The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie (popular e readers txt) 📕

Harry 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!

Harry’s vindication from the old charge of theft seemed assured. It was the other, graver charge that paralyzed all our activities. 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 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 Grünberg 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 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 the 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 every one 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 afraid 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.”

“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 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 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 motor-boat——” Harry began, when suddenly he stopped dead and held up his hand.

“Hush! What’s that?”

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. Some one 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 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.