"Mr. Pagett," I said, "there is something I
want to ask you. I hope that you won't be
offended, but a lot hangs on it, more than you
can possibly guess. I want to know what you
were doing at Marlow on the 8th of January
last?"
He started violently.
"Really, Miss BeddingfieldI-indeed----"
"You
were there, weren't you?"
"I--for reasons of my own I was in the
neighbourhood, yes."
344
"Won't you tell me what those reasons
were?"
"Sir Eustace has not already told you?"
"Sir Eustace? Does he know?"
"I am almost sure that he does. I hoped he
had not recognized me, but from the hints he
has let drop, and his remarks, I fear it is only
too certain. In any case, I meant to make a
clean breast of the matter and offer him my
resignation. He is a peculiar man. Miss
Beddingfield, with an abnormal sense of
humour. It seems to amuse him to keep me
on tenterhooks. All the time, I dare say, he
was perfectly well aware of the true facts.
Possibly he has known them for years."
I hoped that sooner or later I should be able
to understand what Pagett was talking about.
He went on fluently:
"It is difficult for a man of Sir Eustace's
standing to put himself in my position. I
know that I was in the wrong, but it seemed a
harmless deception. I would have thought it
better taste on his part to have tackled me
outright—instead of indulging in covert jokes
at my expense."
A whistle blew, and the people began to
surge back into the train.
"Yes, Mr. Pagett," I broke in, "I'm sure I
345
quite agree with all you're saying about Sir
Eustace. But why did you go to Marlowe
"It was wrong of me, but natural under the
circumstances—yes, I still feel natural under
the circumstances."
"What circumstances?" I cried desperately.
For the first time, Pagett seemed to
recognize that I was asking him a question.
His mind detached itself from the
peculiarities of Sir Eustace, and his own
justification, and came to rest on me.
"I beg your pardon. Miss Beddingfield,"
he said stiffly, "but I fail to see your concern
in the matter."
He was back in the train now, leaning down
to speak to me. I felt desperate. What could
one do with a man like that?
"Of course, if it's so dreadful that you'd be
ashamed to speak of it to me——" I began
spitefully.
At last I had found the right stop. Pagett
stiffened and flushed.
"Dreadful? Ashamed? I don't understand
>»
you.
"Then tell me."
In three short sentences he told me. At last
I knew Pagett's secret! It was not in the least
what I expected.
346
I walked slowly back to the hotel. There a
wire was handed to me. I tore it open. It
contained full and definite instructions for
me to proceed forthwith to Johannesburg, or
rather to a station this side of Johannesburg,
where I should be met by a car. It was signed,
not Andy, but Harry.
I sat down in a chair to do some very
serious thinking.
tm^s, 347
^1
31
(From the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler)
johannesburg, March 7th.
PAGE-
funk,
we sl:
kAGETT has arrived. He is in a blue
funk, of course. Suggested at once that
we should go off to Pretoria. Then,
when I had told him kindly but firmly that
we were going to remain here, he went to the
other extreme, wished he had his rifle here,
and began bucking about some bridge he
guarded during the Great War. A railway
bridge at Little Puddlecombe junction, or
something of that sort.
I soon cut that short by telling him to
unpack the big typewriter. I thought that that
would keep him employed for some time,
because the typewriter was sure to have gone
wrong—it always does—and he would have to
take it somewhere to be mended. But I had
forgotten Pagett's powers of being in the
right.
"I've already unpacked all the cases. Sir
Eustace. The typewriter is in perfect
condition."
348
"What do you mean--all the cases?"
"The two small cases as well."
"I wish you wouldn't be so officious, Pagett. Those small cases were no business of
yours. They belong to Mrs. Blair."
Pagett looked crestfallen. He hates to make
a mistake.
"So you can just pack them up again
neatly," I continued. "After that you can go
out and look around you. Jo'burg will
probably be a heap of smoking ruins by tomorrow,
so it may be your last chance."
I thought that that would get rid of him
successfully for the morning, at any rate.
"There is something I want to say to you
when you have the leisure. Sir Eustace."
"I haven't got it now," I said hastily. "At
this minute I have absolutely no leisure whatsoever."
Pagett retired.
"By the way," I called after him, "what
was there in those cases of Mrs. Blair's?"
"Some fur rugs, and a couple of fur--hats, I
think."
"That's right," I assented. "She bought
them on the train. They are hats--of a kind--
though I hardly wonder at your not
recognizing them. I dare say she's going to
349
wear one of them at Ascot. What else was
there?"
"Some rolls of films, and some baskets--a
lot of baskets----"
"There would be," I assured him. "Mrs.
Blair is the kind of woman who never buys
less than a dozen or so of anything."
"I think that's all. Sir Eustace, exept some
miscellaneous odds and ends, a motor-veil
and some odd gloves--that sort of thing."
"If you hadn't been a born idiot, Pagett, you would have seen from the start that those
couldn't possibly be my belongings."
"I thought some of them might belong to
Miss Pettigrew."
"Ah, that reminds me--what do you mean
by picking me out such a doubtful character
as a secretary?"
And I told him about the searching crossexamination
I had been put through.
Immediately I was sorry, I saw a glint in his
eye that I knew only too well. I changed the
conversation hurriedly. But it was too late.
Pagett was on the warpath.
He next proceeded to bore me with a long
pointless story about the Kilmorden. It was
about a roll of films and a wager. The roll of
films being thrown through a port-hole in the
350
middle of the nig
ht by some steward who
ought to have known better. I hate horseplay.
I told Pagett so, and he began to tell me
the story all over again. He tells a story
extremely badly, anyway. It was a long time
before I could make head or tail of this one.
I did not see him again until lunchtime.
Then he came in brimming over with
excitement, like a bloodhound on the scent. I
never have cared for bloodhounds. The
upshort of it all was that he had seen
Rayburn.
"What?" I cried, startled.
Yes, he had caught sight of someone whom
he was sure was Rayburn crossing the street.
Pagett had followed him.
"And who do you think I saw him stop and
speak to? Miss Pettigrew!"
"What?"
"Yes, Sir Eustace. And that's not all. I've
been making inquiries about her----"
"Wait a bit. What happened to Rayburn?"
"He and Miss Pettigrew went into that
corner curio-shop----"
I uttered an involuntary exclamation.
Pagett stopped inquiringly.
^Nothing," I said. "Go on."
"I waited outside for ages--but they didn't
351
come out. At last I went in. Sir Eustace, there
was no one in the shop! There must be
another way out."
I stared at him.
"As I was saying, I came back to the hotel
and made some inquiries about Miss
Pettigrew." Pagett lowered his voice and
breathed hard as he always does when he
wants to be confidential. "Sir Eustace, a man
was seen coming out of her room last night."
I raised my eyebrows.
"And I always regarded her as a lady of
such eminent respectability," I murmured.
Pagett went on without heeding.
"I went straight up and searched her room.
What do you think I found?"
I shook my head.
"This!"
Pagett held up a safety razor and a stick of
shaving soap.
"What would a woman want with these?"
I don't suppose Pagett ever reads the
advertisements in the high-class ladies'
papers. I do. Whilst not proposing to argue
with him on the subject, I refused to accept
the presence of the razor as proof positive of
Miss Pettigrew's sex. Pagett is so hopelessly
behind the times. I should not have been at
352
all surprised if he had produced a cigarettecase
to support his theory. However, even
Fagett has his limits.
"You're not convinced. Sir Eustace. What
do you say to this?"
I inspected the article which he dangled
aloft triumphantly.
"It looks like hair," I remarked distastefully.
"It is hair. I think it's what they call a
toupee."
"Indeed," I commented.
"Now are you convinced that that
Pettigrew woman is a man in disguise?"
"Really, my dear Pagett, I think I am. I
might have known it by her feet."
"Then that's that. And now. Sir Eustace. I
want to speak to you about my private affairs.
I cannot doubt, from your hints and your
continual allusions to the time I was in
Florence, that you have found me out."
At last the mystery of what Pagett did in Florence is going to be revealed!
"Make a clean breast of it, my dear fellow,"
I said kindly. "Much the best way."
"Thank you. Sir Eustace."
"Is it her husband? Annoying fellows,
353
husbands. Always turning up when they're
least expected."
"I fail to follow you. Sir Eustace. Whose
husband?"
"The lady's husband."
"What lady?"
"God bless my soul, Pagett, the lady you
met in Florence. There must have been a
lady. Don't tell me that you merely robbed a
church or stabbed an Italian in the back
because you didn't like his face."
"I am quite at a loss to understand you. Sir
Eustace. I suppose you are joking."
"I am an amusing fellow sometimes, when
I take the trouble, but I can assure you that I
am not trying to be funny this minute."
"I hoped that as I was a good way off you
had not recognized me. Sir Eustace."
"Recognized you where?"
"At Marlow, Sir Eustace?"
"At Marlow? What the devil were you
doing at Marlow?"
"I thought you understood that——"
"I'm beginning to understand less and less.
Go back to the beginning of the story and
start again. You went to Florence——"
"Then you don't know after all—and you
didn't recognize me!"
354
"As far as I can judge, you seem to have
given yourself away needlessly—made a
coward of by your conscience. But I shall be
able to tell better when I've heard the whole
story. Now, then, take a deep breath and start
again. You went to Florence——"
"But I didn't go to Florence. That is just
it."
"Well, where did you go, then?"
"I went home—to Marlow."
"What the devil did you want to go to
Marlow for?"
"I wanted to see my wife. She was in
delicate health and expecting——"
"Your wife? But I didn't know you were
married!"
"No, Sir Eustace, that is just what I am
telling you. I deceived you in this matter."
"How long have you been married?"
"Just over eight years. I had been married
just six months when I became your
secretary. I did not want to lose the post. A
resident secretary is not supposed to have a
wife, so I suppressed the fact."
"You take my breath away," I remarked.
"Where has she been all these years?"
"We have had a small bungalow on the
355
river at Marlow, quite close to the Mill
House, for over five years."
"God bless my soul," I muttered. "Any
children?"
"Four children. Sir Eustace."
I gazed at him in a kind of stupor. I might
have known, all along, that a man like Pagett
couldn't have a guilty secret. The respectability
of Pagett has always been my bane.
That's just the kind of secret he would
have--a wife and four children.
"Have you told this to anyone else?" I
demanded at last, when I had gazed at him in
fascinated interest for quite a long while.
"Only Miss Beddingfield. She came to the
station at Kimberley."
I continued to stare at him. He fidgeted
under my glance.
"I hope. Sir Eustace, that you are not
seriously annoyed?"
"My dear fellow," I said. "I don't mind
telling you here and now that you've blinking
well torn it!"
I went out seriously ruffled. As I passed the
corner curio-shop, I was assailed by a sudden
irresistible temptation and went in. The
propr
ietor came forward obsequiously,
rubbing his hands.
356
"Can I show you something? Furs, curiosf"
"I want something quite out of the
ordinary," I said. "It's for a special occasion.
Will you show me what you've got?"
"Perhaps you will come into my back
room? We have many specialities there."
That is where I made a mistake. And I
thought I was going to be so clever. I
followed him through the swinging portieres.
•io
357
32
(Anne's Narrative Resumed)
I HAD great trouble
argued, she pleaded,
she would let me carr
HAD great trouble with Suzanne. She
argued, she pleaded, she even wept before
she would let me carry out my plan. But in
the end I got my own way. She promised to
carry out my instructions to the letter and
came down to the station to bid me a tearful
farewell.
I arrived at my destination the following
morning early. I was met by a short blackbearded
Dutchman whom I had never seen
before. He had a car waiting and we drove
off. There was a queer booming in the
distance, and I asked him what it was.
"Guns," he answered laconically. So there
was fighting going on in Jo'burg!
I gathered that our objective was a spot
somewhere in the suburbs of the city. We
turned and twisted and made several detours
to get there, and every minute the guns were
nearer. It was an exciting time. At last we
stopped before a somewhat ramshackle
building. The door was opened by a Kafir
358
boy. My guide signed to me to enter. I stood
irresolute in the dingy square hall. The man
passed me and threw open a door.
"The young lady to see Mr. Harry
Rayburn," he said, and laughed.
Thus announced, I passed in. The room
was sparsely furnished and smelt of cheap
tobacco smoke. Behind a desk a man sat
writing. He looked up and raised his eyebrows.
"Dear me," he said, "if it isn't Miss
Beddingfield!"
"I must be seeing double," I apologized.
"Is it Mr. Chichester, or is it Miss Pettigrew?
There is an extraordinary resemblance to
both of them."
"Both characters are in abeyance for the
moment. I have doffed my petticoats--and
my cloth likewise. Won't you sit down?"
I accepted a seat composedly.
"It would seem," I remarked, "that I have
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