CHAPTER XVII

_(Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler)_

Mount Nelson Hotel,

Cape Town.

It is really the greatest relief to get off the _Kilmorden._

The whole time that I was on board I was conscious of being

surrounded by a network of intrigue. To put the lid on everything,

Guy Pagett must needs engage in a drunken brawl the last night. It

is all very well to explain it away, but that is what it actually

amounts to. What else would you think if a man comes to you with

a lump the size of an egg on the side of his head and an eye

coloured all the tints of the rainbow?

Of course Pagett would insist on trying to be mysterious about the

whole thing. According to him, you would think his black eye was

the direct result of his devotion to my interests. His story was

extraordinarily vague and rambling, and it was a long time before

I could make head or tail of it.

To begin with, it appears he caught sight of a man behaving

suspiciously. Those are Pagett’s words. He has taken them straight

from the pages of a German Spy Story. What he means by a man

behaving suspiciously he doesn’t know himself. I said so to him.

“He was slinking along in a very furtive manner, and it was the

middle of the night, Sir Eustace.”

“Well, what were you doing yourself? Why weren’t you in bed and

asleep like a good Christian?” I demanded irritably.

“I had been coding those cables of yours, Sir Eustace, and typing

the diary up to date.”

Trust Pagett to be always in the right and a martyr over it!

“Well?”

“I just thought I would have a look around before turning in, Sir

Eustace. The man was coming down the passage from your cabin. I

thought at once there was something wrong by the way he looked

about him. He slunk up the stairs by the saloon. I followed him.

“My dear Pagett,” I said, “why shouldn’t the poor chap go on deck

without having his footsteps dogged? Lots of people even sleep on

deck—very uncomfortable, I’ve always thought. The sailors wash you

down with the rest of the deck at five in the morning.” I shuddered

at the idea.

“Anyway,” I continued, “if you went worrying some poor devil who

was suffering from insomnia, I don’t wonder he landed you one.”

Pagett looked patient.

“If you would hear me out, Sir Eustace. I was convinced the man

had been prowling about near your cabin where he had no business

to be. The only two cabins down that passage are yours and Colonel

Race’s.”

“Race,” I said, lighting a cigar carefully, “can look after himself

without your assistance, Pagett.” I added as an afterthought: “So

can I.”

Pagett came nearer and breathed heavily as he always does before

imparting a secret.

“You see, Sir Eustace, I fancied—and now indeed I am sure—it was

Rayburn.”

“Rayburn?”

“Yes, Sir Eustace.”

I shook my head.

“Rayburn has far too much sense to attempt to wake me up in the

middle of the night.”

“Quite so, Sir Eustace. I think it was Colonel Race he went to see.

A secret meeting—for orders!”

“Don’t hiss at me, Pagett,” I said, drawing back a little, “and do

control your breathing. Your idea is absurd. Why should they want

to have a secret meeting in the middle of the night? If they’d

anything to say to each other, they could hob-nob over beef-tea in

a perfectly casual and natural manner.”

I could see that Pagett was not in the least convinced.

_“Something_ was going on last night, Sir Eustace,” he urged, “or

why should Rayburn assault me so brutally.”

“You’re quite sure it was Rayburn?”

Pagett appeared to be perfectly convinced of that. It was the only

part of the story that he wasn’t vague about.

“There’s something very queer about all this,” he said. “To begin

with, where _is_ Rayburn?”

It’s perfectly true that we haven’t seen the fellow since we came

on shore. He did not come up to the hotel with us. I decline to

believe that he is afraid of Pagett, however.

Altogether the whole thing is very annoying. One of my secretaries

has vanished into the blue, and the other looks like a disreputable

prize-fighter. I can’t take him about with me in his present

condition. I shall be the laughing-stock of Cape Town. I have an

appointment later in the day to deliver old Milray’s _billet-doux,_

but I shall not take Pagett with me. Confound the fellow and his

prowling ways.

Altogether I am decidedly out of temper. I had poisonous breakfast

with poisonous people. Dutch waitresses with thick ankles who took

half an hour to bring me a bad bit of fish. And this farce of

getting up at 5 a.m. on arrival at the port to see a blinking

doctor and hold your hands above your head simply makes me tired.

_Later._

A very serious thing has occurred. I went to my appointment with

the Prime Minister, taking Milray’s sealed letter. It didn’t look

as though it had been tampered with, but inside was a blank sheet

of paper!

Now, I suppose, I’m in the devil of a mess. Why I ever let that

bleating old fool Milray embroil me in the matter I can’t think.

Pagett is a famous Job’s comforter. He displays a certain gloomy

satisfaction that maddens me. Also, he has taken advantage of my

perturbation to saddle me with the stationery trunk. Unless he is

careful, the next funeral he attends will be his own.

However, in the end I had to listen to him.

“Supposing, Sir Eustace, that Rayburn had overheard a word or two

of your conversation with Mr. Milray in the street? Remember, you

had no written authority from Mr. Milray. You accepted Rayburn on

his own valuation.”

“You think Rayburn is a crook, then?” I said slowly.

Pagett did. How far his views were influenced by resentment over

his black eye I don’t know. He made out a pretty fair case against

Rayburn. And the appearance of the latter told against him. My idea

was to do nothing in the matter. A man who has permitted himself

to be made a thorough fool of is not anxious to broadcast the fact.

But Pagett, his energy unimpaired by his recent misfortunes, was

all for vigorous measures. He had his way of course. He bustled

out to the police station, sent innumerable cables, and brought a

herd of English and Dutch officials to drink whiskies and sodas at

my expense.

We got Milray’s answer that evening. He knew nothing of my late

secretary! There was only one spot of comfort to be extracted from

the situation.

“At any rate,” I said to Pagett, “you weren’t poisoned. You had

one of your ordinary bilious attacks.”

I saw him wince. It was my only score.

_Later._

Pagett is in his element. His brain positively scintillates with

bright ideas. He will have it now that Rayburn is none other than

the famous “Man in the Brown Suit.” I dare say he is right. He

usually is. But all this is getting unpleasant. The sooner I get

off to Rhodesia the better. I have explained to Pagett that he is

not to accompany me.

“You see, my dear fellow,” I said, “you must remain here on the

spot. You might be required to identify Rayburn any minute. And,

besides, I have my dignity as an English Member of Parliament to

think of. I can’t go about with a secretary who has apparently

recently been indulging in a vulgar street-brawl.”

Pagett winced. He is such a respectable fellow that his appearance

is pain and tribulation to him.

“But what will you do about your correspondence and the notes for

your speeches, Sir Eustace?”

“I shall manage,” I said airily.

“Your private car is to be attached to the eleven-o’clock train

to-morrow, Wednesday, morning,” Pagett continued. “I have made all

arrangements. Is Mrs. Blair taking a maid with her?”

“Mrs. Blair?” I gasped.

“She tells me you offered her a place.”

So I did, now I come to think of it. On the night of the Fancy

Dress ball. I even urged her to come. But I never thought she

would! Delightful as she is, I do not know that I want Mrs. Blair’s

society all the way to Rhodesia and back. Women require such a lot

of attention. And they are confoundedly in the way sometimes.

“Have I asked any one else?” I said nervously. One does these

things in moments of expansion.

“Mrs. Blair seemed to think you had asked Colonel Race as well.”

I groaned.

“I must have been very drunk if I asked Race. Very drunk indeed.

Take my advice, Pagett, and let your black eye be a warning to you,

don’t go on the bust again.”

“As you know, I am a teetotaller, Sir Eustace.”

“Much wiser to take the pledge if you have a weakness that way. I

haven’t asked any one else, have I, Pagett?”

“Not that I know of, Sir Eustace.”

I heaved a sigh of relief.

“There’s Miss Beddingfeld,” I said thoughtfully. “She wants to get

to Rhodesia to dig up bones, I believe. I’ve a good mind to offer

her a temporary job as a secretary. She can typewrite, I know, for

she told me so.”

To my surprise, Pagett opposed the idea vehemently. He does not

like Anne Beddingfeld. Ever since the night of the black eye, he

has displayed uncontrollable emotion whenever she is mentioned.

Pagett is full of mysteries nowadays.

Just to annoy him, I shall ask the girl. As I said before, she has

extremely nice legs.