The Man in the Brown Suit

“I must see you. I dare not come to the hotel. Will you come to the clearing by the
palm gully? In memory of Cabin 17 please come. The man you knew as Harry
Rayburn.”
My heart beat to suffocation. He was here then! Oh, I had known it—I had known it all
along! I had felt him near me. All unwittingly I had come to his place of retreat.
I wound a scarf round my head and stole to the door. I must be careful. He was hunted
down. No one must see me meet him. I stole along to Suzanne’s room. She was fast asleep. I
could hear her breathing evenly.
Sir Eustace? I paused outside the door of his sitting room. Yes, he was dictating to Miss
Pettigrew, I could hear her monotonous voice repeating: “I therefore venture to suggest, that
in tackling this problem of coloured labour—” She paused for him to continue, and I heard
him grunt something angrily.
I stole on again. Colonel Race’s room was empty. I did not see him in the lounge. And he
was the man I feared most! Still, I could waste no more time. I slipped quickly out of the

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hotel, and took the path to the bridge.
I crossed it and stood there waiting in the shadow. If anyone had followed me, I should
see them crossing the bridge. But the minutes passed, and no one came. I had not been
followed. I turned and took the path to the clearing. I took six paces or so, and then stopped.
Something had rustled behind me. It could not be anyone who had followed me from the
hotel. It was someone who was already here, waiting.
And immediately, without rhyme or reason, but with the sureness of instinct, I knew that it
was I myself who was threatened. It was the same feeling as I had had on the 
Kilmorden
that
night—a sure instinct warning me of danger.
I looked sharply over my shoulder. Silence. I moved on a pace or two. Again I heard that
rustle. Still walking, I looked over my shoulder again. A man’s figure came out of the
shadow. He saw that I saw him, and jumped forward, hard on my track.
It was too dark to recognize anybody. All I could see was that he was tall, and a
European, not a native. I took to my heels and ran. I heard him pounding behind. I ran
quicker, keeping my eyes fixed on the white stones that showed me where to step, for there
was no moon that night.
And suddenly my foot felt nothingness. I heard the man behind me laugh, an evil, sinister
laugh. It rang in my ears, as I fell headlong—down—down—down to destruction far
beneath.

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