I had great trouble with Suzanne

The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . Chapter XXXII 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. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (2020). The Man in the Brown Suit. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/61168/pg61168-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.