CHAPTER XXXII

_(Anne’s Narrative Resumed)_

I had great trouble with Suzanne. She argued, she pleaded, she even

wept before she would let me carry out my plan. But in the end I

got my own way. She promised to carry out my instructions to the

letter and came down to the station to bid me a tearful farewell.

I arrived at my destination the following morning early. I was met

by a short black-bearded Dutchman whom I had never seen before. He

had a car waiting and we drove off. There was a queer booming in

the distance, and I asked him what it was. “Guns,” he answered

laconically. So there was fighting going on in Jo’burg!

I gathered that our objective was a spot somewhere in the suburbs

of the city. We turned and twisted and made several detours to get

there, and every minute the guns were nearer. It was an exciting

time. At last we stopped before a somewhat ramshackle building.

The door was opened by a Kafir boy. My guide signed to me to enter.

I stood irresolute in the dingy square hall. The man passed me and

threw open a door.

“The young lady to see Mr. Harry Rayburn,” he said, and laughed.

Thus announced, I passed in. The room was sparsely furnished and

smelt of cheap tobacco smoke. Behind a desk a man sat writing. He

looked up and raised his eyebrows.

“Dear me,” he said, “if it isn’t Miss Beddingfeld!”

“I must be seeing double,” I apologized. “Is it Mr. Chichester, or

is it Miss Pettigrew? There is an extraordinary resemblance to both

of them.”

“Both characters are in abeyance for the moment. I have doffed my

petticoats—and my cloth likewise. Won’t you sit down?”

I accepted a seat composedly.

“It would seem,” I remarked, “that I have come to the wrong

address.”

“From your point of view, I am afraid you have. Really, Miss

Beddingfeld, to fall into the trap a second time!”

“It was not very bright of me,” I admitted meekly. Something about

my manner seemed to puzzle him.

“You hardly seem upset by the occurrence,” he remarked dryly.

“Would my going into heroics have any effect upon you?” I asked.

“It certainly would not.”

“My great-aunt Jane always used to say that a true lady was neither

shocked nor surprised at anything that might happen,” I murmured

dreamily. “I endeavour to live up to her precepts.”

I read Mr. Chichester-Pettigrew’s opinion so plainly written on

his face that I hastened into speech once more.

“You really are positively marvellous at make-up,” I said

generously. “All the time you were Miss Pettigrew I never recognized

you—even when you broke your pencil in the shock of seeing me climb

upon the train at Cape Town.”

He tapped upon the desk with the pencil he was holding in his hand

at the minute.

“All this is very well in its way, but we must get to business.

Perhaps, Miss Beddingfeld, you can guess why we required your

presence here?”

“You will excuse me,” I said, “but I never do business with any

one but principals.”

I had read the phrase or something like it in a money-lender’s

circular, and I was rather pleased with it. It certainly had a

devastating effect upon Mr. Chichester-Pettigrew. He opened his

mouth and then shut it again. I beamed upon him.

“My great-uncle George’s maxim,” I added, as an afterthought.

“Great-aunt Jane’s husband, you know. He made knobs for brass

beds.”

I doubt if Chichester-Pettigrew had ever been ragged before. He

didn’t like it at all.

“I think you would be wise to alter your tone, young lady.”

I did not reply, but yawned—a delicate little yawn that hinted at

intense boredom.

“What the devil——” he began forcibly.

I interrupted him.

“I can assure you it’s no good shouting at me. We are only wasting

time here. I have no intention of talking with underlings. You will

save a lot of time and annoyance by taking me straight to Sir

Eustace Pedler.”

“To——”

He looked dumbfounded.

“Yes,” I said. “Sir Eustace Pedler.”

“I—I—excuse me——”

He bolted from the room like a rabbit. I took advantage of the

respite to open my bag and powder my nose thoroughly. Also I

settled my hat at a more becoming angle. Then I settled myself to

wait with patience for my enemy’s return.

He reappeared in a subtly chastened mood.

“Will you come this way, Miss Beddingfeld?”

I followed him up the stairs. He knocked at the door of a room, a

brisk “Come in” sounded from inside, and he opened the door and

motioned to me to pass inside.

Sir Eustace Pedler sprang up to greet me, genial and smiling.

“Well, well, Miss Anne.” He shook me warmly by the hand. “I’m

delighted to see you. Come and sit down. Not tired after your

journey? That’s good.”

He sat down facing me, still beaming. It left me rather at a loss.

His manner was so completely natural.

“Quite right to insist on being brought straight to me,” he went

on. “Minks is a fool. A clever actor—but a fool. That was Minks

you saw downstairs.”

“Oh, really,” I said feebly.

“And now,” said Sir Eustace cheerfully, “let’s get down to facts.

How long have you known that I was the ‘Colonel’?”

“Ever since Mr. Pagett told me that he had seen you in Marlow when

you were supposed to be in Cannes.”

Sir Eustace nodded ruefully.

“Yes, I told the fool he’d blinking well torn it. He didn’t

understand of course. His whole mind was set on whether _I’d_

recognized _him._ It never occurred to him to wonder what I was

doing down there. A piece of sheer bad luck that was. I arranged

it all so carefully too, sending him off to Florence, telling the

hotel I was going over to Nice for one night or possibly two. Then,

by the time the murder was discovered, I was back again in Cannes,

with nobody dreaming that I’d ever left the Riviera.”

He still spoke quite naturally and unaffectedly. I had to pinch

myself to understand that this was all real—that the man in front

of me was really that deep-dyed criminal, the “Colonel.” I followed

things out in my mind.

“Then it was you who tried to throw me overboard on the _Kilmorden,”_

I said slowly. “It was you that Pagett followed up on deck that

night?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I apologize, my dear child, I really do. I always liked you—but

you were so confoundedly interfering. I couldn’t have all my plans

brought to naught by a chit of a girl.”

“I think your plan at the Falls was really the cleverest,” I said,

endeavouring to look at the thing in a detached fashion. “I would

have been ready to swear anywhere that you were in the hotel when

I went out. Seeing is believing in future.”

“Yes, Minks had one of his greatest successes as Miss Pettigrew,

and he can imitate my voice quite creditably.”

“There is one thing I should like to know.”

“Yes?”

“How did you induce Pagett to engage her?”

“Oh, that was quite simple. She met Pagett in the doorway of the

Trade Commissioner’s office or the Chamber of Mines, or wherever

it was he went—told him I had phoned down in a hurry, and that she

had been selected by the Government department in question. Pagett

swallowed it like a lamb.”

“You’re very frank,” I said, studying him.

“There’s no earthly reason why I shouldn’t be.”

I didn’t quite like the sound of that. I hastened to put my own

interpretation on it.

“You believe in the success of this Revolution? You’ve burnt your

boats.”

“For an otherwise intelligent young woman, that’s a singularly

unintelligent remark. No, my dear child, I do not believe in this

Revolution. I give it a couple of days longer and it will fizzle

out ignominiously.”

“Not one of your successes, in fact?” I said nastily.

“Like all women, you’ve no idea of business. The job I took on was

to supply certain explosives and arms—heavily paid for—to foment

feeling generally, and to incriminate certain people up to the

hilt. I’ve carried out my contract with complete success, and I

was careful to be paid in advance. I took special care over the

whole thing, as I intended it to be my last contract before retiring

from business. As for burning my boats, as you call it, I simply

don’t know what you mean. I’m not the rebel chief, or anything of

that kind—I’m a distinguished English visitor, who had the

misfortune to go nosing into a certain curio-shop—and saw a little

more than he was meant to, and so the poor fellow was kidnapped.

To-morrow, or the day after, when circumstances permit, I shall be

found tied up somewhere in a pitiable state of terror and

starvation.”

“Ah!” I said slowly. “But what about me?”

“That’s just it,” said Sir Eustace softly. “What about you? I’ve

got you here—I don’t want to rub it in in any way—but I’ve got you

here very neatly. The question is, what am I going to do with you?

The simplest way of disposing of you—and, I may add, the pleasantest

to myself—is the way of marriage. Wives can’t accuse their husbands,

you know, and I’d rather like a pretty young wife to hold my hand

and glance at me out of liquid eyes—don’t flash them at me so! You

quite frighten me. I see that the plan does not commend itself to

you?”

“It does not.”

Sir Eustace sighed.

“A pity! But I am no Adelphi villain. The usual trouble, I suppose.

You love another, as the books say.”

“I love another.”

“I thought as much—first I thought it was that long-legged, pompous

ass, Race, but I suppose it’s the young hero who fished you out of

the Falls that night. Women have no taste. Neither of those two

have half the brains that I have. I’m such an easy person to

underestimate.”

I think he was right about that. Although I knew well enough the

kind of man he was and must be, I could not bring myself to realize

it. He had tried to kill me on more than one occasion, he had

actually killed another woman, and he was responsible for endless

other deeds of which I knew nothing, and yet I was quite unable to

bring myself into the frame of mind for appreciating his deeds as

they deserved. I could not think of him as other than our amusing,

genial travelling companion. I could not even feel frightened of

him—and yet I knew he was capable of having me murdered in cold

blood if it struck him as necessary. The only parallel I can think

of is the case of Stevenson’s Long John Silver. He must have been

much the same kind of man.

“Well, well,” said this extraordinary person, leaning back in his

chair. “It’s a pity that the idea of being Lady Pedler doesn’t

appeal to you. The other alternatives are rather crude.”

I felt a nasty feeling going up and down my spine. Of course I had

known all along that I was taking a big risk, but the prize had

seemed worth it. Would things turn out as I had calculated, or

would they not?

“The fact of the matter is,” Sir Eustace was continuing, “I’ve a

weakness for you. I really don’t want to proceed to extremes.

Suppose you tell me the whole story, from the very beginning, and

let’s see what we can make of it. But no romancing, mind—I want

the truth.”

I was not going to make any mistake over that. I had a great deal

of respect for Sir Eustace’s shrewdness. It was a moment for the

truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I told him the

whole story, omitting nothing, up to the moment of my rescue by

Harry. When I had finished, he nodded his head in approval.

“Wise girl. You’ve made a clean breast of the thing. And let me

tell you I should soon have caught you out if you hadn’t. A lot of

people wouldn’t believe your story, anyway, especially the beginning

part, but I do. You’re the kind of girl who would start off like

that—at a moment’s notice, on the slenderest of motives. You’ve

had amazing luck, of course, but sooner or later the amateur runs

up against the professional and then the result is a foregone

conclusion. I am the professional. I started on this business when

I was quite a youngster. All things considered, it seemed to me a

good way of getting rich quickly. I always could think things out,

and devise ingenious schemes—and I never made the mistake of trying

to carry out my schemes myself. Always employ the expert—that has

been my motto. The one time I departed from it I came to grief—but

I couldn’t trust any one to do that job for me. Nadina knew too

much. I’m an easy-going man, kind-hearted and good tempered so long

as I’m not thwarted. Nadina both thwarted me and threatened me—just

as I was at the apex of a successful career. Once she was dead and

the diamonds were in my possession, I was safe. I’ve come to the

conclusion now that I bungled the job. That idiot Pagett, with his

wife and family! My fault—it tickled my sense of humour to employ

the fellow, with his Cinquecento poisoner’s face and his

mid-Victorian soul. A maxim for you, my dear Anne. Don’t let your

sense of humour carry you away. For years I’ve had an instinct that

it would be wise to get rid of Pagett, but the fellow was so

hard-working and conscientious that I honestly couldn’t find an

excuse for sacking him. So I left things drift.

“But we’re wandering from the point. The question is what to do

with you. Your narrative was admirably clear, but there is one

thing that still escapes me. Where are the diamonds now?”

“Harry Rayburn has them,” I said, watching him.

His face did not change, it retained its expression of sardonic

good-humour.

“H’m. I want those diamonds.”

“I don’t see much chance of your getting them,” I replied.

“Don’t you? Now I do. I don’t want to be unpleasant, but I should

like you to reflect that a dead girl or so found in this quarter

of the city will occasion no surprise. There’s a man downstairs

who does those sort of jobs very neatly. Now, you’re a sensible

young woman. What I propose is this: you will sit down and write

to Harry Rayburn, telling him to join you here and bring the

diamonds with him——”

“I won’t do anything of the kind.”

“Don’t interrupt your elders. I propose to make a bargain with you.

The diamonds in exchange for your life. And don’t make any mistake

about it, your life is absolutely in my power.”

“And Harry?”

“I’m far too tender-hearted to part two young lovers. He shall go

free too—on the understanding, of course, that neither of you will

interfere with me in future.”

“And what guarantee have I that you will keep your side of the

bargain?”

“None whatever, my dear girl. You’ll have to trust me and hope for

the best. Of course, if you’re in an heroic mood and prefer

annihilation, that’s another matter.”

This was what I had been playing for. I was careful not to jump at

the bait. Gradually I allowed myself to be bullied and cajoled into

yielding. I wrote at Sir Eustace’s dictation:

Dear Harry,

I think I see a chance of establishing your innocence beyond any

possible doubt. Please follow my instructions minutely. Go to

Agrasato’s curio-shop. Ask to see something “out of the ordinary,”

“for a special occasion.” The man will then ask you to “come into

the back room.” Go with him. You will find a messenger who will

bring you to me. Do exactly as he tells you. Be sure and bring the

diamonds with you. Not a word to any one.

Sir Eustace stopped. “I leave the fancy touches to your own

imagination,” he remarked. “But be careful to make no mistakes.”

“‘Yours for ever and ever, Anne,’ will be sufficient,” I remarked.

I wrote in the words. Sir Eustace stretched out his hand for the

letter and read it through.

“That seems all right. Now the address.”

I gave it him. It was that of a small shop which received letters

and telegrams for a consideration.

He struck the bell upon the table with his hand. Chichester-Pettigrew,

_alias_ Minks, answered the summons.

“This letter is to go immediately—the usual route.”

“Very well, Colonel.”

He looked at the name on the envelope. Sir Eustace was watching

him keenly.

“A friend of yours, I think?”

“Of mine?”

The man seemed startled.

“You had a prolonged conversation with him in Johannesburg

yesterday.”

“A man came up and questioned me about your movements and those of

Colonel Race. I gave him misleading information.”

“Excellent, my dear fellow, excellent,” said Sir Eustace genially.

“My mistake.”

I chanced to look at Chichester-Pettigrew as he left the room. He

was white to the lips, as though in deadly terror. No sooner was

he outside than Sir Eustace picked up a speaking-tube that rested

by his elbow and spoke down it.

“That you, Schwart? Watch Minks. He’s not to leave the house

without orders.”

He put the speaking-tube down again and frowned, slightly tapping

the table with his hand.

“May I ask you a few questions, Sir Eustace,” I said, after a

minute or two of silence.

“Certainly. What excellent nerves you have, Anne. You are capable

of taking an intelligent interest in things when most girls would

be sniffling and wringing their hands.”

“Why did you take Harry as your secretary instead of giving him up

to the police?”

“I wanted those cursed diamonds. Nadina, the little devil, was

playing off your Harry against me. Unless I gave her the price she

wanted, she threatened to sell them back to him. That was another

mistake I made—I thought she’d have them with her that day. But

she was too clever for that. Carton, her husband, was dead too—I’d

no clue whatsoever as to where the diamonds were hidden. Then I

managed to get a copy of a wireless message sent to Nadina by some

one on board the _Kilmorden_—either Carton or Rayburn, I didn’t

know which. It was a duplicate of that piece of paper you picked

up. ‘Seventeen one twenty two,’ it ran. I took it to be an

appointment with Rayburn, and when he was so desperate to get

aboard the _Kilmorden_ I was convinced that I was right. So I

pretended to swallow his statements, and let him come. I kept a

pretty sharp watch upon him and hoped that I should learn more.

Then I found Minks trying to play a lone hand and interfering with

me. I soon stopped that. He came to heel all right. It was annoying

not getting Cabin 17, and it worried me not being able to place

you. Were you the innocent young girl you seemed, or were you not?

When Rayburn set out to keep the appointment that night, Minks was

told off to intercept him. Minks muffed it of course.”

“But why did the wireless message say ‘seventeen’ instead of

‘seventy-one’?”

“I’ve thought that out. Carton must have given that wireless

operator his own memorandum to copy off on to a form, and he never

read the copy through. The operator made the same mistake we all

did, and read it as 17.1.22 instead of 1.71.22. The thing I don’t

know is how Minks got on to Cabin 17. It must have been sheer

instinct.”

“And the dispatch to General Smuts? Who tampered with that?”

“My dear Anne, you don’t suppose I was going to have a lot of my

plans given away, without making an effort to save them? With an

escaped murderer as a secretary, I had no hesitation whatever in

substituting blanks. Nobody would think of suspecting poor old

Pedler.”

“What about Colonel Race?”

“Yes, that was a nasty jar. When Pagett told me he was a Secret

Service fellow, I had an unpleasant feeling down the spine. I

remembered that he’d been nosing around Nadina in Paris during the

War—and I had a horrible suspicion that he was out after _me!_ I

don’t like the way he’s stuck to me ever since. He’s one of those

strong, silent men who have always got something up their sleeve.”

A whistle sounded. Sir Eustace picked up the tube, listened for a

minute or two, then answered:

“Very well, I’ll see him now.”

“Business,” he remarked. “Miss Anne, let me show you your room.”

He ushered me into a small shabby apartment, a Kafir boy brought

up my small suit-case, and Sir Eustace, urging me to ask for

anything I wanted, withdrew, the picture of a courteous host. A

can of hot water was on the washstand, and I proceeded to unpack

a few necessaries. Something hard and unfamiliar in my sponge-bag

puzzled me greatly. I untied the string and looked inside.

To my utter amazement I drew out a small pearl-handled revolver.

It hadn’t been there when I started from Kimberley. I examined the

thing gingerly. It appeared to be loaded.

I handled it with a comfortable feeling. It was a useful thing to

have in a house such as this. But modern clothes are quite unsuited

to the carrying of fire-arms. In the end I pushed it gingerly into

the top of my stocking. It made a terrible bulge, and I expected

every minute that it would go off and shoot me in the leg, but it

really seemed the only place.