The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie (top 50 books to read .TXT) 📕
Read free book «The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie (top 50 books to read .TXT) 📕» - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
- Author: Agatha Christie
- Performer: -
Read book online «The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie (top 50 books to read .TXT) 📕». Author - Agatha Christie
“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. 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 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.
“My old clothes—stuffed with rags—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—farther 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 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 odd 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 female by the hand. Men are very wonderful.
He gave us food to eat, and hot coffee, and got our clothes dried for us whilst we rolled ourselves in Manchester blankets of gaudy hue. In the tiny back room of the hut we were safe from observation whilst he departed to make judicious inquiries as to what had become of Sir Eustace’s party, and whether any of them were still at the hotel.
It was then that I informed Harry that nothing would induce me to go to Beira. I never meant to, anyway, but now all reason for such proceedings had vanished. The point of the plan had been that my enemies believed me dead. Now that they knew I wasn’t dead, my going to Beira would do no good whatever. They could easily follow me there and murder me quietly. I should have no one to protect me. It was finally arranged that I should join Suzanne, wherever she was, and devote all my energies to taking care of myself. On no account was I to seek adventures or endeavour to checkmate the “Colonel.”
I was to remain quietly with her and await instructions from Harry. The diamonds were to be deposited in the Bank at Kimberley under the name of Parker.
“There’s one thing,” I said thoughtfully, “we ought to have a code of some kind. We don’t want to be hoodwinked again by messages purporting to come from one to the other.”
“That’s easy enough. Any message that comes genuinely from me will have the word ‘and’ crossed out in it.”
“Without trade-mark, none genuine,” I murmured. “What about wires?”
“Any wires from me will be signed ‘Andy.’”
“Train will be in before long, Harry,” said Ned, putting his head in and withdrawing it immediately.
I stood up.
“And shall I marry a nice steady man if I find one?” I asked demurely.
Harry came close to me.
“My God! Anne, if you ever marry any one else but me, I’ll wring his neck. And as for you——”
“Yes,” I said, pleasurably excited.
“I shall carry you away and beat you black and blue!”
“What a delightful husband I have chosen,” I said satirically. “And doesn’t he change his mind overnight!”
CHAPTER XXVIIIAs I remarked once before, I am essentially a man of peace. I yearn for a quiet life—and that’s just the one thing I don’t seem able to have. I am always in the middle of storms and alarms. The relief of getting away from Pagett with his incessant nosing out of intrigues was enormous, and Miss Pettigrew is certainly a useful creature. Although there is nothing of the houri about her, one or two of her accomplishments are invaluable. It is true that I had a touch of liver at Bulawayo and behaved like a bear in consequence, but I had had a disturbed night in the train. At 3 a.m. an exquisitely dressed young man looking like a musical-comedy hero of the Wild West entered my compartment and asked where I was going. Disregarding my first murmur of “Tea—and for God’s sake don’t put sugar in it,” he repeated his question, laying stress on the fact that he was not a waiter but an Immigration officer. I finally succeeded in satisfying him that I was suffering from no infectious disease, that I was visiting Rhodesia from the purest of motives, and further gratified him with my full Christian names and my place of birth. I then endeavoured to snatch a little sleep, but some officious ass aroused me at 5.30 with a cup of liquid sugar which he called tea. I don’t think I threw it at him, but I know that that was what I wanted to do. He brought me unsugared tea, stone cold, at 6, and I then fell asleep utterly exhausted, to awaken just outside Bulawayo and be landed with a beastly wooden giraffe, all legs and neck!
But for these small contretemps, all had been going smoothly. And then fresh calamity befell.
It was the night of our arrival at the Falls. I was dictating to Miss Pettigrew in my sitting-room, when suddenly Mrs. Blair burst in without a word of excuse and wearing most compromising attire.
“Where’s Anne?” she cried.
A nice question to ask. As though I were responsible for the girl. What did she expect Miss Pettigrew to think? That I was in the habit of producing Anne Beddingfeld from my pocket at midnight or thereabouts? Very compromising for a man in my position.
“I presume,” I said coldly, “that she is in her bed.”
I cleared my throat and glanced at Miss Pettigrew, to show that I was ready to resume dictating. I hoped Mrs. Blair would take the hint. She did nothing of the kind. Instead she sank into a chair and waved a slippered foot in an agitated manner.
“She’s not in her room. I’ve been there. I had a dream—a terrible dream—that she was in some awful danger, and I got up and went to her room, just to reassure myself, you know. She wasn’t there and her bed hadn’t been slept in.”
She looked at me appealingly.
“What shall I do, Sir Eustace?”
Repressing the desire to reply, “Go to bed, and don’t worry over nothing. An able-bodied young woman like Anne Beddingfeld is perfectly well able to take care of herself,” I frowned judicially.
“What does Race say about it?”
Why should Race have it all his own way? Let
Comments (0)