The Man in the Brown Suit

Twenty-one
I
had no further difficulty in carrying out my plans. I found a small hotel in a back street, got
a room there, paid a deposit as I had no luggage with me, and went placidly to bed.
On the following morning I was up early and went out into the town to purchase a modest
wardrobe. My idea was to do nothing until after the departure of the eleven-o’clock train to
Rhodesia with most of the party on board. Pagett was not likely to indulge in any nefarious
activities until he had got rid of them. Accordingly I took a train out of the town and
proceeded to enjoy a country walk. It was comparatively cool, and I was glad to stretch my
legs after the long voyage and my close confinement at Muizenberg.
A lot hinges on small things. My shoelace came untied, and I stopped to do it up. The
road had just turned a corner, and as I was bending over the offending shoe a man came
right round and almost walked into me. He lifted his hat, murmuring an apology, and went
on. It struck me at the time that his face was vaguely familiar, but at the moment I thought no
more of it. I looked at my wristwatch. The time was getting on. I turned my feet in the
direction of Cape Town.
There was a tram on the point of going and I had to run for it. I heard other footsteps
running behind me. I swung myself on and so did the other runner. I recognized him at once.
It was the man who had passed me on the road when my shoe came untied, and in a flash I
knew why his face was familiar. It was the small man with the big nose whom I had run into
on leaving the station the night before.
The coincidence was rather startling. Could it be possible that the man was deliberately
following me? I resolved to test that as promptly as possible. I rang the bell and got off at
the next stop. The man did not get off. I withdrew into the shadow of a shop doorway and
watched. He alighted at the next stop and walked back in my direction.
The case was clear enough. I was being followed. I had crowed too soon. My victory
over Guy Pagett took on another aspect. I hailed the next tram and, as I expected, my
shadower also got on. I gave myself up to some very serious thinking.
It was perfectly apparent that I had stumbled on a bigger thing than I knew. The murder in
the house at Marlow was not an isolated incident committed by a solitary individual. I was
up against a gang, and, thanks to Colonel Race’s revelations to Suzanne, and what I had
overheard at the house at Muizenberg, I was beginning to understand some of its manifold
activities. Systematized crime, organized by the man known to his followers as the
“Colonel!” I remembered some of the talk I had heard on board ship, of the strike on the
Rand and the causes underlying it—and the belief that some secret organization was at work

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fomenting the agitation. That was the “Colonel’s” work, his emissaries were acting
according to plan. He took no part in these things himself, I had always heard, as he limited
himself to directing and organizing. The brain work—not the dangerous labour—for him.
But still it well might be that he himself was on the spot, directing affairs from an apparently
impeccable position.
That, then, was the meaning of Colonel Race’s presence on the 
Kilmorden Castle
. He
was out after the arch-criminal. Everything fitted in with that assumption. He was someone
high up in the Secret Service whose business it was to lay the “Colonel” by the heels.
I nodded to myself—things were becoming very clear to me. What of my part in the
affair? Where did I come in? Was it only diamonds they were after? I shook my head. Great
as the value of the diamonds might be, they hardly accounted for the desperate attempts
which had been made to get me out of the way. No, I stood for more than that. In some way,
unknown to myself, I was a menace, a danger! Some knowledge that I had, or that they
thought I had, made them anxious to remove me at all costs—and that knowledge was bound
up somehow with the diamonds. There was one person, I felt sure, who could enlighten me
—if he would! “The Man in the Brown Suit”—Harry Rayburn. He knew the other half of the
story. But he had vanished into the darkness, he was a hunted creature flying from pursuit. In
all probability he and I would never meet again. . . .
I brought myself back with a jerk to the actualities of the moment. It was no good thinking
sentimentally of Harry Rayburn. He had displayed the greatest antipathy to me from the first.
Or, at least—There I was again—dreaming! The real problem was what to do—
now!
I, priding myself upon my role of watcher, had become the watched. And I was afraid!
For the first time, I began to lose my nerve. I was the little bit of grit that was impeding the
smooth working of the great machine—and I fancied that the machine would have a short
way with little bits of grit. Once Harry Rayburn had saved me, once I had saved myself—
but I felt suddenly that the odds were heavily against me. My enemies were all around me in
every direction, and they were closing in. If I continued to play a lone hand I was doomed.
I rallied myself with an effort. After all, what could they do? I was in a civilized city—
with policemen every few yards. I would be wary in future. They should not trap me again
as they had done in Muizenberg.
As I reached this point in my meditations, the tram arrived at Adderley Street. I got out.
Undecided what to do, I walked slowly up the left-hand side of the street. I did not trouble
to look if my watcher was behind me. I knew he was. I walked into Cartwright’s and
ordered two coffee ice cream sodas—to steady my nerves. A man, I suppose, would have
had a stiff peg; but girls derive a lot of comfort from ice cream sodas. I applied myself to
the end of the straw with gusto. The cool liquid went trickling down my throat in the most
agreeable manner. I pushed the first glass aside empty.
I was sitting on one of the little high stools in front of the counter. Out of the tail of my

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eye, I saw my tracker come in and sit down unostentatiously at a little table near the door. I
finished the second coffee soda and demanded a maple one. I can drink practically an
unlimited amount of ice cream sodas.
Suddenly the man by the door got up and went out. That surprised me. If he was going to
wait ouside, why not wait outside from the beginning? I slipped down from my stool and
went cautiously to the door. I drew back quickly into the shadow. The man was talking to
Guy Pagett.
If I had ever had any doubts, that would have settled it. Pagett had his watch out and was
looking at it. They exchanged a few brief words, and then the secretary swung on down the
street towards the station. Evidently he had given his orders. But what were they?
Suddenly my heart leapt into my mouth. The man who had followed me crossed to the
middle of the road and spoke to a policeman. He spoke at some length, gesticulating
towards Cartwright’s and evidently explaining something. I saw the plan at once. I was to
be arrested on some charge or other—pocket-picking, perhaps. It would be easy enough for
the gang to put through a simple little matter like that. Of what good to protest my
innocence? They would have seen to every detail. Long ago they had brought a charge of
robbing De Beers against Harry Rayburn, and he had not been able to disprove it, though I
had little doubt but that he had been absolutely blameless. What chance had I against such a
“frame up” as the “Colonel” could devise?
I glanced up at the clock almost mechanically, and immediately another aspect of the case
struck me. I saw the point of Guy Pagett’s looking at his watch. It was just on eleven, and at
eleven the mail train left for Rhodesia bearing with it the influential friends who might
otherwise come to my rescue. That was the reason of my immunity up to now. From last
night till eleven this morning I had been safe, but now the net was closing in upon me.
I hurriedly opened my bag and paid for my drinks, and as I did so, my heart seemed to
stand still,