The Man in the Brown Suit - Agatha Christie (free novel 24 TXT) 📗

except that I found you, caught in the fork of a tree, unconscious and with a badly wrenched arm.”

“Where was the tree?”

“Overhanging the ravine. But for your clothes catching on the branches, you would infallibly have been dashed to pieces.”

I shuddered. Then a thought struck me.

“You say you didn’t know I was there. What about the note then?”

“What note?”

“The note you sent me, asking me to meet you in the clearing.”

He stared at me.

“I sent no note.”

I felt myself flushing up to the roots of my hair. Fortunately he did not seem to notice.

“How did you come to be on the spot in such a marvellous manner?” I asked in as nonchalant a manner as I could assume. “And what are you doing in this part of the world, anyway?”

“I live here,” he said simply.

“On this island?”

“Yes, I came here after the war. Sometimes I take parties from the hotel out in my boat, but it costs me very little to live, and mostly I do as I please.”

“You live here all alone?”

“I am not pining for society, I assure you,” he replied coldly.

“I am sorry to have inflicted mine upon you,” I retorted, “but I seem to have had very little to say in the matter.”

To my surprise his eyes twinkled a little.

“None whatever. I slung you across my shoulders like a sack of coal and carried you to my boat. Quite like a primitive man of the Stone Age.”

“But for a different reason,” I put in.

He flushed this time, a deep burning blush. The tan of his face was suffused.

“But you haven’t told me how you came to be wandering about so conveniently for me?” I said hastily, to cover his confusion.

“I couldn’t sleep. I was restless⁠—disturbed⁠—had the feeling something was going to happen. In the end I took the boat and came ashore and tramped down towards the falls. I was just at the head of the palm gully when I heard you scream.”

“Why didn’t you get help from the hotel instead of carting me all the way here?” I asked.

He flushed again.

“I suppose it seems an unpardonable liberty to you⁠—but I don’t think that even now you realize your danger! You think I should have informed your friends? Pretty friends, who allowed you to be decoyed out to death. No, I swore to myself that I’d take better care of you than anyone else could. Not a soul comes to this island. I got old Batani, whom I cured of a fever once, to come and look after you. She’s loyal. She’ll never say a word. I could keep you here for months and no one would ever know.”

I could keep you here for months and no one would ever know! How some words please one!

“You did quite right,” I said quietly. “And I shall not send word to anyone. A day or so more anxiety doesn’t make much difference. It’s not as though they were my own people. They’re only acquaintances really⁠—even Suzanne. And whoever wrote that note must have known⁠—a great deal. It was not the work of an outsider.”

I managed to mention the note this time without blushing at all.

“If you would be guided by me⁠ ⁠…” he said, hesitating.

“I don’t expect I shall be,” I answered candidly. “But there’s no harm in hearing.”

“Do you always do what you like, Miss Beddingfeld?”

“Usually,” I replied cautiously. To anyone else I would have said “always.”

“I pity your husband,” he said unexpectedly.

“You needn’t,” I retorted. “I shouldn’t dream of marrying anyone unless I was madly in love with them. And of course there is really nothing a woman enjoys so much as doing all the things she doesn’t like for the sake of someone she does like. And the more self-willed she is, the more she likes it.”

“I’m afraid I disagree with you. The boot is on the other leg as a rule.” He spoke with a slight sneer.

“Exactly,” I cried eagerly. “And that’s why there are so many unhappy marriages. It’s all the fault of the men. Either they give way to their women⁠—and then the women despise them, or else they are utterly selfish, insist on their own way and never say ‘thank you.’ Successful husbands make their wives do just what they want, and then make a frightful fuss of them for doing it. Women like to be mastered, but they hate not to have their sacrifices appreciated. On the other hand, men don’t really appreciate women who are nice to them all the time. When I am married, I shall be a devil most of the time, but every now and then, when my husband least expects it, I shall show him what a perfect angel I can be!”

Harry laughed outright.

“What a cat and dog life you will lead.”

“Lovers always fight,” I assured him. “Because they don’t understand each other. And by the time they do understand each other they aren’t in love any more.”

“Does the reverse hold true? Are people who fight each other always lovers?”

“I⁠—I don’t know,” I said, momentarily confused.

He turned away to the fireplace.

“Like some more soup?” he asked in a casual tone.

“Yes, please. I’m so hungry that I could eat a hippopotamus.”

“That’s good.”

He busied himself with the fire; I watched.

“When I can get off the couch, I’ll cook for you,” I promised.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about cooking.”

“I can warm up things out of tins as well as you can,” I retorted, pointing to a row of tins on the mantelpiece.

“Touché,” he said, and laughed.

His whole face changed when he laughed. It became boyish, happy⁠—a different personality.

I enjoyed my soup. As I ate it I reminded him that he had not, after all, tendered me his advice.

“Ah, yes, what I was going to say was this. If I were you I would stay quietly perdu here until you are quite strong again. Your enemies will believe you dead. They will hardly be surprised at not finding the body. It would have been dashed to pieces