AgathaChristie-TheManInTheBrownSuit

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by The Man In The Brown Suit (lit)


  Hyde Park Hotel. Nadina was still having

  lunch. I needn't describe in detail how I

  followed her down to Marlow. She went into

  the house, and I spoke to the woman at the

  lodge, pretending that I was with her. Then

  I, too, went in."

  He stopped. There was a tense silence.

  "You will believe me, Anne, won't you? I

  302

  swear before God that what I am going to say

  is true. I went into the house after her with

  something very like murder in my heart—and

  she was dead! I found her in the first-floor

  room—God! It was horrible. Dead—and I was

  not more than three minutes behind her. And

  there was no sign of anyone else in the house!

  Of course I realized at once the terrible

  position I was in. By one master-stroke the

  blackmailed had rid himself of the

  blackmailer, and at the same time had

  provided a victim to whom the crime would

  be ascribed. The hand of the "Colonel" was

  very plain. For the second time I was to be his

  victim. Fool that I had been to walk into the

  trap so easily!

  "I hardly know what I did next. I managed

  to go out of the place looking fairly normal,

  but I knew that it would not be long before

  the crime was discovered and a description of

  my appearance telegraphed all over the

  country.

  "I lay low for some days, not daring to

  make a move. In the end, chance came to my

  aid. I overheard a conversation between two

  middle-aged gentlemen in the street, one of

  whom proved to be Sir Eustace Pedler. I at

  once conceived the idea of attaching myself to

  303

  him as his secretary. The fragment of

  conversation I had overheard gave me my

  clue. I was now no longer so sure that Sir

  Eustace Pedler was the "Colonel." His house

  might have been appointed as a rendezvous

  by accident, or for some obscure motive that I

  had not fathomed."

  "Do you know," I interrupted, "that Guy

  Pagett was in Marlow at the date of the

  murder?"

  "That settles it then. I thought he was at

  Cannes with Sir Eustace."

  "He was supposed to be in Florence—but

  he certainly never went there. I'm pretty

  certain he was really in Marlow, but of course

  I can't prove it."

  "And to think I never suspected Pagett for

  a minute until the night he tried to throw you

  overboard. The man's a marvellous actor."

  "Yes, isn't he?"

  "That explains why the Mill House was

  chosen. Pagett could probably get in and out

  of it unobserved. Of course he made no

  objection to my accompanying Sir Eustace

  across in the boat. He didn't want me laid by

  the heels immediately. You see, evidently

  Nadina didn't bring the jewels with her to the

  rendezvous, as they had counted on her

  304

  doing. I fancy that Carton really had them

  and concealed them somewhere on the

  Kilmorden Castle— that's where he came in.

  They hoped that I might have some clue as to

  where they were hidden. As long as the

  "Colonel" did not recover the diamonds, he

  was still in danger—hence his anxiety to get

  them at all costs. Where the devil Carton hid

  them—if he did hide them—I don't know."

  "That's another story," I quoted. "My

  story. And I'm going to tell it to you now."

  to

  %•:•1

  if-;' •

  i^.

  305

  27

  ARRY listened attentively whilst I

  recounted all the events that I have

  narrated in these pages. The thing

  that bewildered and astonished him most was

  to find that all along the diamonds had been

  in my possession—or rather in Suzanne's.

  That was a fact he had never suspected. Of

  course, after hearing his story, I realized the

  point of Carton's little arrangement—or

  rather Nadina's, since I had no doubt that it

  was her brain which had conceived the plan.

  No surprise tactics executed against her or

  her husband could result in the seizure of the

  diamonds. The secret was locked in her own

  brain, and the "Colonel" was not likely to

  guess that they had been entrusted to the

  keeping of an ocean steward!

  H

  Harry's vindication from the old charge of

  theft seemed assured. It was the other graver

  charge that paralysed all our activies. For, as

  things stood, he could not come out in the

  open to prove his case.

  The one thing we came back to, again and

  306

  again, was the identity of the "Colonel." Was

  he, or was he not. Guy Pagett?

  "I should say he was but for one thing,"

  said Harry. "It seems pretty much of a

  certainty that it was Pagett who murdered

  Anita Griinberg at Marlow--and that

  certainly lends colour to the supposition that

  he is actually the 'Colonel,' since Anita's

  business was not of the nature to be discussed

  with a subordinate. No--the only thing that

  militates against that theory is the attempt to

  put you out of the way on the night of your

  arrival here. You saw Pagett left behind at

  Cape Town--by no possible means could he

  have arrived here before the following

  Wednesday. He is unlikely to have any

  emissaries in this part of the world, and all his

  plans were laid to deal with you in Cape

  Town. He might, of course, have cabled

  instructions to some lieutenant of his in

  Johannesburg, who could have joined the

  Rhodesian train at Mafeking, but his instructions

  would have had to be particularly

  definite to allow of that note being written."

  We sat silent for a moment, then Harry

  went on slowly:

  "You say that Mrs. Blair was asleep when

  you left the hotel and that you heard Sir

  307

  Eustace dictating to Miss Pettigrew? Where

  was Colonel Race?"

  "I could not find him anywhere."

  "Had he any reason to believe that--you

  and I might be friendly with each other?"

  "He might have had," I answered thoughtfully,

  remembering our conversation on the

  way back from Matoppos. "He's a very powerful personality," I continued, "but not

  at all my idea of the 'Colonel.' And, anyway, such an idea would be absurd. He's in the

  Secret Service."

  "How do we know that he is? It's the

  easiest thing in the world to throw out a hint

  of that kind. No one contradicts it, and the

  rumour spreads until everyone believes it as

  gospel truth. It provides an excuse for all

  sorts of doubtful doings. Anne, do you like

  Race?"

  "I do--and I don't. He repels me and at the

  same time fascinates me; but I know one

  thing, I'm always a little a
fraid of him."

  "He was in South Africa, you know, at the

  time of the Kimberley robbery," said Harry

  slowly.

  "But it was he who told Suzanne all about

  the 'Colonel' and how he had been in Paris

  trying to get on his track."

  308

  " Camouflage—of a particularly clever

  kind."

  "But where does Pagett come in? Is he in

  Race's pay?"

  "Perhaps," said Harry slowly, "he doesn't

  come in at all."

  "What?"

  "Think back, Anne. Did you ever hear

  Pagett's own account of that night on the

  Kilmorden?"

  "Yes—through Sir Eustace."

  I repeated it. Harry listened closely.

  "He saw a man coming from the direction

  of Sir Eustace's cabin and followed him up on

  deck. Is that what he says? Now, who had the

  cabin opposite to Sir Eustace? Colonel Race.

  Supposing Colonel Race crept up on deck,

  and, foiled in his attack on you, fled round

  the deck and met Pagett just coming through

  the saloon door. He knocks him down and

  springs inside, closing the door. We dash

  round and find Pagett lying there. How's

  that?"

  "You forget that he declares positively it

  was you who knocked him down."

  "Well, suppose that just as he regains

  consciousness he sees me disappearing in the

  distance? Wouldn't he take it for granted that

  309

  I was his assailant? Especially as he thought

  all along it was I he was following?"

  "It's possible, yes," I said slowly. "But it

  alters all our ideas. And there are other

  things."

  "Most of them are open to explanation.

  The man who followed you in Cape Town

  spoke to Pagett, and Pagett looked at his

  watch. The man might have merely asked

  him the time."

  "It was just a coincidence, you mean?"

  "Not exactly. There's a method in all this,

  connecting Pagett with the affair. Why was

  the Mill House chosen for the murder? Was

  it because Pagett had been in Kimberley

  when the diamonds were stolen? Would he

  have been made the scapegoat if I had not

  appeared so providentially upon the scene?"

  "Then you think he may be entirely

  innocent?"

  "It looks like it, but, if so, we've got to find

  out what he was doing in Marlow. If he's got

  a reasonable explanation of that, we're on the

  right tack."

  He got up.

  "It's past midnight. Turn in, Anne, and get

  some sleep. Just before dawn I'll take you

  over in the boat. You must catch the train at

  310

  Livingstone. I've got a friend there who will

  keep you hidden away until the train starts.

  You go to Bulawayo and catch the Beira train

  there. I can find out from my friend in

  Livingstone what's going on at the hotel and

  where your friends are now."

  "Beira," I said meditatively.

  "Yes, Anne, it's Beira for you. This is

  man's work. Leave it to me."

  We had had a momentary respite from

  emotion whilst we talked the situation out,

  but it was on us again now. We did not even

  look at each other.

  "Very well," I said, and passed into the

  hut.

  I lay down on the skin-covered couch, but I

  didn't sleep, and outside I could hear Harry

  Rayburn pacing up and down, up and down

  through the long dark hours. At last he called

  me:

  "Come, Anne, it's time to go."

  I got up and came out obediently. It was

  still quite dark, but I knew that dawn was not

  far off.

  "We'll take the canoe, not the motorboat----"

  Harry began, when suddenly he

  stopped dead and held up his hand.

  "Hush! What's that?"

  311

  I listened, but could hear nothing. His ears

  were sharper than mine, however, the ears of

  a man who has lived long in the wilderness.

  Presently I heard it too—the faint splash of

  paddles in the water coming from the

  direction of the right bank of the river and

  rapidly approaching our little landing-stage.

  We strained our eyes in the darkness, and

  could make out a dark blur on the surface of

  the water. It was a boat. Then there was a

  momentary spurt of flame. Someone had

  struck a match. By its light I recognized one

  figure, the red-bearded Dutchman of the villa

  at Muizenberg. The others were natives.

  "Quick—back to the hut."

  Harry swept me back with him. He took

  down a couple of rifles and a revolver from

  the wall.

  "Can you load a rifle?"

  "I never have. Show me how."

  I grasped his instructions well enough. We

  closed the door and Harry stood by the

  window which overlooked the landing-stage.

  The boat was just about to run alongside it.

  "Who's that?" called out Harry, in a

  ringing voice.

  Any doubt we might have had as to our

  visitors' intentions was swiftly resolved. A

  312

  hail of bullets splattered round us.

  Fortunately neither of us was hit. Harry

  raised the rifle. It spat murderously, and

  again and again. I heard two groans and a

  splash.

  "That's given 'em something to think

  about," he muttered grimly, as he reached for

  the second rifle. "Stand well back, Anne, for

  God's sake. And load quickly."

  More bullets. One just grazed Harry's

  cheek. His answering fire was more deadly

  than theirs. I had the rifle reloaded when he

  turned for it. He caught me close with his left

  arm and kissed me once savagely before he

  turned to the window again. Suddenly he

  uttered a shout.

  "They're going—had enough of it. They're

  a good mark out there on the water, and they

  can't see how many of us there are. They're

  routed for the moment—but they'll come

  back. We'll have to get ready for them." He

  flung down the rifle and turned to me.

  "Anne! You beauty! You wonder! You

  little queen! As brave as a lion. Black-haired

  witch!"

  He caught me in his arms. He kissed my

  hair, my eyes, my mouth.

  "And now to business," he said, suddenly

  313

  releasing me. "Get out those tins of

  paraffin."

  I did as I was told. He was busy inside the

  hut. Presently I saw him on the roof of the

  hut, crawling along with something in his

  arms. He rejoined me in a minute or two.

  "Go down to the boat. We'll have to carry

  it across the island to the other side."

  He picked up the paraffin as I disappeared.

  "They're coming back," I called softly. I

  had seen the blur moving out from the

  opposite shore.

  He ran down to me.

  "Just in time. Why�
�where the hell's the

  boat?"

  Both had been cut adrift. Harry whistled

  softly.

  "We're in a tight place, honey. Mind?"

  "Not with you."

  "Ah, but dying together's not much fun.

  We'll do better than that. See—they've got

  two boat-loads this time. Going to land at two

  different points. Now for my little scenic

  effect."

  Almost as he spoke a long flame shot up

  from the hut. Its light illuminated two

  crouching figures huddled together on the

  roof.

  314

  "My old clothes—stuffed with rugs—but

  they won't tumble to it for some time. Come,

  Anne, we've got to try desperate means."

  Hand in hand, we raced across the island.

  Only a narrow channel of water divided it

  from the shore on that side.

  "We've got to swim for it. Can you swim at

  all, Anne? Not that it matters. I can get you

  across. It's the wrong side for a boat—too

  many rocks, but the right side for swimming,

  and the right side for Livingstone."

  "I can swim a little—further than that.

  What's the danger. Harry?" For I had seen

  the grim look on his face. "Sharks?"

  "No, you little goose. Sharks live in the sea.

  But you're sharp, Anne. Crocs, that's the

  trouble."

  "Crocodiles?"

  "Yes, don't think of them—or say your

  prayers, whichever you feel inclined."

  We plunged in. My prayers must have been

  efficacious, for we reached the shore without

  adventure, and drew ourselves up wet and

  dripping on the bank.

  "Now for Livingstone. It's rough going,

  I'm afraid, and wet clothes won't make it any

  better. But it's got to be done."

  That walk was a nightmare. My wet skirts

  TMITBS 21 315

  flapped round my legs, and my stockings

  were soon torn off by the thorns. Finally, I

  stopped, utterly exhausted. Harry came back

  to me.

  "Hold up, honey. I'll carry you for a bit."

  That was the way I came into Livingstone,

  slung across his shoulder like a sack of coals.

  How he did it for all that way, I don't know.

  The first faint light of dawn was just

  breaking. Harry's friend was a young man of

  twenty years old who kept a store of native

  curios. His name was Ned—perhaps he had

  another, but I never heard it. He didn't seem

  in the least surprised to see Harry walk in,

  dripping wet, holding an equally dripping

 

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