The Man in the Brown Suit - Agatha Christie [1]
‘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 war-time), 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,