I drove to the hotel. There was no one in the lounge that I knew. I ran up-stairs and tapped on Suzanne’s door. Her voice bade me “come in.” Whenshe saw who it was she literally1 fell on my neck.
“Anne, dear, where have you been? I’ve been worried to death aboutyou. What have you been doing?”
“Having adventures,” I replied. “Episode III of ‘The Perils3 of Pamela.’ ”
I told her the whole story. She gave vent2 to a deep sigh when I finished.
“Why do these things always happen to you?” she demanded plaint-ively. “Why does no one gag me and bind4 me hand and foot?”
“You wouldn’t like it if they did,” I assured her. “To tell you the truth,I’m not nearly so keen on having adventures myself as I was. A little ofthat sort of thing goes a long way.”
Suzanne seemed unconvinced. An hour or two of gagging and bindingwould have changed her view quickly enough. Suzanne likes thrills, butshe hates being uncomfortable.
“And what are we all doing now?” she asked.
“I don’t quite know,” I said thoughtfully. “You still go to Rhodesia, ofcourse, to keep an eye on Pagett—”
“And you?”
That was just my difficulty. Had Chichester gone on the Kilmorden, orhad he not? Did he mean to carry out his original plan of going to Durban?
The hour of his leaving Muizenberg seemed to point to an affirmative an-swer to both questions. In that case, I might go to Durban by train. I fan-cied that I should get there before the boat. On the other hand, if the newsof my escape were wired to Chichester, and also the information that I hadleft Cape5 Town for Durban, nothing was simpler for him than to leave theboat at either Port Elizabeth or East London and so give me the slip com-pletely.
It was rather a knotty6 problem.
“We’ll inquire about trains to Durban anyway,” I said.
“And it’s not too late for morning tea,” said Suzanne. “We’ll have it inthe lounge.”
The Durban train left at 8:15 that evening, so they told me at the office.
For the moment I postponed7 decision, and joined Suzanne for somewhatbelated “eleven-o’clock tea.”
“Do you feel that you would really recognize Chichester again—in anyother disguise, I mean?” asked Suzanne.
I shook my head ruefully.
“I certainly didn’t recognize him as the stewardess8, and never shouldhave but for your drawing.”
“The man’s a professional actor, I’m sure of it,” said Suzanne thought-fully. “His makeup9 is perfectly10 marvellous. He might come off the boat asa navvy or something, and you’d never spot him.”
“You’re very cheering,” I said.
At that minute Colonel Race stepped in through the window and cameand joined us.
“What is Sir Eustace doing?” asked Suzanne. “I haven’t seen him abouttoday.”
Rather an odd expression passed over the Colonel’s face.
“He’s got a little trouble of his own to attend to which is keeping himbusy.”
“Tell us about it.”
“I mustn’t tell tales out of school.”
“Tell us something—even if you have to invent it for our special bene-fit.”
“Well, what would you say to the famous ‘Man in the Brown Suit’ havingmade the voyage with us?”
“What?”
I felt the colour die out of my face and then surge back again. Fortu-nately Colonel Race was not looking at me.
“It’s a fact, I believe. Every port watched for him and he bamboozledPedler into bringing him out as his secretary!”
“Not Mr. Pagett?”
“Oh, not Pagett—the other fellow. Rayburn, he called himself.”
“Have they arrested him?” asked Suzanne. Under the table she gave myhand a reassuring11 squeeze. I waited breathlessly for an answer.
“He seems to have disappeared into thin air.”
“How does Sir Eustace take it?”
“Regards it as a personal insult offered him by Fate.”
An opportunity of hearing Sir Eustace’s views on the matter presenteditself later in the day. We were awakened12 from a refreshing13 afternoon napby a page boy with a note. In touching14 terms it requested the pleasure ofour company at tea in his sitting room.
The poor man was indeed in a pitiable state. He poured out his troublesto us, encouraged by Suzanne’s sympathetic murmurs15. (She does that sortof thing very well.)
“First a perfectly strange woman has the impertinence to get herselfmurdered in my house—on purpose to annoy me, I do believe. Why myhouse? Why, of all the houses in Great Britain, choose the Mill House?
What harm had I ever done the woman that she must needs get herselfmurdered there?”
Suzanne made one of her sympathetic noises again and Sir Eustace pro-ceeded, in a still more aggrieved16 tone:
“And, if that’s not enough, the fellow who murdered her has the im-pudence, the colossal17 impudence18, to attach himself to me as my secretary.
My secretary, if you please! I’m tired of secretaries, I won’t have any moresecretaries. Either they’re concealed19 murderers or else they’re drunkenbrawlers. Have you seen Pagett’s black eye? But of course you have. Howcan I go about with a secretary like that? And his face is such a nastyshade of yellow too—just the colour that doesn’t go with a black eye. I’vedone with secretaries—unless I have a girl. A nice girl, with liquid eyes,who’ll hold my hand when I’m feeling cross. What about you, Miss Anne?
Will you take on the job?”
“How often shall I have to hold your hand?” I asked, laughing.
“All day long,” replied Sir Eustace gallantly20.
“I shan’t get much typing done at that rate,” I reminded him.
“That doesn’t matter. All this work is Pagett’s idea. He works me todeath. I’m looking forward to leaving him behind in Cape Town.”
“He is staying behind?”
“Yes, he’ll enjoy himself thoroughly21 sleuthing about after Rayburn.
That’s the sort of thing that suits Pagett down to the ground. He adores in-trigue. But I’m quite serious in my offer. Will you come? Mrs. Blair here isa competent chaperone, and you can have a half holiday every now andagain to dig for bones.”
“Thank you very much, Sir Eustace,” I said cautiously, “but I think I’mleaving for Durban tonight.”
“Now don’t be an obstinate22 girl. Remember, there are lots of lions inRhodesia. You’ll like lions. All girls do.”
“Will they be practising low jumps?” I asked, laughing. “No, thank youvery much, but I must go to Durban.”
Sir Eustace looked at me, sighed deeply, then opened the door of the ad-joining room, and called to Pagett.
“If you’ve quite finished your afternoon sleep, my dear fellow, perhapsyou’d do a little work for a change.”
Guy Pagett appeared in the doorway23. He bowed to us both, startingslightly at the sight of me, and replied in a melancholy24 voice:
“I have been typing that memorandum25 all this afternoon, Sir Eustace.”
“Well, stop typing it then. Go down to the Trade Commissioner’s Office,or the Board of Agriculture, or the Chamber26 of Mines, or one of thoseplaces, and ask them to lend me some kind of a woman to take toRhodesia. She must have liquid eyes and not object to my holding herhand.”
“Yes, Sir Eustace. I will ask for a competent shorthand-typist.”
“Pagett’s a malicious27 fellow,” said Sir Eustace, after the secretary had de-parted. “I’d be prepared to bet that he’ll pick out some slab-faced creatureon purpose to annoy me. She must have nice feet too—I forgot to mentionthat.”
I clutched Suzanne excitedly by the hand and almost dragged her alongto her room.
“Now, Suzanne,” I said, “we’ve got to make plans — and make themquickly. Pagett is staying behind here—you heard that?”
“Yes. I suppose that means that I shan’t be allowed to go to Rhodesia—which is very annoying, because I want to go to Rhodesia. How tiresome28.”
“Cheer up,” I said. “You’re going all right. I don’t see how you could backout at the last moment without its appearing frightfully suspicious. And,besides, Pagett might suddenly be summoned by Sir Eustace, and it wouldbe far harder for you to attach yourself to him for the journey up.”
“It would hardly be respectable,” said Suzanne, dimpling. “I should haveto pretend a fatal passion for him as an excuse.”
“On the other hand, if you were there when he arrived, it would all beperfectly simple and natural. Besides, I don’t think we ought to lose sightof the other two entirely29.”
“Oh, Anne, you surely can’t suspect Colonel Race or Sir Eustace?”
“I suspect everybody,” I said darkly, “and if you’ve read any detectivestories, Suzanne, you must know that it’s always the most unlikely personwho’s the villain30. Lots of criminals have been cheerful fat men like Sir Eu-stace.”
“Colonel Race isn’t particularly fat—or particularly cheerful either.”
“Sometimes they’re lean and saturnine,” I retorted. “I don’t say I seri-ously suspect either of them, but, after all, the woman was murdered inSir Eustace’s house—”
“Yes, yes, we needn’t go over all that again. I’ll watch him for you, Anne,and if he gets any fatter and any more cheerful, I’ll send you a telegram atonce. ‘Sir E. swelling31 highly suspicious. Come at once.’ ”
“Really, Suzanne,” I cried, “you seem to think all this is a game!”
“I know I do,” said Suzanne, unabashed. “It seems like that. It’s yourfault, Anne. I’ve got imbued32 with your ‘Let’s have an adventure’ spirit. Itdoesn’t seem a bit real. Dear me, if Clarence knew that I was runningabout Africa tracking dangerous criminals, he’d have a fit.”
“Why don’t you cable him about it?” I asked sarcastically33.
Suzanne’s sense of humour always fails her when it comes to sendingcables. She considered my suggestion in perfectly good faith.
“I might. It would have to be a very long one.” Her eyes brightened atthe thought. “But I think it’s better not. Husbands always want to interferewith perfectly harmless amusements.”
“Well,” I said, summing up the situation, “you will keep an eye on Sir Eu-stace and Colonel Race—”
“I know why I’ve got to watch Sir Eustace,” interrupted Suzanne, “be-cause of his figure and his humorous conversation. But I think it’s carry-ing it rather far to suspect Colonel Race; I do indeed. Why, he’s somethingto do with the Secret Service. Do you know, Anne, I believe the best thingwe could do would be to confide34 in him and tell him the whole story.”
I objected vigorously to this unsporting proposal. I recognized in it thedisastrous effects of matrimony. How often have I not heard a perfectlyintelligent female say, in the tone of one clinching35 an argument, “Edgarsays—” And all the time you are perfectly aware that Edgar is a perfectfool. Suzanne, by reason of her married state, was yearning36 to lean uponsome man or other.
However, she promised faithfully that she would not breathe a word toColonel Race, and we went on with our plan making.
“It’s quite clear that I must stay here and watch Pagett, and this is thebest way to do it. I must pretend to leave for Durban this evening, take myluggage down and so on, but really I shall go to some small hotel in thetown. I can alter my appearance a little—wear a fair toupee37 and one ofthose thick white lace veils, and I shall have a much better chance of see-ing what he’s really at if he thinks I’m safely out of the way.”
Suzanne approved this plan heartily38. We made due and ostentatiouspreparations, inquiring once more about the departure of the train at theoffice and packing my luggage.
We dined together in the restaurant. Colonel Race did not appear, butSir Eustace and Pagett were at their table in the window. Pagett left thetable halfway39 through the meal, which annoyed me, as I had planned tosay good-bye to him. However, doubtless Sir Eustace would do as well. Iwent over to him when I had finished.
“Good-bye, Sir Eustace,” I said. “I’m off tonight to Durban.”
Sir Eustace sighed heavily.
“So I heard. You wouldn’t like me to come with you, would you?”
“I should love it.”
“Nice girl. Sure you won’t change your mind and come and look forlions in Rhodesia?”
“Quite sure.”
“He must be a very handsome fellow,” said Sir Eustace plaintively40.
“Some young whippersnapper in Durban, I suppose, who puts my maturecharms completely in the shade. By the way, Pagett’s going down in thecar in a minute or two. He could take you to the station.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” I said hastily. “Mrs. Blair and I have got our owntaxi ordered.”
To go down with Guy Pagett was the last thing I wanted! Sir Eustacelooked at me attentively41.
“I don’t believe you like Pagett. I don’t blame you. Of all the officious, in-terfering asses42 — going about with the air of a martyr43, and doingeverything he can to annoy and upset me!”
“What has he done now?” I inquired with some curiosity.
“He’s got hold of a secretary for me. You never saw such a woman!
Forty, if she’s a day, wears pince-nez and sensible boots and an air of briskefficiency that will be the death of me. A regular slab-faced woman.”
“Won’t she hold your hand?”
“I devoutly44 hope not!” exclaimed Sir Eustace. “That would be the laststraw. Well, good-bye, liquid eyes. If I shoot a lion I shan’t give you theskin—after the base way you’ve deserted45 me.”
He squeezed my hand warmly and we parted. Suzanne was waiting forme in the hall. She was to come down to see me off.
“Let’s start at once,” I said hastily, and motioned to the man to get a taxi.
Then a voice behind me made me start:
“Excuse me, Miss Beddingfeld, but I’m just going down in a car. I candrop you and Mrs. Blair at the station.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said hastily. “But there’s no need to trouble you. I—”
“No trouble at all, I assure you. Put the luggage in, porter.”
I was helpless. I might have protested further, but a slight warningnudge from Suzanne urged me to be on my guard.
“Thank you, Mr. Pagett,” I said coldly.
We all got into the car. As we raced down the road into the town, Iracked my brains for something to say. In the end Pagett himself broke thesilence.
“I have secured a very capable secretary for Sir Eustace,” he observed.
“Miss Pettigrew.”
“He wasn’t exactly raving46 about her just now,” I remarked.
Pagett looked at me coldly.
“She is a proficient47 shorthand-typist,” he said repressively.
We pulled up in front of the station. Here surely he would leave us. Iturned with outstretched hand—but no.
“I’ll come and see you off. It’s just eight o’clock, your train goes in aquarter of an hour.”
He gave efficient directions to porters. I stood helpless, not daring tolook at Suzanne. The man suspected. He was determined48 to make surethat I did go by the train. And what could I do? Nothing. I saw myself, in aquarter of an hour’s time, steaming out of the station with Pagett plantedon the platform waving me adieu. He had turned the tables on meadroitly. His manner towards me had changed, moreover. It was full of anuneasy geniality49 which sat ill upon him, and which nauseated50 me. Theman was an oily hypocrite. First he tried to murder me, and now he paidme compliments! Did he imagine for one minute that I hadn’t recognizedhim that night on the boat? No, it was a pose, a pose which he forced me toacquiesce in, his tongue in his cheek all the while.
Helpless as a sheep, I moved along under his expert directions. My lug-gage was piled in my sleeping compartment—I had a two-berth one to my-self. It was twelve minutes past eight. In three minutes the train wouldstart.
But Pagett had reckoned without Suzanne.
“It will be a terribly hot journey, Anne,” she said suddenly. “Especiallygoing through the Karoo tomorrow. You’ve got some eau-de-Cologne orlavender water with you, haven’t you?”
My cue was plain.
“Oh, dear,” I cried. “I left my eau-de-Cologne on the dressing51 table at thehotel.”
Suzanne’s habit of command served her well. She turned imperiously toPagett.
“Mr. Pagett. Quick. You’ve just time. There’s a chemist almost oppositethe station. Anne must have some eau-de-Cologne.”
He hesitated, but Suzanne’s imperative52 manner was too much for him.
She is a born autocrat53. He went. Suzanne followed him with her eyes tillhe disappeared.
“Quick, Anne, get out the other side—in case he hasn’t really gone but iswatching us from the end of the platform. Never mind your luggage. Youcan telegraph about that tomorrow. Oh, if only the train starts on time!”
I opened the gate on the opposite side to the platform and climbeddown. Nobody was observing me. I could just see Suzanne standing54 whereI had left her, looking up at the train and apparently55 chatting to me at thewindow. A whistle blew, the train began to draw out. Then I heard feet ra-cing furiously up the platform. I withdrew to the shadow of a friendlybookstall and watched.
Suzanne turned from waving her handkerchief to the retreating train.
“Too late, Mr. Pagett,” she said cheerfully. “She’s gone. Is that the eau-de-Cologne? What a pity we didn’t think of it sooner!”
They passed not far from me on their way out of the station. Guy Pagettwas extremely hot. He had evidently run all the way to the chemist andback.
“Shall I get you a taxi, Mrs. Blair?”
Suzanne did not fail in her role.
“Yes, please. Can’t I give you a lift back? Have you much to do for Sir Eu-stace? Dear me, I wish Anne Beddingfeld was coming with us tomorrow. Idon’t like the idea of a young girl like that travelling off to Durban all byherself. But she was set upon it. Some little attraction there, I fancy—”
They passed out of earshot. Clever Suzanne. She had saved me.
I allowed a minute or two to elapse and then I too made my way out ofthe station, almost colliding as I did so with a man—an unpleasant-lookingman with a nose disproportionately big for his face.
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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bind
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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stewardess
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makeup
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perfectly
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reassuring
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awakened
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refreshing
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touching
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murmurs
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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colossal
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impudence
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concealed
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gallantly
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thoroughly
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obstinate
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doorway
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melancholy
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memorandum
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chamber
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malicious
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tiresome
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entirely
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villain
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swelling
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imbued
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sarcastically
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confide
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clinching
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yearning
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toupee
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heartily
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halfway
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plaintively
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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asses
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martyr
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devoutly
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deserted
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raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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proficient
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| adj.熟练的，精通的；n.能手，专家 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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nauseated
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| adj.作呕的，厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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52
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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53
autocrat
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| n.独裁者；专横的人 | |
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54
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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55
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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