The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie (popular e readers txt) đź“•
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- Author: Agatha Christie
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“Why don’t you cable him about it?” I asked sarcastically.
Suzanne’s sense of humour always fails her when it comes to sending cables. She considered my suggestion in perfectly good faith.
“I might. It would have to be a very long one.” Her eyes brightened at the thought. “But I think it’s better not. Husbands always want to interfere with perfectly harmless amusements.”
“Well,” I said, summing up the situation, “you will keep an eye on Sir Eustace and Colonel Race——”
“I know why I’ve got to watch Sir Eustace,” interrupted Suzanne, “because of his figure and his humorous conversation. But I think it’s carrying it rather far to suspect Colonel Race, I do indeed. Why, he’s something to do with the Secret Service. Do you know, Anne, I believe the best thing we could do would be to confide in him and tell him the whole story.”
I objected vigorously to this unsporting proposal. I recognized in it the disastrous effects of matrimony. How often have I not heard a perfectly intelligent female say, in the tone of one clinching an argument, “Edgar says——” And all the time you are perfectly aware that Edgar is a perfect fool. Suzanne, by reason of her married state, was yearning to lean upon some man or other.
However, she promised faithfully that she would not breathe a word to Colonel Race, and we went on with our plan-making.
“It’s quite clear that I must stay here and watch Pagett, and this is the best way to do it. I must pretend to leave for Durban this evening, take my luggage down and so on, but really I shall go to some small hotel in the town. I can alter my appearance a little—wear a fair toupee and one of those thick white lace veils, and I shall have a much better chance of seeing what he’s really at if he thinks I’m safely out of the way.”
Suzanne approved this plan heartily. We made due and ostentatious preparations, inquiring once more about the departure of the train at the office and packing my luggage.
We dined together in the restaurant. Colonel Race did not appear, but Sir Eustace and Pagett were at their table in the window. Pagett left the table half-way through the meal, which annoyed me, as I had planned to say goodbye to him. However, doubtless Sir Eustace would do as well. I went over to him when I had finished.
“Good-bye, Sir Eustace,” I said. “I’m off to-night to Durban.”
Sir Eustace sighed heavily.
“So I heard. You wouldn’t like me to come with you, would you?”
“I should love it.”
“Nice girl. Sure you won’t change your mind and come and look for lions in Rhodesia?”
“Quite sure.”
“He must be a very handsome fellow,” said Sir Eustace plaintively. “Some young whipper-snapper in Durban, I suppose, who puts my mature charms completely in the shade. By the way, Pagett’s going down in the car in a minute or two. He could take you to the station.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” I said hastily. “Mrs. Blair and I have got our own taxi ordered.”
To go down with Guy Pagett was the last thing I wanted! Sir Eustace looked at me attentively.
“I don’t believe you like Pagett. I don’t blame you. Of all the officious, interfering asses—going about with the air of a martyr, and doing everything he can to annoy and upset me!”
“What has he done now?” I inquired with some curiosity.
“He’s got hold of a secretary for me. You never saw such a woman! Forty, if she’s a day, wears pince-nez and sensible boots and an air of brisk efficiency that will be the death of me. A regular slab-faced woman.”
“Won’t she hold your hand?”
“I devoutly hope not!” exclaimed Sir Eustace. “That would be the last straw. Well, good-bye, liquid eyes. If I shoot a lion I shan’t give you the skin—after the base way you’ve deserted me.”
He squeezed my hand warmly and we parted. Suzanne was waiting for me in the hall. She was to come down to see me off.
“Let’s start at once,” I said hastily, and motioned to the man to get a taxi.
Then a voice behind me made me start:
“Excuse me, Miss Beddingfeld, but I’m just going down in a car. I can drop you and Mrs. Blair at the station.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said hastily. “But there’s no need to trouble you. I——”
“No trouble at all, I assure you. Put the luggage in, porter.”
I was helpless. I might have protested further, but a slight warning nudge from Suzanne urged me to be on my guard.
“Thank you, Mr. Pagett,” I said coldly.
We all got into the car. As we raced down the road into the town, I racked my brains for something to say. In the end Pagett himself broke the silence.
“I have secured a very capable secretary for Sir Eustace,” he observed. “Miss Pettigrew.”
“He wasn’t exactly raving about her just now,” I remarked.
Pagett looked at me coldly.
“She is a proficient shorthand-typist,” he said repressively.
We pulled up in front of the station. Here surely he would leave us. I turned with outstretched hand—but no.
“I’ll come and see you off. It’s just eight o’clock, your train goes in a quarter of an hour.”
He gave efficient directions to porters. I stood helpless, not daring to look at Suzanne. The man suspected. He was determined to make sure that I did go by the train. And what could I do? Nothing. I saw myself, in a quarter of an hour’s time, steaming out of the station with Pagett planted on the platform waving me adieu. He had turned the tables on me adroitly. His manner towards me had changed, moreover. It was full of an uneasy geniality which sat ill upon him, and which nauseated me. The man was an oily hypocrite. First he tried to murder me, and now he paid me compliments! Did he imagine for one minute that I hadn’t recognized him that night on the boat? No, it was a pose, a pose which he forced me to acquiesce in, his tongue in his cheek all the while.
Helpless as a sheep, I moved along under his expert directions. My luggage was piled in my sleeping compartment—I had a two-berth one to myself. It was twelve minutes past eight. In three minutes the train would start.
But Paggett had reckoned without Suzanne.
“It will be a terribly hot journey, Anne,” she said suddenly. “Especially going through the Karoo to-morrow. You’ve got some eau-de-Cologne or lavender water with you, haven’t you?”
My cue was plain.
“Oh, dear,” I cried. “I left my eau-de-Cologne on the dressing-table at the hotel.”
Suzanne’s habit of command served her well. She turned imperiously to Pagett.
“Mr. Pagett. Quick. You’ve just time. There’s a chemist almost opposite the station. Anne must have some eau-de-Cologne.”
He hesitated, but Suzanne’s imperative manner was too much for him. She is a born autocrat. He went. Suzanne followed him with her eyes till he disappeared.
“Quick, Anne, get out the other side—in case he hasn’t really gone, but is watching us from the end of the platform. Never mind your luggage. You can telegraph about that to-morrow. Oh, if only the train starts on time!”
I opened the gate on the opposite side to the platform and climbed down. Nobody was observing me. I could just see Suzanne standing where I had left her, looking up at the train and apparently chatting to me at the window. A whistle blew, the train began to draw out. Then I heard feet racing furiously up the platform. I withdrew to the shadow of a friendly bookstall and watched.
Suzanne turned from waving her handkerchief to the retreating train.
“Too late, Mr. Pagett,” she said cheerfully. “She’s gone. Is that the eau-de-Cologne? What a pity we didn’t think of it sooner!”
They passed not far from me on their way out of the station. Guy Pagett was extremely hot. He had evidently run all the way to the chemist and back.
“Shall I get you a taxi, Mrs. Blair?”
Suzanne did not fail in her rĂ´le.
“Yes, please. Can’t I give you a lift back? Have you much to do for Sir Eustace? Dear me, I wish Anne Beddingfeld was coming with us to-morrow. I don’t like the idea of a young girl like that travelling off to Durban all by herself. But she was set upon it. Some little attraction there, I fancy——”
They passed out of ear-shot. Clever Suzanne. She had saved me.
I allowed a minute or two to elapse and then I too made my way out of the station, almost colliding as I did so with a man—an unpleasant-looking man with a nose disproportionately big for his face.
I had no further difficulty in carrying out my plans. I found a small hotel in a back street, got a room there, paid a deposit as I had no luggage with me, and went placidly to bed.
On the following morning I was up early and went out into the town to purchase a modest wardrobe. My idea was to do nothing until after the departure of the eleven-o’clock train to Rhodesia with most of the party on board. Pagett was not likely to indulge in any nefarious activities until he had got rid of them. Accordingly I took a tram out of the town and proceeded to enjoy a country walk. It was comparatively cool, and I was glad to stretch my legs after the long voyage and my close confinement at Muizenberg.
A lot hinges on small things. My shoe-lace came untied, and I stopped to do it up. The road had just turned a corner, and as I was bending over the offending shoe a man came right round and almost walked into me. He lifted his hat, murmuring an apology, and went on. It struck me at the time that his face was vaguely familiar, but at the moment I thought no more of it. I looked at my wrist-watch. The time was getting on. I turned my feet in the direction of Cape Town.
There was a tram on the point of going and I had to run for it. I heard other footsteps running behind me. I swung myself on and so did the other runner. I recognized him at once. It was the man who had passed me on the road when my shoe came untied, and in a flash I knew why his face was familiar. It was the small man with the big nose whom I had run into on leaving the station the night before.
The coincidence was rather startling. Could it be possible that the man was deliberately following me? I resolved to test that as promptly as possible. I rang the bell and got off at the next stop. The man did not get off. I withdrew into the shadow of a shop doorway and watched. He alighted at the next stop and walked back in my direction.
The case was clear enough. I was being followed. I had crowed too soon. My victory over Guy Pagett took on another aspect. I hailed the next tram and, as I expected, my shadower also got on. I gave myself up to some very serious thinking.
It was perfectly apparent that I had stumbled on a bigger thing than I knew. The murder in the house at Marlow was not an isolated incident committed by a solitary individual. I was up against a gang, and, thanks to Colonel Race’s revelations to Suzanne, and what I had overheard at the house at Muizenberg, I was beginning to understand some of its manifold activities. Systematized crime, organized by the man known to his followers as the “Colonel”! I remembered some of the talk I had heard on board ship, of the strike on the Rand and the causes underlying it—and the belief that some secret organization was at work fomenting the agitation. That was the “Colonel’s” work, his emissaries were acting according to plan. He took no part in these things himself, I had always heard, as he limited himself to directing and organizing. The brain-work—not the dangerous labour—for him. But still it well might be that he himself was on the spot, directing affairs from an apparently impeccable position.
That, then, was the meaning of Colonel Race’s presence on the Kilmorden Castle. He was out after the arch-criminal. Everything fitted in with that assumption. He was some one high up in the Secret Service whose business it was to lay the “Colonel” by the heels.
I nodded to myself—things were becoming very clear to me. What of my part in the affair? Where did I come in? Was it only diamonds they were after? I shook my head. Great as the value of the diamonds might be, they hardly accounted for the desperate attempts which had been made to get me out of the way. No, I stood for more than that. In some way, unknown to myself, I was a menace, a danger! Some knowledge that I
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