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    The Man in the Brown Suit: The Official Authorized Edition
    The Man in the Brown Suit: The Official Authorized Edition
    The Man in the Brown Suit: The Official Authorized Edition
    Ebook325 pages5 hours

    The Man in the Brown Suit: The Official Authorized Edition

    By Agatha Christie

    3.5/5

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    The Man in the Brown Suit is Agatha Christie at her best, as a young woman makes a dangerous decision to investigate a shocking “accidental” death she witnesses at a London tube station.

    Pretty, young Anne came to London looking for adventure. In fact, adventure comes looking for her—and finds her immediately at Hyde Park Corner tube station. Anne is present on the platform when a thin man, reeking of mothballs, loses his balance and is electrocuted on the rails.

    The Scotland Yard verdict is accidental death. But Anne is not satisfied. After all, who was the man in the brown suit who examined the body? And why did he race off, leaving a cryptic message behind: "17-122 Kilmorden Castle"?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateFeb 10, 2010
    ISBN9780062006653
    Author

    Agatha Christie

    Agatha Christie is known throughout the world as the Queen of Crime. Her books have sold over a billion copies in English with another billion in over 70 foreign languages. She is the most widely published author of all time and in any language, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. She is the author of 80 crime novels and short story collections, 20 plays, and six novels written under the name of Mary Westmacott.

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    Reviews for The Man in the Brown Suit

    3.5/5

    853 ratings31 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Ann Beddingfield saw a stranger fall to death on the rails of the Underground. A doctor in a brown suit pronounced him dead and vanished into a crowd. A link to a famous ballerina murder, a fortune in diamonds and blackmail leads to an attempt on Anne's life. An isolated mansion holds the solution to the bizarre mystery for this young sleuth. Another great classic from the Queen of Crime!
    • 3/5
      From London to South Africa, a young Englishwoman – eager for adventure – follows a trail of strange clues, only to find herself in a web of theft, lies and political intrigue.

      One of Christie’s first novels, "The Man in the Brown Suit" is clearly in the thriller genre, and – like almost all of her thrillers – it ultimately becomes a morass of spy-story ideas that don’t quite gel together. However, unlike most of them, this book is attractive and engaging, with an enjoyable heroine in Anne Beddingfield, and a solid supporting turn by Colonel Race, who would later lead the cast of "Sparkling Cyanide" before returning for two superlative Poirot novels.
    • 5/5
      I love Agatha Christie and this book is not an exception! Miss Beddingfield's narrative is witty and very funny. Another enjoyable read. (Pity the movie made of it, with Stephany Zimbalist as Miss Beddingfield, diverged so much from the original story.)
    • 4/5
      A good book by Christie that doesn't fit what became her traditional formula. It alternates well between a first person account by Anne and the journal/diary of Sir Edgar. There is even a little love-interest typically absent in novels Christie wrote under her own name.
    • 5/5
      I've been rereading all my Agatha Christie books while I'm recovering from surgery. Anne is a great heroine. After her father dies, Anne is tired of keeping house and ready for an adventure. So she spends her inheritance on a ticket to South Africa. She gets entangled in a mystery involving stolen diamonds and a master criminal. I remember being quite surprised by the identity of the criminal the first time I read this book, but this time round it was just good fun to be swept up in the story.
    • 3/5
      This isn't a great book in literary terms, and Agatha Christie certainly wrote better, more mature works. Nonetheless, this is one of my favourites. I like to think of it as the 'mashed potato of novels; it makes me feel good, especially when I'm a little under the weather.
    • 2/5
      This was interesting, as it was one of her very early efforts. Though the dialogue was outlandish at times, the heroine unnatural and the romance and adventure laid on a bit thick, there were some solid characters and the mystery was intriguing and well thought out. An enjoyable read, but not necessary to repeat.
    • 4/5
      This Agatha Christie's 4th novel, and as she did in the first 3, you can see her experimenting with a different style of murder mystery.In the Prologue, in the dressing room of a Russian dancer in Paris, through a meeting she has with another Russian, we learn 3 things. Firstly neither of them are Russian. Secondly they have both been working for an arch criminal who is on the point of retirement. The "Colonel" has, even during the First World War, organised a series of "stupendous" coups including jewel robberies, forgery, espionage, assassination, and sabotage. Thirdly we learn the story of the theft of some South American diamonds before the war. The dancer knows where these diamonds are and intends to exchange them for some of the "Colonel's" accumulated wealth.THE MAN IN THE BROWN SUIT is narrated by two characters. The first, whom we meet in Chapter 1, is Anne Beddingfield. It is she who witnesses the death of a strange-smelling man when he falls off an Underground platform and is electrocuted on the rails. She also sees a man dressed in a brown suit who pretends to be doctor, inspects the body and pronounces the man dead, and then rushes away, dropping a scrap of paper with a cryptic message on it as he does so.The second narrator is Sir Eustace Pedler MP who keeps a diary. We begin reading extracts from his diary in chapter 8. Inevitably the paths of the two narrators converge. A young woman dies in a house that Sir Eustace owns called Mill House, and he is forced to return from abroad. He is then asked by the British government to travel to South Africa, where he has business interests, to deliver a message in person to the government of Rhodesia.After that the setting, with all the characters we've met so far, and a few more besides, moves to a ship going to South Africa, and then the action moves to South Africa itself.I have my reservations about THE MAN IN THE BROWN SUIT.I think Agatha Christie tried to move from a murder mystery to a thriller with connections to the world of organised crime, unionism, espionage and romance. The result is a longer book with a lot of time lapses in it, caused mainly by the distances between locations, and the nature of what happens to the first narrator Anne Beddingfield. Some of the scenarios don't quite work and the result is confusion rather than a genuine puzzle for the reader to solv.Christie tried also to show her awareness of political events in South Africa, and we get occasional mentions of General Smuts thrown into the mix.And finally, it is a plot where definitions of good and bad are blurred, and in the long run evil goes unpunished.The book sees the first appearance of Colonel Race; he later appears in Cards on the Table, Sparkling Cyanide, and Death on the Nile.The Wikipedia entry gives a lot of plot details, reactions of reviewers at the time, including a comment about the fact that she had not used Hercule Poirot, but had in fact introduced another "detective" in the form of Colonel Race.
    • 3/5
      The Man in the Brown Suit begins with Anne Beddingfeld, the daughter of a professor who longs for adventure. She spends her day trying to avoid creditors and longing to meet a nice young man. When her father dies, she takes an opportunity to go to London, where she witnesses the death of a man. Finding a piece of paper dropped at the scene, she believes the death to be linked to that of the murder of a young woman at the house of Sir Eustace Pedlar. With only eighty five pounds to her name, her deductions ignored by the police, she boards a ship bound for South Africa. On board she meets not only Sir Eustace Pedlar but his secretary Guy Pagett, society beauty Suzanne Blair, the enigmatic Colonel Race and the attractive Harry Rayburn. If she can find out who the man in the brown suit is, seen leaving Sir Pedlar's house shortly after the murder, she hopes for a job as a journalist.

      The story starts off at a slow pace, but it builds momentum with multiple deaths, stolen jewels, an old injustice, and kidnappings. Published in 1924 it was actually written in serialized form as “Anne the Adventuress”. I'm not a huge Christie fan but I did enjoy the quirky characters, lively dialogue and entertaining adventure story.

      Overall, The Man in the Brown Suit is not the greatest mystery book, nor the greatest Agatha Christie book. It is, however, a very enjoyable addition to her highly acclaimed body of work and any Christie fan is bound to enjoy it.
    • 4/5
      Always enjoy an Agatha Christie mystery! Thought Anne Beddingfield was a fantastic heroine, can't wait to read the Miss Marple books and the other books narrated by a female.
    • 3/5
      What can you say in a review about Agatha Christie?? Of course I liked it. I like nearly everything she wrote. However, I did find this book to be different from some of her other books. Usually Christie springs the romance on you at the end of the book - suddenly these two people discover their love and decide to get married. However, in this book the romance goes through almost the entire plot. And of course there is always a dramatic twist at the end of a Christie story. In this book, though, the plot twists didn't surprise me so much. I kinda saw them coming. ;) I wasn't so sure if I liked the romance at the end or not. A part of me was hoping she would end up with a different man. But I enjoyed reading this, as I do all her writings.
    • 4/5
      This is Christie’s fourth published book and one can see a rabid maturation of her writing technique. After returning, in her third book, to a story built around a detective, she goes back in this book to the “romp” style of her second book. This time, however, the romp is executed with much more panache than in the first case. The Man in the Brown Suit has a plot as contrived and coincidence strewn as The Secret Adversary but is more dependent on the cliches and tropes of literature than those of films imported from the United States. At the same time the book is paced more like a movie than was TSA with changes of venue and actions sequences to distract the reader from paying too much attention to the actual plot. Christie also manages to make the “real” villain amusing and likeable which means that even the many readers who twig to what is going on fairly early in the game will still find the story a fun ride.It is also interesting to see a book in which the woman is clearly an “action" protagonist not someone wracked by sensibility. Yes, Anne’s life is saved more than once by the mysterious man to whom she is attracted, but Anne also plays an important role in saving his life. And though he may be stronger and land a meaner punch one ends the book with the suspicion that she is the smarter of the two--and that she knows it. It is also enjoyable to find a book which shows two smart women enjoying a real friendship not based on their common relationship to a man.
    • 5/5
      Another classic mystery from Dame Agatha. I loved her wit and humor placed in this one. My favorite character and point of view in the story was Sir Eustace Pedlar. He played the stereotypical bumbling English gentleman, but you could always tell there was some intelligence there behind it. I listened to the audio performance, and I must admit I think the narrator helped the story along. She seemed to know each character and knew how to portray them emotionally even if she couldn't quite get them voice-wise.
    • 3/5
      This is the first non series that Christie wrote. Published in 1924 it takes place in 1920. A feisty young girl raised in a sheltered way catering to her scholarly father has the whole world before her after her father dies but she has made no plans until she is present at the death of a man who falls on the third rail in the subway. A man in a brown suit claiming to be a doctor tries to resuscitate the man but rushes off dropping a mysterious piece of paper.

      Our heroine Anne Beddingfeld grabs the piece of paper and starts on an adventure of a lifetime.
      Anne is an unusual girl for the era in someways because she is educated, fearless and intrepid. On the other hand she longs for romance and all the things others girls of the time want. A man, family and a home.
    • 4/5
      Soon after the death of her anthropologist father, young Anne Beddingfeld witnesses the accidental death of a stranger in the tube station. She also realizes that the doctor who pushes his way into the crowd to examine the dead man doesn't seem to know anything about basic anatomy, which makes Anne follow the fraud and starts her adventure. Determined to prove that she had witnessed a crime of some kind, Anne boards a ship for South Africa, which is on the brink of revolution. Aboard, she becomes friends with a famous socialite, meets Member of Parliament Sir Eustace Pedlar and his three secretaries, Secret Service man Colonel Race, and falls in love with a wanted criminal.This is one of Christie's most fun and most active. Anne's thirst for adventure has her fighting, falling down cliffs, being chased through the city and receiving proposals. If you want to sample a Christie that is not her typical English locked room mystery, this is a good one.
    • 3/5
      In another early Christie outing, we get yet another effort that is as much a thriller as it is a detective story or mystery. It's the only canon appearance of Anne Beddingfield, a young English woman who, after her father's death, gives in to her desire to seek adventure. In her case, it starts with a death in a London tube station and leads her to South Africa and a diamond caper. It's also the earliest appearance of Colonel Race, whose interest in Beddingfield is not reciprocated. He gets over it, though, and goes on to become pals with a guy named Hercule Poirot.
    • 3/5
      This is unlike any Agatha Christie I have ever read. It is a variation of the “damsel in distress” stories that I used to devour in my younger years—early [[Mary Stewart]] and Victoria Holt come to mind. It features a young and plucky heroine with intelligence who doesn’t always stop to think before rushing in where even fools would fear to tread. It is written in an interesting style with two POVs. I was pretty sure who the “villain” was fairly early on and certain of my conclusion well before the end, but there were enough other questions to be answered to keep me interested and two real surprises. It was a perfect “light” read when I was feeling puny. Recommended for fans of the genre.
    • 4/5
      The Man in the Brown Suit is a mystery novel, but it also reads like a grand adventure. There's a murder to be solved for sure, but there's also espionage, a perilous sea voyage, diamond smuggling, kidnapping, a journey across Africa, and romance. Looking back, I'm amazed at how much Agatha Christie was able to fit into the novel. And yet, it didn't seemed forced or crammed in.Here's how the publisher describes the book:Pretty, young Anne came to London looking for adventure. In fact, adventure comes looking for her—and finds her immediately at Hyde Park Corner tube station. Anne is present on the platform when a thin man, reeking of mothballs, loses his balance and is electrocuted on the rails.The Scotland Yard verdict is accidental death. But Anne is not satisfied. After all, who was the man in the brown suit who examined the body? And why did he race off, leaving a cryptic message behind: "17-122 Kilmorden Castle"?Of all the Agatha Christie books I've read, this is by far the most adventurous. Anne Beddingfield is a fun character to follow, and the plot has several twists that took me by surprise. Another solid story from the Mistress of Mystery.
    • 3/5
      Typical Agatha Christie. Set in the 1920s it's full of 'plucky girls' and 'rugged, handsome men'. All very dated now, but typical of the period.

      This is neither a Poirot, Marple nor Tommy & Tuppence novel, but a standalone story and zips along at the usual sort of pace. Some of the clues are obvious, some less so and there's a dusting of romance in there that you don't usually get with her novels.

      It was a quick easy read, which is what I was looking for, but I suspect I'm getting a little jaded with all the Agatha Christies and will need to give them a rest for a while.
    • 4/5
      This book was directly inspried by an Empire Tour taken by Agatha and Arthur Christie, and colonial South Africa and Rhodesia take centre stage in the novel. Its also surpising that this was first published in 1924 as its heroine, Anne Beddingfield, is depicted as a modern, liberated, adventerous woman, who falls in love with a man who is best described as a combination of Heathcliff, Rochester and Darcy. This is an adventure story rather than a detective story and really is a ripping yarn.
    • 1/5
      I’ll get it off my chest right away: The Man in the Brown Suit is a mess.It pains me (like a jewel-hilted dagger in the back) to say this but Agatha Christie’s 1924 novel is below sub-par. The story seems cobbled together from pulp espionage novels, True Romance confessionals, and episodes of The Perils of Pauline. You can almost see the threads stitching together this patchwork quilt.The plot is such a jumbled mess that I’m finding it hard to come up with a proper summary.It all starts when Anne Beddingfeld—a poor, friendless but ever-chipper girl whose “life had such a dreadful sameness”—witnesses a man fall to his death at a London train station. From there—with the flimsiest of coincidences involving an overcoat that smells of mothballs, a dropped note and a fake doctor—Anne is off on a series of adventures which take her from London to Africa in the turn of a page.As the estimable Bedside Bathtub and Armchair Companion to Agatha Christie puts it, this is “a tale of international intrigue, diamond thefts, murder, shipboard shenanigans, bomb-throwing revolutionaries, island idylls, and at least three marriage proposals.”Throw in a kitchen sink and you’ve pretty much got all of The Man in the Brown Suit.All is not completely lost with this novel; there are still flashes of Agatha’s trademark wit and economical way with words—especially in her descriptions of characters. The shifty Guy Pagett, secretary to Sir Eustace Pedler is described thusly: “The only amusing thing about the fellow is his face. He has the face of a fourteenth-century poisoner—the sort of man the Borgias got to do their odd jobs for them.”But then it settles back into dull briskness (or brisk dullness I can’t quite be sure).I’ll chalk this one off as an early mistake of Agatha’s. This was only her fourth published book and she was testing the limits of her creativity—trying to find that balance between devising a formula for brain-snapping puzzle plots and a speedy, efficient style which would allow her to churn out books quickly enough to pay the bills.The Man in the Brown Suit (which was also called, variously, The Mystery of the Mill House and Anna the Adventuress) missed the mark by a mile. Die-hard fans will always find something to love about every Christie novel, but for this reader, I’d rather reach for a Poirot or Marple. Heck, I’d even settle for Tommy and Tuppence on a bad day.One small note of interest: in the center of my paperback copy of The Man in the Brown Suit (a 1962 Dell which once sold for 40 cents), there is a neat hole running through the entire volume. It seems a previous reader fired a BB gun at the book. I can certainly understand why. The Man in the Brown Suit is just another Christie victim itself.
    • 2/5
      A young woman semi-witnesses a man back-up, stumble, & fall under a train.... She tells the police, that the man had a surprised look on his face as if he'd seen someone/something that frightened him.She also watches a man in a brown suit acting as a doctor examine him and pronounce him dead.... He "doctor" hurriedly walks away, but not before dropping a piece of paper out of his pocket..... A clue which she decides to follow up on.She is led to a house on the market, owned by a "colonel",there upon a strangled woman, and the young man who has found the dead woman....The young woman goes to the local paper w/ her information & convinces the editor to give her a chance at investigative journalism, which leads her further into danger (ridiculous situations) and eventually a fine romance and a prime job.
    • 4/5
      More a thriller than a usual Agatha Christie whodunit. Rather a large cast, making the plot a bit complex - but cleverly written, as ever, with satisfactory ending.
    • 4/5
      Along with her popular private detective series, and her stand-alone mysteries, Christie also wrote a number of books that are a blend of mystery and espionage story. The Man in the Brown Suit is an example of this type of Christie story. Ann Beddingfeld becomes entangled in danger and secrets, an adventure which she eagerly pursues. She witnesses a man fall on the live track at the train station, which instantly kills him. A doctor happens to be on hand to examine him. He drops a note as he is leaving the scene, and she snatches it. She can't decipher the note's strange message - 17.1 22 Kilmorden Castle - but she does notice that it smells like moth balls, just like the dead man did. The next day, Ann reads an article in the paper which reveals that a woman was just found dead at a house which was the same one as that on an ad in the dead man's pocket. The newspapers report that the only suspect is a young man in a brown suit.Ann knows that these two events are connected, and something bigger is underfoot.
    • 3/5
      London, januar 1922.Prolog:En superskurk kaldet "Oberst" er ved at trække sig tilbage. Inden krigen (= 1. verdenskrig) og under den har han styret diverse kriminalitet og spionage. En af hans medarbejdere, Nadina, har spillet ham et puds med nogle uslebne diamanter og vil nu indkassere gevinsten.Selve handlingen:Anne Beddingfield er datter af en professor, der er berømt, men kun næsten solvent. Han dør og hun er forældreløs, men har ben i næsen og beslutter at hvis hun opsøger eventyret, så vil det nok møde hende på halvvejen!.Hun overværer tilfældigt en ulykke, hvor en mand falder ned på de elektriske skinner i undergrunden og bliver dræbt. En "læge" i brunt tøj kommer til og undersøger liget, men forsvinder, da der kommer politi. I skyndingen taber han en seddel som Anne samler op. Hun satser alle sine penge på at forfølge sporet og havner på et skib Kilmorden Castle på vej mod Sydafrika. Kort tid efter togulykken blev en ung kvinde fundet kvalt og også dette dødsfald er forbundet til nogle af passagererne ombord. Anne klistrer sig på en Sir Eustace Pedler, der har to sekretærer med på sin rejse til Rhodesia, Guy Pagett, der ligner en giftmorder og en Harry Rayburn, der måske er prakket ham på af udenrigsministeriet, der har givet ham et brev med til general Jan Smuts, premierministeren i Sydafrika.Anne finder ud af at Rayburn er "manden i brunt tøj", men holder mund med det for hun er blevet glødende forelsket i ham. Hun bliver bedste veninde med Suzanne Blair og de to tilsammen regner meget ud og får resten foræret af tilfældet. Fx dumper en pose diamanter ned på Suzanne midt om natten, fordi hun har byttet kahyt med en anden.En farefuld togfærd starter med at Anne med nød og næppe når toget på trods af at nogen først har forsøgt at kvæle hende på skibet og siden spærre hende inde. Hun lokkes væk fra toget og falder ud over en skrænt. Rayburn - som vi i mellemtiden har fundet ud af sikkert hedder Harry Lucas og sammen med en kammerat gik i en fælde stillet af obersten og kun lige undgik en fængselsdom for diamanttyveri - dukker op og redder hende.Mere en thriller end en krimi. og ikke nogen god bog, men det er så også kun den fjerde publicerede Agatha Christie roman, så det er ok at den er ret ufriseret, har en utroværdig dialog og at plottet har nogle huller.Anne afslører at Sir Eustace Pedler er "obersten" og han bliver fængslet, men undslipper og sender Anne et brev, hvor hun ønskes held og lykke. Pagett afslører at han har kone og børn, hvilket han har holdt hemmeligt for sin arbejdsgiver, Pedler. På et tidspunkt, hvor Pagett burde have været i Florence, var han i stedet ved konen og han og Pedler så tilfældigvis hinanden. Pagett syntes det var pinligt og holdt mund med det. Pedler var mere bekymret, for det ville ødelægge hans alibi for mordet på Nadina, hvis det kom frem. Rayburn alias Harry Lucas har også en hemmelighed. Han er Laurence Earlsfield og overtog Harry Lucas's identitet, da denne blev dræbt i første verdenskrig. Anne tør dog godt gifte sig med ham selv om han er adelig og rig. Oberst Race har arvet i Laurence's sted, da alle troede at Laurence var død, men både Race og Laurence er godt tilfredse med den ordning for indeværende, så Laurence og Anne venter med at flytte til London.
    • 3/5
      An early thriller from Agatha Christie - channeling the "Perils of Pauline" our heroine, fortuitously orphaned and penniless sets out in search of adventure and love and finds both in South Africa. Reads well for a light read though some of the casual racism (I've only recently realised that "Kaffir Boy" doesn't refer to a child) doesn't sit well with a modern audience. The heroine is feisty with a strong sense of self and I don't buy that her captulation to the hero (with all the "you're my woman / I'm your man" maundering is in character, she does capitulate but only because she wants to...
    • 4/5
      I like Ann. The point of view is sometimes from Anne. Sometimes we are getting the diary of Sir Eutace Peddler. It is full of false identities. Many people are not who they appear to be.
    • 5/5
      A book by Agatha Christie I hadn’t read yet! Similar to her Tommy and Tuppence books in theme. More adventure/thriller than mystery but thoroughly enjoyable.
    • 2/5
      Enh. I don't like Christie in "spy thriller" mode as much as in mystery mode – although this did have a mystery, with an interesting solution – and the sexual politics in this one just flat out revolt me. And it is of it today and of its social class in its discussion of Rhodesia in the 1920s. Since it's counted as part of a "Colonel Race" series, and I really liked Cards on the Table, I had hoped to like this better than I did.
    • 5/5
      My new favorite! I highly recommend this Agatha Christie read!

    Book preview

    The Man in the Brown Suit - Agatha Christie

    Prologue

    Nadina, the Russian dancer who had taken Paris by storm, swayed to the sound of the applause, bowed and bowed again. Her narrow black eyes narrowed themselves still more, the long line of her scarlet mouth curved faintly upwards. Enthusiastic Frenchmen continued to beat the ground appreciatively as the curtain fell with a swish, hiding the reds and blues and magentas of the bizarre décor. In a swirl of blue and orange draperies the dancer left the stage. A bearded gentleman received her enthusiastically in his arms. It was the Manager.

    "Magnificent, petite, magnificent, he cried. Tonight you have surpassed yourself." He kissed her gallantly on both cheeks in a somewhat matter-of-fact manner.

    Madame Nadina accepted the tribute with the ease of long habit and passed on to her dressing room, where bouquets were heaped carelessly everywhere, marvellous garments of futuristic design hung on pegs, and the air was hot and sweet with the scent of the massed blossoms and with the more sophisticated perfumes and essences. Jeanne, the dresser, ministered to her mistress, talking incessantly and pouring out a stream of fulsome compliments.

    A knock at the door interrupted the flow, Jeanne went to answer it, and returned with a card in her hand.

    Madame will receive?

    Let me see.

    The dancer stretched out a languid hand, but at the sight of the name on the card, Count Sergius Paulovitch, a sudden flicker of interest came into her eyes.

    "I will see him. The maize peignoir, Jeanne, and quickly. And when the Count comes you may go."

    Bien, Madame.

    Jeanne brought the peignoir, an exquisite wisp of corn-coloured chiffon and ermine. Nadina slipped into it, and sat smiling to herself, whilst one long white hand beat a slow tattoo on the glass of the dressing table.

    The Count was prompt to avail himself of the privilege accorded to him—a man of medium height, very slim, very elegant, very pale, extraordinarily weary. In feature, little to take hold of, a man difficult to recognize again if one left his mannerisms out of account. He bowed over the dancer’s hand with exaggerated courtliness.

    Madame, this is a pleasure indeed.

    So much Jeanne heard before she went out, closing the door behind her. Alone with her visitor, a subtle change came over Nadina’s smile.

    Compatriots though we are, we will not speak Russian, I think, she observed.

    Since we neither of us know a word of the language, it might be as well, agreed her guest.

    By common consent, they dropped into English, and nobody, now that the Count’s mannerisms had dropped from him, could doubt that it was his native language. He had, indeed, started life as a quick-change music-hall artiste in London.

    You had great success tonight, he remarked. I congratulate you.

    All the same, said the woman, I am disturbed. My position is not what it was. The suspicions aroused during the War have never died down. I am continually watched and spied upon.

    But no charge of espionage was ever brought against you?

    Our chief lays his plans too carefully for that.

    Long life to the ‘Colonel’, said the Count, smiling. Amazing news, is it not, that he means to retire? To retire! Just like a doctor, or a butcher, or a plumber—

    Or any other business man, finished Nadina. "It should not surprise us. That is what the ‘Colonel’ has always been—an excellent man of business. He has organized crime as another man might organize a boot factory. Without committing himself, he has planned and directed a series of stupendous coups, embracing every branch of what we might call his ‘profession.’ Jewel robberies, forgery, espionage (the latter very profitable in wartime), sabotage, discreet assassination, there is hardly anything he has not touched. Wisest of all, he knows when to stop. The game begins to be dangerous?—he retires gracefully—with an enormous fortune!"

    H’m! said the Count doubtfully. It is rather—upsetting for all of us. We are at a loose end, as it were.

    But we are being paid off—on a most generous scale!

    Something, some undercurrent of mockery in her tone, made the man look at her sharply. She was smiling to herself, and the quality of her smile aroused his curiosity. But he proceeded diplomatically:

    Yes, the ‘Colonel’ has always been a great paymaster. I attribute much of his success to that—and to his invariable plan of providing a suitable scapegoat. A great brain, undoubtedly a great brain! And an apostle of the maxim, ‘If you want a thing done safely, do not do it yourself !’ Here are we, every one of us incriminated up to the hilt and absolutely in his power, and not one of us has anything on him.

    He paused, almost as though he were expecting her to disagree with him, but she remained silent, smiling to herself as before.

    Not one of us, he mused. Still, you know, he is superstitious, the old man. Years ago, I believe, he went to one of these fortune-telling people. She prophesied a lifetime of success, but declared that his downfall would be brought about through a woman.

    He had interested her now. She looked up eagerly.

    That is strange, very strange! Through a woman you say?

    He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

    Doubtless, now that he has—retired, he will marry. Some young society beauty, who will disperse his millions faster than he acquired them.

    Nadina shook her head.

    No, no, that is not the way of it. Listen, my friend, tomorrow I go to London.

    But your contract here?

    I shall be away only one night. And I go incognito, like Royalty. No one will ever know that I have left France. And why do you think that I go?

    Hardly for pleasure at this time of the year. January, a detestable foggy month! It must be for profit, eh?

    Exactly. She rose and stood in front of him, every graceful line of her arrogant with pride. You said just now that none of us had anything on the chief. You were wrong. I have. I, a woman, have had the wit and, yes, the courage—for it needs courage—to double-cross him. You remember the De Beer diamonds?

    Yes, I remember. At Kimberley, just before the war broke out? I had nothing to do with it, and I never heard the details, the case was hushed up for some reason, was it not? A fine haul too.

    A hundred thousand pounds worth of stones. Two of us worked it—under the ‘Colonel’s’ orders, of course. And it was then that I saw my chance. You see, the plan was to substitute some of the De Beer diamonds for some sample diamonds brought from South America by two young prospectors who happened to be in Kimberley at the time. Suspicion was then bound to fall on them."

    Very clever, interpolated the Count approvingly.

    The ‘Colonel’ is always clever. Well, I did my part—but I also did one thing which the ‘Colonel’ had not foreseen. I kept back some of the South American stones—one or two are unique and could easily be proved never to have passed through De Beers’ hands. With these diamonds in my possession, I have the whip-hand of my esteemed chief. Once the two young men are cleared, his part in the matter is bound to be suspected. I have said nothing all these years, I have been content to know that I had this weapon in reverse, but now matters are different. I want my price—and it will be big, I might almost say a staggering price.

    Extraordinary, said the Count. And doubtless you carry these diamonds about with you everywhere?

    His eyes roamed gently around the disordered room.

    Nadina laughed softly.

    You need suppose nothing of the sort. I am not a fool. The diamonds are in a safe place where no one will dream of looking for them.

    I never thought you a fool, my dear lady, but may I venture to suggest that you are somewhat foolhardy? The ‘Colonel’ is not the type of man to take kindly to being blackmailed, you know.

    I am not afraid of him, she laughed. There is only one man I have ever feared—and he is dead.

    The man looked at her curiously.

    Let us hope that he will not come to life again, then, he remarked lightly.

    What do you mean? cried the dancer sharply.

    The Count looked slightly surprised.

    I only meant that resurrection would be awkward for you, he explained. A foolish joke.

    She gave a sigh of relief.

    Oh, no, he is dead all right. Killed in the war. He was a man who once—loved me.

    In South Africa? asked the Count negligently.

    Yes, since you ask it, in South Africa.

    That is your native country, is it not?

    She nodded. Her visitor rose and reached for his hat.

    Well, he remarked, you know your own business best, but, if I were you, I should fear the ‘Colonel’ far more than any disillusioned lover. He is a man whom it is particularly easy to—underestimate.

    She laughed scornfully.

    As if I did not know him after all these years!

    I wonder if you do? he said softly. I very much wonder if you do.

    Oh, I am not a fool! And I am not alone in this. The South African mail boat docks at Southampton tomorrow, and on board her is a man who has come specially from Africa at my request and who has carried out certain orders of mine. The ‘Colonel’ will have not one of us to deal with, but two.

    Is that wise?

    It is necessary.

    You are sure of this man?

    A rather peculiar smile played over the dancer’s face.

    I am quite sure of him. He is inefficient, but perfectly trustworthy. She paused, and then added in an indifferent tone of voice: As a matter of fact, he happens to be my husband.

    One

    Everybody has been at me, right and left, to write this story, from the great (represented by Lord Nasby) to the small (represented by our late maid-of-all-work, Emily, whom I saw when I was last in England. Lor, miss, what a beyewtiful book you might make out of it all—just like the pictures!)

    I’ll admit that I’ve certain qualifications for the task. I was mixed up in the affair from the very beginning, I was in the thick of it all through, and I was triumphantly in at the death. Very fortunately, too, the gaps that I cannot supply from my own knowledge are amply covered by Sir Eustace Pedler’s diary, of which he has kindly begged me to make use.

    So here goes. Anne Beddingfeld starts to narrate her adventures.

    I’d always longed for adventures. You see, my life had such a dreadful sameness. My father, Professor Beddingfeld, was one of England’s greatest living authorities on Primitive Man. He really was a genius—everyone admits that. His mind dwelt in Palaeolithic times, and the inconvenience of life for him was that his body inhabited the modern world. Papa did not care for modern man—even Neolithic Man he despised as a mere herder of cattle, and he did not rise to enthusiasm until he reached the Mousterian period.

    Unfortunately one cannot entirely dispense with modern men. One is forced to have some kind of truck with butchers and bakers and milkmen and greengrocers. Therefore, Papa being immersed in the past, Mamma having died when I was a baby, it fell to me to undertake the practical side of living. Frankly, I hate Palaeolithic Man, be he Aurignacian, Mousterian, Chellian, or anything else, and though I typed and revised most of Papa’s Neanderthal Man and his Ancestors, Neanderthal men themselves fill me with loathing, and I always reflect what a fortunate circumstance it was that they became extinct in remote ages.

    I do not know whether Papa guessed my feelings on the subject, probably not, and in any case he would not have been interested. The opinion of other people never interested him in the slightest degree. I think it was really a sign of his greatness. In the same way, he lived quite detached from the necessities of daily life. He ate what was put before him in an exemplary fashion, but seemed mildly pained when the question of paying for it arose. We never seemed to have any money. His celebrity was not of the kind that brought in a cash return. Although he was a fellow of almost every important society and had rows of letters after his name, the general public scarcely knew of his existence, and his long-learned books, though adding signally to the sum total of human knowledge, had no attraction for the masses. Only on one occasion did he leap into the public gaze. He had read a paper before some society on the subject of the young of the chimpanzee. The young of the human race show some anthropoid features, whereas the young of the chimpanzee approach more nearly to the human than the adult chimpanzee does. That seems to show that whereas our ancestors were more Simian than we are, the chimpanzee’s were of a higher type than the present species—in other words, the chimpanzee is a degenerate. That enterprising newspaper, the Daily Budget, being hard up for something spicy, immediately brought itself out with large headlines. "We are not descended from monkeys, but are monkeys descended from us? Eminent Professor says chimpanzees are decadent humans." Shortly afterwards, a reporter called to see Papa, and endeavoured to induce him to write a series of popular articles on the theory. I have seldom seen Papa so angry. He turned the reporter out of the house with scant ceremony, much to my secret sorrow, as we were particularly short of money at the moment. In fact, for a moment I meditated running after the young man and informing him that my father had changed his mind and would send the articles in question. I could easily have written them myself, and the probabilities were that Papa would never have learnt of the transaction, not being a reader of the Daily Budget. However, I rejected this course as being too risky, so I merely put on my best hat and went sadly down the village to interview our justly irate grocer.

    The reporter from the Daily Budget was the only young man who ever came to our house. There were times when I envied Emily, our little servant, who walked out whenever occasion offered with a large sailor to whom she was affianced. In between times, to keep her hand in, as she expressed it, she walked out with the greengrocer’s young man, and the chemist’s assistant. I reflected sadly that I had no one to keep my hand in with. All Papa’s friends were aged Professors—usually with long beards. It is true that Professor Peterson once clasped me affectionately and said I had a neat little waist and then tried to kiss me. The phrase alone dated him hopelessly. No self-respecting female has had a neat little waist since I was in my cradle.

    I yearned for adventure, for love, for romance, and I seemed condemned to an existence of drab utility. The village possessed a lending library, full of tattered works of fiction, and I enjoyed perils and lovemaking at second hand, and went to sleep dreaming of stern silent Rhodesians, and of strong men who always felled their opponent with a single blow. There was no one in the village who even looked as though they could fell an opponent, with a single blow or several.

    There was the cinema too, with a weekly episode of The Perils of Pamela. Pamela was a magnificent young woman. Nothing daunted her. She fell out of aeroplanes, adventured in submarines, climbed skyscrapers and crept about in the Underworld without turning a hair. She was not really clever, The Master Criminal of the Underworld caught her each time, but as he seemed loath to knock her on the head in a simple way, and always doomed her to death in a sewer gas chamber or by some new and marvellous means, the hero was always able to rescue her at the beginning of the following week’s episode. I used to come out with my head in a delirious whirl—and then I would get home and find a notice from the Gas Company threatening to cut us off if the outstanding account was not paid!

    And yet, though I did not suspect it, every moment was bringing adventure nearer to me.

    It is possible that there are many people in the world who have never heard of the finding of an antique skull at the Broken Hill Mine in Northern Rhodesia. I came down one morning to find Papa excited to the point of apoplexy. He poured out the whole story to me.

    You understand, Anne? There are undoubtedly certain resemblances to the Java skull, but superficial—superficial only. No, here we have what I have always maintained—the ancestral form of the Neanderthal race. You grant that the Gibraltar skull is the most primitive of the Neanderthal skulls found? Why? The cradle of the race was in Africa. They passed to Europe—

    Not marmalade on kippers, Papa, I said hastily, arresting my parent’s absentminded hand. Yes, you were saying?

    They passed to Europe on—

    Here he broke down with a bad fit of choking, the result of an immoderate mouthful of kipper bones.

    But we must start at once, he declared, as he rose to his feet at the conclusion of the meal. There is no time to be lost. We must be on the spot—there are doubtless incalculable finds to be found in the neighbourhood. I shall be interested to note whether the implements are typical of the Mousterian period—there will be the remains of the primitive ox, I should say, but not those of the woolly rhinoceros. Yes, a little army will be starting soon. We must get ahead of them. You will write to Cook’s today, Anne?

    What about money, Papa? I hinted delicately.

    He turned a reproachful eye upon me.

    Your point of view always depresses me, my child. We must not be sordid. No, no, in the cause of science one must not be sordid.

    I feel Cook’s might be sordid, Papa.

    Papa looked pained.

    My dear Anne, you will pay them in ready money.

    I haven’t got any ready money.

    Papa looked thoroughly exasperated.

    My child, I really cannot be bothered with these vulgar money details. The bank—I had something from the Manager yesterday, saying I had twenty-seven pounds.

    That’s your overdraft, I fancy.

    Ah, I have it! Write to my publishers.

    I acquiesced doubtfully, Papa’s books bringing in more glory than money. I liked the idea of going to Rhodesia immensely. Stern silent men, I murmured to myself in an ecstasy. Then something in my parent’s appearance struck me as unusual.

    You have odd boots on, Papa, I said. Take off the brown one and put on the other black one. And don’t forget your muffler. It’s a very cold day.

    In a few minutes Papa stalked off, correctly booted and well-mufflered.

    He returned late that evening, and, to my dismay, I saw his muffler and overcoat were missing.

    Dear me, Anne, you are quite right. I took them off to go into the cavern. One gets so dirty there.

    I nodded feelingly, remembering an occasion when Papa had returned literally plastered from head to foot with rich Pleistocene clay.

    Our principal reason for settling in Little Hampsley had been the neighbourhood of Hampsley Cavern, a buried cave rich in deposits of the Aurignacian culture. We had a tiny museum in the village, and the curator and Papa spent most of their days messing about underground and bringing to light portions of woolly rhinoceros and cave bear.

    Papa coughed badly all the evening, and the following morning I saw he had a temperature and sent for the doctor.

    Poor Papa, he never had a chance. It was double pneumonia. He died four days later.

    Two

    Everyone was very kind to me. Dazed as I was, I appreciated that. I felt no overwhelming grief. Papa had never loved me. I knew that well enough. If he had, I might have loved him in return. No, there had not been love between us, but we had belonged together, and I had looked after him, and had secretly admired his learning and his uncompromising devotion to science. And it hurt me that Papa should have died just when the interest of life was at its height for him. I should have felt happier if I could have buried him in a cave, with paintings of reindeer and flint implements, but the force of public opinion constrained a neat tomb (with marble slab) in our hideous local churchyard. The vicar’s consolations, though well-meant, did not console me in the least.

    It took some time to dawn upon me that the thing I had always longed for—freedom—was at last mine. I was an orphan, and practically penniless, but free. At the same time I realized the extraordinary kindness of all these good people. The vicar did his best to persuade me that his wife was in urgent need of a companion help. Our tiny local library suddenly made up its mind to have an assistant librarian. Finally, the doctor called upon me, and after making various ridiculous excuses for failing to send a proper bill, he hummed and hawed a good deal and suddenly suggested I should marry him.

    I was very much astonished. The doctor was nearer forty than thirty and a round, tubby little man. He was not at all like the hero of The Perils of Pamela, and even less like the stern and silent Rhodesian. I reflected a minute and then asked why he wanted to marry me. That seemed to fluster him a good deal, and he murmured that a wife was a great help to a general practitioner. The position seemed even more unromantic than before, and yet something in me urged towards its acceptance. Safety, that was what I was being offered. Safety—and a Comfortable Home. Thinking it over now, I believe I did the little man an injustice. He was honestly in love with me, but a mistaken delicacy prevented him from pressing his suit on those lines. Anyway, my love of romance rebelled.

    It’s extremely kind of you, I said. But it’s impossible. I could never marry a man unless I loved him madly.

    You don’t think—?

    No, I don’t, I said firmly.

    He sighed.

    But, my dear child, what do you propose to do?

    Have adventures and see the world, I replied, without the least hesitation.

    Miss Anne, you are very much a child still. You don’t understand—

    The practical difficulties? Yes, I do, doctor. I’m not a sentimental schoolgirl—I’m a hardheaded mercenary shrew! You’d know it if you married me!

    I wish you would reconsider—

    I can’t.

    He sighed again.

    I have another proposal to make. An aunt of mine who lives in Wales is in want of a young lady to help her. How would that suit you?

    No, doctor, I’m going to London. If things happen anywhere, they happen in London. I shall keep my eyes open and, you’ll see, something will turn up! You’ll hear of me next in China or Timbuctoo.

    My next visitor was Mr. Flemming, Papa’s London solicitor. He came down specially from town to see me. An ardent anthropologist himself, he was a great admirer of Papa’s work. He was a tall, spare man with a thin face and grey hair. He rose to meet me as I entered the room and taking both my hands in his, patted them affectionately.

    My poor child, he said. My poor, poor child.

    Without

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