The Man in the Brown Suit, Agatha Christie [free e novels TXT] 📗

“I’m a gipsy seeing the world.”

“Yes, that’s true enough. The newspaper correspondent is only a pretext. You’ve not the soul of the journalist. You’re out for your own hand⁠—snatching at life. But that’s not all.”

What was he going to make me tell him? I was afraid⁠—afraid. I looked him full in the face. My eyes can’t keep secrets like his, but they can carry the war into the enemy’s country.

“What are you really doing here, Colonel Race?” I asked deliberately.

For a moment I thought he wasn’t going to answer. He was clearly taken aback, though. At last he spoke, and his words seemed to afford him a grim amusement.

“Pursuing ambition,” he said. “Just that⁠—pursuing ambition. You will remember, Miss Beddingfeld, that ‘by that sin fell the angels,’ etc.”

“They say,” I said slowly, “that you are really connected with the government⁠—that you are in the secret service. Is that true?”

Was it my fancy, or did he hesitate for a fraction of a second before he answered?

“I can assure you, Miss Beddingfeld, that I am out here strictly as a private individual travelling for my own pleasure.”

Thinking the answer over later, it struck me as slightly ambiguous. Perhaps he meant it to be so.

We rejoined the car in silence. Halfway back to Bulawayo we stopped for tea at a somewhat primitive structure at the side of the road. The proprietor was digging in the garden and seemed annoyed at being disturbed. But he graciously promised to see what he could do. After an interminable wait he brought us some stale cakes and some lukewarm tea. Then he disappeared to his garden again.

No sooner had he departed than we were surrounded by cats. Six of them all meowing piteously at once. The racket was deafening. I offered them some pieces of cake. They devoured them ravenously. I poured all the milk there was into a saucer and they fought each other to get it.

“Oh,” I cried indignantly, “they’re starved! It’s wicked. Please, please, order some more milk and another plate of cake.”

Colonel Race departed silently to do my bidding. The cats had begun meowing again. He returned with a big jug of milk and the cats finished it all.

I got up with determination on my face.

“I’m going to take those cats home with us⁠—I shan’t leave them here.”

“My dear child, don’t be absurd. You can’t carry six cats as well as fifty wooden animals round with you.”

“Never mind the wooden animals. These cats are alive. I shall take them back with me.”

“You will do nothing of the kind.” I looked at him resentfully, but he went on: “You think me cruel⁠—but one can’t go through life sentimentalizing over these things. It’s no good standing out⁠—I shan’t allow you to take them. It’s a primitive country, you know, and I’m stronger than you.”

I always know when I am beaten. I went down to the car with tears in my eyes.

“They’re probably short of food just today,” he explained consolingly. “That man’s wife has gone into Bulawayo for stores. So it will be all right. And anyway, you know, the world’s full of starving cats.”

“Don’t⁠—don’t,” I said fiercely.

“I’m teaching you to realize life as it is. I’m teaching you to be hard and ruthless⁠—like I am. That’s the secret of strength⁠—and the secret of success.”

“I’d sooner be dead than hard,” I said passionately.

We got into the car and started off. I pulled myself together again slowly. Suddenly, to my intense astonishment, he took my hand in his.

“Anne,” he said gently, “I want you. Will you marry me?”

I was utterly taken aback.

“Oh, no,” I stammered. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t care for you in that way. I’ve never thought of you like that.”

“I see. Is that the only reason?”

I had to be honest. I owed it him.

“No,” I said, “it is not. You see⁠—I⁠—care for someone else.”

“I see,” he said again. “And was that true at the beginning⁠—when I first saw you⁠—on the Kilmorden?”

“No,” I whispered. “It was⁠—since then.”

“I see,” he said for the third time, but this time there was a purposeful ring in his voice that made me turn and look at him. His face was grimmer than I had ever seen it.

“What⁠—what do you mean?” I faltered.

He looked at me, inscrutable, dominating.

“Only⁠—that I know now what I have to do.”

His words sent a shiver through me. There was a determination behind them that I did not understand⁠—and it frightened me.

We neither of us said any more until we got back to the hotel. I went straight up to Suzanne. She was lying on her bed reading, and did not look in the least as though she had a headache.

“Here reposes the perfect gooseberry,” she remarked. “alias the tactful chaperone. Why, Anne dear, what’s the matter?”

For I had burst into a flood of tears.

I told her about the cats⁠—I felt it wasn’t fair to tell her about Colonel Race. But Suzanne is very sharp. I think she saw that there was something more behind.

“You haven’t caught a chill, have you, Anne? Sounds absurd even to suggest such things in this heat, but you keep on shivering.”

“It’s nothing,” I said. “Nerves⁠—or someone walking over my grave. I keep feeling something dreadful’s going to happen.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Suzanne, with decision. “Let’s talk of something interesting. Anne, about those diamonds⁠—”

“What about them?”

“I’m not sure they’re safe with me. It was all right before, no one could think they’d be amongst my things. But now that everyone knows we’re such friends, you and I, I’ll be under suspicion too.”

“Nobody knows they’re in a roll of films, though,” I argued. “It’s a splendid hiding place and I really don’t think we could better it.”

She agreed doubtfully, but said we would discuss it again when we got to the falls.

Our train went at nine o’clock. Sir Eustace’s temper was still far from good, and Miss Pettigrew looked subdued. Colonel Race was completely himself. I felt that I had dreamed the whole conversation on the way back.

I slept