chance had I against such a "frame up" as the
"Colonel" could devise?
I glanced up at the clock almost
mechanically, and immeditely another aspect
of the case struck me. I saw the point of Guy
Pagetfs looking at his watch. It was just on eleven, and at eleven the mail train left for
Rhodesia bearing with it the influential
friends who might otherwise come to my
233
rescue. That was the reason of my immunity
up to now. From last night till eleven this
morning I had been safe, but now the net was
closing in upon me.
I hurriedly opened my bag and paid for my
drinks, and as I did so, my heart seemed to
stand still, for inside it was a man's wallet
stuffed with notes It must have been deftly
introduced into my handbag as I left the
tram.
Promptly I lost my head. I hurried out of
Cartwrights. The little man with the big nose
and the policeman were just crossing the
road. They saw me, and the little man
designated me excitedly to the policeman. I
took to my heels and ran. I judged him to be a
slow policeman. I should get a start. But I
had no plan, even then. I just ran for my life
down Adderley Street. People began to stare.
I felt that in another minute someone would
stop me.
An idea flashed into my head.
"The station?" I asked, in a breathless
gasp.
"Just down on the right."
I sped on. It is permissible to run for a
train. I turned into the station, but as I did so
I heard footsteps close behind me. The little
234
man with the big nose was a champion
sprinter. I foresaw that I should be stopped
before I got to the platform I was in search of.
I looked up to the clock--one minute to
eleven. I might just do it if my plan
succeeded.
I had entered the station by the main
entrance in Adderley Street. I now darted out
again through the side exit. Directly opposite
me was the side entrance to the post office,
the main entrance to which is in Adderley
Street.
As I expected, my pursuer, instead of
following me in, ran down the street to cut
me off when I emerged by the main entrance,
or to warn the policeman to do so.
In an instant I slipped across the street
again and back into the station. I ran like a
lunatic. It was just eleven. The long train was
moving as I appeared on the platform. A
porter tried to stop me, but I wriggled myself
out of his grasp and sprang upon the footboard.
I mounted the two steps and opened
the gate. I was safe! The train was gathering
way.
We passed a man standing by himself at the end of the platform. I waved to him.
"Good-bye, Mr. Pagett," I shouted.
TM1TBS16 235
Never have I seen a man more taken aback.
He looked as though he had seen a ghost.
In a minute or two I was having trouble
with the conductor. But I took a lofty tone.
"I am Sir Eustace Pedler's secretary," I
said haughtily. "Please take me to his private
car."
Suzanne and Colonel Race were standing
on the rear observation platform. They both
uttered an exclamation of utter surprise at
seeing me.
"Hullo, Miss Anne," cried Colonel Race,
"where have you turned up from? I thought
you'd gone to Durban. What an unexpected
person you are!"
Suzanne said nothing, but her eyes asked a
hundred questions.
"I must report myself to my chief," I said
demurely. "Where is he!"
"He's in the office—middle compartmentdictating at an incredible rate to the
unfortunate Miss Pettigrew."
"This enthusiasm for work is something
new," I commented.
"H'm!" said Colonel Race. "His idea is, I
think, to give her sufficient work to chain her
to her typewriter in her own compartment for
the rest of the day."
236
I laughed. Then, followed by the other two, I sought out Sir Eustace. He was striding up
and down the circumscribed space, hurling a
flood of words at the unfortunate secretary
whom I now saw for the first time. A tall, square woman in drab clothing, with pincenez
and an efficient air. I judged that she was
finding it difficult to keep pace with Sir
Eustace, for her pencil was flying along, and
she was frowning horribly.
I stepped into the compartment.
"Come aboard, sir," I said saucily.
Sir Eustace paused dead in the middle of a
complicated sentence on the labour situation, and stared at me. Miss Pettigrew must be a
nervous creature, in spite of her efficient air, for she jumped as though she had been shot.
"God bless my soul!" ejaculated Sir
Eustace. "What about the young man in
Durban?"
"I prefer you," I said softly.
"Darling," said Sir Eustace. "You can start
holding my hand at once."
Miss Pettigrew coughed, and Sir Eustace
hastily withdrew his hand.
"Ah, yes," he said. "Let me see, where
were we? Yes. Tyiman Roos. in his speech
237
at---- What's the matter? Why aren't you
taking it down?"
"I think," said Colonel Race gently, "that
Miss Pettigrew has broken her pencil."
He took it from her and sharpened it. Sir
Eustace stared, and so did I. There was something
in Colonel Race's tone that I did not
quite understand.
238
22
(Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler)
I AM inclined to abandon my Reminiscences.
Instead, I shall write a short
article entitled "Secretaries I have had."
As regards secretaries, I seem to have fallen
under a blight. At one minute I have no
secretaries, at another I have too many. At the
present minute I am journeying to Rhodesia
with a pack of women. Race goes off with the
two best-looking, of course, and leaves me
with the dud. That is what always happens to
me--and, after all, this is my private car, not
Race's.
Also Anne Beddingfield is accompanying
me to Rhodesia on the pretext of being my
temporary secretary. But all this afternoon
she has been out on the observation platform
with Race exclaiming at the beauty of the
Hex River Pass. It is true that I told her her
principal duty would be to hold my hand.
But she isn't even doing that. Perhaps she is
afraid of Miss Pettigrew. I don't blame her if
so. There is nothing attractive about Miss
239
Pettigrew—she is a repellent female with
large feet, more like a man than a woman.
There is something very mysterious about
Anne Beddingfield. She jumped on board the
train
at the last minute, puffing like a steamengine,
for all the world as though she'd been
running a race—and yet Pagett told me that
he'd seen her off to Durban last night! Either
Pagett has been drinking again or else the girl
must have an astral body.
And she never explains. Nobody ever
explains. Yes, "Secretaries I have had." No.
1, a murderer fleeing from justice. No. 2, a
secret drinker who carries on disreputable
intrigues in Italy. No. 3, a beautiful girl who
possesses the useful faculty of being in two
places at once. No. 4, Miss Pettigrew, who, I
have no doubt, is really a particularly
dangerous crook in disguise! Probably one of
Pagett's Italian friends that he has palmed off
on me. I shouldn't wonder if the world found
some day that it had been grossly deceived by
Pagett. On the whole, I think Rayburn was
the best of the bunch. He never worried me
or got in my way. Guy Pagett has had the
impertinence to have the stationery trunk put
in here. None of us can move without falling
over it.
240
I went out on the observation platform just
now, expecting my appearance to be greeted
with hails of delight. Both the women were
listening spellbound to one of Race's
traveller's tales. I shall label this car—not
"Sir Eustace Pedler and Party," but
"Colonel Race and Harem."
Then Mrs. Blair must needs begin taking
silly photographs. Every time we went round
a particularly appalling curve, as we climbed
higher and higher, she snapped at the engine.
"You see the point," she cried delightedly.
"It must be some curve if you can
photograph the front part of the train from
the back, and with the mountain background
it will look awfully dangerous."
I pointed out to her that no one could
possibly tell it had been taken from the back
of the train. She looked at me pityingly.
"I shall write underneath it. 'Taken from
the train. Engine going round a curve'."
"You could write that under any snapshot
of a train," I said. Women never think of
these simple things.
"I'm glad we've come up here in daylight,"
cried Anne Beddingfield. "I shouldn't have
seen this if I'd gone last night to Durban,
should I?"
241
"No," said Colonel Race, smiling. "You'd
have woken up to-morrow morning to find
yourself in the Karoo, a hot, dusty desert of
stones and rocks."
"I'm glad I changed my mind," said Anne,
sighing contentedly, and looking round.
It was rather a wonderful sight. The great
mountains all around, through which we
turned and twisted and laboured ever steadily
upwards.
"Is this the best train in the day to
Rhodesia?" asked Anne Beddingfield.
"In the day?" laughed Race. "Why, my
dear Miss Anne, there are only three trains a
week. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays.
Do you realize that you don't arrive at the
Falls until Saturday next?"
"How well we shall know each other by
that time!" said Mrs. Blair maliciously.
"How long are you going to stay at the Falls.
Sir Eustace?"
"That depends," I said cautiously.
"On what?"
"On how things go at Johannesburg. My
original idea was to stay a couple of days or so
at the Falls—which I've never seen, though
this is my third visit to Africa—and then go
on to Jo'burg and study the conditions of
242
things on the Rand. At home, you know, I
pose as being an authority on South African
politics. But from all I hear, Jo'burg will be a
particularly unpleasant place to visit in about
a week's time. I don't want to study
conditions in the midst of a raging
revolution."
Race smiled in a rather superior manner.
"I think your fears are exaggerated. Sir
Eustace. There will be no great danger in
Jo'burg."
The women immediately looked at him in
the "What a brave hero you are" manner. It
annoyed me intensely. I am every bit as
brave as Race--but I lack the figure. These
long, lean, brown men have it all their own
way.
"I suppose you'll be there," I said coldly.
"Very possibly. We might travel together."
"I'm not sure that I shan't stay on at the
Falls a bit," I answered noncommittally.
Why is Race so anxious that I should go to
Jo'burg. He's got his eye on Anne, I believe.
"What are your plans. Miss Anne?"
"That depends," she replied demurely, copying me.
I thought you were my secretary," I
objected.
243
"Oh, but I've been cut out. You've been
holding Miss Pettigrew's hand all the
afternoon."
"Whatever I've been doing, I can swear
I've not been doing that," I assured her.
Thursday night.
We have just left Kimberley. Race was
made to tell the story of the diamond robbery
all over again. Why are women so excited by
anything to do with diamonds?
At last Anne Beddingfield has shed her veil
of mystery. It seems that she's a newspaper
correspondent. She sent an immense cable
from De Aar this morning. To judge by the
jabbering that went on nearly all night in
Mrs. Blair's cabin, she must have been
reading aloud all her special articles for years
to come.
It seems that all along she's been on the
track of "The Man in the Brown Suit."
Apparently she didn't spot him on the
Kilmorden—'m fact, she hardly had the
chance, but she's now very busy cabling
home: "How I journeyed out with the
Murderer," and inventing highly fictitious
stories of "What he said to me," etc. I know
how these things are done. I do them myself,
244
in my Reminiscences when Pagett will let
me. And of course one of Nasby's efficient
staff will brighten up the details still more, so
that when it appears in the Daily Budget
Rayburn won't recognize himself.
The girl's clever, though. All on her own,
apparently, she's ferreted out the identity of
the woman who was killed in my house. She
was a Russian dancer called Nadina. I asked
Anne Beddingfield if she was sure of this. She
replied that it was merely a deduction—quite
in the Sherlock Holmes manner. However, I
gather that she had cabled it home to Nasby
as a proved fact. Women have these
intuitions—I've no doubt that Anne Beddingfield
is perfectly right in her guess—but to
call it a deduction is absurd.
How she ever got on the staff of the Daily
Budget is more than I can imagine. But she
is
the kind of young woman who does these
things. Impossible to withstand her. She is
full of coaxing ways that mask an invincible
determination. Look how she has got into my
private car!
I am beginning to have an inkling why.
Race said something about the police
suspecting that Rayburn would make for
Rhodesia. He might just have got off by
245
Monday's train. They telegraphed all along
the line, I presume, and no one of his
description was found, but that says little.
He's an astute young man and he knows
Africa. He's probably exquisitely disguised as
an old Kafir woman—and the simple police
continue to look for a handsome young man
with a scar, dressed in the height of European
fashion. I never did quite swallow that scar.
Anyway, Anne Beddingfield is on his track.
She wants the glory of discovering him for
herself and the Daily Budget. Young women
are very cold-blooded nowadays. I hinted to
her that it was an unwomanly action. She
laughed at me. She assured me that did she
run him to earth her fortune was made. Race
doesn't like it, either, I can see. Perhaps
Rayburn is on this train. If so, we may all be
murdered in our beds. I said so to Mrs.
Blair—but she seemed quite to welcome the
idea, and remarked that if I were murdered it
would be really a terrific scoop for Anne! A
scoop for Anne, indeed!
To-morrow we shall be going through
Bechuanaland. The dust will be atrocious.
Also at every station little Kafir children
come and sell you quaint wooden animals
that they carve themselves. Also mealie bowls
246
and baskets. I am rather afraid that Mrs. Blair
may run amok. There is a primitive charm
about these toys that I feel will appeal to her.
Friday evening.
As I feared. Mrs. Blair and Anne have
bought forty-nine wooden animals!
247
23
(Anne's Narrative Resumed)
I THOROUGHLY enjoyed the journey up
to Rhodesia. There was something new
and exciting to see every day. First the
wonderful scenery of the Hext River valley,
then the desolate grandeur of the Karoo, and
finally that wonderful straight stretch of line
in Bechuanaland, and the perfectly adorable
toys the natives brought to sell. Suzanne and
I were nearly left behind at each station—if
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