CHAPTER XX

I drove to the hotel. There was no one in the lounge that I knew.

I ran upstairs and tapped on Suzanne’s door. Her voice bade me

“come in.” When she saw who it was she literally fell on my neck.

“Anne, dear, where have you been? I’ve been worried to death about

you. What have you been doing?”

“Having adventures,” I replied. “Episode III of ‘The Perils of

Pamela.’”

I told her the whole story. She gave vent to a deep sigh when I

finished.

“Why do these things always happen to you?” she demanded plaintively.

“Why does no one gag me and bind me hand and foot?”

“You wouldn’t like it if they did,” I assured her. “To tell you

the truth, I’m not nearly so keen on having adventures myself as

I was. A little of that sort of thing goes a long way.”

Suzanne seemed unconvinced. An hour or two of gagging and binding

would have changed her views quickly enough. Suzanne likes thrills,

but she hates being uncomfortable.

“And what are we all doing now?” she asked.

“I don’t quite know,” I said thoughtfully. “You still go to

Rhodesia, of course, to keep an eye on Pagett——”

“And you?”

That was just my difficulty. Had Chichester gone on the _Kilmorden,_

or had he not? Did he mean to carry out his original plan of going

to Durban? The hour of his leaving Muizenberg seemed to point to

an affirmative answer to both questions. In that case, I might go

to Durban by train. I fancied that I should get there before the

boat. On the other hand, if the news of my escape were wired to

Chichester, and also the information that I had left Cape Town for

Durban, nothing was simpler for him than to leave the boat at

either Port Elizabeth or East London and so give me the slip

completely.

It was rather a knotty problem.

“We’ll inquire about trains to Durban anyway,” I said.

“And it’s not too late for morning tea,” said Suzanne. “We’ll have

it in the lounge.”

The Durban train left at 8.15 that evening, so they told me at the

office. For the moment I postponed decision and joined Suzanne for

somewhat belated “eleven-o’clock tea.”

“Do you feel that you would really recognize Chichester again—in

any other disguise, I mean?” asked Suzanne.

I shook my head ruefully.

“I certainly didn’t recognize him as the stewardess, and never

should have but for your drawing.”

“The man’s a professional actor, I’m sure of it,” said Suzanne

thoughtfully. “His make-up is perfectly marvellous. He might come

off the boat as a navvy or something, and you’d never spot him.”

“You’re very cheering,” I said.

At that minute, Colonel Race stepped in through the window and came

and joined us.

“What is Sir Eustace doing?” asked Suzanne. “I haven’t seen him

about to-day.”

Rather an odd expression passed over the Colonel’s face.

“He’s got a little trouble of his own to attend to which is keeping

him busy.”

“Tell us about it.”

“I mustn’t tell tales out of school.”

“Tell us something—even if you have to invent it for our special

benefit.”

“Well, what would you say to the famous ‘Man in the Brown Suit’

having made the voyage with us?”

_“What?”_

I felt the colour die out of my face and then surge back again.

Fortunately Colonel Race was not looking at me.

“It’s a fact, I believe. Every port watched for him and he

bamboozled Pedler into bringing him out as his secretary!”

“Not Mr. Pagett?”

“Oh, not Pagett—the other fellow. Rayburn, he called himself.”

“Have they arrested him?” asked Suzanne. Under the table she gave

my hand a reassuring squeeze. I waited breathlessly for an answer.

“He seems to have disappeared into thin air.”

“How does Sir Eustace take it?”

“Regards it as a personal insult offered him by Fate.”

An opportunity of hearing Sir Eustace’s views on the matter

presented itself later in the day. We were awakened from a

refreshing afternoon nap by a page-boy with a note. In touching

terms it requested the pleasure of our company at tea in his

sitting-room.

The poor man was indeed in a pitiable state. He poured out his

troubles to us, encouraged by Suzanne’s sympathetic murmurs. (She

does that sort of thing very well.)

“First a perfectly strange woman has the impertinence to get

herself murdered in my house—on purpose to annoy me, I do believe.

Why my house? Why, of all the houses in Great Britain, choose the

Mill House? What harm had I ever done the woman that she must needs

get herself murdered there?”

Suzanne made one of her sympathetic noises again and Sir Eustace

proceeded in a still more aggrieved tone.

“And, if that’s not enough, the fellow who murdered her has the

impudence, the colossal impudence, to attach himself to me as my

secretary. My secretary, if you please! I’m tired of secretaries,

I won’t have any more secretaries. Either they’re concealed

murderers or else they’re drunken brawlers. Have you seen Pagett’s

black eye? But of course you have. How can I go about with a

secretary like that? And his face is such a nasty shade of yellow

too—just the colour that doesn’t go with a black eye. I’ve done

with secretaries—unless I have a girl. A nice girl, with liquid

eyes, who’ll hold my hand when I’m feeling cross. What about you,

Miss Anne. Will you take on the job?”

“How often shall I have to hold your hand?” I asked, laughing.

“All day long,” replied Sir Eustace gallantly.

“I shan’t get much typing done at that rate,” I reminded him.

“That doesn’t matter. All this work is Pagett’s idea. He works me

to death. I’m looking forward to leaving him behind in Cape Town.”

“He is staying behind?”

“Yes, he’ll enjoy himself thoroughly sleuthing about after Rayburn.

That’s the sort of thing suits Pagett down to the ground. He adores

intrigue. But I’m quite serious in my offer. Will you come? Mrs.

Blair here is a competent chaperon, and you can have a half-holiday

every now and again to dig for bones.”

“Thank you very much, Sir Eustace,” I said cautiously, “but I think

I’m leaving for Durban to-night.”

“Now don’t be an obstinate girl. Remember, there are lots of lions

in Rhodesia. You’ll like lions. All girls do.”

“Will they be practising low jumps?” I asked, laughing. “No, thank

you very much, but I must go to Durban.”

Sir Eustace looked at me, sighed deeply, then opened the door of

the adjoining room and called to Pagett.

“If you’ve quite finished your afternoon sleep, my dear fellow,

perhaps you’d do a little work for change.”

Guy Pagett appeared in the doorway. He bowed to us both, starting

slightly at the sight of me, and replied in a melancholy voice:

“I have been typing that memorandum all this afternoon, Sir

Eustace.”

“Well, stop typing it then. Go down to the Trade Commissioner’s

Office, or the Board of Agriculture, or the Chamber of Mines, or

one of these places, and ask them to lend me some kind of a woman

to take to Rhodesia. She must have liquid eyes and not object to

my holding her hand.”

“Yes, Sir Eustace. I will ask for a competent short-hand-typist.”

“Pagett’s a malicious fellow,” said Sir Eustace, after the secretary

had departed. “I’d be prepared to bet that he’ll pick out some

slab-faced creature on purpose to annoy me. She must have nice feet

too—I forgot to mention that.”

I clutched Suzanne excitedly by the hand and almost dragged her

along to her room.

“Now, Suzanne,” I said, “we’ve got to make plans—and make them

quickly. Pagett is staying behind here—you heard that?”

“Yes. I suppose that means that I shan’t be allowed to go to

Rhodesia—which is very annoying, because I _want_ to go to Rhodesia.

How tiresome.”

“Cheer up,” I said. “You’re going all right. I don’t see how you

could back out at the last moment without its appearing frightfully

suspicious. And, besides, Pagett might suddenly be summoned by Sir

Eustace, and it would be far harder for you to attach yourself to

him for the journey up.”

“It would hardly be respectable,” said Suzanne, dimpling. “I should

have to pretend a fatal passion for him as an excuse.”

“On the other hand, if you were there when he arrived, it would

all be perfectly simple and natural. Besides, I don’t think we

ought to lose sight of the other two entirely.”

“Oh, Anne, you surely can’t suspect Colonel Race or Sir Eustace?”

“I suspect everybody,” I said darkly, “and if you’ve read any

detective stories, Suzanne, you must know that it’s always the most

unlikely person who’s the villain. Lots of criminals have been

cheerful fat men like Sir Eustace.”

“Colonel Race isn’t particularly fat—or particularly cheerful

either.”

“Sometimes they’re lean and saturnine,” I retorted. “I don’t say

I seriously suspect either of them, but, after all, the woman was

murdered in Sir Eustace’s house——”

“Yes, yes, we needn’t go over all that again. I’ll watch him for

you, Anne, and if he gets any fatter and any more cheerful, I’ll

send you a telegram at once. ‘Sir E. swelling. Highly suspicious.

Come at once.’”

“Really, Suzanne,” I cried, “you seem to think all this is a game!”

“I know I do,” said Suzanne, unabashed. “It seems like that. It’s

your fault, Anne. I’ve got imbued with your ‘Let’s have an

adventure’ spirit. It doesn’t seem a bit real. Dear me, if Clarence

knew that I was running about Africa tracking dangerous criminals,

he’d have a fit.”

“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 rôle.

“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.