Agatha Christie: The Collection

Chapter 20

I drove to the hotel. There was no one in the lounge that I knew. I ran upstairs and tapped on Suzanne’s door. Her voice bade me “come in.” When she saw who it was she literally fell on my neck.

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

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

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

“Why do these things always happen to you?” she demanded plaintively. “Why does no one gag me and bind me hand and foot?”

“You wouldn’t like it if they did,” I assured her. “To tell you the truth, I’m not nearly so keen on having adventures myself as I was. A little of that sort of thing goes a long way.”

Suzanne seemed unconvinced. An hour or two of gagging and binding would have changed her views quickly enough. Suzanne likes thrills, but she hates being uncomfortable.

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

“I don’t quite know,” I said thoughtfully. “You still go to Rhodesia, of course, to keep an eye on Pagett–”

“And you?”

That was just my difficulty. Had Chichester gone on the Kilmorden, or had he not? Did he mean to carry out his original plan of going to Durban? The hour of his leaving Muizenberg seemed to point to an affirmative answer to both questions. In that case, I might go to Durban by train. I fancied that I should get there before the boat. On the other hand, if the news of my escape were wired to Chichester, and also the information that I had left Cape Town for Durban, nothing was simpler for him than to leave the boat at either Port Elizabeth or East London and so give me the slip completely.

It was rather a knotty problem.

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

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

The Durban train left at 8.15 that evening, so they told me at the office. For the moment I postponed decision and joined Suzanne for somewhat belated “eleven-o’clock tea.”

“Do you feel that you would really recognize Chichester again—in any other disguise, I mean?” asked Suzanne.

I shook my head ruefully.

“I certainly didn’t recognize him as the stewardess, and never should have but for your drawing.”

“The man’s a professional actor, I’m sure of it,” said Suzanne thoughtfully. “His make-up is perfectly marvellous. He might come off the boat as a navvy or something, and you’d never spot him.”

“You’re very cheering,” I said.

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

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

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

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

“Tell us about it.”

“I mustn’t tell tales out of school.”

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

“Well, what would you say to the famous ‘Man in the Brown Suit’ having made the voyage with us?”

“What?”

I felt the colour die out of my face and then surge back again. Fortunately Colonel Race was not looking at me.

“It’s a fact, I believe. Every port watched for him and he bamboozled Pedler into bringing him out as his secretary!”

“Not Mr. Pagett?”

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

“Have they arrested him?” asked Suzanne. Under the table she gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. I waited breathlessly for an answer.

“He seems to have disappeared into thin air.”

“How does Sir Eustace take it?”

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

An opportunity of hearing Sir Eustace’s views on the matter presented itself later in the day. We were awakened from a refreshing afternoon nap by a page-boy with a note. In touching terms it requested the pleasure of our company at tea in his sitting-room.

The poor man was indeed in a pitiable state. He poured out his troubles to us, encouraged by Suzanne’s sympathetic murmurs. (She does that sort of thing very well.)

“First a perfectly strange woman has the impertinence to get herself murdered in my house—on purpose to annoy me, I do believe. Why my house? Why, of all the houses in Great Britain, choose the Mill House? What harm had I ever done the woman that she must needs get herself murdered there?”

Suzanne made one of her sympathetic noises again and Sir Eustace proceeded in a still more aggrieved tone.

“And, if that’s not enough, the fellow who murdered her has the impudence, the colossal impudence, to attach himself to me as my secretary. My secretary, if you please! I’m tired of secretaries, I won’t have any more secretaries. Either they’re concealed murderers or else they’re drunken brawlers. Have you seen Pagett’s black eye? But of course you have. How can I go about with a secretary like that? And his face is such a nasty shade of yellow too—just the colour that doesn’t go with a black eye. I’ve done with secretaries—unless I have a girl. A nice girl, with liquid eyes, who’ll hold my hand when I’m feeling cross. What about you, Miss Anne. Will you take on the job?”

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

“All day long,” replied Sir Eustace gallantly.

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

“That doesn’t matter. All this work is Pagett’s idea. He works me to death. I’m looking forward to leaving him behind in Cape Town.”

“He is staying behind?”

“Yes, he’ll enjoy himself thoroughly sleuthing about after Rayburn. That’s the sort of thing suits Pagett down to the ground. He adores intrigue. But I’m quite serious in my offer. Will you come? Mrs. Blair here is a competent chaperon, and you can have a half-holiday every now and again to dig for bones.”

“Thank you very much, Sir Eustace,” I said cautiously, “but I think I’m leaving for Durban to-night.”

“Now don’t be an obstinate girl. Remember, there are lots of lions in Rhodesia. You’ll like lions. All girls do.”

“Will they be practising low jumps?” I asked, laughing. “No, thank you very much, but I must go to Durban.”

Sir Eustace looked at me, sighed deeply, then opened the door of the adjoining room and called to Pagett.

“If you’ve quite finished your afternoon sleep, my dear fellow, perhaps you’d do a little work for change.”

Guy Pagett appeared in the doorway. He bowed to us both, starting slightly at the sight of me, and replied in a melancholy voice:

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

“Well, stop typing it then. Go down to the Trade Commissioner’s Office, or the Board of Agriculture, or the Chamber of Mines, or one of these places, and ask them to lend me some kind of a woman to take to Rhodesia. She must have liquid eyes and not object to my holding her hand.”

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

“Pagett’s a malicious fellow,” said Sir Eustace, after the secretary had departed. “I’d be prepared to bet that he’ll pick out some slab-faced creature on purpose to annoy me. She must have nice feet too—I forgot to mention that.”

I clutched Suzanne excitedly by the hand and almost dragged her along to her room.

“Now, Suzanne,” I said, “we’ve got to make plans—and make them quickly. Pagett is staying behind here—you heard that?”

“Yes. I suppose that means that I shan’t be allowed to go to Rhodesia—which is very annoying, because I want to go to Rhodesia. How tiresome.”

“Cheer up,” I said. “You’re going all right. I don’t see how you could back out at the last moment without its appearing frightfully suspicious. And, besides, Pagett might suddenly be summoned by Sir Eustace, and it would be far harder for you to attach yourself to him for the journey up.”

“It would hardly be respectable,” said Suzanne, dimpling. “I should have to pretend a fatal passion for him as an excuse.”

“On the other hand, if you were there when he arrived, it would all be perfectly simple and natural. Besides, I don’t think we ought to lose sight of the other two entirely.”

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

“I suspect everybody,” I said darkly, “and if you’ve read any detective stories, Suzanne, you must know that it’s always the most unlikely person who’s the villain. Lots of criminals have been cheerful fat men like Sir Eustace.”

“Colonel Race isn’t particularly fat—or particularly cheerful either.”

“Sometimes they’re lean and saturnine,” I retorted. “I don’t say I seriously suspect either of them, but, after all, the woman was murdered in Sir Eustace’s house–”

“Yes, yes, we needn’t go over all that again. I’ll watch him for you, Anne, and if he gets any fatter and any more cheerful, I’ll send you a telegram at once. ‘Sir E. swelling. Highly suspicious. Come at once.’”

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

“I know I do,” said Suzanne, unabashed. “It seems like that. It’s your fault, Anne. I’ve got imbued with your ‘Let’s have an adventure’ spirit. It doesn’t seem a bit real. Dear me, if Clarence knew that I was running about Africa tracking dangerous criminals, he’d have a fit.”

“Why don’t you cable him about it?” I asked sarcastically.

Suzanne’s sense of humour always fails her when it comes to sending cables. She considered my suggestion in perfectly good faith.

“I might. It would have to be a very long one.” Her eyes brightened at the thought. “But I think it’s better not. Husbands always want to interfere with perfectly harmless amusements.”

“Well,” I said, summing up the situation, “you will keep an eye on Sir Eustace and Colonel Race–”

“I know why I’ve got to watch Sir Eustace,” interrupted Suzanne, “because of his figure and his humorous conversation. But I think it’s carrying it rather far to suspect Colonel Race, I do indeed. Why, he’s something to do with the Secret Service. Do you know, Anne, I believe the best thing we could do would be to confide in him and tell him the whole story.”

I objected vigorously to this unsporting proposal. I recognized in it the disastrous effects of matrimony. How often have I not heard a perfectly intelligent female say, in the tone of one clinching an argument, “Edgar says–” And all the time you are perfectly aware that Edgar is a perfect fool. Suzanne, by reason of her married state, was yearning to lean upon some man or other.

However, she promised faithfully that she would not breathe a word to Colonel Race, and we went on with our plan-making.

“It’s quite clear that I must stay here and watch Pagett, and this is the best way to do it. I must pretend to leave for Durban this evening, take my luggage down and so on, but really I shall go to some small hotel in the town. I can alter my appearance a little—wear a fair toupee and one of those thick white lace veils, and I shall have a much better chance of seeing what he’s really at if he thinks I’m safely out of the way.”

Suzanne approved this plan heartily. We made due and ostentatious preparations, inquiring once more about the departure of the train at the office and packing my luggage.

We dined together in the restaurant. Colonel Race did not appear, but Sir Eustace and Pagett were at their table in the window. Pagett left the table half-way through the meal, which annoyed me, as I had planned to say goodbye to him. However, doubtless Sir Eustace would do as well. I went over to him when I had finished.

“Good-bye, Sir Eustace,” I said. “I’m off to-night to Durban.”

Sir Eustace sighed heavily.

“So I heard. You wouldn’t like me to come with you, would you?”

“I should love it.”

“Nice girl. Sure you won’t change your mind and come and look for lions in Rhodesia?”

“Quite sure.”

“He must be a very handsome fellow,” said Sir Eustace plaintively. “Some young whipper-snapper in Durban, I suppose, who puts my mature charms completely in the shade. By the way, Pagett’s going down in the car in a minute or two. He could take you to the station.”

“Oh, no, thank you,” I said hastily. “Mrs. Blair and I have got our own taxi ordered.”

To go down with Guy Pagett was the last thing I wanted! Sir Eustace looked at me attentively.

“I don’t believe you like Pagett. I don’t blame you. Of all the officious, interfering asses—going about with the air of a martyr, and doing everything he can to annoy and upset me!”

“What has he done now?” I inquired with some curiosity.

“He’s got hold of a secretary for me. You never saw such a woman! Forty, if she’s a day, wears pince-nez and sensible boots and an air of brisk efficiency that will be the death of me. A regular slab-faced woman.”

“Won’t she hold your hand?”

“I devoutly hope not!” exclaimed Sir Eustace. “That would be the last straw. Well, good-bye, liquid eyes. If I shoot a lion I shan’t give you the skin—after the base way you’ve deserted me.”

He squeezed my hand warmly and we parted. Suzanne was waiting for me in the hall. She was to come down to see me off.

“Let’s start at once,” I said hastily, and motioned to the man to get a taxi.

Then a voice behind me made me start:

“Excuse me, Miss Beddingfeld, but I’m just going down in a car. I can drop you and Mrs. Blair at the station.”

“Oh, thank you,” I said hastily. “But there’s no need to trouble you. I–”

“No trouble at all, I assure you. Put the luggage in, porter.”

I was helpless. I might have protested further, but a slight warning nudge from Suzanne urged me to be on my guard.

“Thank you, Mr. Pagett,” I said coldly.

We all got into the car. As we raced down the road into the town, I racked my brains for something to say. In the end Pagett himself broke the silence.

“I have secured a very capable secretary for Sir Eustace,” he observed. “Miss Pettigrew.”

“He wasn’t exactly raving about her just now,” I remarked.

Pagett looked at me coldly.

“She is a proficient shorthand-typist,” he said repressively.

We pulled up in front of the station. Here surely he would leave us. I turned with outstretched hand—but no.

“I’ll come and see you off. It’s just eight o’clock, your train goes in a quarter of an hour.”

He gave efficient directions to porters. I stood helpless, not daring to look at Suzanne. The man suspected. He was determined to make sure that I did go by the train. And what could I do? Nothing. I saw myself, in a quarter of an hour’s time, steaming out of the station with Pagett planted on the platform waving me adieu. He had turned the tables on me adroitly. His manner towards me had changed, moreover. It was full of an uneasy geniality which sat ill upon him, and which nauseated me. The man was an oily hypocrite. First he tried to murder me, and now he paid me compliments! Did he imagine for one minute that I hadn’t recognized him that night on the boat? No, it was a pose, a pose which he forced me to acquiesce in, his tongue in his cheek all the while.

Helpless as a sheep, I moved along under his expert directions. My luggage was piled in my sleeping compartment—I had a two-berth one to myself. It was twelve minutes past eight. In three minutes the train would start.

But Paggett had reckoned without Suzanne.

“It will be a terribly hot journey, Anne,” she said suddenly. “Especially going through the Karoo to-morrow. You’ve got some eau-de-Cologne or lavender water with you, haven’t you?”

My cue was plain.

“Oh, dear,” I cried. “I left my eau-de-Cologne on the dressing-table at the hotel.”

Suzanne’s habit of command served her well. She turned imperiously to Pagett.

“Mr. Pagett. Quick. You’ve just time. There’s a chemist almost opposite the station. Anne must have some eau-de-Cologne.”

He hesitated, but Suzanne’s imperative manner was too much for him. She is a born autocrat. He went. Suzanne followed him with her eyes till he disappeared.

“Quick, Anne, get out the other side—in case he hasn’t really gone, but is watching us from the end of the platform. Never mind your luggage. You can telegraph about that to-morrow. Oh, if only the train starts on time!”

I opened the gate on the opposite side to the platform and climbed down. Nobody was observing me. I could just see Suzanne standing where I had left her, looking up at the train and apparently chatting to me at the window. A whistle blew, the train began to draw out. Then I heard feet racing furiously up the platform. I withdrew to the shadow of a friendly bookstall and watched.

Suzanne turned from waving her handkerchief to the retreating train.

“Too late, Mr. Pagett,” she said cheerfully. “She’s gone. Is that the eau-de-Cologne? What a pity we didn’t think of it sooner!”

They passed not far from me on their way out of the station. Guy Pagett was extremely hot. He had evidently run all the way to the chemist and back.

“Shall I get you a taxi, Mrs. Blair?”

Suzanne did not fail in her rôle.

“Yes, please. Can’t I give you a lift back? Have you much to do for Sir Eustace? Dear me, I wish Anne Beddingfeld was coming with us to-morrow. I don’t like the idea of a young girl like that travelling off to Durban all by herself. But she was set upon it. Some little attraction there, I fancy–”

They passed out of ear-shot. Clever Suzanne. She had saved me.

I allowed a minute or two to elapse and then I too made my way out of the station, almost colliding as I did so with a man—an unpleasant-looking man with a nose disproportionately big for his face.

Chapter 21

I had no further difficulty in carrying out my plans. I found a small hotel in a back street, got a room there, paid a deposit as I had no luggage with me, and went placidly to bed.

On the following morning I was up early and went out into the town to purchase a modest wardrobe. My idea was to do nothing until after the departure of the eleven-o’clock train to Rhodesia with most of the party on board. Pagett was not likely to indulge in any nefarious activities until he had got rid of them. Accordingly I took a tram out of the town and proceeded to enjoy a country walk. It was comparatively cool, and I was glad to stretch my legs after the long voyage and my close confinement at Muizenberg.

A lot hinges on small things. My shoe-lace came untied, and I stopped to do it up. The road had just turned a corner, and as I was bending over the offending shoe a man came right round and almost walked into me. He lifted his hat, murmuring an apology, and went on. It struck me at the time that his face was vaguely familiar, but at the moment I thought no more of it. I looked at my wrist-watch. The time was getting on. I turned my feet in the direction of Cape Town.

There was a tram on the point of going and I had to run for it. I heard other footsteps running behind me. I swung myself on and so did the other runner. I recognized him at once. It was the man who had passed me on the road when my shoe came untied, and in a flash I knew why his face was familiar. It was the small man with the big nose whom I had run into on leaving the station the night before.

The coincidence was rather startling. Could it be possible that the man was deliberately following me? I resolved to test that as promptly as possible. I rang the bell and got off at the next stop. The man did not get off. I withdrew into the shadow of a shop doorway and watched. He alighted at the next stop and walked back in my direction.

The case was clear enough. I was being followed. I had crowed too soon. My victory over Guy Pagett took on another aspect. I hailed the next tram and, as I expected, my shadower also got on. I gave myself up to some very serious thinking.

It was perfectly apparent that I had stumbled on a bigger thing than I knew. The murder in the house at Marlow was not an isolated incident committed by a solitary individual. I was up against a gang, and, thanks to Colonel Race’s revelations to Suzanne, and what I had overheard at the house at Muizenberg, I was beginning to understand some of its manifold activities. Systematized crime, organized by the man known to his followers as the “Colonel”! I remembered some of the talk I had heard on board ship, of the strike on the Rand and the causes underlying it—and the belief that some secret organization was at work fomenting the agitation. That was the “Colonel’s” work, his emissaries were acting according to plan. He took no part in these things himself, I had always heard, as he limited himself to directing and organizing. The brain-work—not the dangerous labour—for him. But still it well might be that he himself was on the spot, directing affairs from an apparently impeccable position.

That, then, was the meaning of Colonel Race’s presence on the Kilmorden Castle. He was out after the arch-criminal. Everything fitted in with that assumption. He was some one high up in the Secret Service whose business it was to lay the “Colonel” by the heels.

I nodded to myself—things were becoming very clear to me. What of my part in the affair? Where did I come in? Was it only diamonds they were after? I shook my head. Great as the value of the diamonds might be, they hardly accounted for the desperate attempts which had been made to get me out of the way. No, I stood for more than that. In some way, unknown to myself, I was a menace, a danger! Some knowledge that I had, or that they thought I had, made them anxious to remove me at all costs—and that knowledge was bound up somehow with the diamonds. There was one person, I felt sure, who could enlighten me—if he would! The Man in the Brown Suit—Harry Rayburn. He knew the other half of the story. But he had vanished into the darkness, he was a hunted creature flying from pursuit. In all probability he and I would never meet again. . . .

I brought myself back with a jerk to the actualities of the moment. It was no good thinking sentimentally of Harry Rayburn. He had displayed the greatest antipathy to me from the first. Or, at least–There I was again—dreaming! The real problem was what to do—now!

I, priding myself upon my rôle of watcher, had become the watched. And I was afraid! For the first time I began to lose my nerve. I was the little bit of grit that was impeding the smooth working of the great machine—and I fancied that the machine would have a short way with little bits of grit. Once Harry Rayburn had saved me, once I had saved myself—but I felt suddenly that the odds were heavily against me. My enemies were all around me in every direction, and they were closing in. If I continued to play a lone hand I was doomed.

I rallied myself with an effort. After all, what could they do? I was in a civilized city—with policemen every few yards. I would be wary in future. They should not trap me again as they had done in Muizenberg.

As I reached this point in my meditations, the train arrived at Adderly Street. I got out. Undecided what to do, I walked slowly up the left-hand side of the street. I did not trouble to look if my watcher was behind me. I knew he was. I walked into Cartwright’s and ordered two coffee ice-cream sodas—to steady my nerves. A man, I suppose, would have had a stiff peg; but girls derive a lot of comfort from ice-cream sodas. I applied myself to the end of the straw with gusto. The cool liquid went trickling down my throat in the most agreeable manner. I pushed the first glass aside empty.

I was sitting on one of the little high stools in front of the counter. Out of the tail of my eye, I saw my tracker come in and sit down unostentatiously at a little table near the door. I finished the second coffee soda and demanded a maple one. I can drink practically an unlimited amount of ice-cream sodas.

Suddenly the man by the door got up and went out. That surprised me. If he was going to wait outside, why not wait outside from the beginning. I slipped down from my stool and went cautiously to the door. I drew back quickly into the shadow. The man was talking to Guy Pagett.

If I had ever had any doubts, that would have settled it. Pagett had his watch out and was looking at it. They exchanged a few brief words, and then the secretary swung on down the street towards the station. Evidently he had given his orders. But what were they?

Suddenly my heart leapt into my mouth. The man who had followed me crossed to the middle of the road and spoke to a policeman. He spoke at some length, gesticulating towards Cartwright’s and evidently explaining something. I saw the plan at once. I was to be arrested on some charge or other—pocket-picking, perhaps. It would be easy enough for the gang to put through a simple little matter like that. Of what good to protest my innocence? They would have seen to every detail. Long ago they had brought a charge of robbing De Beers against Harry Rayburn, and he had not been able to disprove it, though I had little doubt but that he had been absolutely blameless. What chance had I against such a “frame up” as the “Colonel” could devise?

I glanced up at the clock almost mechanically, and immediately another aspect of the case struck me. I saw the point of Guy Pagett’s looking at his watch. It was just on eleven, and at eleven the mail train left for Rhodesia bearing with it the influential friends who might otherwise come to my rescue. That was the reason of my immunity up to now. From last night till eleven this morning I had been safe, but now the net was closing in upon me.

I hurriedly opened my bag and paid for my drinks, and as I did so, my heart seemed to stand still, for inside it was a man’s wallet stuffed with notes! It must have been deftly introduced into my handbag as I left the tram.

Promptly I lost my head. I hurried out of Cartwright’s. The little man with the big nose and the policeman were just crossing the road. They saw me, and the little man designated me excitedly to the policeman. I took to my heels and ran. I judged him to be a slow policeman. I should get a start. But I had no plan, even then. I just ran for my life down Adderly Street. People began to stare. I felt that in another minute some one would stop me.

An idea flashed into my head.

“The station?” I asked, in a breathless gasp.

“Just down on the right.”

I sped on. It is permissible to run for a train. I turned into the station, but as I did so I heard footsteps close behind me. The little man with the big nose was a champion sprinter. I foresaw that I should be stopped before I got to the platform I was in search of. I looked up to the clock—one minute to eleven. I might just do it if my plan succeeded.

I had entered the station by the main entrance in Adderly Street. I now darted out again through the side exit. Directly opposite me was the side entrance to the post office, the main entrance to which is in Adderly Street.

As I expected, my pursuer, instead of following me in, ran down the street to cut me off when I emerged by the main entrance, or to warn the policeman to do so.

In an instant I slipped across the street again and back into the station. I ran like a lunatic. It was just eleven. The long train was moving as I appeared on the platform. A porter tried to stop me, but I wriggled myself out of his grasp and sprang upon the footboard. I mounted the two steps and opened the gate. I was safe! The train was gathering way.

We passed a man standing by himself at the end of the platform. I waved to him.

“Good-bye, Mr. Pagett,” I shouted.

Never have I seen a man more taken aback. He looked as though he had seen a ghost.

In a minute or two I was having trouble with the conductor. But I took a lofty tone.

“I am Sir Eustace Pedler’s secretary,” I said haughtily. “Please take me to his private car.”

Suzanne and Colonel Race were standing on the rear observation platform. They both uttered an exclamation of utter surprise at seeing me.

“Hullo, Miss Anne,” cried Colonel Race, “where have you turned up from? I thought you’d gone to Durban. What an unexpected person you are.”

Suzanne said nothing, but her eyes asked a hundred questions.

“I must report myself to my chief,” I said demurely. “Where is he?”

“He’s in the office—middle compartment—dictating at an incredible rate to the unfortunate Miss Pettigrew.”

“This enthusiasm for work is something new,” I commented.

“H’m!” said Colonel Race. “His idea is, I think, to give her sufficient work to chain her to her typewriter in her own compartment for the rest of the day.”

I laughed. Then, followed by the other two, I sought out Sir Eustace. He was striding up and down the circumscribed space, hurling a flood of words at the unfortunate secretary whom I now saw for the first time. A tall, square woman in drab clothing, with pince-nez and an efficient air. I judged that she was finding it difficult to keep pace with Sir Eustace, for her pencil was flying along, and she was frowning horribly.

I stepped into the compartment.

“Come aboard, sir,” I said saucily.

Sir Eustace paused dead in the middle of a complicated sentence on the labour situation and stared at me. Miss Pettigrew must be a nervous creature, in spite of her efficient air, for she jumped as though she had been shot.

“God bless my soul!” ejaculated Sir Eustace. “What about the young man in Durban?”

“I prefer you,” I said softly.

“Darling,” said Sir Eustace. “You can start holding my hand at once.”

Miss Pettigrew coughed, and Sir Eustace hastily withdrew his hand.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Let me see, where were we? Yes. Tylman Roos, in his speech at–What’s the matter? Why aren’t you taking it down?”

“I think,” said Colonel Race gently, “that Miss Pettigrew has broken her pencil.”

He took it from her and sharpened it. Sir Eustace stared, and so did I. There was something in Colonel Race’s tone that I did not quite understand.