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Therefore, misled by the dot as you were, he attempts to reach Cabin 17 at one oā€™clock on the 22nd, having previously tried to get possession of the cabin through Pagett. On the way there somebody knifes himā€”ā€”ā€

ā€œWho?ā€ I interpolated.

ā€œChichester. Yes, it all fits in. Cable to Lord Nasby that you have found ā€˜The Man in the Brown Suit,ā€™ and your fortuneā€™s made, Anne!ā€

ā€œThere are several things youā€™ve overlooked.ā€

ā€œWhat things? Rayburnā€™s got a scar, I knowā€”but a scar can be faked easily enough. Heā€™s the right height and build. Whatā€™s the description of a head with which you pulverized them at Scotland Yard?ā€

I trembled. Suzanne was a well-educated, well-read woman, but I prayed that she might not be conversant with technical terms of anthropology.

ā€œDolichocephalic,ā€ I said lightly.

Suzanne looked doubtful.

ā€œWas that it?ā€

ā€œYes. Long-headed, you know. A head whose width is less than 75 per cent. of its length,ā€ I explained fluently.

There was a pause. I was just beginning to breathe freely when Suzanne said suddenly:

ā€œWhatā€™s the opposite?ā€

ā€œWhat do you meanā€”the opposite?ā€

ā€œWell, there must be an opposite. What do you call the heads whose breadth is more than 75 per cent. of their length.ā€

ā€œBrachycephalic,ā€ I murmured unwillingly.

ā€œThatā€™s it. I thought that was what you said.ā€

ā€œDid I? It was a slip of the tongue. I meant dolichocephalic,ā€ I said with all the assurance I could muster.

Suzanne looked at me searchingly. Then she laughed.

ā€œYou lie very well, Gipsy girl. But it will save time and trouble now if you tell me all about it.ā€

ā€œThereā€™s nothing to tell,ā€ I said unwillingly.

ā€œIsnā€™t there?ā€ said Suzanne gently.

ā€œI suppose I shall have to tell you,ā€ I said slowly. ā€œIā€™m not ashamed of it. You canā€™t be ashamed of something that justā€”happens to you. Thatā€™s what he did. He was detestableā€”rude and ungratefulā€”but that I think I understand. Itā€™s like a dog thatā€™s been chained upā€”or badly treatedā€”itā€™ll bite anybody. Thatā€™s what he was likeā€”bitter and snarling. I donā€™t know why I careā€”but I do. I care horribly. Just seeing him has turned my whole life upside-down. I love him. I want him. Iā€™ll walk all over Africa barefoot till I find him, and Iā€™ll make him care for me. Iā€™d die for him. Iā€™d work for him, slave for him, steal for him, even beg or borrow for him! Thereā€”now you know!ā€

Suzanne looked at me for a long time.

ā€œYouā€™re very un-English, Gipsy girl,ā€ she said at last. ā€œThereā€™s not a scrap of the sentimental about you. Iā€™ve never met any one who was at once so practical and so passionate. I shall never care for any one like thatā€”mercifully for meā€”and yetā€”and yet I envy you, Gipsy girl. Itā€™s something to be able to care. Most people canā€™t. But what a mercy for your little doctor man that you didnā€™t marry him. He doesnā€™t sound at all the sort of individual who would enjoy keeping high explosive in the house! So thereā€™s to be no cabling to Lord Nasby?ā€

I shook my head.

ā€œAnd yet you believe him to be innocent?ā€

ā€œI also believe that innocent people can be hanged.ā€

ā€œHm! yes. But, Anne dear, you can face facts, face them now. In spite of all you say, he may have murdered this woman.ā€

ā€œNo,ā€ I said. ā€œHe didnā€™t.ā€

ā€œThatā€™s sentiment.ā€

ā€œNo, it isnā€™t. He might have killed her. He may even have followed her there with that idea in his mind. But he wouldnā€™t take a bit of black cord and strangle her with it. If heā€™d done it, he would have strangled her with his bare hands.ā€

Suzanne gave a little shiver. Her eyes narrowed appreciatively.

ā€œHm! Anne, I am beginning to see why you find this young man of yours so attractive!ā€

CHAPTER XVI

I got an opportunity of tackling Colonel Race on the following morning. The auction of the sweep had just been concluded, and we walked up and down the deck together.

ā€œHowā€™s the gipsy this morning? Longing for land and her caravan?ā€

I shook my head.

ā€œNow that the sea is behaving so nicely, I feel I should like to stay on it for ever and ever.ā€

ā€œWhat enthusiasm!ā€

ā€œWell, isnā€™t it lovely this morning?ā€

We leant together over the rail. It was a glassy calm. The sea looked as though it had been oiled. There were great patches of colour on it, blue, pale green, emerald, purple and deep orange, like a cubist picture. There was an occasional flash of silver that showed the flying fish. The air was moist and warm, almost sticky. Its breath was like a perfumed caress.

ā€œThat was a very interesting story you told us last night,ā€ I said, breaking the silence.

ā€œWhich one?ā€

ā€œThe one about the diamonds.ā€

ā€œI believe women are always interested in diamonds.ā€

ā€œOf course we are. By the way, what became of the other young man? You said there were two of them.ā€

ā€œYoung Lucas? Well, of course, they couldnā€™t prosecute one without the other, so he went scot-free too.ā€

ā€œAnd what happened to himā€”eventually, I mean. Does any one know?ā€

Colonel Race was looking straight ahead of him out to sea. His face was as devoid of expression as a mask, but I had an idea that he did not like my questions. Nevertheless, he replied readily enough:

ā€œHe went to the War and acquitted himself bravely. He was reported Missing and Woundedā€”believed killed.ā€

That told me what I wanted to know. I asked no more. But more than ever I wondered how much Colonel Race knew. The part he was playing in all this puzzled me.

One other thing I did. That was to interview the night steward. With a little financial encouragement, I soon got him to talk.

ā€œThe lady wasnā€™t frightened, was she, miss? It seemed a harmless sort of joke. A bet, or so I understood.ā€

I got it all out of him, little by little. On the voyage from Cape Town to England one of the passengers had handed him a roll of films with instructions that they were to be dropped onto the bunk in Cabin 71 at 1 a.m. on January 22nd on the outward journey. A lady would be occupying the cabin, and the affair was described as a bet. I gathered that the steward had been liberally paid for his part in the transaction. The ladyā€™s name had not been mentioned. Of course, as Mrs. Blair went straight into Cabin 71, interviewing the purser as soon as she got on board, it never occurred to the steward that she was not the lady in question. The name of the passenger who had arranged the transaction was Carton, and his description tallied exactly with that of the man killed on the Tube.

So one mystery, at all events, was cleared up, and the diamonds were obviously the key to the whole situation.

Those last days on the Kilmorden seemed to pass very quickly. As we drew nearer and nearer to Cape Town, I was forced to consider carefully my future plans. There were so many people I wanted to keep an eye on. Mr. Chichester, Sir Eustace and his secretary, andā€”yes, Colonel Race! What was I to do about it? Naturally it was Chichester who had first claim on my attention. Indeed, I was on the point of reluctantly dismissing Sir Eustace and Mr. Pagett from their position of suspicious characters, when a chance conversation awakened fresh doubts in my mind.

I had not forgotten Mr. Pagettā€™s incomprehensible emotion at the mention of Florence. On the last evening on board we were all sitting on deck and Sir Eustace addressed a perfectly innocent question to his secretary. I forget exactly what it was, something to do with railway delays in Italy, but at once I noticed that Mr. Pagett was displaying the same uneasiness which had caught my attention before. When Sir Eustace claimed Mrs. Blair for a dance, I quickly moved into the chair next to the secretary. I was determined to get to the bottom of the matter.

ā€œI have always longed to go to Italy,ā€ I said. ā€œAnd especially to Florence. Didnā€™t you enjoy it very much there?ā€

ā€œIndeed I did, Miss Beddingfeld. If you will excuse me, there is some correspondence of Sir Eustaceā€™s thatā€”ā€”ā€

I took hold of him firmly by his coat sleeve.

ā€œOh, you mustnā€™t run away!ā€ I cried with the skittish accent of an elderly dowager. ā€œIā€™m sure Sir Eustace wouldnā€™t like you to leave me alone with no one to talk to. You never seem to want to talk about Florence. Oh, Mr. Pagett, I believe you have a guilty secret!ā€

I still had my hand on his arm, and I could feel the sudden start he gave.

ā€œNot at all, Miss Beddingfeld, not at all,ā€ he said earnestly. ā€œI should be only too delighted to tell you all about it, but there really are some cablesā€”ā€”ā€

ā€œOh, Mr. Pagett, what a thin pretence. I shall tell Sir Eustaceā€”ā€”ā€

I got no further. He gave another jump. The manā€™s nerves seemed in a shocking state.

ā€œWhat is it you want to know?ā€

The resigned martyrdom of his tone made me smile inwardly.

ā€œOh, everything! The pictures, the olive treesā€”ā€”ā€

I paused, rather at a loss myself.

ā€œI suppose you speak Italian?ā€ I resumed.

ā€œNot a word, unfortunately. But of course, with hall porters andā€”erā€”guides.ā€

ā€œExactly,ā€ I hastened to reply. ā€œAnd which was your favourite picture?ā€

ā€œOh, erā€”the Madonnaā€”erā€”Raphael, you know.ā€

ā€œDear old Florence,ā€ I murmured sentimentally. ā€œSo picturesque on the banks of the Arno. A beautiful river. And the Duomo, you remember the Duomo?ā€

ā€œOf course, of course.ā€

ā€œAnother beautiful river, is it not?ā€ I hazarded. ā€œAlmost more beautiful than the Arno?ā€

ā€œDecidedly so, I should say.ā€

Emboldened by the success of my little trap, I proceeded further. But there was little room for doubt. Mr. Pagett delivered himself into my hands with every word he uttered. The man had never been in Florence in his life.

But, if not in Florence, where had he been? In England? Actually in England at the time of the Mill House Mystery? I decided on a bold step.

ā€œThe curious thing is,ā€ I said, ā€œthat I fancied I had seen you before somewhere. But I must be mistakenā€”since you were in Florence at the time. And yetā€”ā€”ā€

I studied him frankly. There was a hunted look in his eyes. He passed his tongue over his dry lips.

ā€œWhereā€”erā€”whereā€”ā€”ā€

ā€œā€”did I think I had seen you?ā€ I finished for him. ā€œAt Marlow. You know Marlow? Why, of course, how stupid of me, Sir Eustace has a house there!ā€

But with an incoherent muttered excuse, my victim rose and fled.

That night I invaded Suzanneā€™s cabin, alight with excitement.

ā€œYou see, Suzanne,ā€ I urged, as I finished my tale, ā€œhe was in England, in Marlow, at the time of the murder. Are you so sure now that ā€˜The Man in the Brown Suitā€™ is guilty.ā€

ā€œIā€™m sure of one thing,ā€ said Suzanne, twinkling unexpectedly.

ā€œWhatā€™s that?ā€

ā€œThat ā€˜The Man in the Brown Suitā€™ is better looking than poor Mr. Pagett. No, Anne, donā€™t get cross. I was only teasing. Sit down here. Joking apart, I think youā€™ve made a very important discovery. Up till now, weā€™ve considered Pagett as having an alibi. Now we know he hasnā€™t.ā€

ā€œExactly,ā€ I said. ā€œWe must keep an eye on him.ā€

ā€œAs well as everybody else,ā€ she said ruefully. ā€œWell, thatā€™s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. Thatā€”and finance. No, donā€™t stick your nose in the air. I know you are absurdly proud and independent, but youā€™ve got to listen to horse sense over this. Weā€™re partnersā€”I wouldnā€™t offer you a penny because I liked you, or because youā€™re a friendless girlā€”what I want is a thrill, and Iā€™m prepared to pay for it. Weā€™re going into this together regardless of expense. To begin with youā€™ll come with me to the Mount Nelson Hotel at my expense, and weā€™ll plan out our campaign.ā€

We argued the point. In the end I gave in. But I didnā€™t like it. I wanted to do the thing on my own.

ā€œThatā€™s settled,ā€ said Suzanne at last, getting up and stretching herself with a big yawn. ā€œIā€™m exhausted with my own eloquence. Now then, let us discuss our victims. Mr. Chichester is going on to Durban. Sir Eustace

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