Datasets:

Svak

/

test

like 0

I Everybody has been at me, right and left, to write this story from the great (represented by Lord Nasby) to the small (represented by our late maid of all work, Emily, whom I saw when I was last in England. Lor, miss, what a beyewtiful book you might make out of it alljust like the pictures!). Ill admit that Ive certain qualifications for the task. I was mixed up in the affair from the very beginning, I was in the thick of it all through, and I was triumphantly in at the death. Very fortunately, too, the gaps that I cannot supply from my own knowledge are amply covered by Sir Eustace Pedlers diary, of which he has kindly begged me to make use. So here goes. Anne Beddingfeld starts to narrate her adventures. Id always longed for adventures. You see, my life had such a dreadful sameness. My father, Professor Beddingfeld, was one of Englands greatest living authorities on Primitive Man. He really was a geniuseveryone admits that. His mind dwelt in Palaeolithic times, and the inconvenience of life for him was that his body inhabited the modern world. Papa did not care for modern maneven Neolithic Man he despised as a mere herder of cattle, and he did not rise to enthusiasm until he reached the Mousterian period. Unfortunately one cannot entirely dispense with modern men. One is forced to have some kind of truck with butchers and bakers and milkmen and greengrocers. Therefore, Papa being immersed in the past, Mamma having died when I was a baby, it fell to me to undertake the practical side of living. Frankly, I hate Palaeolithic Man, be he Aurignacian, Mousterian, Chellian, or anything else, and though I typed and revised most of Papas Neanderthal Man and His Ancestors, Neanderthal men themselves fill me with loathing, and I always reflect what a fortunate circumstance it was that they became extinct in remote ages. I do not know whether Papa guessed my feelings on the subject, probably not, and in any case he would not have been interested. The opinion of other people never interested him in the slightest degree. I think it was really a sign of his greatness. In the same way, he lived quite detached from the necessities of daily life. He ate what was put before him in an exemplary fashion, but seemed mildly pained when the question of paying for it arose. We never seemed to have any money. His celebrity was not of the kind that brought in a cash return. Although he was a fellow of almost every important society, and had rows of letters after his name, the general public scarcely knew of his existence, and his long learned books, though adding signally to the sum total of human knowledge, had no attraction for the masses. Only on one occasion did he leap into the public gaze. He had read a paper before some society on the subject of the young of the chimpanzee. The young of the human race show some anthropoid features, whereas the young of the chimpanzee approach more nearly to the human than the adult chimpanzee does. That seems to show that whereas our ancestors were more simian than we are, the chimpanzees were of a higher type than the present speciesin other words, the chimpanzee is a degenerate. That enterprising newspaper, the Daily Budget, being hard up for something spicy, immediately brought itself out with large headlines. We are not descended from monkeys, but are monkeys descended from us? Eminent professor says chimpanzees are decadent humans. Shortly afterwards a reporter called to see Papa, and endeavoured to induce him to write a series of popular articles on the theory. I have seldom seen Papa so angry. He turned the reporter out of the house with scant ceremony, much to my secret sorrow, as we were particularly short of money at the moment. In fact, for a moment I meditated running after the young man and informing him that my father had changed his mind and would send the articles in question. I could easily have written them myself, and the probabilities were that Papa would never have learnt of the transaction, not being a reader of the Daily Budget. However, I rejected this course as being too risky, so I merely put on my best hat and went sadly down the village to interview our justly irate grocer. The reporter from the Daily Budget was the only young man who ever came to our house. There were times when I envied Emily, our little servant, who walked out whenever occasion offered with a large sailor to whom she was affianced. In between times, to keep her hand in as she expressed it, she walked out with the greengrocers young man, and the chemists assistant. I reflected sadly that I had no one to keep my hand in with. All Papas friends were aged professorsusually with long beards. It is true that Professor Peterson once clasped me affectionately and said I had a neat little waist and then tried to kiss me. The phrase alone dated him hopelessly. No selfrespecting female has had a neat little waist since I was in my cradle. I yearned for adventure, for love, for romance, and I seemed condemned to an existence of drab utility. The village possessed a lending library, full of tattered works of fiction, and I enjoyed perils and lovemaking at second hand, and went to sleep dreaming of stern, silent Rhodesians, and of strong men who always felled their opponent with a single blow. There was no one in the village who even looked as though he could fell an opponent, with a single blow or with several. There was the Kinema too, with a weekly episode of The Perils of Pamela. Pamela was a magnificent young woman. Nothing daunted her. She fell out of aeroplanes, adventured in submarines, climbed skyscrapers and crept about in the underworld without turning a hair. She was not really clever, the Master Criminal of the Underworld caught her each time, but as he seemed loath to knock her on the head in a simple way, and always doomed her to death in a sewergas chamber or by some new and marvellous means, the hero was always able to rescue her at the beginning of the following weeks episode. I used to come out with my head in a delirious whirland then I would get home and find a notice from the gas company threatening to cut us off if the outstanding account was not paid! And yet, though I did not suspect it, every moment was bringing adventure nearer to me. It is possible that there are many people in the world who have never heard of the finding of an antique skull at the Broken Hill Mine in Northern Rhodesia. I came down one morning to find Papa excited to the point of apoplexy. He poured out the whole story to me. You understand, Anne? There are undoubtedly certain resemblances to the Java skull, but superficialsuperficial only. No, here we have what I have always maintainedthe ancestral form of the Neanderthal race. You grant that the Gibraltar skull is the most primitive of the Neanderthal skulls found? Why? The cradle of the race was in Africa. They passed to Europe Not marmalade on kippers, papa, I said hastily, arresting my parents absentminded hand. Yes, you were saying? They passed to Europe on Here he broke down with a bad fit of choking, the result of an immoderate mouthful of kipper bones. But we must start at once, he declared, as he rose to his feet at the conclusion of the meal. There is no time to be lost. We must be on the spotthere are doubtless incalculable finds to be found in the neighbourhood. I shall be interested to note whether the implements are typical of the Mousterian periodthere will be the remains of the primitive ox, I should say, but not those of the woolly rhinoceros. Yes, a little army will be starting soon. We must get ahead of them. You will write to Cooks today, Anne? What about money, papa? I hinted delicately. He turned a reproachful eye upon me. Your point of view always depresses me, my child. We must not be sordid. No, no, in the cause of science one must not be sordid. I feel Cooks might be sordid, papa. Papa looked pained. My dear Anne, you will pay them in ready money. I havent got any ready money. Papa looked thoroughly exasperated. My child, I really cannot be bothered with these vulgar money details. The bankI had something from the manager yesterday, saying I had twentyseven pounds. Thats your overdraft, I fancy. Ah, I have it! Write to my publishers. I acquiesced doubtfully, Papas books bringing in more glory than money. I liked the idea of going to Rhodesia immensely. Stern silent men, I murmured to myself in an ecstasy. Then something in my parents appearance struck me as unusual. You have odd boots on, papa, I said. Take off the brown one and put on the other black one. And dont forget your muffler. Its a very cold day. In a few minutes Papa stalked off, correctly booted and well mufflered. He returned late that evening, and, to my dismay, I saw his muffler and overcoat were missing. Dear me, Anne, you are quite right. I took them off to go into the cavern. One gets so dirty there. I nodded feelingly, remembering an occasion when Papa had returned literally plastered from head to foot with rich Pleiocene clay. Our principal reason for settling in Little Hampsly had been the neighbourhood of Hampsly Cavern, a buried cave rich in deposits of the Aurignacian culture. We had a tiny museum in the village, and the curator and Papa spent most of their days messing about underground and bringing to light portions of woolly rhinoceros and cave bear. Papa coughed badly all the evening, and the following morning I saw he had a temperature and sent for the doctor. Poor Papa, he never had a chance. It was double pneumonia. He died four days later. II Everyone was very kind to me. Dazed as I was, I appreciated that. I felt no overwhelming grief. Papa had never loved me, I knew that well enough. If he had, I might have loved him in return. No, there had not been love between us, but we had belonged together, and I had looked after him, and had secretly admired his learning and his uncompromising devotion to science. And it hurt me that Papa should have died just when the interest of life was at its height for him. I should have felt happier if I could have buried him in a cave, with paintings of reindeer and flint implements, but the force of public opinion constrained a neat tomb (with marble slab) in our hideous local churchyard. The vicars consolations, though well meant, did not console me in the least. It took some time to dawn upon me that the thing I had always longed forfreedomwas at last mine. I was an orphan, and practically penniless, but free. At the same time I realized the extraordinary kindness of all these good people. The vicar did his best to persuade me that his wife was in urgent need of a companion help. Our tiny local library suddenly made up its mind to have an assistant librarian. Finally, the doctor called upon me, and after making various ridiculous excuses for failing to send in a proper bill, he hummed and hawed a good deal and suddenly suggested that I should marry him. I was very much astonished. The doctor was nearer forty than thirty, and a round, tubby little man. He was not at all like the hero of The Perils of Pamela, and even less like a stern and silent Rhodesian. I reflected a minute and then asked him why he wanted to marry me. That seemed to fluster him a good deal, and he murmured that a wife was a great help to a general practitioner. The position seemed even more unromantic than before, and yet something in me urged towards its acceptance. Safety, that was what I was being offered. Safetyand a comfortable home. Thinking it over now, I believe I did the little man an injustice. He was honestly in love with me, but a mistaken delicacy prevented him from pressing his suit on those lines. Anyway, my love of romance rebelled. Its extremely kind of you, I said. But its impossible. I could never marry a man unless I loved him madly. You dont think? No, I dont, I said firmly. He sighed. But, my dear child, what do you propose to do? Have adventures and see the world, I replied, without the least hesitation. Miss Anne, you are very much of a child still. You dont understand The practical difficulties? Yes, I do, doctor. Im not a sentimental schoolgirlIm a hardheaded mercenary shrew! Youd know it if you married me! I wish you would reconsider I cant. He sighed again. I have another proposal to make. An aunt of mine who lives in Wales is in want of a young lady to help her. How would that suit you? No, doctor, Im going to London. If things happen anywhere, they happen in London. I shall keep my eyes open and youll see, something will turn up! Youll hear of me next in China or Timbuktu. My next visitor was Mr. Flemming, Papas London solicitor. He came down specially from town to see me. An ardent anthropologist himself, he was a great admirer of Papas works. He was a tall, spare man with a thin face and grey hair. He rose to meet me as I entered the room and, taking both my hands in his, patted them affectionately. My poor child, he said. My poor, poor child. Without conscious hypocrisy, I found myself assuming the demeanour of a bereaved orphan. He hypnotized me into it. He was benignant, kind and fatherlyand without the least doubt he regarded me as a perfect fool of a girl left adrift to face an unkind world. From the first I felt that it was quite useless to try to convince him of the contrary. As things turned out, perhaps it was just as well I didnt. My dear child, do you think you can listen to me whilst I try to make a few things clear to you? Oh, yes. Your father, as you know, was a very great man. Posterity will appreciate him. But he was not a good man of business. I knew that quite as well, if not better than Mr. Flemming, but I restrained myself from saying so. He continued I do not suppose you understand much of these matters. I will try to explain as clearly as I can. He explained at unnecessary length. The upshot seemed to be that I was left to face life with the sum of 87, 17s. 4d. It seemed a strangely unsatisfying amount. I waited in some trepidation for what was coming next. I feared that Mr. Flemming would be sure to have an aunt in Scotland who was in want of a bright young companion. Apparently, however, he hadnt. The question is, he went on, the future. I understand you have no living relatives? Im alone in the world, I said, and was struck anew by my likeness to a film heroine. You have friends? Everyone has been very kind to me, I said gratefully. Who would not be kind to one so young and charming? said Mr. Flemming gallantly. Well, well, my dear, we must see what can be done. He hesitated a minute, and then said Supposinghow would it be if you came to us for a time? I jumped at the chance. London! The place for things to happen. Its awfully kind of you, I said. Might I really? Just while Im looking round. I must start out to earn my living, you know? Yes, yes, my dear child. I quite understand. We will look round for somethingsuitable. I felt instinctively that Mr. Flemmings ideas of something suitable and mine were likely to be widely divergent, but it was certainly not the moment to air my views. That is settled then. Why not return with me today? Oh, thank you, but will Mrs. Flemming My wife will be delighted to welcome you. I wonder if husbands know as much about their wives as they think they do. If I had a husband, I should hate him to bring home orphans without consulting me first. We will send her a wire from the station, continued the lawyer. My few personal belongings were soon packed. I contemplated my hat sadly before putting it on. It had originally been what I call a Mary hat, meaning by that the kind of hat a housemaid ought to wear on her day outbut doesnt! A limp thing of black straw with a suitably depressed brim. With the inspiration of genius, I had kicked it once, punched it twice, dented in the crown and affixed to it a thing like a cubists dream of a jazz carrot. The result had been distinctly chic. The carrot I had already removed, of course, and now I proceeded to undo the rest of my handiwork. The Mary hat resumed its former status with an additional battered appearance which made it even more depressing than formerly. I might as well look as much like the popular conception of an orphan as possible. I was just a shade nervous of Mrs. Flemmings reception, but hoped my appearance might have a sufficiently disarming effect. Mr. Flemming was nervous too. I realized that as we went up the stairs of the tall house in a quiet Kensington Square. Mrs. Flemming greeted me pleasantly enough. She was a stout, placid woman of the good wife and mother type. She took me up to a spotless chintzhung bedroom, hoped I had everything I wanted, informed me that tea would be ready in about a quarter of an hour, and left me to my own devices. I heard her voice, slightly raised, as she entered the drawing room below on the first floor. Well, Henry, why on earth I lost the rest, but the acerbity of the tone was evident. And a few minutes later another phrase floated up to me, in an even more acid voice I agree with you! She is certainly very goodlooking. It is really a very hard life. Men will not be nice to you if you are not goodlooking, and women will not be nice to you if you are. With a deep sigh I proceeded to do things to my hair. I have nice hair. It is blacka real black, not dark brown, and it grows well back from my forehead and down over the ears. With a ruthless hand I dragged it upwards. As ears, my ears are quite all right, but there is no doubt about it, ears are dmod nowadays. They are like the Queen of Spains legs in Professor Petersons young day. When I had finished I looked almost unbelievably like the kind of orphan that walks out in a queue with a little bonnet and a red cloak. I noticed when I went down that Mrs. Flemmings eyes rested on my exposed ears with quite a kindly glance. Mr. Flemming seemed puzzled. I had no doubt that he was saying to himself, What has the child done to herself? On the whole the rest of the day passed off well. It was settled that I was to start at once to look for something to do. When I went to bed, I stared earnestly at my face in the glass. Was I really goodlooking? Honestly, I couldnt say I thought so! I hadnt got a straight Grecian nose, or a rosebud mouth, or any of the things you ought to have. It is true that a curate once told me that my eyes were like imprisoned sunshine in a dark, dark woodbut curates always know so many quotations, and fire them off at random. Id much prefer to have Irish blue eyes than dark green ones with yellow flecks! Still, green is a good colour for adventuresses. I wound a black garment tightly round me, leaving my arms and shoulders bare. Then I brushed back my hair and pulled it well down over my ears again. I put a lot of powder on my face, so that the skin seemed even whiter than usual. I fished about until I found some old lip salve, and I put oceans of it on my lips. Then I did under my eyes with burnt cork. Finally, I draped a red ribbon over my bare shoulder, stuck a scarlet feather in my hair, and placed a cigarette in one corner of my mouth. The whole effect pleased me very much. Anna the Adventuress, I said aloud, nodding at my reflection. Anna the Adventuress. Episode I, The House in Kensington! Girls are foolish things. III In the succeeding weeks I was a good deal bored. Mrs. Flemming and her friends seemed to me to be supremely uninteresting. They talked for hours of themselves and their children and of the difficulties of getting good milk for the children and of what they said to the dairy when the milk wasnt good. Then they would go on to servants, and the difficulties of getting good servants and of what they had said to the woman at the registry office and of what the woman at the registry office had said to them. They never seemed to read the papers or to care about what went on in the world. They disliked travellingeverything was so different to England. The Riviera was all right, of course, because one met all ones friends there. I listened and contained myself with difficulty. Most of these women were rich. The whole wide beautiful world was theirs to wander in and they deliberately stayed in dirty dull London and talked about milkmen and servants! I think now, looking back, that I was perhaps a shade intolerant. But they were stupidstupid even at their chosen job most of them kept the most extraordinarily inadequate and muddled housekeeping accounts. My affairs did not progress very fast. The house and furniture had been sold, and the amount realized had just covered our debts. As yet, I had not been successful in finding a post. Not that I really wanted one! I had the firm conviction that, if I went about looking for adventure, adventure would meet me halfway. It is a theory of mine that one always gets what one wants. My theory was about to be proved in practice. It was early in Januarythe 8th, to be exact. I was returning from an unsuccessful interview with a lady who said she wanted a secretarycompanion, but really seemed to require a strong charwoman who would work twelve hours a day for 25 a year. Having parted with mutual veiled impolitenesses, I walked down Edgware Road (the interview had taken place in a house in St. Johns Wood) and across Hyde Park to St. Georges Hospital. There I entered Hyde Park Corner tube station and took a ticket to Gloucester Road. Once on the platform I walked to the extreme end of it. My inquiring mind wished to satisfy itself as to whether there really were points and an opening between the two tunnels just beyond the station in the direction of Down Street. I was foolishly pleased to find I was right. There were not many people on the platform, and at the extreme end there was only myself and one man. As I passed him, I sniffed dubiously. If there is one smell I cannot bear it is that of moth balls! This mans heavy overcoat simply reeked of them. And yet most men begin to wear their winter overcoats before January, and consequently by this time the smell ought to have worn off. The man was beyond me, standing close to the edge of the tunnel. He seemed lost in thought, and I was able to stare at him without rudeness. He was a small thin man, very brown of face, with light blue eyes and a small dark beard. Just come from abroad, I deduced. Thats why his overcoat smells so. Hes come from India. Not an officer, or he wouldnt have a beard. Perhaps a tea planter. At this moment the man turned as though to retrace his steps along the platform. He glanced at me and then his eyes went on to something behind me, and his face changed. It was distorted by fearalmost panic. He stood a step backwards as though involuntarily recoiling from some danger, forgetting that he was standing on the extreme edge of the platform, and went down and over. There was a vivid flash from the rails and a crackling sound. I shrieked. People came running up. Two station officials seemed to materialize from nowhere and took command. I remained where I was, rooted to the spot by a sort of horrible fascination. Part of me was appalled at the sudden disaster, and another part of me was coolly and dispassionately interested in the methods employed for lifting the man off the live rail and back onto the platform. Let me pass, please. I am a medical man. A tall man with a brown beard pressed past me and bent over the motionless body. As he examined it, a curious sense of unreality seemed to possess me. The thing wasnt realcouldnt be. Finally, the doctor stood upright and shook his head. Dead as a doornail. Nothing to be done. We had all crowded nearer, and an aggrieved porter raised his voice. Now then, stand back there, will you? Whats the sense in crowding round. A sudden nausea seized me, and I turned blindly and ran up the stairs again towards the lift. I felt that it was too horrible. I must get out into the open air. The doctor who had examined the body was just ahead of me. The lift was just about to go up, another having descended, and he broke into a run. As he did so, he dropped a piece of paper. I stopped, picked it up, and ran after him. But the lift gates clanged in my face, and I was left holding the paper in my hand. By the time the second lift reached the street level, there was no sign of my quarry. I hoped it was nothing important that he had lost, and for the first time I examined it. It was a plain halfsheet of notepaper with some figures and words scrawled upon it in pencil. This is a facsimile of it On the face of it, it certainly did not appear to be of any importance. Still, I hesitated to throw it away. As I stood there holding it, I involuntarily wrinkled my nose in displeasure. Moth balls again! I held the paper gingerly to my nose. Yes, it smelt strongly of them. But, then I folded up the paper carefully and put it in my bag. I walked home slowly and did a good deal of thinking. I explained to Mrs. Flemming that I had witnessed a nasty accident in the tube and that I was rather upset and would go to my room and lie down. The kind woman insisted on my having a cup of tea. After that I was left to my own devices, and I proceeded to carry out a plan I had formed coming home. I wanted to know what it was that had produced that curious feeling of unreality whilst I was watching the doctor examine the body. First I lay down on the floor in the attitude of the corpse, then I laid a bolster down in my stead, and proceeded to duplicate, so far as I could remember, every motion and gesture of the doctor. When I had finished I had got what I wanted. I sat back on my heels and frowned at the opposite walls. There was a brief notice in the evening papers that a man had been killed in the tube, and a doubt was expressed whether it was suicide or accident. That seemed to me to make my duty clear, and when Mr. Flemming heard my story he quite agreed with me. Undoubtedly you will be wanted at the inquest. You say no one else was near enough to see what happened? I had the feeling someone was coming up behind me, but I cant be sureand, anyway, they wouldnt be as near as I was. The inquest was held. Mr. Flemming made all the arrangements and took me there with him. He seemed to fear that it would be a great ordeal to me, and I had to conceal from him my complete composure. The deceased had been identified as L. B. Carton. Nothing had been found in his pockets except a house agents order to view a house on the river near Marlow. It was in the name of L. B. Carton, Russell Hotel. The bureau clerk from the hotel identified the man as having arrived the day before and booked a room under that name. He had registered as L. B. Carton, Kimberley, S. Africa. He had evidently come straight off the steamer. I was the only person who had seen anything of the affair. You think it was an accident? the coroner asked me. I am positive of it. Something alarmed him, and he stepped backwards blindly without thinking what he was doing. But what could have alarmed him? That I dont know. But there was something. He looked panic stricken. A stolid juryman suggested that some men were terrified of cats. The man might have seen a cat. I didnt think his suggestion a very brilliant one, but it seemed to pass muster with the jury, who were obviously impatient to get home and only too pleased at being able to give a verdict of accident as opposed to suicide. It is extraordinary to me, said the coroner, that the doctor who first examined the body has not come forward. His name and address should have been taken at the time. It was most irregular not to do so. I smiled to myself. I had my own theory in regard to the doctor. In pursuance of it, I determined to make a call upon Scotland Yard at an early date. But the next morning brought a surprise. The Flemmings took in the Daily Budget, and the Daily Budget was having a day after its own heart. Extraordinary Sequel to Tube Accident. Woman Found Stabbed in Lonely House. I read eagerly. A sensational discovery was made yesterday at the Mill House, Marlow. The Mill House, which is the property of Sir Eustace Pedler, M.P., is to be let unfurnished, and an order to view this property was found in the pocket of the man who was at first thought to have committed suicide by throwing himself on the live rail at Hyde Park Corner tube station. In an upper room of the Mill House the body of a beautiful young woman was discovered yesterday, strangled. She is thought to be a foreigner, but so far has not been identified. The police are reported to have a clue. Sir Eustace Pedler, the owner of the Mill House, is wintering on the Riviera. IV Nobody came forward to identify the dead woman. The inquest elicited the following facts. Shortly after one oclock on January 8th, a welldressed woman with a slight foreign accent had entered the offices of Messrs. Butler and Park, house agents, in Knightsbridge. She explained that she wanted to rent or purchase a house on the Thames within easy reach of London. The particulars of several were given to her, including those of the Mill House. She gave the name of Mrs. de Castina and her address as the Ritz, but there proved to be no one of that name staying there, and the hotel people failed to identify the body. Mrs. James, the wife of Sir Eustace Pedlers gardener, who acted as caretaker to the Mill House and inhabited the small lodge opening on the main road, gave evidence. About three oclock that afternoon, a lady came to see over the house. She produced an order from the house agents, and, as was the usual custom, Mrs. James gave her the keys of the house. It was situated at some distance from the lodge, and she was not in the habit of accompanying prospective tenants. A few minutes later a young man arrived. Mrs. James described him as tall and broadshouldered, with a bronzed face and light grey eyes. He was clean shaven and was wearing a brown suit. He explained to Mrs. James that he was a friend of the lady who had come to look over the house, but had stopped at the post office to send a telegram. She directed him to the house, and thought no more about the matter. Five minutes later he reappeared, handed her back the keys and explained that he feared the house would not suit them. Mrs. James did not see the lady, but thought that she had gone on ahead. What she did notice was that the young man seemed very much upset about something. He looked like a man whod seen a ghost. I thought he was taken ill. On the following day another lady and gentleman came to see the property and discovered the body lying on the floor in one of the upstairs rooms. Mrs. James identified it as that of the lady who had come the day before. The house agents also recognized it as that of Mrs. de Castina. The police surgeon gave it as his opinion that the woman had been dead about twentyfour hours. The Daily Budget had jumped to the conclusion that the man in the tube had murdered the woman and afterwards committed suicide. However, as the tube victim was dead at two oclock, and the woman was alive and well at three oclock, the only logical conclusion to come to was that the two occurrences had nothing to do with each other, and that the order to view the house at Marlow found in the dead mans pocket was merely one of those coincidences which so often occur in this life. A verdict of Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown was returned, and the police (and the Daily Budget) were left to look for the man in the brown suit. Since Mrs. James was positive that there was no one in the house when the lady entered it, and that nobody except the young man in question entered it until the following afternoon, it seemed only logical to conclude that he was the murderer of the unfortunate Mrs. de Castina. She had been strangled with a piece of stout black cord, and had evidently been caught unawares with no time to cry out.

The black silk handbag which she carried contained a wellfilled notecase and some loose change, a fine lace handkerchief, unmarked, and the return half of a firstclass ticket to London. Nothing much there to go upon. Such were the details published broadcast by the Daily Budget, and Find the Man in the Brown Suit was their daily war cry. On an average about five hundred people wrote daily to announce their success in the quest, and tall young men with welltanned faces cursed the day when their tailors had persuaded them to a brown suit. The accident in the tube, dismissed as a coincidence, faded out of the public mind. Was it a coincidence? I was not so sure. No doubt I was prejudicedthe tube incident was my own pet mysterybut there certainly seemed to me to be a connection of some kind between the two fatalities. In each there was a man with a tanned faceevidently an Englishman living abroad, and there were other things. It was the consideration of these other things that finally impelled me to what I considered a dashing step. I presented myself at Scotland Yard and demanded to see whoever was in charge of the Mill House case. My request took some time to understand, as I had inadvertently selected the department for lost umbrellas, but eventually I was ushered into a small room and presented to Detective Inspector Meadows. Inspector Meadows was a small man with a ginger head and what I considered a peculiarly irritating manner. A satellite, also in plain clothes, sat unobtrusively in a corner. Good morning, I said nervously. Good morning. Will you take a seat? I understand youve something to tell me that you think may be of use to us. His tone seemed to indicate that such a thing was unlikely in the extreme. I felt my temper stirred. Of course you know about the man who was killed in the tube? The man who had an order to view this same house at Marlow in his pocket. Ah! said the inspector. You are the Miss Beddingfeld who gave evidence at the inquest. Certainly the man had an order in his pocket. A lot of other people may have had tooonly they didnt happen to be killed. I rallied my forces. You dont think it odd that this man had no ticket in his pocket? Easiest thing in the world to drop your ticket. Done it myself. And no money. He had some loose change in his trousers pocket. But no notecase. Some men dont carry a pocketbook or notecase of any kind. I tried another tack. You dont think its odd that the doctor never came forward afterwards? A busy medical man very often doesnt read the papers. He probably forgot all about the accident. In fact, inspector, you are determined to find nothing odd, I said sweetly. Well, Im inclined to think youre a little too fond of the word, Miss Beddingfeld. Young ladies are romantic, I knowfond of mysteries and suchlike. But as Im a busy man I took the hint and rose. The man in the corner raised a meek voice. Perhaps the young lady would tell us briefly what her ideas really are on the subject, inspector? The inspector fell in with the suggestion readily enough. Yes, come now, Miss Beddingfeld, dont be offended. Youve asked questions and hinted things. Just say straight out what it is youve got in your head. I wavered between injured dignity and the overwhelming desire to express my theories. Injured dignity went to the wall. You said at the inquest you were positive it wasnt suicide? Yes, Im quite certain of that. The man was frightened. What frightened him? It wasnt me. But someone might have been walking up the platform towards ussomeone he recognized. You didnt see anyone? No, I admitted. I didnt turn my head. Then, as soon as the body was recovered from the line, a man pushed forward to examine it, saying he was a doctor. Nothing unusual in that, said the inspector dryly. But he wasnt a doctor. What? He wasnt a doctor, I repeated. How do you know that, Miss Beddingfeld? Its difficult to say, exactly. Ive worked in hospital during the war, and Ive seen doctors handle bodies. Theres a sort of deft professional callousness that this man hadnt got. Besides, a doctor doesnt usually feel for the heart on the right side of the body. He did that? Yes, I didnt notice it specially at the timeexcept that I felt there was something wrong. But I worked it out when I got home, and then I saw why the whole thing had looked so unhandy to me at the time. Hm, said the inspector. He was reaching slowly for pen and paper. In running his hands over the upper part of the mans body he would have ample opportunity to take anything he wanted from the pockets. Doesnt sound likely to me, said the inspector. Butwell, can you describe him at all? He was tall and broadshouldered, wore a dark overcoat and black boots, a bowler hat. He had a dark pointed beard and goldrimmed eyeglasses. Take away the overcoat, the beard and the eyeglasses, and there wouldnt be much to know him by, grumbled the inspector. He could alter his appearance easy enough in five minutes if he wanted towhich he would do if hes the swell pickpocket you suggest. I had not intended to suggest anything of the kind. But from this moment I gave the inspector up as hopeless. Nothing more you can tell us about him? he demanded, as I rose to depart. Yes, I said. I seized my opportunity to fire a parting shot. His head was markedly brachycephalic. He will not find it so easy to alter that. I observed with pleasure that Inspector Meadows pen wavered. It was clear that he did not know how to spell brachycephalic. V In the first heat of indignation I found my next step unexpectedly easy to tackle. I had had a halfformed plan in my head when I went into Scotland Yard. One to be carried out if my interview there was unsatisfactory (it had been profoundly unsatisfactory). That is, if I had the nerve to go through with it. Things that one would shrink from attempting normally are easily tackled in a flush of anger. Without giving myself time to reflect, I walked straight to the house of Lord Nasby. Lord Nasby was the millionaire owner of the Daily Budget. He owned other papersseveral of them, but the Daily Budget was his special child. It was as the owner of the Daily Budget that he was known to every householder in the United Kingdom. Owing to the fact that an itinerary of the great mans daily proceedings had just been published, I knew exactly where to find him at this moment. It was his hour for dictating to his secretary in his own house. I did not, of course, suppose that any young woman who chose to come and ask for him would be at once admitted to the august presence. But I had attended to that side of the matter. In the card tray in the hall of the Flemmings house I had observed the card of the Marquis of Loamsley, Englands most famous sporting peer. I had removed the card, cleaned it carefully with breadcrumbs, and pencilled upon it the words Please give Miss Beddingfeld a few moments of your time. Adventuresses must not be too scrupulous in their methods. The thing worked. A powdered footman received the card and bore it away. Presently a pale secretary appeared. I fenced with him successfully. He retired defeated. He again reappeared and begged me to follow him. I did so. I entered a large room, a frightenedlooking shorthand typist fled past me like a visitant from the spirit world. Then the door shut and I was face to face with Lord Nasby. A big man. Big head. Big face. Big moustache. Big stomach. I pulled myself together. I had not come here to comment on Lord Nasbys stomach. He was already roaring at me. Well, what is it? What does Loamsley want? You his secretary? Whats it all about? To begin with, I said with as great an appearance of coolness as I could manage, I dont know Lord Loamsley, and he certainly knows nothing about me. I took his card from the tray in the house of the people Im staying with, and I wrote those words on it myself. It was important that I should see you. For a moment it appeared to be a toss up as to whether Lord Nasby had apoplexy or not. In the end, he swallowed twice and got over it. I admire your coolness, young woman. Well, you see me! If you interest me, you will continue to see me for exactly two minutes longer. That will be ample, I replied. And I shall interest you. Its the Mill House Mystery. If youve found the man in the brown suit, write to the editor, he interrupted hastily. If you will interrupt, I shall be more than two minutes, I said sternly. I havent found the man in the brown suit, but Im quite likely to do so. In as few words as possible I put the facts of the tube accident and the conclusions I had drawn from them before him. When I had finished he said unexpectedly What do you know of brachycephalic heads? I mentioned Papa. The monkey man? Eh? Well, you seem to have a head of some kind upon your own shoulders, young woman. But its all pretty thin, you know. Not much to go upon. And no use to usas it stands. Im perfectly aware of that. What dyou want, then? I want a job on your paper to investigate this matter. Cant do that. Weve got our own special man on it. And Ive got my own special knowledge. What youve just told me, eh? Oh, no, Lord Nasby. Ive still got something up my sleeve. Oh, you have, have you? You seem a bright sort of girl. Well, what is it? When this socalled doctor got into the lift, he dropped a piece of paper. I picked it up. It smelt of moth balls. So did the dead man. The doctor didnt. So I saw at once that the doctor must have taken it off the body. It had two words written on it and some figures. Lets see it. Lord Nasby stretched out a careless hand. I think not, I said, smiling. Its my find, you see. Im right. You are a bright girl. Quite right to hang on to it. No scruples about not handing it over to the police? I went there to do so this morning. They persisted in regarding the whole thing as having nothing to do with the Marlow affair, so I thought that in the circumstances I was justified in retaining the paper. Besides, the inspector put my back up. Shortsighted man. Well, my dear girl, heres all I can do for you. Go on working on this line of yours. If you get anythinganything thats publishablesend it along and you shall have your chance. Theres always room for real talent on the Daily Budget. But youve got to make good first. See? I thanked him, and apologized for my methods. Dont mention it. I rather like cheekfrom a pretty girl. By the way, you said two minutes and youve been three, allowing for interruptions. For a woman, thats quite remarkable! Must be your scientific training. I was in the street again, breathing hard as though I had been running. I found Lord Nasby rather wearing as a new acquaintance. VI I went home with a feeling of exultation. My scheme had succeeded far better than I could possibly have hoped. Lord Nasby had been positively genial. It only now remained for me to make good, as he expressed it. Once locked in my own room, I took out my precious piece of paper and studied it attentively. Here was the clue to the mystery. To begin with, what did the figures represent? There were five of them, and a dot after the first two. Seventeenone hundred and twentytwo, I murmured. That did not seem to lead to anything. Next I added them up. That is often done in works of fiction and leads to surprising deductions. One and seven make eight and one is nine and two are eleven and two are thirteen. Thirteen! Fateful number! Was this a warning to me to leave the whole thing alone? Very possibly. Anyway, except as a warning, it seemed to be singularly useless. I declined to believe that any conspirator would take that way of writing thirteen in real life. If he meant thirteen, he would write thirteen. 13like that. There was a space between the one and the two. I accordingly subtracted twentytwo from a hundred and seventyone. The result was a hundred and fiftynine. I did it again and made it a hundred and fortynine. These arithmetical exercises were doubtless excellent practice, but as regarded the solution of the mystery, they seemed totally ineffectual. I left arithmetic alone, not attempting fancy division or multiplication, and went on to the words. Kilmorden Castle. That was something definite. A place. Probably the cradle of an aristocratic family. (Missing heir? Claimant to title?) Or possibly a picturesque ruin. (Buried treasure?) Yes, on the whole I inclined to the theory of buried treasure. Figures always go with buried treasure. One pace to the right, seven paces to the left, dig one foot, descend twentytwo steps. That sort of idea. I could work out that later. The thing was to get to Kilmorden Castle as quickly as possible. I made a strategic sally from my room and returned laden with books of reference. Whos Who, Whitaker, a Gazetteer, a History of Scotch Ancestral Homes, and somebody or others British Isles. Time passed. I searched diligently, but with growing annoyance. Finally, I shut the last book with a bang. There appeared to be no such place as Kilmorden Castle. Here was an unexpected check. There must be such a place. Why should anyone invent a name like that and write it down on a piece of paper? Absurd! Another idea occurred to me. Possibly it was a castellated abomination in the suburbs with a highsounding name invented by its owner. But if so, it was going to be extraordinarily hard to find. I sat back gloomily on my heels (I always sit on the floor to do anything really important) and wondered how on earth I was to set about it. Was there any other line I could follow? I reflected earnestly and then sprang to my feet delightedly. Of course! I must visit the scene of the crime. Always done by the best sleuths! And no matter how long afterwards it may be, they always find something that the police have overlooked. My course was clear. I must go to Marlow. But how was I to get into the house? I discarded several adventurous methods, and plumped for stern simplicity. The house had been to letpresumably was still to let. I would be a prospective tenant. I also decided on attacking the local house agents, as having fewer houses on their books. Here, however, I reckoned without my host. A pleasant clerk produced particulars of about half a dozen desirable properties. It took all my ingenuity to find objections to them. In the end I feared I had drawn a blank. And youve really nothing else? I asked, gazing pathetically into the clerks eyes. Something right on the river, and with a fair amount of garden and a small lodge, I added, summing up the main points of the Mill House, as I had gathered them from the papers. Well, of course theres Sir Eustace Pedlers place, said the man doubtfully. The Mill House, you know. Notnot where I faltered. (Really, faltering is getting to be my strong point.) Thats it! Where the murder took place. But perhaps you wouldnt like Oh, I dont think I should mind, I said with an appearance of rallying. I felt my bona fides was now quite established. And perhaps I might get it cheapin the circumstances. A master touch that, I thought. Well, its possible. Theres no pretending that it will be easy to let nowservants and all that, you know. If you like the place after youve seen it, I should advise you to make an offer. Shall I write you out an order? If you please. A quarter of an hour later I was at the lodge of the Mill House. In answer to my knock, the door flew open and a tall middleaged woman literally bounced out. Nobody can go into the house, do you hear that? Fairly sick of you reporters, I am. Sir Eustaces orders are I understood the house was to let, I said freezingly, holding out my order. Of course, if its already taken Oh, Im sure I beg your pardon, miss. Ive been fairly pestered with these newspaper people. Not a minutes peace. No, the house isnt letnor likely to be now. Are the drains wrong? I asked in an anxious whisper. Oh, Lord, miss, the drains is all right! But surely youve heard about that foreign lady as was done to death here? I believe I did read something about it in the papers, I said carelessly. My indifference piqued the good woman. If I had betrayed any interest, she would probably have closed up like an oyster. As it was, she positively bridled. I should say you did, miss! Its been in all the newspapers. The Daily Budgets out still to catch the man who did it. It seems, according to them, as our police are no good at all. Well, I hope theyll get himalthough a nicelooking young fellow he was and no mistake. A kind of soldierly look about himah, well, I dare say hed been wounded in the war, and sometimes they go a bit queer afterwards, my sisters boy did. Perhaps shed used him badtheyre a bad lot, those foreigners. Though she was a finelooking woman. Stood there where youre standing now. Was she dark or fair? I ventured. You cant tell from these newspaper portraits. Dark hair, and a very white facetoo white for nature, I thought, and her lips reddened something cruel. I dont like to see ita little powder now and then is quite another thing. We were conversing like old friends now. I put another question. Did she seem nervous or upset at all? Not a bit. She was smiling to herself, quiet like, as though she was amused at something. Thats why you could have knocked me down with a feather when, the next afternoon, those people came running out calling for the police and saying thered been murder done. I shall never get over it, and as for setting foot in that house after dark I wouldnt do it, not if it was ever so. Why, I wouldnt even stay here at the lodge, if Sir Eustace hadnt been down on his bended knees to me. I thought Sir Eustace Pedler was at Cannes? So he was, miss. He come back to England when he heard the news, and, as to the bended knees, that was a figure of speech, his secretary, Mr. Pagett, having offered us double pay to stay on, and, as my John says, money is money nowadays. I concurred heartily with Johns by no means original remarks. The young man now, said Mrs. James, reverting suddenly to a former point in the conversation. He was upset. His eyes, light eyes, they were, I noticed them particular, was all shining. Excited, I thought. But I never dreamt of anything being wrong. Not even when he came out again looking all queer. How long was he in the house? Oh, not long, a matter of five minutes maybe. How tall was he, do you think? About six foot? I should say so maybe. He was clean shaven, you say? Yes, missnot even one of these toothbrush moustaches. Was his chin at all shiny? I asked on a sudden impulse. Mrs. James stared at me with awe. Well, now you come to mention it, miss, it was. However did you know? Its a curious thing, but murderers often have shiny chins, I explained wildly. Mrs. James accepted the statement in all good faith. Really, now, miss. I never heard that before. You didnt notice what kind of a head he had, I suppose? Just the ordinary kind, miss. Ill fetch you the keys, shall I? I accepted them, and went on my way to the Mill House. My reconstructions so far I considered good. All along I had realized that the differences between the man Mrs. James had described and my tube doctor were those of nonessentials. An overcoat, a beard, goldrimmed eyeglasses. The doctor had appeared middleaged, but I remembered that he had stooped over the body like a comparatively young man. There had been a suppleness which told of young joints. The victim of the accident (the mothball man, as I called him to myself) and the foreign woman, Mrs. de Castina, or whatever her real name was, had had an assignation to meet at the Mill House. That was how I pieced the thing together. Either because they feared they were being watched or for some other reason, they chose the rather ingenious method of both getting an order to view the same house. Thus their meeting there might have the appearance of pure chance. That the mothball man had suddenly caught sight of the doctor, and that the meeting was totally unexpected and alarming to him, was another fact of which I was fairly sure. What had happened next? The doctor had removed his disguise and followed the woman to Marlow. But it was possible that had he removed it rather hastily traces of spirit gum might still linger on his chin. Hence my question to Mrs. James. Whilst occupied with my thoughts I had arrived at the low oldfashioned door of the Mill House. Unlocking it with the key, I passed inside. The hall was low and dark, the place smelt forlorn and mildewy. In spite of myself, I shivered. Did the woman who had come here smiling to herself a few days ago feel no chill of premonition as she entered this house? I wondered. Did the smile fade from her lips, and did a nameless dread close round her heart? Or had she gone upstairs, smiling still, unconscious of the doom that was so soon to overtake her? My heart beat a little faster. Was the house really empty? Was doom waiting for me in it also? For the first time, I understood the meaning of the muchused word, atmosphere. There was an atmosphere in this house, an atmosphere of cruelty, of menace, of evil. VII Shaking off the feelings that oppressed me, I went quickly upstairs. I had no difficulty in finding the room of the tragedy. On the day the body was discovered it had rained heavily, and large muddy boots had trampled the uncarpeted floor in every direction. I wondered if the murderer had left any footmarks the previous day. It was likely that the police would be reticent on the subject if he had, but on consideration I decided it was unlikely. The weather had been fine and dry. There was nothing of interest about the room. It was almost square with two big bay windows, plain white walls and a bare floor, the boards being stained round the edges where the carpet had ceased. I searched it carefully, but there was not so much as a pin lying about. The gifted young detective did not seem likely to discover a neglected clue. I had brought with me a pencil and notebook. There did not seem much to note, but I duly dotted down a brief sketch of the room to cover my disappointment at the failure of my quest. As I was in the act of returning the pencil to my bag, it slipped from my fingers and rolled along the floor. The Mill House was really old, and the floors were very uneven. The pencil rolled steadily, with increasing momentum, until it came to rest under one of the windows. In the recess of each window there was a broad window seat, underneath which there was a cupboard. My pencil was lying right against the cupboard door. The cupboard was shut, but it suddenly occurred to me that if it had been open my pencil would have rolled inside. I opened the door, and my pencil immediately rolled in and sheltered modestly in the farthest corner. I retrieved it, noting as I did so that owing to the lack of light and the peculiar formation of the cupboard one could not see it, but had to feel for it. Apart from my pencil the cupboard was empty, but being thorough by nature I tried the one under the opposite window. At first sight, it looked as though that also was empty, but I grubbed about perseveringly, and was rewarded by feeling my hand close on a hard paper cylinder which lay in a sort of trough, or depression, in the far corner of the cupboard. As soon as I had it in my hand, I knew what it was. A roll of Kodak films. Here was a find! I realized, of course, that these films might very well be an old roll belonging to Sir Eustace Pedler which had rolled in here and had not been found when the cupboard was emptied. But I did not think so. The red paper was far too freshlooking. It was just as dusty as it would have been had it laid there for two or three daysthat is to say, since the murder. Had it been there for any length of time, it would have been thickly coated. Who had dropped it? The woman or the man? I remembered that the contents of her handbag had appeared to be intact. If it had been jerked open in the struggle and the roll of films had fallen out, surely some of the loose money would have been scattered about also? No, it was not the woman who had dropped the films. I sniffed suddenly and suspiciously. Was the smell of moth balls becoming an obsession with me? I could swear that the roll of films smelt of it also? I held them under my nose. They had, as usual, a strong smell of their own, but apart from that I could clearly detect the odour I disliked so much. I soon found the cause. A minute shred of cloth had caught on a rough edge of the centre wood, and that shred was strongly impregnated with moth balls. At some time or another the films had been carried in the overcoat pocket of the man who was killed in the tube. Was it he who had dropped them here? Hardly. His movements were all accounted for. No, it was the other man, the doctor. He had taken the films when he had taken the paper. It was he who had dropped them here during his struggle with the woman. I had got my clue! I would have the roll developed, and then I would have further developments to work upon. Very elated, I left the house, returned the keys to Mrs. James and made my way as quickly as possible to the station. On the way back to town, I took out my paper and studied it afresh. Suddenly the figures took on a new significance. Suppose they were a date? 17 1 22. The 17th of January, 1922. Surely that must be it! Idiot that I was not to have thought of it before. But in that case I must find out the whereabouts of Kilmorden Castle, for today was actually the 14th. Three days. Little enoughalmost hopeless when one had no idea of where to look! It was too late to hand in my roll today. I had to hurry home to Kensington so as not to be late for dinner. It occurred to me that there was an easy way of verifying whether some of my conclusions were correct. I asked Mr. Flemming whether there had been a camera amongst the dead mans belongings. I knew that he had taken an interest in the case and was conversant with all the details. To my surprise and annoyance he replied that there had been no camera. All Cartons effects had been gone over very carefully in the hopes of finding something that might throw light upon his state of mind. He was positive that there had been no photographic apparatus of any kind. That was rather a setback to my theory. If he had no camera, why should he be carrying a roll of films? I set out early next morning to take my precious roll to be developed. I was so fussy that I went all the way to Regent Street to the big Kodak place. I handed it in and asked for a print of each film. The man finished stacking together a heap of films packed in yellow tin cylinders for the tropics, and picked up my roll. He looked at me. Youve made a mistake, I think, he said, smiling. Oh, no, I said. Im sure I havent. Youve given me the wrong roll. This is an unexposed one. I walked out with what dignity I could muster. I dare say it is good for one now and again to realize what an idiot one can be! But nobody relishes the process. And then, just as I was passing one of the big shipping offices, I came to a sudden halt. In the window was a beautiful model of one of the companys boats, and it was labelled Kenilworth Castle. A wild idea shot through my brain. I pushed the door open and went in. I went up to the counter and in faltering voice (genuine this time!) I murmured Kilmorden Castle? On the 17th from Southampton. Cape Town? First or second class? How much is it? First class, eightyseven pounds I interrupted him. The coincidence was too much for me. Exactly the amount of my legacy! I would put all my eggs in one basket. First class, I said. I was now definitely committed to the adventure. VIII (Extracts from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler, M.P.) It is an extraordinary thing that I never seem to get any peace. I am a man who likes a quiet life. I like my club, my rubber of bridge, a wellcooked meal, a sound wine. I like England in the summer, and the Riviera in the winter. I have no desire to participate in sensational happenings. Sometimes, in front of a good fire, I do not object to reading about them in the newspaper. But that is as far as I am willing to go. My object in life is to be thoroughly comfortable. I have devoted a certain amount of thought, and a considerable amount of money, to further that end. But I cannot say that I always succeed. If things do not actually happen to me, they happen round me, and frequently, in spite of myself, I become involved. I hate being involved. All this because Guy Pagett came into my bedroom this morning with a telegram in his hand and a face as long as a mute at a funeral. Guy Pagett is my secretary, a zealous, painstaking, hardworking fellow, admirable in every respect. I know no one who annoys me more. For a long time I have been racking my brains as to how to get rid of him. But you cannot very well dismiss a secretary because he prefers work to play, likes getting up early in the morning, and has positively no vices. The only amusing thing about the fellow is his face. He has the face of a fourteenthcentury poisonerthe sort of man the Borgias got to do their odd jobs for them. I wouldnt mind so much if Pagett didnt make me work too. My idea of work is something that should be undertaken lightly and airilytrifled with, in fact! I doubt if Guy Pagett has ever trifled with anything in his life. He takes everything seriously. That is what makes him so difficult to live with. Last week I had the brilliant idea of sending him off to Florence. He talked about Florence and how much he wanted to go there. My dear fellow, I cried, you shall go tomorrow. I will pay all your expenses. January isnt the usual time for going to Florence, but it would be all one to Pagett. I could imagine him going about, guidebook in hand, religiously doing all the picture galleries. And a weeks freedom was cheap to me at the price. It has been a delightful week. I have done everything I wanted to, and nothing that I did not want to do. But when I blinked my eyes open, and perceived Pagett standing between me and the light at the unearthly hour of 9 a.m. this morning, I realized that freedom was over. My dear fellow, I said, has the funeral already taken place, or is it for later in the morning? Pagett does not appreciate dry humour. He merely stared. So you know, Sir Eustace? Know what? I said crossly. From the expression of your face I inferred that one of your near and dear relatives was to be interred this morning. Pagett ignored the sally as far as possible. I thought you couldnt know about this. He tapped the telegram. I know you dislike being aroused earlybut it is nine oclockPagett insists on regarding 9 a.m. as practically the middle of the dayand I thought that under the circumstances He tapped the telegram again. What is that thing? I asked. Its a telegram from the police at Marlow. A woman has been murdered in your house. That aroused me in earnest. What colossal cheek, I exclaimed. Why in my house? Who murdered her? They dont say. I suppose we shall go back to England at once, Sir Eustace? You need suppose nothing of the kind. Why should we go back? The police What on earth have I to do with the police? Well, it was your house. That, I said, appears to be more my misfortune than my fault. Guy Pagett shook his head gloomily. It will have a very unfortunate effect upon the constituency, he remarked lugubriously. I dont see why it should haveand yet I have a feeling that in such matters Pagetts instincts are always right. On the face of it, a member of parliament will be none the less efficient because a stray young woman comes and gets herself murdered in an empty house that belongs to himbut there is no accounting for the view the respectable British public takes of a matter. Shes a foreigner too, and that makes it worse, continued Pagett gloomily. Again I believe he is right. If it is disreputable to have a woman murdered in your house, it becomes more disreputable if the woman is a foreigner. Another idea struck me.

Good heavens, I exclaimed, I hope this wont upset Caroline. Caroline is the lady who cooks for me. Incidentally she is the wife of my gardener. What kind of a wife she makes I do not know, but she is an excellent cook. James, on the other hand, is not a good gardenerbut I support him in idleness and give him the lodge to live in solely on account of Carolines cooking. I dont suppose shell stay after this, said Pagett. You always were a cheerful fellow, I said. I expect I shall have to go back to England. Pagett clearly intends that I shall. And there is Caroline to pacify. Three days later. It is incredible to me that anyone who can get away from England in winter does not do so! It is an abominable climate. All this trouble is very annoying. The house agents say it will be next to impossible to let the Mill House after all the publicity. Caroline has been pacifiedwith double pay. We could have sent her a cable to that effect from Cannes. In fact, as I have said all along, there was no earthly purpose to serve by our coming over. I shall go back tomorrow. One day later. Several very surprising things have occurred. To begin with, I met Augustus Milray, the most perfect example of an old ass the present government has produced. His manner oozed diplomatic secrecy as he drew me aside in the club into a quiet corner. He talked a good deal. About South Africa and the industrial situation there. About the growing rumours of a strike on the Rand. Of the secret causes actuating that strike. I listened as patiently as I could. Finally, he dropped his voice to a whisper and explained that certain documents had come to light which ought to be placed in the hands of General Smuts. Ive no doubt youre quite right, I said, stifling a yawn. But how are we to get them to him? Our position in the matter is delicatevery delicate. Whats wrong with the post? I said cheerfully. Put a twopenny stamp on and drop em in the nearest letterbox. He seemed quite shocked at the suggestion. My dear Pedler! The common post! It has always been a mystery to me why governments employ Kings Messengers and draw such attention to their confidential documents. If you dont like the post, send one of your young Foreign Office fellows. Hell enjoy the trip. Impossible, said Milray, wagging his head in a senile fashion. There are reasons, my dear PedlerI assure you there are reasons. Well, I said, rising, all this is very interesting, but I must be off One minute, my dear Pedler, one minute, I beg of you. Now tell me, in confidence, is it not true that you intend visiting South Africa shortly yourself? You have large interests in Rhodesia, I know, and the question of Rhodesia joining in the Union is one in which you have a vital interest. Well, I had thought of going out in about a months time. You couldnt possibly make it sooner? This month? This week, in fact? I could, I said, eyeing him with some interest. But I dont know that I particularly want to. You would be doing the government a great servicea very great service. You would not find themerungrateful. Meaning, you want me to be the postman? Exactly. Your position is an unofficial one, your journey is bona fide. Everything would be eminently satisfactory. Well, I said slowly, I dont mind if I do. The one thing I am anxious to do is to get out of England again as soon as possible. You will find the climate of South Africa delightfulquite delightful. My dear fellow, I know all about the climate. I was out there shortly before the war. I am really much obliged to you, Pedler. I will send you round the package by messenger. To be placed in General Smutss own hands, you understand? The Kilmorden Castle sails on Saturdayquite a good boat. I accompanied him a short way along Pall Mall before we parted. He shook me warmly by the hand, and thanked me again effusively. I walked home reflecting on the curious byways of governmental policy. It was the following evening that Jarvis, my butler, informed me that a gentleman wished to see me on private business, but declined to give his name. I have always a lively apprehension of insurance touts, so told Jarvis to say I could not see him. Guy Pagett, unfortunately, when he might for once have been of real use, was laid up with a bilious attack. These earnest, hardworking young men with weak stomachs are always liable to bilious attacks. Jarvis returned. The gentleman asked me to tell you, Sir Eustace, that he comes to you from Mr. Milray. That altered the complexion of things. A few minutes later I was confronting my visitor in the library. He was a wellbuilt young fellow with a deeply tanned face. A scar ran diagonally from the corner of his eye to the jaw, disfiguring what would otherwise have been a handsome though somewhat reckless countenance. Well, I said, whats the matter? Mr. Milray sent me to you, Sir Eustace. I am to accompany you to South Africa as your secretary. My dear fellow, I said, Ive got a secretary already. I dont want another. I think you do, Sir Eustace. Where is your secretary now? Hes down with a bilious attack, I explained. You are sure its only a bilious attack? Of course it is. Hes subject to them. My visitor smiled. It may or may not be a bilious attack. Time will show. But I can tell you this, Sir Eustace, Mr. Milray would not be surprised if an attempt were made to get your secretary out of the way. Oh, you need have no fear for yourselfI suppose a momentary alarm had flickered across my faceyou are not threatened. Your secretary out of the way, access to you would be easier. In any case, Mr. Milray wishes me to accompany you. The passage money will be our affair, of course, but you will take the necessary steps about the passport, as though you had decided that you needed the services of a second secretary. He seemed a determined young man. We stared at each other and he stared me down. Very well, I said feebly. You will say nothing to anyone as to my accompanying you. Very well, I said again. After all, perhaps it was better to have this fellow with me, but I had a premonition that I was getting into deep waters. Just when I thought I had attained peace! I stopped my visitor as he was turning to depart. It might be just as well if I knew my new secretarys name, I observed sarcastically. He considered for a minute. Harry Rayburn seems quite a suitable name, he observed. It was a curious way of putting it. Very well, I said for the third time. IX (Annes narrative resumed) It is most undignified for a heroine to be seasick. In books the more it rolls and tosses, the better she likes it. When everybody else is ill, she alone staggers along the deck, braving the elements and positively rejoicing in the storm. I regret to say that at the first roll the Kilmorden gave, I turned pale and hastened below. A sympathetic stewardess received me. She suggested dry toast and ginger ale. I remained groaning in my cabin for three days. Forgotten was my quest. I had no longer any interest in solving mysteries. I was a totally different Anne to the one who had rushed back to the South Kensington square so jubilantly from the shipping office. I smile now as I remember my abrupt entry into the drawing room. Mrs. Flemming was alone there. She turned her head as I entered. Is that you, Anne, my dear? There is something I want to talk over with you. Yes? I said, curbing my impatience. Miss Emery is leaving me. Miss Emery was the governness. As you have not yet succeeded in finding anything, I wondered if you would careit would be so nice if you remained with us altogether? I was touched. She didnt want me, I knew. It was sheer Christian charity that prompted the offer. I felt remorseful for my secret criticism of her. Getting up, I ran impulsively across the room and flung my arms round her neck. Youre a dear, I said. A dear, a dear, a dear! And thank you ever so much. But its all right, Im off to South Africa on Saturday. My abrupt onslaught had startled the good lady. She was not used to sudden demonstrations of affection. My words startled her still more. To South Africa? My dear Anne. We would have to look into anything of that kind very carefully. That was the last thing I wanted. I explained that I had already taken my passage, and that upon arrival I proposed to take up the duties of a parlourmaid. It was the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment. There was, I said, a great demand for parlourmaids in South Africa. I assured her that I was equal to taking care of myself, and in the end, with a sigh of relief at getting me off her hands, she accepted the project without further query. At parting, she slipped an envelope into my hand. Inside it I found five new crisp fivepound notes and the words I hope you will not be offended and will accept this with my love. She was a very good, kind woman. I could not have continued to live in the same house with her, but I did recognize her intrinsic worth. So here I was, with twentyfive pounds in my pocket, facing the world and pursuing my adventure. It was on the fourth day that the stewardess finally urged me up on deck. Under the impression that I should die quicker below, I had steadfastly refused to leave my bunk. She now tempted me with the advent of Madeira. Hope rose in my breast. I could leave the boat and go ashore and be a parlourmaid there. Anything for dry land. Muffled in coats and rugs, and weak as a kitten on my legs, I was hauled up and deposited, an inert mass, on a deck chair. I lay there with my eyes closed, hating life. The purser, a fairhaired young man, with a round boyish face, came and sat down beside me. Hullo! Feeling rather sorry for yourself, eh? Yes, I replied, hating him. Ah, you wont know yourself in another day or two. Weve had rather a nasty dusting in the bay, but theres smooth weather ahead. Ill be taking you on at quoits tomorrow. I did not reply. Think youll never recover, eh? But Ive seen people much worse than you, and two days later they were the life and soul of the ship. Youll be the same. I did not feel sufficiently pugnacious to tell him outright that he was a liar. I endeavoured to convey it by a glance. He chatted pleasantly for a few minutes more, then he mercifully departed. People passed and repassed, brisk couples exercising, curvetting children, laughing young people. A few other pallid sufferers lay, like myself, in deck chairs. The air was pleasant, crisp, not too cold, and the sun was shining brightly. Insensibly, I felt a little cheered. I began to watch the people. One woman in particular attracted me. She was about thirty, of medium height and very fair with a round dimpled face and very blue eyes. Her clothes, though perfectly plain, had that indefinable air of cut about them which spoke of Paris. Also, in a pleasant but selfpossessed way, she seemed to own the ship! Deck stewards ran to and fro obeying her commands. She had a special deck chair, and an apparently inexhaustible supply of cushions. She changed her mind three times as to where she would like it placed. Throughout everything she remained attractive and charming. She appeared to be one of those rare people in the world who know what they want, see that they get it, and manage to do so without being offensive. I decided that if I ever recoveredbut of course I shouldntit would amuse me to talk to her. We reached Madeira about midday. I was still too inert to move, but I enjoyed the picturesquelooking merchants who came on board and spread their merchandise about the decks. There were flowers too. I buried my nose in an enormous bunch of sweet wet violets and felt distinctly better. In fact, I thought I might just possibly last out the end of the voyage. When my stewardess spoke of the attractions of a little chicken broth, I only protested feebly. When it came I enjoyed it. My attractive woman had been ashore. She came back escorted by a tall, soldierlylooking man with dark hair and a bronzed face whom I had noticed striding up and down the deck earlier in the day. I put him down at once as one of the strong, silent men of Rhodesia. He was about forty, with a touch of greying hair at either temple, and was easily the bestlooking man on board. When the stewardess brought me up an extra rug I asked her if she knew who my attractive woman was. Thats a wellknown society lady, the Hon. Mrs. Clarence Blair. You must have read about her in the papers. I nodded, looking at her with renewed interest. Mrs. Blair was very well known indeed as one of the smartest women of the day. I observed, with some amusement, that she was the centre of a good deal of attention. Several people essayed to scrape acquaintance with the pleasant informality that a boat allows. I admired the polite way that Mrs. Blair snubbed them. She appeared to have adopted the strong, silent man as her special cavalier, and he seemed duly sensible of the privilege accorded him. The following morning, to my surprise, after taking a few turns round the deck with her attentive companion, Mrs. Blair came to a halt by my chair. Feeling better this morning? I thanked her, and said I felt slightly more like a human being. You did look ill yesterday. Colonel Race and I decided that we should have the excitement of a funeral at seabut youve disappointed us. I laughed. Being up in the air has done me good. Nothing like fresh air, said Colonel Race, smiling. Being shut up in those stuffy cabins would kill anyone, declared Mrs. Blair, dropping into a seat by my side and dismissing her companion with a little nod. Youve got an outside one, I hope? I shook my head. My dear girl! Why dont you change? Theres plenty of room. A lot of people got off at Madeira, and the boats very empty. Talk to the purser about it. Hes a nice little boyhe changed me into a beautiful cabin because I didnt care for the one Id got. You talk to him at lunchtime when you go down. I shuddered. I couldnt move. Dont be silly. Come and take a walk now with me. She dimpled at me encouragingly. I felt very weak on my legs at first, but as we walked briskly up and down I began to feel a brighter and better being. After a turn or two, Colonel Race joined us again. You can see the Grand Peak of Tenerife from the other side. Can we? Can I get a photograph of it, do you think? Nobut that wont deter you from snapping off at it. Mrs. Blair laughed. You are unkind. Some of my photographs are very good. About three percent effective, I should say. We all went round to the other side of the deck. There glimmering white and snowy, enveloped in a delicate rosecoloured mist, rose the glistening pinnacle. I uttered an exclamation of delight. Mrs. Blair ran for her camera. Undeterred by Colonel Races sardonic comments, she snapped vigorously There, thats the end of the roll. Oh, her tone changed to one of chagrin, Ive had the thing at bulb all the time. I always like to see a child with a new toy, murmured the colonel. How horrid you arebut Ive got another roll. She produced it in triumph from the pocket of her sweater. A sudden roll of the boat upset her balance, and as she caught at the rail to steady herself the roll of films flashed over the side. Oh! cried Mrs. Blair, comically dismayed. She leaned over. Do you think they have gone overboard? No, you may have been fortunate enough to brain an unlucky steward in the deck below. A small boy who had arrived unobserved a few paces to our rear blew a deafening blast on a bugle. Lunch, declared Mrs. Blair ecstatically. Ive had nothing to eat since breakfast, except two cups of beef tea. Lunch, Miss Beddingfeld? Well, I said waveringly. Yes, I do feel rather hungry. Splendid. Youre sitting at the pursers table, I know. Tackle him about the cabin. I found my way down to the saloon, began to eat gingerly, and finished by consuming an enormous meal. My friend of yesterday congratulated me on my recovery. Everyone was changing cabins today, he told me, and he promised that my things should be moved to an outside one without delay. There were only four at our table, myself, a couple of elderly ladies, and a missionary who talked a lot about our poor black brothers. I looked round at the other tables. Mrs. Blair was sitting at the captains table, Colonel Race next to her. On the other side of the captain was a distinguishedlooking, greyhaired man. A good many people I had already noticed on deck, but there was one man who had not previously appeared. Had he done so, he could hardly have escaped my notice. He was tall and dark, and had such a peculiarly sinister type of countenance that I was quite startled. I asked the purser, with some curiosity, who he was. That man? Oh, thats Sir Eustace Pedlers secretary. Been very seasick, poor chap, and not appeared before. Sir Eustace has got two secretaries with him, and the seas been too much for both of them. The other fellow hasnt turned up yet. This mans name is Pagett. So Sir Eustace Pedler, the owner of the Mill House, was on board. Probably only a coincidence, and yet Thats Sir Eustace, my informant continued, sitting next to the captain. Pompous old ass. The more I studied the secretarys face, the less I liked it. Its even pallor, the secretive, heavylidded eyes, the curiously flattened headit all gave me a feeling of distaste, of apprehension. Leaving the saloon at the same time as he did, I was close behind him as he went up on deck. He was speaking to Sir Eustace, and I overheard a fragment or two. Ill see about the cabin at once then, shall I? Its impossible to work in yours, with all your trunks. My dear fellow, Sir Eustace replied. My cabin is intended (a) for me to sleep in, and (b) to attempt to dress in. I never had any intentions of allowing you to sprawl about the place making an infernal clicking with that typewriter of yours. Thats just what I say, Sir Eustace, we must have somewhere to work Here I parted company from them, and went below to see if my removal was in progress. I found my steward busy at the task. Very nice cabin, miss. On D deck. No. 13. Oh, no! I cried. Not 13. Thirteen is the one thing I am superstitious about. It was a nice cabin too. I inspected it, wavered, but a foolish superstition prevailed. I appealed almost tearfully to the steward. Isnt there any other cabin I can have? The steward reflected. Well, theres 17, just along on the starboard side. That was empty this morning, but I rather fancy its been allotted to someone. Still, as the gentlemans things arent in yet, and as gentlemen arent anything like so superstitious as ladies, I dare say he wouldnt mind changing. I hailed the proposition gratefully, and the steward departed to obtain permission from the purser. He returned grinning. Thats all right, miss. We can go along. He led the way to 17. It was not quite as large as no. 13, but I found it eminently satisfactory. Ill fetch your things right away, miss, said the steward. But at that moment, the man with the sinister face (as I had nicknamed him) appeared in the doorway. Excuse me, he said, but this cabin is reserved for the use of Sir Eustace Pedler. Thats all right, sir, explained the steward. Were fitting up no. 13 instead. No, it was no. 17 I was to have. No. 13 is a better cabin, sirlarger. I specially selected no. 17, and the purser said I could have it. Im sorry, I said coldly. But no. 17 has been allotted to me. I cant agree to that. The steward put in his oar. The other cabins just the same, only better. I want no. 17. Whats all this? demanded a new voice. Steward, put my things in here. This is my cabin. It was my neighbor at lunch, the Rev. Edward Chichester. I beg your pardon, I said. Its my cabin. It is allotted to Sir Eustace Pedler, said Mr. Pagett. We were all getting rather heated. Im sorry to have to dispute the matter, said Chichester with a meek smile which failed to mask his determination to get his own way. Meek men are always obstinate, I have noticed. He edged himself sideways into the doorway. Youre to have no. 28 on the port side, said the steward. A very good cabin, sir. I am afraid that I must insist. No. 17 was the cabin promised to me. We had come to an impasse. Each one of us was determined not to give way. Strictly speaking, I, at any rate, might have retired from the contest and eased matters by offering to accept cabin 28. So long as I did not have 13 it was immaterial to me what other cabin I had. But my blood was up. I had not the least intention of being the first to give way. And I disliked Chichester. He had false teeth which clicked when he ate. Many men have been hated for less. We all said the same things over again. The steward assured us, even more strongly, that both the other cabins were better cabins. None of us paid any attention to him. Pagett began to lose his temper. Chichester kept his serenely. With an effort I also kept mine. And still none of us would give way an inch. A wink and a whispered word from the steward gave me my cue. I faded unobtrusively from the scene. I was lucky enough to encounter the purser almost immediately. Oh, please, I said, you did say I could have cabin 17? And the others wont go away. Mr. Chichester and Mr. Pagett. You will let me have it, wont you? I always say that there are no people like sailors for being nice to women. My little purser came to the scratch splendidly. He strode to the scene, informed the disputants that no. 17 was my cabin, they could have nos. 13 and 28 respectively or stay where they werewhichever they chose. I permitted my eyes to tell him what a hero he was and then installed myself in my new domain. The encounter had done me worlds of good. The sea was smooth, the weather growing daily warmer. Seasickness was a thing of the past! I went up on deck and was initiated into the mysteries of deck quoits. I entered my name for various sports. Tea was served on deck, and I ate heartily. After tea, I played shovelboard with some pleasant young men. They were extraordinarily nice to me. I felt that life was satisfactory and delightful. The dressing bugle came as a surprise and I hurried to my new cabin. The stewardess was awaiting me with a troubled face. Theres a terrible smell in your cabin, miss. What it is, Im sure I cant think, but I doubt if youll be able to sleep here. Theres a deck cabin up on C deck, I believe. You might move into thatjust for the night, anyway. The smell really was pretty badquite nauseating. I told the stewardess I would think over the question of moving whilst I dressed. I hurried over my toilet, sniffing distastefully as I did so. What was the smell? Dead rat? No, worse than thatand quite different. Yet I knew it! It was something I had smelt before. SomethingAh! I had got it. Asafoetida! I had worked in a hospital dispensary during the war for a short time and had become acquainted with various nauseous drugs. Asafoetida, that was it. But how I sank down on the sofa, suddenly realizing the thing. Somebody had put a pinch of asafoetida in my cabin. Why? So that I should vacate it? Why were they so anxious to get me out? I thought of the scene this afternoon from a rather different point of view. What was there about cabin 17 that made so many people anxious to get hold of it? The other two cabins were better cabins, why had both men insisted on sticking to 17? 17. How the number persisted. It was on the 17th I had sailed from Southampton. It was a 17I stopped with a sudden gasp. Quickly I unlocked my suitcase, and took my precious paper from its place of concealment in some rolled stockings. 17 1 22I had taken that for a date, the date of departure of the Kilmorden Castle. Supposing I was wrong. When I came to think of it, would anyone, writing down a date, think it necessary to put the year as well as the month? Supposing 17 meant cabin 17? And 1? The timeone oclock. Then 22 must be the date. I looked up at my little almanac. Tomorrow was the 22nd! X I was violently excited. I was sure that I had hit on the right trail at last. One thing was clear, I must not move out of the cabin. The asafoetida had got to be borne. I examined my facts again. Tomorrow was the 22nd, and at 1 a.m. or 1 p.m. something would happen. I plumped for 1 a.m. It was now seven oclock. In six hours I should know. I dont know how I got through the evening. I retired to my cabin fairly early. I had told the stewardess that I had a cold in the head and didnt mind smells. She still seemed distressed, but I was firm. The evening seemed interminable. I duly retired to bed, but in view of emergencies I swathed myself in a thick flannel dressing gown, and encased my feet in slippers. Thus attired I felt that I could spring up and take an active part in anything that happened. What did I expect to happen? I hardly knew. Vague fancies, most of them wildly improbable, flitted through my brain. But one thing I was firmly convinced of, at one oclock something would happen. At various times, I heard my fellowpassengers coming to bed. Fragments of conversation, laughing good nights, floated in through the open transom. Then, silence. Most of the lights went out. There was still one in the passage outside, and there was therefore a certain amount of light in my cabin. I heard eight bells go. The hour that followed seemed the longest I had ever known. I consulted my watch surreptitiously to be sure I had not overshot the time. If my deductions were wrong, if nothing happened at one oclock, I should have made a fool of myself, and spent all the money I had in the world on a mares nest. My heart beat painfully. Two bells went overhead. One oclock! And nothing. Waitwhat was that? I heard the quick light patter of feet runningrunning along the passage. Then with the suddenness of a bombshell my cabin door burst open and a man almost fell inside. Save me, he said hoarsely. Theyre after me. It was not a moment for argument or explanation. I could hear footsteps outside. I had about forty seconds in which to act. I had sprung to my feet and was standing facing the stranger in the middle of the cabin. A cabin does not abound in hiding places for a sixfoot man. With one arm I pulled out my cabin trunk. He slipped down behind it under the bunk. I raised the lid. At the same time, with the other hand I pulled down the washbasin. A deft movement and my hair was screwed into a tiny knot on the top of my head. From the point of view of appearance it was inartistic, from another standpoint it was supremely artistic. A lady, with her hair screwed into an unbecoming knob and in the act of removing a piece of soap from her trunk with which, apparently to wash her neck, could hardly be suspected of harbouring a fugitive. There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for me to say, Come in, it was pushed open. I dont know what I expected to see. I think I had vague ideas of Mr. Pagett brandishing a revolver. Or my missionary friend with a sandbag, or some other lethal weapon. But certainly I did not expect to see a night stewardess, with an inquiring face and looking the essence of respectability. I beg your pardon, miss, I thought you called out. No, I said, I didnt. Im sorry for interrupting you. Thats all right, I said. I couldnt sleep. I thought a wash would do me good. It sounded rather as though it were a thing I never had as a general rule. Im so sorry, miss, said the stewardess again. But theres a gentleman about whos rather drunk, and we are afraid he might get into one of the ladies cabins and frighten them. How dreadful, I said, looking alarmed. He wont come in here, will he? Oh, I dont think so, miss. Ring the bell if he does. Good night. Good night. I opened the door and peeped down the corridor. Except for the retreating form of the stewardess, there was nobody in sight. Drunk! So that was the explanation of it. My histrionic talents had been wasted. I pulled the cabin trunk out a little farther and said Come out at once, please, in an acid voice. There was no answer. I peered under the bunk. My visitor lay immovable. He seemed to be asleep. I tugged at his shoulder. He did not move. Dead drunk, I thought vexedly. What am I to do? Then I saw something that made me catch my breath, a small scarlet spot on the floor. Using all my strength, I succeeded in dragging the man out into the middle of the cabin. The dead whiteness of his face showed that he had fainted. I found the cause of his fainting easily enough. He had been stabbed under the left shoulder bladea nasty deep wound. I got his coat off and set to work to attend to it. At the sting of the cold water he stirred, then sat up. Keep still, please, I said. He was the kind of young man who recovers his faculties very quickly. He pulled himself to his feet and stood there swaying a little. Thank you, I dont need anything done for me. His manner was defiant, almost aggressive. Not a word of thanksof even common gratitude! That is a nasty wound. You must let me dress it. You will do nothing of the kind. He flung the words in my face as though I had been begging a favour of him. My temper, never placid, rose. I cannot congratulate you upon your manners, I said coldly. I can at least relieve you of my presence. He started for the door, but reeled as he did so. With an abrupt movement I pushed him down upon the sofa. Dont be a fool, I said unceremoniously. You dont want to go bleeding all over the ship, do you? He seemed to see the sense of that, for he sat quietly whilst I bandaged up the wound as best I could. There, I said, bestowing a pat on my handiwork, that will have to do for the present. Are you better tempered now and do you feel inclined to tell me what its all about? Im sorry that I cant satisfy your very natural curiosity. Why not? I said, chagrined. He smiled nastily. If you want a thing broadcasted, tell a woman. Otherwise keep your mouth shut. Dont you think I could keep a secret? I dont thinkI know. He rose to his feet. At any rate, I said spitefully, I shall be able to do a little broadcasting about the events of this evening. Ive no doubt you will too, he said indifferently. How dare you? I cried angrily. We were facing each other, glaring at each other with the ferocity of bitter enemies. For the first time, I took in the details of his appearance, the closecropped dark head, the lean jaw, the scar on the brown cheek, the curious light grey eyes that looked into mine with a sort of reckless mockery hard to describe. There was something dangerous about him. You havent thanked me yet for saving your life? I said with false sweetness. I hit him there. I saw him flinch distinctly. Intuitively I knew that he hated above all to be reminded that he owed his life to me. I didnt care. I wanted to hurt him. I had never wanted to hurt anyone so much. I wish to God you hadnt! he said explosively. Id be better dead and out of it. Im glad you acknowledge the debt. You cant get out of it. I saved your life and Im waiting for you to say Thank you. If looks could have killed, I think he would have liked to kill me then. He pushed roughly past me. At the door he turned back, and spoke over his shoulder. I shall not thank younow or at any other time. But I acknowledge the debt. Some day I will pay it. He was gone, leaving me with clenched hands, and my heart beating like a mill race. XI There were no further excitements that night. I had breakfast in bed and got up late the next morning. Mrs. Blair hailed me as I came on deck. Good morning, gipsy girl, sit down here by me. You look as though you hadnt slept well. Why do you call me that? I asked, as I sat down obediently. Do you mind? It suits you somehow. Ive called you that in my own mind from the beginning. Its the gipsy element in you that makes you so different from anyone else. I decided in my own mind that you and Colonel Race were the only two people on board who wouldnt bore me to death to talk to. Thats funny, I said, I thought the same about youonly its more understandable in your case.

Youreyoure such an exquisitely finished product. Not badly put, said Mrs. Blair, nodding her head. Tell me all about yourself, gipsy girl. Why are you going to South Africa? I told her something about Papas life work. So youre Charles Beddingfelds daughter? I thought you werent a mere provincial miss! Are you going to Broken Hill to grub up more skulls? I may, I said cautiously. Ive got other plans as well. What a mysterious minx you are. But you do look tired this morning. Didnt you sleep well? I cant keep awake on board a boat. Ten hours sleep for a fool, they say! I could do with twenty! She yawned, looking like a sleepy kitten. An idiot of a steward woke me up in the middle of the night to return me that roll of films I dropped yesterday. He did it in the most melodramatic manner, stuck his arm through the ventilator and dropped them nearly in the middle of my tummy. I thought it was a bomb for a moment! Heres your colonel, I said, as the tall soldierly figure of Colonel Race appeared on the deck. Hes not my colonel particularly. In fact he admires you very much, gipsy girl. So dont run away. I want to tie something round my head. It will be more comfortable than a hat. I slipped quickly away. For some reason or other I was uncomfortable with Colonel Race. He was one of the few people who were capable of making me feel shy. I went down to my cabin and began looking for a broad band of ribbon, or a motorveil, with which I could restrain my rebellious locks. Now I am a tidy person, I like my things always arranged in a certain way and I keep them so. I had no sooner opened my drawer than I realized that somebody had been disarranging my things. Everything had been turned over and scattered. I looked in the other drawers and the small hanging cupboard. They told me the same tale. It was as though someone had been making a hurried and ineffectual search for something. I sat down on the edge of the bunk with a grave face. Who had been searching my cabin and what had they been looking for? Was it the halfsheet of paper with scribbled figures and words? I shook my head, dissatisfied. Surely that was past history now. But what else could there be? I wanted to think. The events of last night, though exciting, had not really done anything to elucidate matters. Who was the young man who had burst into my cabin so abruptly? I had not seen him on board previously, either on deck or in the saloon. Was he one of the ships company or was he a passenger? Who had stabbed him? Why had they stabbed him? And why, in the name of goodness, should cabin no. 17 figure so prominently? It was all a mystery, but there was no doubt that some very peculiar occurrences were taking place on the Kilmorden Castle. I counted off on my fingers the people on whom it behoved me to keep a watch. Setting aside my visitor of the night before, but promising myself that I would discover him on board before another day had passed, I selected the following persons as worthy of my notice. Sir Eustace Pedler. He was the owner of the Mill House and his presence on the Kilmorden Castle seemed something of a coincidence. Mr. Pagett, the sinisterlooking secretary, whose eagerness to obtain cabin 17 had been so very marked. N.B. Find out whether he had accompanied Sir Eustace to Cannes. The Rev. Edward Chichester. All I had against him was his obstinacy over cabin 17, and that might be entirely due to his own peculiar temperament. Obstinacy can be an amazing thing. But a little conversation with Mr. Chichester would not come amiss, I decided. Hastily tying a handkerchief round my rebellious locks, I went up on deck again, full of purpose. I was in luck. My quarry was leaning against the rail, drinking beef tea. I went up to him. I hope youve forgiven me over cabin 17, I said, with my best smile. I consider it unchristian to bear a grudge, said Mr. Chichester coldly. But the purser had distinctly promised me that cabin. Pursers are such busy men, arent they? I said vaguely. I suppose theyre bound to forget sometimes. Mr. Chichester did not reply. Is this your first visit to Africa? I inquired conversationally. To South Africa, yes. But I have worked for the last two years amongst the cannibal tribes in the interior of East Africa. How thrilling! Have you had many narrow escapes? Escapes? Of being eaten, I mean? You should not treat sacred subjects with levity, Miss Beddingfeld. I didnt know that cannibalism was a sacred subject, I retorted, stung. As the words left my lips, another idea struck me. If Mr. Chichester had indeed spent the last two years in the interior of Africa, how was it that he was not more sunburnt? His skin was as pink and white as a babys. Surely there was something fishy there? Yet his manner and voice were so absolutely it. Too much so perhaps. Was heor was he notjust a little like a stage clergyman? I cast my mind back to the curates I had known at Little Hampsly. Some of them I had liked, some of them I had not, but certainly none of them had been quite like Mr. Chichester. They had been humanhe was a glorified type. I was debating all this when Sir Eustace Pedler passed down the deck. Just as he was abreast of Mr. Chichester, he stooped and picked up a piece of paper which he handed to him, remarking Youve dropped something. He passed on without stopping, and so probably did not notice Mr. Chichesters agitation. I did. Whatever it was he had dropped, its recovery agitated him considerably. He turned a sickly green, and crumpled up the sheet of paper into a ball. My suspicions were accentuated a hundredfold. He caught my eye, and hurried into explanations. Aafragment of a sermon I was composing, he said with a sickly smile. Indeed? I rejoined politely. A fragment of a sermon, indeed! No, Mr. Chichestertoo weak for words! He soon left me with a muttered excuse. I wished, oh, how I wished, that I had been the one to pick up that paper and not Sir Eustace Pedler! One thing was clear, Mr. Chichester could not be exempted from my list of suspects. I was inclined to put him top of the three. After lunch, when I came up to the lounge for coffee, I noticed Sir Eustace and Pagett sitting with Mrs. Blair and Colonel Race. Mrs. Blair welcomed me with a smile, so I went over and joined them. They were talking about Italy. But it is misleading, Mrs. Blair insisted. Aqua calda certainly ought to be cold waternot hot. Youre not a Latin scholar, said Sir Eustace, smiling. Men are so superior about their Latin, said Mrs. Blair. But all the same I notice that when you ask them to translate inscriptions in old churches they can never do it! They hem and haw, and get out of it somehow. Quite right, said Colonel Race. I always do. But I love the Italians, continued Mrs. Blair. Theyre so obligingthough even that has its embarrassing side. You ask them the way somewhere, and instead of saying first to the right, second to the left or something that one could follow, they pour out a flood of well meaning directions, and when you look bewildered they take you kindly by the arm and walk all the way there with you. Is that your experience in Florence, Pagett? asked Sir Eustace, turning with a smile to his secretary. For some reason the question seemed to disconcert Mr. Pagett. He stammered and flushed. Oh, quite so, yeser quite so. Then with a murmured excuse, he rose and left the table. I am beginning to suspect Guy Pagett of having committed some dark deed in Florence, remarked Sir Eustace, gazing after his secretarys retreating figure. Whenever Florence or Italy is mentioned, he changes the subject, or bolts precipitately. Perhaps he murdered someone there, said Mrs. Blair hopefully. He looksI hope Im not hurting your feelings, Sir Eustacebut he does look as though he might murder someone. Yes, pure Cinquecento! It amuses me sometimesespecially when one knows as well as I do how essentially law abiding and respectable the poor fellow really is. Hes been with you some time, hasnt he, Sir Eustace? asked Colonel Race. Six years, said Sir Eustace, with a deep sigh. He must be quite invaluable to you, said Mrs. Blair. Oh, invaluable! Yes, quite invaluable. The poor man sounded even more depressed, as though the invaluableness of Mr. Pagett was a secret grief to him. Then he added more briskly But his face should really inspire you with confidence, my dear lady. No selfrespecting murderer would ever consent to look like one. Crippen, now, I believe, was one of the pleasantest fellows imaginable. He was caught on a liner, wasnt he? murmured Mrs. Blair. There was a slight rattle behind us. I turned quickly. Mr. Chichester had dropped his coffee cup. Our party soon broke up; Mrs. Blair went below to sleep and I went out on deck. Colonel Race followed me. Youre very elusive, Miss Beddingfeld. I looked for you everywhere last night at the dance. I went to bed early, I explained. Are you going to run away tonight too? Or are you going to dance with me? I shall be very pleased to dance with you, I murmured shyly. But Mrs. Blair Our friend, Mrs. Blair, doesnt care for dancing. And you do? I care for dancing with you. Oh! I said nervously. I was a little afraid of Colonel Race. Nevertheless I was enjoying myself. This was better than discussing fossilized skulls with stuffy old professors! Colonel Race was really just my ideal of a stern silent Rhodesian. Possibly I might marry him! I hadnt been asked, it is true, but, as the Boy Scouts say, Be Prepared! And all women, without in the least meaning it, consider every man they meet as a possible husband for themselves or for their best friend. I danced several times with him that evening. He danced well. When the dancing was over, and I was thinking of going to bed, he suggested a turn round the deck. We walked round three times and finally subsided into two deck chairs. There was nobody else in sight. We made desultory conversation for some time. Do you know, Miss Beddingfeld, I think that I once met your father? A very interesting manon his own subject, and its a subject that has a special fascination for me. In my humble way, Ive done a bit in that line myself. Why, when I was in the Dordogne region Our talk became technical. Colonel Races boast was not an idle one. He knew a great deal. At the same time, he made one or two curious mistakesslips of the tongue, I might almost have thought them. But he was quick to take his cue from me and to cover them up. Once he spoke of the Mousterian period as succeeding the Aurignacianan absurd mistake for one who knew anything of the subject. It was twelve oclock when I went to my cabin. I was still puzzling over those queer discrepancies. Was it possible that he had got the whole subject up for the occasionthat really he knew nothing of archaeology? I shook my head, vaguely dissatisfied with that solution. Just as I was dropping off to sleep, I sat up with a sudden start as another idea flashed into my head. Had he been pumping me? Were those slight inaccuracies just teststo see whether I really knew what I was talking about? In other words, he suspected me of not being genuinely Anne Beddingfeld. Why? XII (Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler) There is something to be said for life on board ship. It is peaceful. My grey hairs fortunately exempt me from the indignities of bobbing for apples, running up and down the deck with potatoes and eggs, and the more painful sports of Brother Bill and Bolster Bar. What amusement people can find in these painful proceedings has always been a mystery to me. But there are many fools in the world. One praises God for their existence and keeps out of their way. Fortunately I am an excellent sailor. Pagett, poor fellow, is not. He began turning green as soon as we were out of the Solent. I presume my other socalled secretary is also seasick. At any rate he has not yet made his appearance. But perhaps it is not seasickness, but high diplomacy. The great thing is that I have not been worried by him. On the whole, the people on board are a mangy lot. Only two decent bridge players and one decentlooking womanMrs. Clarence Blair. Ive met her in town of course. She is one of the only women I know who can lay claim to a sense of humour. I enjoy talking to her, and should enjoy it more if it were not for a longlegged taciturn ass who has attached himself to her like a limpet. I cannot think that this Colonel Race really amuses her. Hes goodlooking in his way, but dull as ditch water. One of these strong silent men that lady novelists and young girls always rave over. Guy Pagett struggled up on deck after we left Madeira and began babbling in a hollow voice about work. What the devil does anyone want to work for on board ship? It is true that I promised my publishers my reminiscences early in the summer, but what of it? Who really reads reminiscences? Old ladies in the suburbs. And what do my reminiscences amount to? Ive knocked against a certain number of socalled famous people in my lifetime. With the assistance of Pagett, I invent insipid anecdotes about them. And, the truth of the matter is, Pagett is too honest for the job. He wont let me invent anecdotes about the people I might have met but havent. I tried kindness with him. You look a perfect wreck still, my dear chap, I said easily. What you need is a deck chair in the sun. Nonot another word. The work must wait. The next thing I knew he was worrying about an extra cabin. Theres no room to work in your cabin, Sir Eustace. Its full of trunks. From his tone, you might have thought that trunks were blackbeetles, something that had no business to be there. I explained to him that, though he might not be aware of the fact, it was usual to take a change of clothing with one when travelling. He gave the wan smile with which he always greets my attempts at humour, and then reverted to the business in hand. And we could hardly work in my little hole. I know Pagetts little holeshe usually has the best cabin on the ship. Im sorry the captain didnt turn out for you this time, I said sarcastically. Perhaps youd like to dump some of your extra luggage in my cabin? Sarcasm is dangerous with a man like Pagett. He brightened up at once. Well, if I could get rid of the typewriter and the stationery trunk The stationery trunk weighs several solid tons. It causes endless unpleasantness with the porters, and it is the aim of Pagetts life to foist it on me. It is a perpetual struggle between us. He seems to regard it as my special personal property. I, on the other hand, regard the charge of it as the only thing where a secretary is really useful. Well get an extra cabin, I said hastily. The thing seemed simple enough, but Pagett is a person who loves to make mysteries. He came to me the next day with a face like a Renaissance conspirator. You know you told me to get cabin 17 for an office? Well, what of it? Has the stationery trunk jammed in the doorway? The doorways are the same size in all the cabins, replied Pagett seriously. But I tell you, Sir Eustace, theres something very queer about that cabin. Memories of reading The Upper Berth floated through my mind. If you mean that its haunted, I said, were not going to sleep there, so I dont see that it matters. Ghosts dont affect typewriters. Pagett said that it wasnt a ghost, and that, after all, he hadnt got cabin 17. He told me a long, garbled story. Apparently he, and a Mr. Chichester, and a girl called Beddingfeld, had almost come to blows over the cabin. Needless to say, the girl had won, and Pagett was apparently feeling sore over the matter. Both 13 and 28 are better cabins, he reiterated. But they wouldnt look at them. Well, I said, stifling a yawn, for that matter, no more would you, my dear Pagett. He gave me a reproachful look. You told me to get cabin 17. There is a touch of the boy upon the burning deck about Pagett. My dear fellow, I said testily, I mentioned no. 17 because I happened to observe that it was vacant. But I didnt mean you to make a stand to the death about it13 or 28 would have done us equally well. He looked hurt. Theres something more, though, he insisted. Miss Beddingfeld got the cabin, but this morning I saw Chichester coming out of it in a furtive sort of way. I looked at him severely. If youre trying to get up a nasty scandal about Chichester, who is a missionarythough a perfectly poisonous personand that attractive child, Anne Beddingfeld, I dont believe a word of it, I said coldly. Anne Beddingfeld is an extremely nice girlwith particularly good legs. I should say she had far and away the best legs on board. Pagett did not like my reference to Anne Beddingfelds legs. He is the sort of man who never notices legs himselfor, if he does, would die sooner than say so. Also he thinks my appreciation of such things frivolous. I like annoying Pagett, so I continued maliciously As youve made her acquaintance, you might ask her to dine at our table tomorrow night. Its the fancydress dance. By the way, youd better go down to the barber and select a fancy costume for me. Surely you will not go in fancy dress? said Pagett, in tones of horror. I could see that it was quite incompatible with his idea of my dignity. He looked shocked and pained. I had really had no intention of donning fancy dress, but the complete discomfiture of Pagett was too tempting to be forborne. What do you mean? I said. Of course I shall wear fancy dress. So will you. Pagett shuddered. So go down to the barbers and see about it, I finished. I dont think hell have any out sizes, murmured Pagett, measuring my figure with his eye. Without meaning it, Pagett can occasionally be extremely offensive. And order a table for six in the saloon, I said. Well have the captain, the girl with the nice legs, Mrs. Blair You wont get Mrs. Blair without Colonel Race, Pagett interposed. Hes asked her to dine with him, I know. Pagett always knows everything. I was justifiably annoyed. Who is Race? I demanded, exasperated. As I said before, Pagett always knows everythingor thinks he does. He looked mysterious again. They say hes a secret service chap, Sir Eustace. Rather a great gun too. But of course I dont know for certain. Isnt that like the government? I exclaimed. Heres a man on board whose business it is to carry about secret documents, and they go giving them to a peaceful outsider, who only asks to be let alone. Pagett looked even more mysterious. He came a pace nearer and dropped his voice. If you ask me, the whole thing is very queer, Sir Eustace. Look at that illness of mine before we started My dear fellow, I interrupted brutally, that was a bilious attack. Youre always having bilious attacks. Pagett winced slightly. It wasnt the usual sort of bilious attack. This time For Gods sake, dont go into the details of your condition, Pagett. I dont want to hear them. Very well, Sir Eustace. But my belief is that I was deliberately poisoned! Ah! I said. Youve been talking to Rayburn. He did not deny it. At any rate, Sir Eustace, he thinks soand he should be in a position to know. By the way, where is the chap? I asked. Ive not set eyes on him since we came on board. He gives out that hes ill, and stays in his cabin, Sir Eustace. Pagetts voice dropped again. But thats camouflage, Im sure. So that he can watch better. Watch? Over your safety, Sir Eustace. In case an attack should be made upon you. Youre such a cheerful fellow, Pagett, I said. I trust that your imagination runs away with you. If I were you I should go to the dance as a deaths head or an executioner. It will suit your mournful style of beauty. That shut him up for the time being. I went on deck. The Beddingfeld girl was deep in conversation with the missionary parson, Chichester. Women always flutter round parsons. A man of my figure hates stooping, but I had the courtesy to pick up a bit of paper that was fluttering round the parsons feet. I got no word of thanks for my pains. As a matter of fact, I couldnt help seeing what was written on the sheet of paper. There was just one sentence Dont try to play a lone hand or it will be the worse for you. Thats a nice thing for a parson to have. Who is this fellow Chichester, I wonder? He looks mild as milk. But looks are deceptive. I shall ask Pagett about him. Pagett always knows everything. I sank gracefully into my deck chair by the side of Mrs. Blair, thereby interrupting her ttette with Race, and remarked that I didnt know what the clergy were coming to nowadays. Then I asked her to dine with me on the night of the fancydress dance. Somehow or other Race managed to get included in the invitation. After lunch the Beddingfeld girl came and sat with us for coffee. I was right about her legs. They are the best on the ship. I shall certainly ask her to dinner as well. I would very much like to know what mischief Pagett was up to in Florence. Whenever Italy is mentioned, he goes to pieces. If I did not know how intensely respectable he isI should suspect him of some disreputable amour I wonder now! Even the most respectable menIt would cheer me up enormously if it was so. Pagettwith a guilty secret! Splendid! XIII It has been a curious evening. The only costume that fitted me in the barbers emporium was that of a teddy bear. I dont mind playing bears with some nice young girls on a winters evening in Englandbut its hardly an ideal costume for the equator. However, I created a good deal of merriment, and won first prize for brought on boardan absurd term for a costume hired for the evening. Still as nobody seemed to have the least idea whether they were made or brought, it didnt matter. Mrs. Blair refused to dress up. Apparently she is at one with Pagett on the matter. Colonel Race followed her example. Anne Beddingfeld had concocted a gipsy costume for herself, and looked extraordinarily well. Pagett said he had a headache and didnt appear. To replace him I asked a quaint little fellow called Reeves. Hes a prominent member of the South African Labour Party. Horrible little man, but I want to keep in with him, as he gives me information that I need. I want to understand this Rand business from both sides. Dancing was a hot affair. I danced twice with Anne Beddingfeld and she had to pretend she liked it. I danced once with Mrs. Blair, who didnt trouble to pretend, and I victimized various other damsels whose appearance struck me favourably. Then we went down to supper. I had ordered champagne; the steward suggested Clicquot 1911 as being the best they had on the boat and I fell in with his suggestion. I seemed to have hit on the one thing that would loosen Colonel Races tongue. Far from being taciturn, the man became actually talkative. For a while this amused me, then it occurred to me that Colonel Race, and not myself, was becoming the life and soul of the party. He chaffed me at length about keeping a diary. It will reveal all your indiscretions one of these days, Pedler. My dear Race, I said, I venture to suggest that I am not quite the fool you think me. I may commit indiscretions, but I dont write them down in black and white. After my death, my executors will know my opinion of a great many people, but I doubt if they will find anything to add or detract from their opinion of me. A diary is useful for recording the idiosyncrasies of other peoplebut not ones own. There is such a thing as unconscious selfrevelation, though. In the eyes of the psychoanalyst, all things are vile, I replied sententiously. You must have had a very interesting life, Colonel Race? said Miss Beddingfeld, gazing at him with wide, starry eyes. Thats how they do it, these girls! Othello charmed Desdemona by telling her stories, but, oh, didnt Desdemona charm Othello by the way she listened? Anyway, the girl set Race off all right. He began to tell lion stories. A man who has shot lions in large quantities has an unfair advantage over other men. It seemed to me that it was time I, too, told a lion story. One of a more sprightly character. By the way, I remarked, that reminds me of a rather exciting tale I heard. A friend of mine was out on a shooting trip somewhere in East Africa. One night he came out of his tent for some reason, and was startled by a low growl. He turned sharply and saw a lion crouching to spring. He had left his rifle in the tent. Quick as thought, he ducked, and the lion sprang right over his head. Annoyed at having missed him, the animal growled and prepared to spring again. Again he ducked, and again the lion sprang right over him. This happened a third time, but by now he was close to the entrance of the tent, and he darted in and seized his rifle. When he emerged, rifle in hand, the lion had disappeared. That puzzled him greatly. He crept round the back of the tent, where there was a little clearing. There, sure enough, was the lion, busily practising low jumps. This was received with a roar of applause. I drank some champagne. On another occasion, I remarked, this friend of mine had a second curious experience. He was trekking across country, and being anxious to arrive at his destination before the heat of the day he ordered his boys to inspan whilst it was still dark. They had some trouble in doing so, as the mules were very restive, but at last they managed it, and a start was made. The mules raced along like the wind, and when daylight came they saw why. In the darkness, the boys had inspanned a lion as the near wheeler. This, too, was well received, a ripple of merriment going round the table, but I am not sure that the greatest tribute did not come from my friend, the Labour member, who remained pale and serious. My God! he said anxiously. Who unarnessed them? I must go to Rhodesia, said Mrs. Blair. After what you have told us, Colonel Race, I simply must. Its a horrible journey though, five days in the train. You must join me on my private car, I said gallantly. Oh, Sir Eustace, how sweet of you, do you really mean it? Do I mean it! I exclaimed reproachfully, and drank another glass of champagne. Just about another week, and we shall be in South Africa, sighed Mrs. Blair. Ah, South Africa, I said sentimentally, and began to quote from a recent speech of mine at the Colonial Institute. What has South Africa to show the world? What indeed? Her fruit and her farms, her wool and her wattles, her herds and her hides, her gold and her diamonds I was hurrying on, because I knew that as soon as I paused Reeves would butt in and inform me that the hides were worthless because the animals hung themselves up on barbed wire or something of that sort, would crab everything else, and end up with the hardships of the miners on the Rand. And I was not in the mood to be abused as a capitalist. However, the interruption came from another source at the magic word diamonds. Diamonds! said Mrs. Blair ecstatically. Diamonds! breathed Miss Beddingfeld. They both addressed Colonel Race. I suppose youve been to Kimberley? I had been to Kimberley too, but I didnt manage to say so in time. Race was being inundated with questions. What were mines like? Was it true that the natives were kept shut up in compounds? And so on. Race answered their questions and showed a good knowledge of his subject. He described the methods of housing the natives, the searches instituted, and the various precautions that De Beers took. Then its practically impossible to steal any diamonds? asked Mrs. Blair with as keen an air of disappointment as though she had been journeying there for the express purpose. Nothings impossible, Mrs. Blair. Thefts do occurlike the case I told you of where the Kafir hid the stone in his wound. Yes, but on a large scale? Once, in recent years. Just before the war in fact. You must remember the case, Pedler. You were in South Africa at the time? I nodded. Tell us, cried Miss Beddingfeld. Oh, do tell us! Race smiled. Very well, you shall have the story. I suppose most of you have heard of Sir Laurence Eardsley, the great South African mining magnate? His mines were gold mines, but he comes into the story through his son. You may remember that just before the war rumours were afield of a new potential Kimberley hidden somewhere in the rocky floor of the British Guiana jungles. Two young explorers, so it was reported, had returned from that part of South America bringing with them a remarkable collection of rough diamonds, some of them of considerable size. Diamonds of small size had been found before in the neighbourhood of the Essequibo and Mazaruni rivers, but these two young men, John Eardsley and his friend Lucas, claimed to have discovered beds of great carbon deposits at the common head of two streams. The diamonds were of every colour, pink, blue, yellow, green, black, and the purest white. Eardsley and Lucas came to Kimberley where they were to submit their gems to inspection. At the same time a sensational robbery was found to have taken place at De Beers. When sending diamonds to England they are made up into a packet. This remains in the big safe, of which the two keys are held by two different men whilst a third man knows the combination. They are handed to the Bank, and the Bank send them to England. Each package is worth, roughly, about 100,000. On this occasion, the Bank were struck by something a little unusual about the sealing of the packet. It was opened, and found to contain knobs of sugar! Exactly how suspicion came to fasten on John Eardsley I do not know. It was remembered that he had been very wild at Cambridge and that his father had paid his debts more than once. Anyhow, it soon got about that this story of South American diamond fields was all a fantasy. John Eardsley was arrested. In his possession was found a portion of the De Beer diamonds. But the case never came to court. Sir Laurence Eardsley paid over a sum equal to the missing diamonds and De Beers did not prosecute. Exactly how the robbery was committed has never been known. But the knowledge that his son was a thief broke the old mans heart. He had a stroke shortly afterwards. As for John, his fate was in a way merciful. He enlisted, went to the war, fought there bravely, and was killed, thus wiping out the stain on his name. Sir Laurence himself had a third stroke and died about a month ago. He died intestate and his vast fortune passed to his next of kin, a man whom he hardly knew. The colonel paused. A babel of ejaculations and questions broke out. Something seemed to attract Miss Beddingfelds attention, and she turned in her chair. At the little gasp she gave, I, too, turned. My new secretary, Rayburn, was standing in the doorway. Under his tan, his face had the pallor of one who has seen a ghost. Evidently Races story had moved him profoundly. Suddenly conscious of our scrutiny, he turned abruptly and disappeared. Do you know who that is? asked Anne Beddingfeld abruptly. Thats my other secretary, I explained. Mr. Rayburn. Hes been seedy up to now. She toyed with the bread by her plate. Has he been your secretary long? Not very long, I said cautiously. But caution is useless with a woman, the more you hold back, the more she presses forward. Anne Beddingfeld made no bones about it. How long? she asked bluntly. WellerI engaged him just before I sailed. Old friend of mine recommended him. She said nothing more, but relapsed into a thoughtful silence. I turned to Race with the feeling that it was my turn to display an interest in his story. Who is Sir Laurences next of kin, Race? Do you know? I should say so, he replied, with a smile. I am! XIV (Annes narrative resumed) It was on the night of the fancydress dance that I decided that the time had come for me to confide in someone. So far I had played a lone hand and rather enjoyed it. Now suddenly everything was changed. I distrusted my own judgment and for the first time a feeling of loneliness and desolation crept over me. I sat on the edge of my bunk, still in my gipsy dress, and considered the situation.

I thought first of Colonel Race. He had seemed to like me. He would be kind, I was sure. And he was no fool. Yet, as I thought it over, I wavered. He was a man of commanding personality. He would take the whole matter out of my hands. And it was my mystery! There were other reasons, too, which I would hardly acknowledge to myself, but which made it inadvisable to confide in Colonel Race. Then I thought of Mrs. Blair. She, too, had been kind to me. I did not delude myself into the belief that that really meant anything. It was probably a mere whim of the moment. All the same, I had it in my power to interest her. She was a woman who had experienced most of the ordinary sensations of life. I proposed to supply her with an extraordinary one! And I liked her; liked her ease of manner, her lack of sentimentality, her freedom from any form of affectation. My mind was made up. I decided to seek her out then and there. She would hardly be in bed yet. Then I remembered that I did not know the number of her cabin. My friend, the night stewardess, would probably know. I rang the bell. After some delay it was answered by a man. He gave me the information I wanted. Mrs. Blairs cabin was no. 71. He apologized for the delay in answering the bell, but explained that he had all the cabins to attend to. Where is the stewardess, then? I asked. They all go off duty at ten oclock. NoI mean the night stewardess. No stewardess on at night, miss. Butbut a stewardess came the other nightabout one oclock. You must have been dreaming, miss. Theres no stewardess on duty after ten. He withdrew and I was left to digest this morsel of information. Who was the woman who had come to my cabin on the night of the 22nd? My face grew graver as I realized the cunning and audacity of my unknown antagonists. Then, pulling myself together, I left my own cabin and sought that of Mrs. Blair. I knocked at the door. Whos that? called her voice from within. Its meAnne Beddingfeld. Oh, come in, gipsy girl. I entered. A good deal of scattered clothing lay about, and Mrs. Blair herself was draped in one of the loveliest kimonos I had ever seen. It was all orange and gold and black and made my mouth water to look at it. Mrs. Blair, I said abruptly, I want to tell you the story of my lifethat is, if it isnt too late, and you wont be bored. Not a bit. I always hate going to bed, said Mrs. Blair, her face crinkling into smiles in the delightful way it had. And I should love to hear the story of your life. Youre a most unusual creature, gipsy girl. Nobody else would think of bursting in on me at 1 a.m. to tell me the story of their life. Especially after snubbing my natural curiosity for weeks as you have done! Im not accustomed to being snubbed. Its been quite a pleasing novelty. Sit down on the sofa and unburden your soul. I told her the whole story. It took some time as I was conscientious over all the details. She gave a deep sigh when I had finished, but she did not say at all what I had expected her to say. Instead she looked at me, laughed a little and said Do you know, Anne, youre a very unusual girl? Havent you ever had qualms? Qualms? I asked, puzzled. Yes, qualms, qualms, qualms! Starting off alone with practically no money. What will you do when you find yourself in a strange country with all your money gone? Its no good bothering about that until it comes. Ive got plenty of money still. The twentyfive pounds that Mrs. Flemming gave me is practically intact, and then I won the sweep yesterday. Thats another fifteen pounds. Why, Ive got lots of money. Forty pounds! Lots of money! My God! murmured Mrs. Blair. I couldnt do it, Anne, and Ive plenty of pluck in my own way. I couldnt start off gaily with a few pounds in my pocket and no idea as to what I was doing and where I was going. But thats the fun of it, I cried, thoroughly roused. It gives one such a splendid feeling of adventure. She looked at me, nodded once or twice, and then smiled. Lucky Anne! There arent many people in the world who feel as you do. Well, I said impatiently, what do you think of it all, Mrs. Blair? I think its the most thrilling thing I ever heard! Now, to begin with, you will stop calling me Mrs. Blair. Suzanne will be ever so much better. Is that agreed? I should love it, Suzanne. Good girl. Now lets get down to business. You say that in Sir Eustaces secretarynot that longfaced Pagett, the other oneyou recognized the man who was stabbed and came into your cabin for shelter? I nodded. That gives us two links connecting Sir Eustace with the tangle. The woman was murdered in his house, and its his secretary who gets stabbed at the mystic hour of one oclock. I dont suspect Sir Eustace himself, but it cant be all coincidence. Theres a connection somewhere even if he himself is unaware of it. Then theres the queer business of the stewardess, she continued thoughtfully. What was she like? I hardly noticed her. I was so excited and strung upand a stewardess seemed such an anticlimax. ButyesI did think her face was familiar. Of course it would be if Id seen her about the ship. Her face seemed familiar to you, said Suzanne. Sure she wasnt a man? She was very tall, I admitted. Hum. Hardly Sir Eustace, I should think, nor Mr. PagettWait! She caught up a scrap of paper and began drawing feverishly. She inspected the result with her head poised on one side. A very good likeness of the Rev. Edward Chichester. Now for the etceteras. She passed the paper over to me. Is that your stewardess? Why, yes, I cried. Suzanne, how clever of you! She disdained the compliment with a light gesture. Ive always had suspicions of that Chichester creature. Do you remember how he dropped his coffee cup and turned a sickly green when we were discussing Crippen the other day? And he tried to get Cabin 17! Yes, it all fits in so far. But what does it all mean? What was really meant to happen at one oclock in Cabin 17? It cant be the stabbing of the secretary. There would be no point in timing that for a special hour on a special day in a special place. No, it must have been some kind of appointment and he was on his way to keep it when they knifed him. But who was the appointment with? Certainly not with you. It might have been with Chichester. Or it might have been with Pagett. That seems unlikely, I objected, they can see each other any time. We both sat silent for a minute or two, then Suzanne started off on another tack. Could there have been anything hidden in the cabin? That seems more probable, I agreed. It would explain my things being ransacked the next morning. But there was nothing hidden there, Im sure of it. The young man couldnt have slipped something into a drawer the night before? I shook my head. I should have seen him. Could it have been your precious piece of paper they were looking for? It might have been, but it seems rather senseless. It was only a time and a dateand they were both past by then. Suzanne nodded. Thats so of course. No, it wasnt the paper. By the way, have you got it with you? Id rather like to see it. I had brought the paper with me as exhibit A, and I handed it over to her. She scrutinized it, frowning. Theres a dot after the 17. Why isnt there a dot after the 1 too? Theres a space, I pointed out. Yes, theres a space, but Suddenly she rose and peered at the paper, holding it as close under the light as possible. There was a repressed excitement in her manner. Anne, that isnt a dot! Thats a flaw in the paper! A flaw in the paper, you see? So youve got to ignore it, and just go by the spacesthe spaces! I had risen and was standing by her. I read out the figures as I now saw them. 1 71 22. You see, said Suzanne, its the same, but not quite. Its one oclock still, and the 22ndbut its cabin 71! My cabin, Anne! We stood staring at each other, so pleased with our new discovery and so rapt with excitement that you might have thought we had solved the whole mystery. Then I fell to earth with a bump. But, Suzanne, nothing happened here at one oclock on the 22nd? Her face fell also. Noit didnt. Another idea struck me. This isnt your own cabin, is it, Suzanne? I mean not the one you originally booked? No, the purser changed me into it. I wonder if it was booked before sailing for someonesomeone who didnt turn up. I suppose we could find out. We dont need to find out, gipsy girl, cried Suzanne. I know! The purser was telling me about it. The cabin was booked in the name of Mrs. Greybut it seems that Mrs. Grey was merely a pseudonym for the famous Madame Nadina. Shes a celebrated Russian dancer, you know. Shes never appeared in London, but Paris has been quite mad about her. She had a terrific success there all through the War. A thoroughly bad lot, I believe, but most attractive. The purser expressed his regrets that she wasnt on board in a most heartfelt fashion when he gave me her cabin, and then Colonel Race told me a lot about her. It seems there were very queer stories afloat in Paris. She was suspected of espionage, but they couldnt prove anything. I rather fancy Colonel Race was over there simply on that account. Hes told me some very interesting things. There was a regular organized gang, not German in origin at all. In fact the head of it, a man always referred to as the Colonel was thought to be an Englishman, but they never got any clue as to his identity. But there is no doubt that he controlled a considerable organization of international crooks. Robberies, espionages, assaults, he undertook them alland usually provided an innocent scapegoat to pay the penalty. Diabolically clever, he must have been! This woman was supposed to be one of his agents, but they couldnt get hold of anything to go upon. Yes, Anne, were on the right tack. Nadina is just the woman to be mixed up in this business. The appointment on the morning of the 22nd was with her in this cabin. But where is she? Why didnt she sail? A light flashed upon me. She meant to sail, I said slowly. Then why didnt she? Because she was dead. Suzanne, Nadina was the woman murdered at Marlow! My mind went back to the bare room in the empty house, and there swept over me again that indefinable sensation of menace and evil. With it came the memory of the falling pencil and the discovery of the roll of films. A roll of filmsthat struck a more recent note. Where had I heard of a roll of films? And why did I connect that thought with Mrs. Blair? Suddenly I flew at her and almost shook her in my excitement. Your films! The ones that were passed to you through the ventilator? Wasnt that on the 22nd? The ones I lost? How do you know they were the same? Why would anyone return them to you that wayin the middle of the night? Its a mad idea. Nothey were a message, the films had been taken out of the yellow tin case, and something else put inside. Have you got it still? I may have used it. No, here it is. I remember I tossed it into the rack at the side of the bunk. She held it out to me. It was an ordinary round tin cylinder, such as films are packed in for the tropics. I took it with trembling hand, but even as I did so my heart leapt. It was noticeably heavier than it should have been. With shaking fingers I peeled off the strip of adhesive plaster that kept it airtight. I pulled off the lid, and a stream of dull glassy pebbles rolled onto the bed. Pebbles, I said, keenly disappointed. Pebbles? cried Suzanne. The ring in her voice excited me. Pebbles? No, Anne, not pebbles! Diamonds! XV Diamonds! I stared, fascinated, at the glassy heap on the bunk. I picked up one which, but for the weight, might have been a fragment of broken bottle. Are you sure, Suzanne? Oh, yes, my dear. Ive seen rough diamonds too often to have any doubts. Theyre beauties too, Anneand some of them are unique, I should say. Theres a history behind these. The history we heard tonight, I cried. You mean? Colonel Races story. It cant be a coincidence. He told it for a purpose. To see its effect, you mean? I nodded. Its effect on Sir Eustace? Yes. But, even as I said it, a doubt assailed me. Was it Sir Eustace who had been subjected to a test, or had the story been told for my benefit? I remembered the impression I had received on that former night of having been deliberately pumped. For some reason or other, Colonel Race was suspicious. But where did he come in? What possible connection could he have with the affair? Who is Colonel Race? I asked. Thats rather a question, said Suzanne. Hes pretty well known as a biggame hunter, and, as you heard him say tonight, he was a distant cousin of Sir Laurence Eardsley. Ive never actually met him until this trip. He journeys to and from Africa a good deal. Theres a general idea that he does secret service work. I dont know whether its true or not. Hes certainly rather a mysterious creature. I suppose he came into a lot of money as Sir Laurence Eardsleys heir? My dear Anne, he must be rolling. You know, hed be a splendid match for you. I cant have a good go at him with you aboard the ship, I said, laughing. Oh, these married women! We do have a pull, murmured Suzanne complacently. And everybody knows that I am absolutely devoted to Clarencemy husband, you know. Its so safe and pleasant to make love to a devoted wife. It must be very nice for Clarence to be married to someone like you. Well, Im wearing to live with! Still, he can always escape to the foreign office, where he fixes his eyeglass in his eye, and goes to sleep in a big armchair. We might cable him to tell us all he knows about Race. I love sending cables. And they annoy Clarence so. He always says a letter would have done as well. I dont suppose hed tell us anything, though. He is so frightfully discreet. Thats what makes him so hard to live with for long on end. But let us go on with our matchmaking. Im sure Colonel Race is very attracted to you, Anne. Give him a couple of glances from those wicked eyes of yours, and the deed is done. Everyone gets engaged on board ship. Theres nothing else to do. I dont want to get married. Dont you? said Suzanne. Why not? I love being marriedeven to Clarence! I disdained her flippancy. What I want to know is, I said with determination, what has Colonel Race got to do with this? Hes in it somewhere. You dont think it was mere chance, his telling that story? No, I dont, I said decidedly. He was watching us all narrowly. You remember, some of the diamonds were recovered, not all. Perhaps these are the missing onesor perhaps Perhaps what? I did not answer directly. I should like to know, I said, what became of the other young man. Not Eardsley butwhat was his name?Lucas! Were getting some light on the thing, anyway. Its the diamonds all these people are after. It must have been to obtain possession of the diamonds that the man in the brown suit killed Nadina. He didnt kill her, I said sharply. Of course he killed her. Who else could have done so? I dont know. But Im sure he didnt kill her. He went into that house three minutes after her and came out as white as a sheet. Because he found her dead. But nobody else went in. Then the murderer was in the house already, or else he got in some other way. Theres no need for him to pass the lodge, he could have climbed over the wall. Suzanne glanced at me sharply. The man in the brown suit, she mused. Who was he, I wonder? Anyway, he was identical with the doctor in the tube. He would have had time to remove his makeup and follow the woman to Marlow. She and Carton were to have met there, they both had an order to view the same house, and if they took such elaborate precautions to make their meeting appear accidental they must have suspected they were being followed. All the same, Carton did not know that his shadower was the man in the brown suit. When he recognized him, the shock was so great that he lost his head completely and stepped back onto the line. That all seems pretty clear, dont you think so, Anne? I did not reply. Yes, thats how it was. He took the paper from the dead man, and in his hurry to get away he dropped it. Then he followed the woman to Marlow. What did he do when he left there, when he had killed heror, according to you, found her dead. Where did he go? Still I said nothing. I wonder, now, said Suzanne musingly. Is it possible that he induced Sir Eustace Pedler to bring him on board as his secretary? It would be a unique chance of getting safely out of England, and dodging the hue and cry. But how did he square Sir Eustace? It looks as though he had some hold over him. Or over Pagett, I suggested in spite of myself. You dont seem to like Pagett, Anne. Sir Eustace says hes a most capable and hardworking young man. And, really, he may be for all we know against him. Well, to continue my surmises. Rayburn is the man in the brown suit. He had read the paper he dropped. Therefore, misled by the dot as you were, he attempts to reach cabin 17 at one oclock on the 22nd, having previously tried to get possession of the cabin through Pagett. On the way there somebody knifes him Who? I interpolated. Chichester. Yes, it all fits in. Cable to Lord Nasby that you have found the man in the brown suit, and your fortunes made, Anne! There are several things youve overlooked. What things? Rayburns got a scar, I knowbut a scar can be faked easily enough. Hes the right height and build. Whats the description of a head with which you pulverized them at Scotland Yard? I trembled. Suzanne was a welleducated, wellread woman, but I prayed that she might not be conversant with technical terms of anthropology. Dolichocephalic, I said lightly. Suzanne looked doubtful. Was that it? Yes. Longheaded, you know. A head whose width is less than 75 percent of its length, I explained fluently. There was a pause. I was just beginning to breathe freely when Suzanne said suddenly Whats the opposite? What do you meanthe opposite? Well, there must be an opposite. What do you call the heads whose breadth is more than 75 percent of their length. Brachycephalic, I murmured unwillingly. Thats it. I thought that was what you said. Did I? It was a slip of the tongue. I meant dolichocephalic, I said with all the assurance I could muster. Suzanne looked at me searchingly. Then she laughed. You lie very well, gipsy girl. But it will save time and trouble now if you tell me all about it. Theres nothing to tell, I said unwillingly. Isnt there? said Suzanne gently. I suppose I shall have to tell you, I said slowly. Im not ashamed of it. You cant be ashamed of something that justhappens to you. Thats what he did. He was detestablerude and ungratefulbut that I think I understand. Its like a dog thats been chained upor badly treateditll bite anybody. Thats what he was likebitter and snarling. I dont know why I carebut I do. I care horribly. Just seeing him has turned my whole life upside down. I love him. I want him. Ill walk all over Africa barefoot till I find him, and Ill make him care for me. Id die for him. Id work for him, slave for him, steal for him, even beg or borrow for him! Therenow you know! Suzanne looked at me for a long time. Youre very unEnglish, gipsy girl, she said at last. Theres not a scrap of the sentimental about you. Ive never met anyone who was at once so practical and so passionate. I shall never care for anyone like thatmercifully for meand yetand yet I envy you, gipsy girl. Its something to be able to care. Most people cant. But what a mercy for your little doctor man that you didnt marry him. He doesnt sound at all the sort of individual who would enjoy keeping high explosive in the house! So theres to be no cabling to Lord Nasby? I shook my head. And yet you believe him to be innocent? I also believe that innocent people can be hanged. Hm! yes. But, Anne dear, you can face facts, face them now. In spite of all you say, he may have murdered this woman. No, I said. He didnt. Thats sentiment. No, it isnt. He might have killed her. He may even have followed her there with that idea in his mind. But he wouldnt take a bit of black cord and strangle her with it. If hed done it, he would have strangled her with his bare hands. Suzanne gave a little shiver. Her eyes narrowed appreciatively. Hm! Anne, I am beginning to see why you find this young man of yours so attractive! XVI I got an opportunity of tackling Colonel Race on the following morning. The auction of the sweep had just been concluded, and we walked up and down the deck together. Hows the gipsy this morning? Longing for land and her caravan? I shook my head. Now that the sea is behaving so nicely, I feel I should like to stay on it forever and ever. What enthusiasm! Well, isnt it lovely this morning? We leant together over the rail. It was a glassy calm. The sea looked as though it had been oiled. There were great patches of colour on it, blue, pale green, emerald, purple and deep orange, like a cubist picture. There was an occasional flash of silver that showed the flying fish. The air was moist and warm, almost sticky. Its breath was like a perfumed caress. That was a very interesting story you told us last night, I said, breaking the silence. Which one? The one about the diamonds. I believe women are always interested in diamonds. Of course we are. By the way, what became of the other young man? You said there were two of them. Young Lucas? Well, of course, they couldnt prosecute one without the other, so he went scotfree too. And what happened to himeventually, I mean. Does anyone know? Colonel Race was looking straight ahead of him out to sea. His face was as devoid of expression as a mask, but I had an idea that he did not like my questions. Nevertheless, he replied readily enough He went to the War and acquitted himself bravely. He was reported missing and woundedbelieved killed. That told me what I wanted to know. I asked no more. But more than ever I wondered how much Colonel Race knew. The part he was playing in all this puzzled me. One other thing I did. That was to interview the night steward. With a little financial encouragement, I soon got him to talk. The lady wasnt frightened, was she, miss? It seemed a harmless sort of joke. A bet, or so I understood. I got it all out of him, little by little. On the voyage from Cape Town to England one of the passengers had handed him a roll of films with instructions that they were to be dropped onto the bunk in Cabin 71 at 1 a.m. on January 22nd on the outward journey. A lady would be occupying the cabin, and the affair was described as a bet. I gathered that the steward had been liberally paid for his part in the transaction. The ladys name had not been mentioned. Of course, as Mrs. Blair went straight into Cabin 71, interviewing the purser as soon as she got on board, it never occurred to the steward that she was not the lady in question. The name of the passenger who had arranged the transaction was Carton, and his description tallied exactly with that of the man killed on the Tube. So one mystery, at all events, was cleared up, and the diamonds were obviously the key to the whole situation. Those last days on the Kilmorden seemed to pass very quickly. As we drew nearer and nearer to Cape Town, I was forced to consider carefully my future plans. There were so many people I wanted to keep an eye on. Mr. Chichester, Sir Eustace and his secretary, andyes, Colonel Race! What was I to do about it? Naturally it was Chichester who had first claim on my attention. Indeed, I was on the point of reluctantly dismissing Sir Eustace and Mr. Pagett from their position of suspicious characters, when a chance conversation awakened fresh doubts in my mind. I had not forgotten Mr. Pagetts incomprehensible emotion at the mention of Florence. On the last evening on board we were all sitting on deck and Sir Eustace addressed a perfectly innocent question to his secretary. I forget exactly what it was, something to do with railway delays in Italy, but at once I noticed that Mr. Pagett was displaying the same uneasiness which had caught my attention before. When Sir Eustace claimed Mrs. Blair for a dance, I quickly moved into the chair next to the secretary. I was determined to get to the bottom of the matter. I have always longed to go to Italy, I said. And especially to Florence. Didnt you enjoy it very much there? Indeed I did, Miss Beddingfeld. If you will excuse me, there is some correspondence of Sir Eustaces that I took hold of him firmly by his coat sleeve. Oh, you mustnt run away! I cried with the skittish accent of an elderly dowager. Im sure Sir Eustace wouldnt like you to leave me alone with no one to talk to. You never seem to want to talk about Florence. Oh, Mr. Pagett, I believe you have a guilty secret! I still had my hand on his arm, and I could feel the sudden start he gave. Not at all, Miss Beddingfeld, not at all, he said earnestly. I should be only too delighted to tell you all about it, but there really are some cables Oh, Mr. Pagett, what a thin pretence. I shall tell Sir Eustace I got no further. He gave another jump. The mans nerves seemed in a shocking state. What is it you want to know? The resigned martyrdom of his tone made me smile inwardly. Oh, everything! The pictures, the olive trees I paused, rather at a loss myself. I suppose you speak Italian? I resumed. Not a word, unfortunately. But of course, with hall porters anderguides. Exactly, I hastened to reply. And which was your favourite picture? Oh, erthe MadonnaerRaphael, you know. Dear old Florence, I murmured sentimentally. So picturesque on the banks of the Arno. A beautiful river. And the Duomo, you remember the Duomo? Of course, of course. Another beautiful river, is it not? I hazarded. Almost more beautiful than the Arno? Decidedly so, I should say. Emboldened by the success of my little trap, I proceeded further. But there was little room for doubt. Mr. Pagett delivered himself into my hands with every word he uttered. The man had never been in Florence in his life. But, if not in Florence, where had he been? In England? Actually in England at the time of the Mill House Mystery? I decided on a bold step. The curious thing is, I said, that I fancied I had seen you before somewhere. But I must be mistakensince you were in Florence at the time. And yet I studied him frankly. There was a hunted look in his eyes. He passed his tongue over his dry lips. Whereerwhere did I think I had seen you? I finished for him. At Marlow. You know Marlow? Why, of course, how stupid of me, Sir Eustace has a house there! But with an incoherent muttered excuse, my victim rose and fled. That night I invaded Suzannes cabin, alight with excitement. You see, Suzanne, I urged, as I finished my tale, he was in England, in Marlow, at the time of the murder. Are you so sure now that the man in the brown suit is guilty. Im sure of one thing, said Suzanne, twinkling unexpectedly. Whats that? That the man in the brown suit is better looking than poor Mr. Pagett. No, Anne, dont get cross. I was only teasing. Sit down here. Joking apart, I think youve made a very important discovery. Up till now, weve considered Pagett as having an alibi. Now we know he hasnt. Exactly, I said. We must keep an eye on him. As well as everybody else, she said ruefully. Well, thats one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. Thatand finance. No, dont stick your nose in the air. I know you are absurdly proud and independent, but youve got to listen to horse sense over this. Were partnersI wouldnt offer you a penny because I liked you, or because youre a friendless girlwhat I want is a thrill, and Im prepared to pay for it. Were going into this together regardless of expense. To begin with youll come with me to the Mount Nelson Hotel at my expense, and well plan out our campaign. We argued the point. In the end I gave in. But I didnt like it. I wanted to do the thing on my own. Thats settled, said Suzanne at last, getting up and stretching herself with a big yawn. Im exhausted with my own eloquence. Now then, let us discuss our victims. Mr. Chichester is going on to Durban. Sir Eustace is going to the Mount Nelson Hotel in Cape Town and then up to Rhodesia. Hes going to have a private car on the railway, and in a moment of expansion, after his fourth glass of champagne the other night, he offered me a place in it. I dare say he didnt really mean it, but, all the same, he cant very well back out if I hold him to it. Good, I approved. You keep an eye on Sir Eustace and Pagett, and I take on Chichester. But what about Colonel Race? Suzanne looked at me queerly. Anne, you cant possibly suspect I do. I suspect everybody. Im in the mood when one looks round for the most unlikely person. Colonel Race is going to Rhodesia too, said Suzanne thoughtfully. If we could arrange for Sir Eustace to invite him also You can manage it. You can manage anything. I love butter, purred Suzanne. We parted on the understanding that Suzanne should employ her talents to the best advantage. I felt too excited to go to bed immediately. It was my last night on board. Early tomorrow morning we should be in Table Bay. I slipped up on deck. The breeze was fresh and cool. The boat was rolling a little in the choppy sea. The decks were dark and deserted. It was after midnight. I leaned over the rail, watching the phosphorescent trail of foam. Ahead of us lay Africa, we were rushing towards it through the dark water. I felt alone in a wonderful world. Wrapped in a strange peace, I stood there, taking no heed of time, lost in a dream. And suddenly I had a curious intimate premonition of danger. I had heard nothing, but I swung round instinctively. A shadowy form had crept up behind me. As I turned, it sprang. One hand gripped my throat, stifling any cry I might have uttered. I fought desperately, but I had no chance. I was half choking from the grip on my throat, but I bit and clung and scratched in the most approved feminine fashion. The man was handicapped by having to keep me from crying out. If he had succeeded in reaching me unawares it would have been easy enough for him to sling me overboard with a sudden heave. The sharks would have taken care of the rest. Struggle as I would, I felt myself weakening. My assailant felt it too. He put out all his strength. And then, running on swift noiseless feet, another shadow joined in. With one blow of his fist, he sent my opponent crashing headlong to the deck. Released, I fell back against the rail, sick and trembling. My rescuer turned to me with a quick movement. Youre hurt! There was something savage in his tonea menace against the person who had dared to hurt me. Even before he spoke I had recognized him. It was my manthe man with the scar. But that one moment in which his attention had been diverted to me had been enough for the fallen enemy. Quick as a flash he had risen to his feet and taken to his heels down the deck. With an oath Rayburn sprang after him. I always hate being out of things. I joined the chasea bad third. Round the deck we went to the starboard side of the ship. There by the saloon door lay the man in a crumpled heap. Rayburn was bending over him. Did you hit him again? I called breathlessly. There was no need, he replied grimly. I found him collapsed by the door. Or else he couldnt get it open and is shamming. Well soon see about that. And well see who he is too. With a beating heart I drew near. I had realized at once that my assailant was a bigger man than Chichester. Anyway, Chichester was a flabby creature who might use a knife at a pinch, but who would have little strength in his bare hands. Rayburn struck a match. We both uttered an ejaculation. The man was Guy Pagett. Rayburn appeared absolutely stupefied by the discovery. Pagett, he muttered. My God, Pagett. I felt a slight sense of superiority. You seem surprised. I am, he said heavily. I never suspected He wheeled suddenly round on me. And you? Youre not? You recognized him, I suppose, when he attacked you? No, I didnt.

All the same, Im not so very surprised. He stared at me suspiciously. Where do you come in, I wonder? And how much do you know? I smiled. A good deal, Mr.erLucas! He caught my arm, the unconscious strength of his grip made me wince. Where did you get that name? he asked hoarsely. Isnt it yours? I demanded sweetly. Or do you prefer to be called the man in the brown suit? That did stagger him. He released my arm and fell back a pace or two. Are you a girl or a witch? he breathed. Im a friend. I advanced a step towards him. I offered you my help onceI offer it again. Will you have it? The fierceness of his answer took me aback. No. Ill have no truck with you or with any woman. Do your damnedest. As before, my own temper began to rise. Perhaps, I said, you dont realize how much in my power you are? A word from me to the captain Say it, he sneered. Then advancing with a quick step And whilst were realizing things, my girl, do you realize that youre in my power this minute? I could take you by the throat like this. With a swift gesture he suited the action to the word. I felt his two hands clasp my throat and pressever so little. Like thisand squeeze the life out of you! And thenlike our unconscious friend here, but with more successfling your dead body to the sharks. What do you say to that? I said nothing. I laughed. And yet I knew that the danger was real. Just at that moment he hated me. But I knew that I loved the danger, loved the feeling of his hands on my throat. That I would not have exchanged that moment for any other moment in my life. With a short laugh he released me. Whats your name? he asked abruptly. Anne Beddingfeld. Does nothing frighten you, Anne Beddingfeld? Oh, yes, I said, with an assumption of coolness I was far from feeling. Wasps, sarcastic women, very young men, cockroaches, and superior shop assistants. He gave the same short laugh as before. Then he stirred the unconscious form of Pagett with his feet. What shall we do with this junk? Throw it overboard? he asked carelessly. If you like, I answered with equal calm. I admire your wholehearted, bloodthirsty instincts, Miss Beddingfeld. But we will leave him to recover at his leisure. He is not seriously hurt. You shrink from a second murder, I see, I said sweetly. A second murder? He looked genuinely puzzled. The woman at Marlow, I reminded him, watching the effect of my words closely. An ugly brooding expression settled down on his face. He seemed to have forgotten my presence. I might have killed her, he said. Sometimes I believe that I meant to kill her. A wild rush of feeling, hatred of the dead woman, surged through me. I could have killed her that moment, had she stood before me. For he must have loved her oncehe musthe mustto have felt like that! I regained control of myself and spoke in my normal voice We seem to have said all there is to be saidexcept good night. Good night and goodbye, Miss Beddingfeld. Au revoir, Mr. Lucas. Again he flinched at the name. He came nearer. Why do you say thatau revoir, I mean? Because I have a fancy that we shall meet again. Not if I can help it! Emphatic as his tone was, it did not offend me. On the contrary I hugged myself with secret satisfaction. I am not quite a fool. All the same, I said gravely, I think we shall. Why? I shook my head, unable to explain the feeling that had actuated my words. I never wish to see you again, he said suddenly and violently. It was really a very rude thing to say, but I only laughed softly and slipped away into the darkness. I heard him start after me, and then pause, and a word floated down the deck. I think it was a witch! 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 Pagetts words. He has taken them straight from the pages of a German spy story. What he means by a man behaving suspiciously he doesnt 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 werent 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 shouldnt the poor chap go on deck without having his footsteps dogged? Lots of people even sleep on deckvery uncomfortable, Ive 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 dont 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 Races. 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 fanciedand now indeed I am sureit 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 meetingfor orders! Dont 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 theyd anything to say to each other, they could hobnob 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. Youre quite sure it was Rayburn? Pagett appeared to be perfectly convinced of that. It was the only part of the story that he wasnt vague about. Theres something very queer about all this, he said. To begin with, where is Rayburn? Its perfectly true that we havent 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 prizefighter. I cant take him about with me in his present condition. I shall be the laughingstock of Cape Town. I have an appointment later in the day to deliver old Milrays billetdoux, 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 Milrays sealed letter. It didnt look as though it had been tampered with, but inside was a blank sheet of paper! Now, I suppose, Im in the devil of a mess. Why I ever let that bleating old fool Milray embroil me in the matter I cant think. Pagett is a famous Jobs 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 dont 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 Milrays 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 werent 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 cant 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 oclock train tomorrow, 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 fancydress 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. Blairs 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 anyone 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, dont 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 havent asked anyone else, have I, Pagett? Not that I know of, Sir Eustace. I heaved a sigh of relief. Theres Miss Beddingfeld, I said thoughtfully. She wants to get to Rhodesia to dig up bones, I believe. Ive 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. XVIII (Annes narrative resumed) I dont suppose that as long as I live I shall forget my first sight of Table Mountain. I got up frightfully early and went out on deck. I went right up to the boat deck, which I believe is a heinous offence, but I decided to dare something in the cause of solitude. We were just steaming into Table Bay. There were fleecy white clouds hovering above Table Mountain, and nestling on the slopes below, right down to the sea, was the sleeping town, gilded and bewitched by the morning sunlight. It made me catch my breath and have that curious hungry pain inside that seizes one sometimes when one comes across something thats extra beautiful. Im not very good at expressing these things, but I knew well enough that I had found, if only for a fleeting moment, the thing that I had been looking for ever since I left Little Hampsly. Something new, something hitherto undreamed of, something that satisfied my aching hunger for romance. Perfectly silently, or so it seemed to me, the Kilmorden glided nearer and nearer. It was still very like a dream. Like all dreamers, however, I could not let my dream alone. We poor humans are so anxious not to miss anything. This is South Africa, I kept saying to myself industriously, South Africa, South Africa. You are seeing the world. This is the world. You are seeing it. Think of it, Anne Beddingfeld, you pudding head. Youre seeing the world. I had thought that I had the boat deck to myself, but now I observed another figure leaning over the rail, absorbed as I had been in the rapidly approaching city. Even before he turned his head I knew who it was. The scene of last night seemed unreal and melodramatic in the peaceful morning sunlight. What must he have thought of me? It made me hot to realize the things that I had said. And I hadnt meant themor had I? I turned my head resolutely away and stared hard at Table Mountain. If Rayburn had come up here to be alone, I, at least, need not disturb him by advertising my presence. But to my intense surprise I heard a light footfall on the deck behind me, and then his voice, pleasant and normal Miss Beddingfeld. Yes? I turned. I want to apologize to you. I behaved like a perfect boor last night. Itit was a peculiar night, I said hastily. It was not a very lucid remark, but it was absolutely the only thing I could think of. Will you forgive me? I held out my hand without a word. He took it. Theres something else I want to say. His gravity deepened. Miss Beddingfeld, you may not know it, but you are mixed up in a rather dangerous business. I gathered as much, I said. No, you dont. You cant possibly know. I want to warn you. Leave the whole thing alone. It cant concern you really. Dont let your curiosity lead you to tamper with other peoples business. No, please dont get angry again. Im not speaking of myself. Youve no idea of what you might come up againstthese men will stop at nothing. They are absolutely ruthless. Already youre in dangerlook at last night. They fancy you know something. Your only chance is to persuade them that theyre mistaken. But be careful, always be on the look out for danger, and, look here, if at any time you should fall into their hands, dont try and be clevertell the whole truth, it will be your only chance. You make my flesh creep, Mr. Rayburn, I said, with some truth. Why do you take the trouble to warn me? He did not answer for some minutes, then he said in a low voice It may be the last thing I can do for you. Once on shore I shall be all rightbut I may not get on shore. What? I cried. You see, Im afraid youre not the only person on board who knows that I am the man in the brown suit. If you think that I told I said hotly. He reassured me with a smile. I dont doubt you, Miss Beddingfeld. If I ever said I did, I lied. No, but theres one person on board whos known all along. Hes only got to speakand my numbers up. All the same, Im taking a sporting chance that he wont speak. Why? Because hes a man who likes playing a lone hand. And when the police have got me I should be of no further use to him. Free, I might be! Well, an hour will show. He laughed rather mockingly, but I saw his face harden. If he had gambled with fate, he was a good gambler. He could lose and smile. In any case, he said lightly, I dont suppose we shall meet again. No, I said slowly. I suppose not. Sogoodbye. Goodbye. He gripped my hand hard, just for a minute his curious light eyes seemed to burn into mine, then he turned abruptly and left me. I heard his footsteps ringing along the deck. They echoed and reechoed. I felt that I should hear them always. Footstepsgoing out of my life. I can admit frankly that I did not enjoy the next two hours. Not till I stood on the wharf, having finished with most of the ridiculous formalities that bureaucracies require, did I breathe freely once more. No arrest had been made, and I realized that it was a heavenly day, and that I was extremely hungry. I joined Suzanne. In any case, I was staying the night with her at the hotel. The boat did not go on to Port Elizabeth and Durban until the following morning. We got into a taxi and drove to the Mount Nelson. It was all heavenly. The sun, the air, the flowers! When I thought of Little Hampsly in January, the mud kneedeep, and the suretobefalling rain, I hugged myself with delight. Suzanne was not nearly so enthusiastic. She has travelled a great deal of course. Besides, she is not the type that gets excited before breakfast. She snubbed me severely when I let out an enthusiastic yelp at the sight of a giant blue convolvulus. By the way, I should like to make it clear here and now that this story will not be a story of South Africa. I guarantee no genuine local colouryou know the sort of thinghalf a dozen words in italics on every page. I admire it very much, but I cant do it. In South Sea Islands, of course, you make an immediate reference to bchedemer. I dont know what bchedemer is, I never have known, I probably never shall know. Ive guessed once or twice and guessed wrong. In South Africa I know you at once begin to talk about a stoepI do know what a stoep isits the thing round a house and you sit on it. In various other parts of the world you call it a veranda, a piazza, and a haha. Then again, there are pawpaws. I had often read of pawpaws. I discovered at once what they were, because I had one plumped down in front of me for breakfast. I thought at first that it was a melon gone bad. The Dutch waitress enlightened me, and persuaded me to use lemon juice and sugar and try again. I was very pleased to meet a pawpaw. I had always vaguely associated it with a hulahula, which, I believe, though I may be wrong, is a kind of straw skirt that Hawaiian girls dance in. No, I think I am wrongthat is a lavalava. At any rate, all these things are very cheering after England. I cant help thinking that it would brighten our cold island life if one could have a breakfast of baconbacon, and then go out clad in a jumperjumper to pay the books. Suzanne was a little tamer after breakfast. They had given me a room next to hers with a lovely view right out over Table Bay. I looked at the view whilst Suzanne hunted for some special face cream. When she had found it and started an immediate application, she became capable of listening to me. Did you see Sir Eustace? I asked. He was marching out of the breakfast room as we went in. Hed had some bad fish or something and was just telling the head waiter what he thought about it, and he bounced a peach on the floor to show how hard it wasonly it wasnt quite as hard as he thought and it squashed. Suzanne smiled. Sir Eustace doesnt like getting up early any more than I do. But, Anne, did you see Mr. Pagett? I ran against him in the passage. Hes got a black eye. What can he have been doing? Only trying to push me overboard, I replied nonchalantly. It was a distinct score for me. Suzanne left her face half anointed and pressed for details. I gave them to her. It all gets more and more mysterious, she cried. I thought I was going to have the soft job sticking to Sir Eustace, and that you would have all the fun with the Rev. Edward Chichester, but now Im not so sure. I hope Pagett wont push me off the train some dark night. I think youre still above suspicion, Suzanne. But, if the worst happens, Ill wire to Clarence. That reminds megive me a cable form. Let me see now, what shall I say. Implicated in the most thrilling mystery please send me a thousand pounds at once Suzanne. I took the form from her, and pointed out that she could eliminate a the, an a, and possibly, if she didnt care about being polite, a please. Suzanne, however, appears to be perfectly reckless in money matters. Instead of attending to my economical suggestions, she added three words more enjoying myself hugely. Suzanne was engaged to lunch with friends of hers, who came to the hotel about eleven oclock to fetch her. I was left to my own devices. I went down through the grounds of the hotel, crossed the tramlines and followed a cool shady avenue right down till I came to the main street. I strolled about, seeing the sights, enjoying the sunlight and the blackfaced sellers of flowers and fruits. I also discovered a place where they had the most delicious icecream sodas. Finally, I bought a sixpenny basket of peaches and retraced my steps to the hotel. To my surprise and pleasure I found a note awaiting me. It was from the curator of the museum. He had read of my arrival on the Kilmorden, in which I was described as the daughter of the late Professor Beddingfeld. He had known my father slightly and had had a great admiration for him. He went on to say that his wife would be delighted if I would come out and have tea with them that afternoon at their villa at Muizenberg. He gave me instructions for getting there. It was pleasant to think that poor Papa was still remembered and highly thought of. I foresaw that I would have to be personally escorted round the museum before I left Cape Town, but I risked that. To most people it would have been a treatbut one can have too much of a good thing if one is brought up on it, morning, noon and night. I put on my best hat (one of Suzannes castoffs) and my least crumpled white linen and started off after lunch. I caught a fast train to Muizenberg and got there in about half an hour. It was a nice trip. We wound slowly round the base of Table Mountain, and some of the flowers were lovely. My geography being weak, I had never fully realized that Cape Town is on a peninsula, consequently I was rather surprised on getting out of the train to find myself facing the sea once more. There was some perfectly entrancing bathing going on. The people had short curved boards and came floating in on the waves. It was far too early to go to tea. I made for the bathing pavilion, and when they said would I have a surf board, I said Yes, please. Surfing looks perfectly easy. It isnt. I say no more. I got very angry and fairly hurled my plank from me. Nevertheless, I determined to return on the first possible opportunity and have another go. I would not be beaten. Quite by mistake I then got a good run on my board, and came out delirious with happiness. Surfing is like that. You are either vigorously cursing or else you are idiotically pleased with yourself. I found the Villa Medgee after some little difficulty. It was right up on the side of the mountain, isolated from the other cottages and villas. I rang the bell, and a smiling Kafir boy answered it. Mrs. Raffini? I inquired. He ushered me in, preceded me down the passage and flung open a door. Just as I was about to pass in, I hesitated. I felt a sudden misgiving. I stepped over the threshold and the door swung sharply to behind me. A man rose from his seat behind a table and came forward with outstretched hand. So glad we have persuaded you to visit us, Miss Beddingfeld, he said. He was a tall man, obviously a Dutchman, with a flaming orange beard. He did not look in the least like the curator of a museum. In fact, I realized in a flash that I had made a fool of myself. I was in the hands of the enemy. XIX It reminded me forcibly of Episode III in The Perils of Pamela. How often had I not sat in the sixpenny seats, eating a twopenny bar of milk chocolate, and yearning for similar things to happen to me. Well, they had happened with a vengeance. And somehow it was not nearly so amusing as I had imagined. Its all very well on the screenyou have the comfortable knowledge that theres bound to be an episode IV. But in real life there was absolutely no guarantee that Anna the Adventuress might not terminate abruptly at the end of any episode. Yes, I was in a tight place. All the things that Rayburn had said that morning came back to me with unpleasant distinctness. Tell the truth, he had said. Well, I could always do that, but was it going to help me? To begin with, would my story be believed? Would they consider it likely or possible that I had started off on this mad escapade simply on the strength of a scrap of paper smelling of moth balls? It sounded to me a wildly incredible tale. In that moment of cold sanity I cursed myself for a melodramatic idiot, and yearned for the peaceful boredom of Little Hampsly. All this passed through my mind in less time than it takes to tell. My first instinctive movement was to step backwards and feel for the handle of the door. My captor merely grinned. Here you are and here you stay, he remarked facetiously. I did my best to put a bold face upon the matter. I was invited to come here by the curator of the Cape Town museum. If I have made a mistake A mistake? Oh, yes, a big mistake! He laughed coarsely. What right have you to detain me? I shall inform the police Yap, yap, yaplike a little toy dog. He laughed. I sat down on a chair. I can only conclude that you are a dangerous lunatic, I said coldly. Indeed? I should like to point out to you that my friends are perfectly well aware where I have gone, and that if I have not returned by this evening, they will come in search of me. You understand? So your friends know where you are, do they? Which of them? Thus challenged, I did a lightning calculation of chances. Should I mention Sir Eustace? He was a wellknown man, and his name might carry weight. But if they were in touch with Pagett, they might know I was lying. Better not risk Sir Eustace. Mrs. Blair, for one, I said lightly. A friend of mine with whom I am staying. I think not, said my captor, slyly shaking his orange head. You have not seen her since eleven this morning. And you received our note, bidding you come here, at lunchtime. His words showed me how closely my movements had been followed, but I was not going to give in without a fight. You are very clever, I said. Perhaps you have heard of that useful invention, the telephone? Mrs. Blair called me up on it when I was resting in my room after lunch. I told her then where I was going this afternoon. To my great satisfaction, I saw a shade of uneasiness pass over his face. Clearly he had overlooked the possibility that Suzanne might have telephoned to me. I wished she really had done so! Enough of this, he said harshly, rising. What are you going to do with me? I asked, still endeavouring to appear composed. Put you where you can do no harm in case your friends come after you. For a moment my blood ran cold, but his next words reassured me. Tomorrow youll have some questions to answer, and after youve answered them we shall know what to do with you. And I can tell you, young lady, weve more ways than one of making obstinate little fools talk. It was not cheering, but it was at least a respite. I had until tomorrow. This man was clearly an underling obeying the orders of a superior. Could that superior by any chance be Pagett? He called and two Kafirs appeared. I was taken upstairs. Despite my struggles, I was gagged and then bound hand and foot. The room into which they had taken me was a kind of attic right under the roof. It was dusty and showed little signs of having been occupied. The Dutchman made a mock bow and withdrew, closing the door behind him. I was quite helpless. Turn and twist as I would, I could not loosen my hands in the slightest degree, and the gag prevented me from crying out. If, by any possible chance, anyone did come to the house, I could do nothing to attract their attention. Down below I heard the sound of a door shutting. Evidently the Dutchman was going out. It was maddening not to be able to do anything. I strained again at my bonds, but the knots held. I desisted at last, and either fainted or fell asleep. When I awoke I was in pain all over. It was quite dark now, and I judged that the night must be well advanced, for the moon was high in the heavens and shining down through the dusty skylight. The gag was half choking me and the stiffness and pain were unendurable. It was then that my eyes fell on a bit of broken glass lying in the corner. A moonbeam slanted right down on it, and its glistening had caught my attention. As I looked at it, an idea came into my head. My arms and legs were helpless, but surely I could still roll. Slowly and awkwardly, I set myself in motion. It was not easy. Besides being extremely painful, since I could not guard my face with my arms, it was also exceedingly difficult to keep any particular direction. I tended to roll in every direction except the one I wanted to go. In the end, however, I came right up against my objective. It almost touched my bound hands. Even then it was not easy. It took an infinity of time before I could wriggle the glass into such a position, wedged against the wall, that it would rub up and down on my bonds. It was a long heartrending process, and I almost despaired, but in the end I succeeded in sawing through the cords that bound my wrists. The rest was a matter of time. Once I had restored the circulation to my hands by rubbing the wrists vigorously, I was able to undo the gag. One or two full breaths did a lot for me. Very soon I had undone the last knot, though even then it was some time before I could stand on my feet, but at last I stood erect, swinging my arms to and fro to restore the circulation, and wishing above all things that I could get hold of something to eat. I waited about a quarter of an hour, to be quite sure of my recovered strength. Then I tiptoed noiselessly to the door. As I had hoped, it was not locked, only latched. I unlatched it and peeped cautiously out. Everything was still. The moonlight came in through a window and showed me the dusty uncarpeted staircase. Cautiously I crept down it. Still no soundbut as I stood on the landing below, a faint murmur of voices reached me. I stopped dead and stood there for some time. A clock on the wall registered the fact that it was after midnight. I was fully aware of the risks I might run if I descended lower, but my curiosity was too much for me. With infinite precautions I prepared to explore. I crept softly down the last flight of stairs and stood in the square hall. I looked round meand then caught my breath with a gasp. A Kafir boy was sitting by the hall door. He had not seen me, indeed I soon realized by his breathing that he was fast asleep. Should I retreat, or should I go on? The voices came from the room I had been shown into on arrival. One of them was that of my Dutch friend, the other I could not for the moment recognize, though it seemed vaguely familiar. In the end I decided that it was clearly my duty to hear all I could.

"I must risk the Kafir boy waking up. I crossed the hall noiselessly and knelt by the study door. Fo(...TRUNCATED)

"He looked as though he had seen a ghost. In a minute or two I was having trouble with the conductor(...TRUNCATED)

"It was fresh and lovely, and everywhere, as far as one could see, were the undulating wooded hills.(...TRUNCATED)

"He went straight to a house agent in Knightsbridge. There he asked for particulars of houses to let(...TRUNCATED)