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.