed?

  Would they consider it likely or possible that

  I had started off on this mad escapade simply

  on the strength of a scrap of paper smelling of "loth-balls? It sounded to me a wildly incred-

  197

  ibie tale. In that moment of cold sanity I

  cursed myself for a melodramatic idiot, and

  yearned for the peaceful boredom of Little

  Hampsley.

  All this passed through my mind in less

  time than it takes to tell. My first instinctive

  movement was to step backwards and feel for

  the handle of the door. My captor merely

  grinned.

  "Here you are and here you stay," he

  remarked facetiously.

  I did my be
st to put a bold face upon the

  matter.

  "I was invited to come here by the curator

  of the Cape Town Museum. If I have made a

  mistake——"

  "A mistake? Oh, yes, a big mistake!"

  He laughed coarsely.

  "What right have you to detain me? I shall

  inform the police——"

  "Yap, yap, yap—like a little toy dog." He

  laughed.

  I sat down on a chair.

  "I can only conclude that you are a

  dangerous lunatic," I said coldly.

  "Indeed?"

  "I should like to point out to you that my

  friends are perfectly well aware where I have

  198

  gone, and that if I have not returned by this

  evening, they will come in search of me. You

  understand?"

  "So your friends know where you are, do

  they? Which of them?"

  Thus challenged, I did a lightning

  calculation of chances. Should I mention Sir

  Eustace? He was a well-known man, and his

  name might carry weight. But if they were in

  touch with Pagett, they might know I was

  lying. Better not risk Sir Eustace.

  "Mrs. Blair, for one," I said lightly. "A

  friend of mine with whom I am staying."

  "I think not," said my captor, slyly shaking

  his orange head. "You have not seen her

  since eleven this morning. And you received

  your note, bidding you come here, at lunchtime."

  His words showed me how closely my

  movements had been followed, but I was not

  going to give in without a fight.

  "You are very clever," I said. "Perhaps

  you have heard of that useful invention, the

  telephone? Mrs. Blair called me up on it

  when I was resting in my room after lunch. I

  told her then where I was going this afternoon."

  To my great satisfaction, I saw a shade of

  199

  uneasiness pass over his face. Clearly he had

  overlooked the possibility that Suzanne might

  have telephoned to me. I wished she really

  had done so!

  "Enough of this," he said harshly, rising.

  "What are you going to do with me?" I

  asked, still endeavouring to appear

  composed.

  "Put you where you can do no harm in case

  your friends come after you."

  For a moment my blood ran cold, but his

  next words reassured me.

  "To-morrow you'll have some questions to

  answer, and after you've answered them we

  shall know what to do with you. And I can

  tell you, young lady, we've more ways than

  one of making obstinate little fools talk."

  It was not cheering, but it was at least a

  respite. I had until to-morrow. This man was

  clearly an underling obeying the orders of a

  superior. Could that superior by any chance

  be Pagett?

  He called and two Kafirs appeared. I was

  taken upstairs. Despite my struggles, I was

  gagged and then bound hand and foot. The

  room into which they had taken me was a

  kind of attic right under the roof. It was dusty

  and showed little signs of having been

  200

  occupied. The Dutchman made a mock bow

  and withdrew, closing the door behind him.

  I was quite helpless. Turn and twist as I

  would, I could not loosen my hands in the

  slightest degree, and the gag prevented me

  from crying out. If, by any possible chance,

  anyone did come to the house, I could do

  nothing to attract their attention. Down

  below I heard the sound of a door shutting.

  Evidently the Dutchman was going out.

  It was maddening not to be able to do

  anything. I strained again at my bonds, but

  the knots held. I desisted at last, and either

  fainted or fell asleep. When I awoke I was in

  pain all over. It was quite dark now, and I

  judged that the night must be well advanced,

  for the moon was high in the heavens and

  shining down through the dusty skylight.

  The gag was half choking me and the stiffness

  and pain were unendurable.

  It was then that my eyes fell on a bit of

  broken glass lying in the corner. A

  moonbeam slanted right down on it, and its

  glistening had caught my attention. As I

  looked at it, an idea came into my head.

  My arms and legs were helpless, but surely

  I could still roll. Slowly and awkwardly, I set

  myself in motion. It was not easy. Besides

  201

  being extremely painful, since I could not

  guard my face with my arms, it was also

  exceedingly difficult to keep any particular

  direction.

  I tended to roll in every direction except

  the one I wanted to go. In the end, however, I

  came right up against my objective. It almost

  touched my bound hands.

  Even then it was not easy. It took an

  infinity of time before I could wriggle the

  glass into such a position, wedged against the

  wall, that it would rub up and down on my

  bonds. It was a long heart-rending process,

  and I almost despaired, but in the end I

  succeeded in sawing through the cords that

  bound my wrists. The rest was a matter of

  time. Once I had restored the circulation to

  my hands by rubbing the wrists vigorously, I

  was able to undo the gag. One or two full

  breaths did a lot for me.

  Very soon I had undone the last knot,

  though even then it was some time before I

  could stand on my feet, but at last I stood

  erect, swinging my arms to and fro to restore

  the circulation, and wishing above all things

  that I could get hold of something to eat.

  I waited about a quarter of an hour, to be

  quite sure of my recovered strength. Then I

  202

  tiptoed noiselessly to the door. As I had

  hoped, it was not locked, only latched. I

  unlatched it and peeped cautiously out.

  Everything was still. The moonlight came

  in through a window and showed me the

  dusty uncarpeted staircase. Cautiously I crept

  down it. Still no sound—but as I stood on the

  landing below, a faint murmur of voices

  reached me. I stopped dead, and stood there

  for some time. A clock on the wall registered

  the fact that it was after midnight.

  I was fully aware of the risks I might run if

  I descended lower, but my curiosity was too

  much for me. With infinite precautions I

  prepared to explore. I crept softly down the

  last flight of stairs and stood in the square

  hall. I looked round me—and then caught my

  breath with a gasp. A Kafir boy was sitting by

  the hall door. He had not seen me, indeed I

  soon realized by his breathing that he was fast

  asleep.

  Should I retreat, or should I go on? The

  voices came from the room I had been shown

  into on arrival. One of them was that of my

  Dutch friend, the other I could not for the

  momen
t recognize, though it seemed vaguely

  familiar.

  Tn rhe end I decided that it was clearly my

  tmitbs 14 203

  duty to hear all I could. I must risk the Kafir

  boy waking up. I crossed the hall noiselessly

  and knelt by the study door. For a moment or

  two I could hear no better. The voices were

  louder, but I could not distinguish what they

  said.

  I applied my eye to the keyhole instead of

  my ear. As I had guessed, one of the speakers

  was the big Dutchman. The other man was

  sitting outside my circumscribed range of

  vision.

  Suddenly he rose to get himself a drink. His

  back, black-clad and decorous, came into

  view. Even before he turned round I knew

  who he was.

  Mr. Chichester!

  Now I began to make out the words.

  "All the same, it is dangerous. Suppose her

  friends come after her?"

  It was the big man speaking. Chichester

  answered him. He had dropped his clerical

  voice entirely. No wonder I had not

  recognized it.

  "All bluff. They haven't an idea where she

  is."

  "She spoke very positively."

  "I dare say. I've looked into the matter, and

  we've nothing to fear. Anyway, it's the

  204

  'Colonel's' orders. You don't want to go

  against them, I suppose?"

  The Dutchman ejaculated something in his

  own language. I judged it to be a hasty

  disclaimer.

  "But why not knock her on the head?" he

  growled. "It would be simple. The boat is all

  ready. She could be taken out to sea."

  "Yes," said Chichester meditatively.

  "That is what I should do. She knows too

  much, that is certain. But the 'Colonel' is a

  man who likes to play a lone hand—though

  no one else must do so." Something in his

  own words seemed to awaken a memory that

  annoyed him. "He wants information of

  some kind from this girl."

  He had paused before the "information,"

  and the Dutchman was quick to catch him

  up.

  "Information?"

  "Something of the kind."

  "Diamonds," I said to myself.

  "And now," continued Chichester, "give

  me the lists."

  For a long time their conversation was

  quite incomprehensible to me. It seemed to

  deal with large quantities of vegetables. Dates

  were mentioned, prices, and various names of

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