AgathaChristie-TheManInTheBrownSuit
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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."
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"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
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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
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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.
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"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.
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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-
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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
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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
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'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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