The Man in the Brown Suit

Thirty-two
(Anne’s Narrative Resumed)
I
had great trouble with Suzanne. She argued, she pleaded, she even wept before she would
let me carry out my plan. But in the end I got my own way. She promised to carry out my
instructions to the letter and came down to the station to bid me a tearful farewell.
I arrived at my destination the following morning early. I was met by a short black-
bearded Dutchman whom I had never seen before. He had a car waiting and we drove off.
There was a queer booming in the distance, and I asked him what it was. “Guns,” he
answered laconically. So there was fighting going on in Jo’burg!
I gathered that our objective was a spot somewhere in the suburbs of the city. We turned
and twisted and made several detours to get there, and every minute the guns were nearer. It
was an exciting time. At last we stopped before a somewhat ramshackle building. The door
was opened by a Kafir boy. My guide signed to me to enter. I stood irresolute in the dingy
square hall. The man passed me and threw open a door.
“The young lady to see Mr. Harry Rayburn,” he said, and laughed.
Thus announced, I passed in. The room was sparsely furnished and smelt of cheap
tobacco smoke. Behind a desk a man sat writing. He looked up and raised his eyebrows.
“Dear me,” he said, “if it isn’t Miss Beddingfeld!”
“I must be seeing double,” I apologized. “Is it Mr. Chichester, or is it Miss Pettigrew?
There is an extraordinary resemblance to both of them.”
“Both characters are in abeyance for the moment. I have doffed my petticoats—and my
cloth likewise. Won’t you sit down?”
I accepted a seat composedly.
“It would seem,” I remarked, “that I have come to the wrong address.”
“From your point of view, I am afraid you have. Really, Miss Beddingfeld, to fall into the
trap a second time!”
“It was not very bright of me,” I admitted meekly.
Something about my manner seemed to puzzle him.
“You hardly seem upset by the occurrence,” he remarked dryly.
“Would my going into heroics have any effect upon you?” I asked.

---

“It certainly would not.”
“My Great-aunt Jane always used to say that a true lady was neither shocked nor
surprised at anything that might happen,” I murmured dreamily. “I endeavour to live up to
her precepts.”
I read Mr. Chichester-Pettigrew’s opinion so plainly written on his face that I hastened
into speech once more.
“You really are positively marvellous at makeup,” I said generously. “All the time you
were Miss Pettigrew I never recognized you—even when you broke your pencil in the
shock of seeing me climb upon the train at Cape Town.”
He tapped upon the desk with the pencil he was holding in his hand at the minute.
“All this is very well in its way, but we must get to business. Perhaps, Miss Beddingfeld,
you can guess why we required your presence here?”
“You will excuse me,” I said, “but I never do business with anyone but principals.”
I had read the phrase or something like it in a moneylender’s circular, and I was rather
pleased with it. It certainly had a devastating effect upon Mr. Chichester-Pettigrew. He
opened his mouth and then shut it again. I beamed upon him.
“My Great-uncle George’s maxim,” I added, as an afterthought. “Great-aunt Jane’s
husband, you know. He made knobs for brass beds.”
I doubt if Chichester-Pettigrew had ever been ragged before. He didn’t like it at all.
“I think you would be wise to alter your tone, young lady.”
I did not reply, but yawned—a delicate little yawn that hinted at intense boredom.
“What the devil—” he began forcibly.
I interrupted him.
“I can assure you it’s no good shouting at me. We are only wasting time here. I have no
intention of talking with underlings. You will save a lot of time and annoyance by taking me
straight to Sir Eustace Pedler.”
“To—”
He looked dumbfounded.
“Yes,” I said. “Sir Eustace Pedler.”
“I—I—excuse me—”
He bolted from the room like a rabbit. I took advantage of the respite to open my bag and
powder my nose thoroughly. Also I settled my hat at a more becoming angle. Then I settled
myself to wait with patience for my enemy’s return.

---

He reappeared in a subtly chastened mood.
“Will you come this way, Miss Beddingfeld?”
I followed him up the stairs. He knocked at the door of a room, a brisk “Come in”
sounded from inside, and he opened the door and motioned to me to pass inside.
Sir Eustace Pedler sprang up to greet me, genial and smiling.
“Well, well, Miss Anne.” He shook me warmly by the hand. “I’m delighted to see you.
Come and sit down. Not tired after your journey? That’s good.”
He sat down facing me, still beaming. It left me rather at a loss. His manner was so
completely natural.
“Quite right to insist on being brought straight to me,” he went on. “Minks is a fool. A
clever actor—but a fool. That was Minks you saw downstairs.”
“Oh, really,” I said feebly.
“And now,” said Sir Eustace cheerfully, “let’s get down to facts. How long have you
known that I was the ‘Colonel?’ ”
“Ever since Mr. Pagett told me that he had seen you in Marlow when you were supposed
to be in Cannes.”
Sir Eustace nodded ruefully.
“Yes, I told the fool he’d blinking well torn it. He didn’t understand, of course. His
whole mind was set on whether