you could call them stations. It seemed to me
that the train just stopped whenever it felt
like it, and no sooner had it done so than a
horde of natives materialized out of the
empty landscape, holding up mealie bowls
and sugar canes and fur karosses and adorable
carved wooden animals. Suzanne began at
once to make a collection of the latter. I
imitated her example—most of them cost a
"ttki" (threepence) and each was different.
There were giraffes and tigers and snakes and
a melancholy-looking eland and absurd little
248
black warriors. We enjoyed ourselves
enormously.
Sir Eustace tried to restrain us—but in
vain. I still think it was a miracle we were not
left behind at some oasis of the line. South
African trains don't hoot or get excited when
they are going to start off again. They just
glide quietly away, and you look up from
your bargaining and run for your life.
Suzanne's amazement at seeing me climb
upon the train at Cape Town can be
imagined. We held an exhaustive survey of
the situation on the first evening out. We
talked half the night.
It had become clear to me that defensive
tactics must be adopted as well as aggressive
ones. Travelling with Sir Eustace Pedler and
his party, I was fairly safe. Both he and
Colonel Race were powerful protectors, and I
judged that my enemies would not wish to
stir up a hornet's nest about my ears. Also, as
long as I was near Sir Eustace, I was more or
less in touch with Guy Pagett—and Guy
Pagett was the heart of the mystery. I asked
Suzanne whether in her opinion it was
Possible that Pagett himself was the
mysterious "Colonel." His subordinate
position was, of course, against the
249
assumption, but it had struck me once or
twice that, for all his autocratic ways. Sir
Eustace was really very much influenced by
his secretary. He was an easy-going man, and
one whom an adroit secretary might be able
to twist round his little finger. The
comparative obscurity of his position might
in reality be useful to him, since he would be
anxious to be well out of the limelight.
Suzanne, however, negatived these ideas
very strongly. She refused to believe that Guy
Pagett was the ruling spirit. The real
head—the "Colonel"—was somewhere in the
background and had probably been already in
Africa at the time of our arrival.
I agreed that there was much to be said for
her view, but I was not entirely satisfied. For
in each suspicious instance Pagett had been
shown as the directing genius. It was true that
his personality seemed to lack the assurance
and decision that one would expect from a
master criminal—but after all, according to
Colonel Race, it was brain-work only that this
mysterious leader supplied, and creative
genius is often allied to a weak and timorous
physical constitution.
"There speaks the Professor's daughter,"
250
interrupted Suzanne, when I had got to this
point in my argument.
"It's true, all the same. On the other hand,
pagett may be the Grand Vizier, so to speak,
of the All Highest." I was silent for a minute
or two, and then went on musingly: "I wish I
knew how Sir Eustace made his money!"
"Suspecting him again?"
"Suzanne, I've got into that state that I
can't help suspecting somebody! I don't
really suspect him—but, after all, he is
Pagett's employer, and he did own the Mill
House."
"I've always heard that he made his money
in some way he isn't anxious to talk about,"
said Suzanne thoughtfully. "But that doesn't
necessarily mean crime—it might be tin-tacks
or hair restorer!"
I agreed ruefully.
"I suppose," said Suzanne doubtfully,
"that we're not barking up the wrong tree?
Being led completely astray, I mean, by
assuming Pagett's complicity? Supposing
that, after all, he is a perfectly honest man?"
I considered that for a minute or two, then
I shook my head.
"I can't believe that."
TMITBS17 951
"After all, he has his explanations for
everything."
"Y—es, but they're not very convincing.
For instance, the night he tried to throw me
overboard on the Kilmorden, he says he
followed Rayburn up on deck and Rayburn
turned and knocked him down. Now we
know that's not true."
"No," said Suzanne unwillingly. "But we
only heard the story at second-hand from Sir
Eustace. If we'd heard it direct from Pagett
himself, it might have been different. You
know how people always get a story a little
wrong when they repeat it."
I turned the thing over in my mind.
"No," I said at last, "I don't see any way
out. Pagett's guilty. You can't get away from
the fact that he tried to throw me overboard,
and everything else fits in. Why are you so
persistent in this new idea of yours?"
"Because of his face."
"His face? But——"
"Yes, I know what you're going to say. It's
a sinister face. That's just it. No man with a
face like that could be really sinister. It must
be a colossal joke on the part of Nature."
I did not believe much in Suzanne's
argument. I know, a lot about Nature in past
252
ages. If she's got a sense of humour, she
doesn't show it much. Suzanne is just the sort
of person who would clothe Nature with all
her own attributes.
We passed on to discuss our immediate
plans. It was clear to me that I must have
some kind of standing. I couldn't go on
avoiding explanations for ever. The solution
of all my difficulties lay ready to my hand,
though I didn't think of it for some time. The
Daily Budget My silence or my speech could
no longer affect Harry Rayburn. He was
marked down as "The Man in the Brown
Suit" through no fault of mine. I could help
him best by seeming to be against him. The
"Colonel" and his gang must have no
suspicion that there existed any friendly
feeling between me and the man they had
elected to be the scapegoat of the murder at
Marlow. As far as I knew, the woman killed
was still unidentified. I would cable to Lord
Nasby, suggesting that she was no other than
the famous Russian dancer "Nadina" who
had been delighting Paris for so long. It
seemed incredible to me that she had not
been identified already—but when I learnt
"^ore of the case long afterwards I saw how
natural it rea
lly was.
253
Nadina had never been to England, during
her successful career in Paris. She was
unknown to London audiences. The pictures
in the papers of the Marlow victim were so
blurred and unrecognizable that it is small
wonder no one identified them. And, on the
other hand, Nadina had kept her intention of
visiting England a profound secret from
everyone. The day after the murder, a letter
had been received by her manager purporting
to be from the dancer, in which she said that
she was returning to Russia on urgent private
affairs and that he must deal with her broken
contract as best he could.
All this, of course, I only learned afterwards.
With Suzanne's full approval, I sent a
long cable from De Aar. It arrived at a
psychological moment (this again, of course, I
learned afterwards). The Daily Budget was
hard up for a sensation. My guess was
verified and proved to be correct and the Daily Budget had the scoop of its lifetime.
"Victim of the Mill House Murder identified
by our special reporter." And so on. "Our
reporter makes voyage with the murderer.
The Man in the Brown Suit. What he is
really like."
The main facts were, of course, cabled to
254
the South African papers, but I only read my
own lengthy articles at a much later date! I
received approval and full instructions by
cable at Bulawayo. I was on the staff of the
Daily Budget, and I had a private word of
congratulation from Lord Nasby himself. I
was definitely accredited to hunt down the
murderer, and I, and only I, knew that the
murderer was not Harry Rayburn! But let
the world think that it was he—best so for the
present.
255
24
WE arrived at Bulawayo early on
Saturday morning. I was disappointed
in the place. It was very
hot, and I hated the hotel. Also Sir Eustace
was what I can only describe as thoroughly
sulky. I think it was all our wooden animals
that annoyed him--especially the big giraffe.
It was a colossal giraffe with an impossible
neck, a mild eye and a dejected tail. It had
character. It had charm. A controversy was
already arising as to whom it belonged
to--me or Suzanne. We had each contributed
a tiki to its purchase. Suzanne advanced the
claims of seniority and the married state, I
stuck to the position that I had been the first
to behold its beauty.
In the meantime, I must admit, it occupied
a good deal of this three-dimensional space of
ours. To carry forty-nine wooden animals, all
of awkward shape, and all of extremely brittle
wood, is somewhat of a problem. Two porters
were laden with a bunch of animals each--
and one promptly dropped a ravishing group
256
of ostriches and broke their heads off.
Warned by this, Suzanne and I carried all we
could. Colonel Race helped, and I pressed the
big giraffe into Sir Eustace's arms. Even the
correct Miss Pettigrew did not escape, a large
hippopotamus and two black warriors fell to
her share. I had a feeling Miss Pettigrew
didn't like me. Perhaps she fancied I was a
bold hussy. Anyway, she avoided me as much
as she could. And the funny thing was, her
face seemed vaguely familiar to me, though I
couldn't quite place it.
We reposed ourselves most of the morning,
and in the afternoon we drove out to the
Matoppos to see Rhodes's grave. That is to
say, we were to have done so, but at the last
moment Sir Eustace backed out. He was very
nearly in as bad a temper as the morning we
arrived at Cape Town—when he bounced the
peaches on the floor and they squashed!
Evidently arriving early in the morning at
places is bad for his temperament. He cursed
the porters, he cursed the waiter at breakfast,
he cursed the whole hotel management, he
would doubtless have liked to curse Miss
^ttigrew, who hovered around with her
Pencil and pad, but I don't think even Sir
Eustace would have dared to curse Miss
257
Pettigrew. She's just like the efficient
secretary in a book. I only just rescued our
dear giraffe in time. I feel Sir Eustace would
have liked to dash him to the ground.
To return to our expedition, after Sir
Eustace had backed out, Miss Pettigrew said
she would remain at home in case he might
want her. And at the very last minute
Suzanne sent down a message to say she had a
headache. So Colonel Race and I drove off
alone.
He is a strange man. One doesn't notice it
so much in a crowd. But when one is alone
with him the sense of his personality seems
really almost overpowering. He becomes
more taciturn, and yet his silence seems to say
more than speech might do.
It was so that day that we drove to the
Matoppos through the soft yellow-brown
scrub. Everything seemed strangely silent—
except our car, which I should think was the
first Ford ever made by man! The upholstery
of it was torn to ribbons and, though I know
nothing about engines, even I could guess
that all was not as it should be in its interior.
By and by the character of the country
changed. Great boulders appeared, piled up
into fantastic shapes. I felt suddenly that I
258
had got into a primitive era. Just for a
moment Neanderthal men seemed quite as
real to me as they had to Papa. I turned to
Colonel Race.
"There must have been giants once," I said
dreamily. "And their children were just like
children are to-day—they played with
handfuls of pebbles, piling them up and
knocking them down, and the more cleverly
they balanced them, the better pleased they
were. If I were to give a name to this place I
should call it The Country of Giant
Children."
"Perhaps you're nearer the mark than you
know," said Colonel Race gravely. "Simple,
primitive, big—that is Africa."
I nodded appreciatively.
"You love it, don't you?" I asked.
"Yes. But to live in it long—well, it makes
one what you would call cruel. One comes to
hold life and death very lightly."
"Yes," I said, thinking of Harry Rayburn.
He had been like that too. "But not cruel to
weak things?"
'Opinions differ as to what are and are not
'weak things,' Miss Anne."
There was a note of seriousness in his voice
which almost startled me. I felt that I knew
259
very little really of this man at my side.
"I meant children and d
ogs, I think."
"I can truthfully say I've never been cruel
to children or dogs. So you don't class women
as 'weak things'?"
I considered.
"No, I don't think I do—though they are, I
suppose. That is, they are nowadays. But
Papa always said that in the beginning men
and women roamed the world together, equal
in strength—like lions and tigers——"
"And giraffes?" interpolated Colonel Race
slyly.
I laughed. Everyone makes fun of that
giraffe.
"And giraffes. They were nomadic, you
see. It wasn't till they settled down in
communities, and women did one kind of
thing and men another, that women got
weak. And of course, underneath, one is still
the same—one feels the same, I mean—and
that is why women worship physical strength
in men: it's what they once had and have
lost."
"Almost ancestor worship, in fact?"
"Something of the kind."
"And you really think that's true? That
women worship strength, I mean?"
260
FR1;"I think it's quite true--if one's honest.
You think you admire moral qualities, but
when you fall in love, you revert to the
primitive where the physical is all that
counts. But I don't think that's the end, if
you lived in primitive conditions it would be
all right, but you don't--and so, in the end, the other thing wins after all. It's the things
that are apparently conquered that always do
win, isn't it? They win in the only way that
counts. Like what the Bible says about losing
your life and finding it."
"In the end," said Colonel Race thoughtfully, "you fall in love--and you fall out of it,
is that what you mean?"
"Not exactly, but you can put it that way if
you like."
"But I don't think you've ever fallen out of
love. Miss Anne?"
"No, I haven't," I admitted frankly.
"Or fallen in love, either?"
I did not answer.
The car drew up at our destination and
brought the conversation to a close. We got
out and began the slow ascent to the World's
View. Not for the first time, I felt a slight
discomfort in Colonel Race's company. He
veiled his thoughts so well behind those
Jyy 261
impenetrable black eyes. He frightened me a
little. He had always frightened me. I never
knew where I stood with him.
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