The Man in the Brown Suit

Nineteen
I
t 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. It’s all very well on the screen—you have the
comfortable knowledge that there’s 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 mothballs? 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 Hampsley.
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, yap—like 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

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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 well-known 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 to 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 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 you’ll have some questions to answer, and after you’ve answered them we
shall know what to do with you. And I can tell you, young lady, we’ve 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 bonds 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.

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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 heart-rending 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 sound—but 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 me—and 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

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recognize, though it seemed vaguely familiar.
In the end I decided that it was clearly my duty to hear all I could. I must risk the Kafir
boy waking up. I crossed the hall noiselessly and knelt by the study door. For a moment or
two I could hear no better. The voices were louder, but I could not distinguish what they
said.
I applied my eye to the keyhole instead of my ear. As I had guessed, one of the speakers
was the big Dutchman. The other man was sitting outside my circumscribed range of vision.
Suddenly he rose to get himself a drink. His back, blackclad and decorous, came into
view. Even before he turned round I knew who he was.
Mr. Chichester!
Now I began to make out the words.
“All the same, it is dangerous. Suppose her friends come after her?”
It was the big man speaking. Chichester answered him. He had dropped his clerical voice
entirely. No wonder I had not recognized it.
“All bluff. They haven’t an idea where she is.”
“She spoke very positively.”
“I daresay. I’ve looked into the matter, and we’ve nothing to fear. Anyway, it’s the
‘Colonel’s’ orders. You don’t want to go against them, I suppose?”
The Dutchman ejaculated something in his own language. I judged it to be a hasty
disclaimer.
“But why not knock her on the head?” he growled. “It would be simple. The boat is all
ready. She could be taken out to sea.”
“Yes,” said Chichester meditatively. “That is what I should do. She knows too much, that
is certain. But the ‘Colonel’ is a man who likes to play a lone hand—though no one else
must do so.” Something in his own words seemed to awaken a memory that annoyed him.
“He wants information of some kind from this girl.”
He had paused before the “information,” and the Dutchman was quick to catch him up.
“Information?”
“Something of the kind.”
“Diamonds,” I said to myself.
“And now,” continued Chichester, “give me the lists.”
For a long time their conversation was quite incomprehensible to me. It seemed to deal
with large quantities of vegetables. Dates were mentioned, prices, and various names of

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places which I did not know. It was quite half an hour before they had finished their
checking and counting.
“Good,” said Chichester, and there was a sound as though he pushed back his chair. “I
will take these with me for the ‘Colonel’ to see.”
“When do you leave?”
“Ten o’clock tomorrow morning will do.”
“Do you want to see the girl before you go?”
“No. There are strict orders that no one is to see her until the ‘Colonel’ comes. Is she all
right?”
“I looked in on her when I came in for dinner. She was asleep, I think. What about food?”
“A little starvation will do no harm. The ‘Colonel’ will be here some time tomorrow.
She will answer questions better if she is hungry. No one had better go near her till then. Is
she securely tied up?”
The Dutchman laughed.
“What do you think?”
They both laughed. So did I, under my breath. Then, as the sounds seemed to betoken that
they were about to come out of the room, I beat a hasty retreat. I was just in time. As I
reached the head of the stairs, I heard the door of the room open, and at the same time the
Kafir stirred and moved. My retreat by the way of the hall door was not to be thought of. I
retired prudently to the attic, gathered my bonds round me and lay down again on the floor,
in case they should take it into their heads to come and look at me.
They did not do so, however. After about an hour, I crept down the stairs, but the Kafir by
the door was awake and humming softly to himself. I was anxious to get out of the house, but
I did not quite see how to manage it.
In the end, I was forced to retreat to the attic again. The Kafir was clearly on guard for
the night. I remained there patiently all through the sounds of early morning preparation. The
men breakfasted in the hall, I could hear their voices distinctly floating up the stairs. I was
getting thoroughly unnerved. How on earth was I to get out of the house?
I counselled myself to be patient. A rash move might spoil everything. After breakfast
came the sounds of Chichester departing. To my intense relief, the Dutchman accompanied
him.
I waited breathlessly. Breakfast was being cleared away, the work of the house was
being done. At last, the various activities seemed to die down. I slipped out from my lair
once more. Very carefully I crept down the stairs. The hall was empty. Like a flash I was
across it, had unlatched the door, and was outside in the sunshine. I ran down the drive like

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one possessed.
Once outside, I resumed a normal walk. People stared at me curiously, and I do not
wonder. My face and clothes must have been covered in dust from rolling about in the attic.
At last I came to a garage. I went in.
“I have met with an accident,” I explained. “I want a car to take me to Cape Town at
once. I must catch the boat to Durban.”
I had not long to wait. Ten minutes later I was speeding along in the direction of Cape
Town. I must know if Chichester was on the boat. Whether to sail on her myself or not, I
could not determine, but in the end I decided to do so. Chichester would not know that I had
seen him in the Villa at Muizenberg. He would doubtless lay further traps for me, but I was
forewarned. And he was the man I was after, the man who was seeking the diamonds on
behalf of the mysterious “Colonel.”
Alas, for my plans! As I arrived at the docks, the