The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie (top 50 books to read .TXT) 📕

is going to the Mount Nelson Hotel in Cape Town and then up to Rhodesia. He’s going to have a private car on the railway, and in a moment of expansion, after his fourth glass of champagne the other night, he offered me a place in it. I dare say he didn’t really mean it, but, all the same, he can’t very well back out if I hold him to it.”

“Good,” I approved. “You keep an eye on Sir Eustace and Pagett, and I take on Chichester. But what about Colonel Race?”

Suzanne looked at me queerly.

“Anne, you can’t possibly suspect——”

“I do. I suspect everybody. I’m in the mood when one looks round for the most unlikely person.”

“Colonel Race is going to Rhodesia too,” said Suzanne thoughtfully. “If we could arrange for Sir Eustace to invite him also——”

“You can manage it. You can manage anything.”

“I love butter,” purred Suzanne.

We parted on the understanding that Suzanne should employ her talents to the best advantage.

I felt too excited to go to bed immediately. It was my last night on board. Early to-morrow morning we should be in Table Bay.

I slipped up on deck. The breeze was fresh and cool. The boat was rolling a little in the choppy sea. The decks were dark and deserted. It was after midnight.

I leaned over the rail, watching the phosphorescent trail of foam. Ahead of us lay Africa, we were rushing towards it through the dark water. I felt alone in a wonderful world. Wrapped in a strange peace, I stood there, taking no heed of time, lost in a dream.

And suddenly I had a curious intimate premonition of danger. I had heard nothing, but I swung round instinctively. A shadowy form had crept up behind me. As I turned, it sprang. One hand gripped my throat, stifling any cry I might have uttered. I fought desperately, but I had no chance. I was half choking from the grip on my throat, but I bit and clung and scratched in the most approved feminine fashion. The man was handicapped by having to keep me from crying out. If he had succeeded in reaching me unawares it would have been easy enough for him to sling me overboard with a sudden heave. The sharks would have taken care of the rest.

Struggle as I would, I felt myself weakening. My assailant felt it too. He put out all his strength. And then, running on swift noiseless feet, another shadow joined in. With one blow of his fist, he sent my opponent crashing headlong to the deck. Released, I fell back against the rail, sick and trembling.

My rescuer turned to me with a quick movement.

“You’re hurt!”

There was something savage in his tone—a menace against the person who had dared to hurt me. Even before he spoke I had recognized him. It was my man—the man with the scar.

But that one moment in which his attention had been diverted to me had been enough for the fallen enemy. Quick as a flash he had risen to his feet and taken to his heels down the deck. With an oath Rayburn sprang after him.

I always hate being out of things. I joined the chase—a bad third. Round the deck we went to the starboard side of the ship. There by the saloon door lay the man in a crumpled heap. Rayburn was bending over him.

“Did you hit him again?” I called breathlessly.

“There was no need,” he replied grimly. “I found him collapsed by the door. Or else he couldn’t get it open and is shamming. We’ll soon see about that. And we’ll see who he is too.”

With a beating heart I drew near. I had realized at once that my assailant was a bigger man than Chichester. Anyway, Chichester was a flabby creature who might use a knife at a pinch, but who would have little strength in his bare hands.

Rayburn struck a match. We both uttered an ejaculation. The man was Guy Pagett.

Rayburn appeared absolutely stupefied by the discovery.

“Pagett,” he muttered. “My God, Pagett.”

I felt a slight sense of superiority.

“You seem surprised.”

“I am,” he said heavily. “I never suspected——” He wheeled suddenly round on me. “And you? You’re not? You recognized him, I suppose, when he attacked you?”

“No, I didn’t. All the same, I’m not so very surprised.” He stared at me suspiciously.

“Where do you come in, I wonder? And how much do you know?”

I smiled.

“A good deal, Mr.—er—Lucas!”

He caught my arm, the unconscious strength of his grip made me wince.

“Where did you get that name?” he asked hoarsely.

“Isn’t it yours?” I demanded sweetly. “Or do you prefer to be called ‘The Man in the Brown Suit’?”

That did stagger him. He released my arm and fell back a pace or two.

“Are you a girl or a witch?” he breathed.

“I’m a friend.” I advanced a step towards him. “I offered you my help once—I offer it again. Will you have it?”

The fierceness of his answer took me aback.

“No. I’ll have no truck with you or with any woman. Do your damnedest.”

As before, my own temper began to rise.

“Perhaps,” I said, “you don’t realize how much in my power you are? A word from me to the Captain——”

“Say it,” he sneered. Then advancing with a quick step: “And whilst we’re realizing things, my girl, do you realize that you’re in my power this minute? I could take you by the throat like this.” With a swift gesture he suited the action to the word. I felt his two hands clasp my throat and press—ever so little. “Like this—and squeeze the life out of you! And then—like our unconscious friend here, but with more success—fling your dead body to the sharks. What do you say to that?”

I said nothing. I laughed. And yet I knew that the danger was real. Just at that moment he hated me. But I knew that I loved the danger, loved the feeling of his hands on my throat. That I would not have exchanged that moment for any other moment in my life. . . .

With a short laugh he released me.

“What’s your name?” he asked abruptly.

“Anne Beddingfeld.”

“Does nothing frighten you, Anne Beddingfeld?”

“Oh, yes,” I said, with an assumption of coolness I was far from feeling. “Wasps, sarcastic women, very young men, cockroaches, and superior shop assistants.”

He gave the same short laugh as before. Then he stirred the unconscious form of Pagett with his feet.

“What shall we do with this junk? Throw it overboard?” he asked carelessly.

“If you like,” I answered with equal calm.

“I admire your whole-hearted, blood-thirsty instincts, Miss Beddingfeld. But we will leave him to recover at his leisure. He is not seriously hurt.”

“You shrink from a second murder, I see,” I said sweetly.

“A second murder?”

He looked genuinely puzzled.

“The woman at Marlow,” I reminded him, watching the effect of my words closely.

An ugly brooding expression settled down on his face. He seemed to have forgotten my presence.

“I might have killed her,” he said. “Sometimes I believe that I meant to kill her. . . .”

A wild rush of feeling, hatred of the dead woman, surged through me. I could have killed her that moment, had she stood before me. . . . For he must have loved her once—he must—he must—to have felt like that!

I regained control of myself and spoke in my normal voice:

“We seem to have said all there is to be said—except good night.”

“Good night and good-bye, Miss Beddingfeld.”

“Au revoir, Mr. Lucas.”

Again he flinched at the name. He came nearer.

“Why do you say that—au revoir, I mean?”

“Because I have a fancy that we shall meet again.”

“Not if I can help it!”

Emphatic as his tone was, it did not offend me. On the contrary I hugged myself with secret satisfaction. I am not quite a fool.

“All the same,” I said gravely, “I think we shall.”

“Why?”

I shook my head, unable to explain the feeling that had actuated my words.

“I never wish to see you again,” he said suddenly and violently.

It was really a very rude thing to say, but I only laughed softly and slipped away into the darkness.

I heard him start after me, and then pause, and a word floated down the deck. I think it was a “witch”!

CHAPTER XVII