The Man in the Brown Suit - Agatha Christie [43]
The fierceness of his answer took me aback.
‘No. I’ll have no truck with you or with any woman. Do your damnedest.’
As before, my own temper began to rise.
‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘you don’t realize how much in my power you are? A word from me to the Captain–’
‘Say it,’ he sneered. Then advancing with a quick step: ‘And whilst we’re realizing things, my dear girl, do you realize you’re in my power this minute? I could take you by the throat like this.’ With a swift gesture he suited the action to the word. I felt his two hands clasp my throat and press–ever so little. ‘Like this–and squeeze the life out of you! And then–like our unconscious friend here, but with more success–fling your dead body to the sharks. What do you say to that?’
I said nothing. I laughed. And yet I knew that the danger was real. Just at that moment he hated me. But I knew that I loved the danger, loved the feeling of his hands on my throat. That I would not have exchanged that moment for any moment in my life.
With a short laugh he released me.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Anne Beddingfeld.’
‘Does nothing frighten you, Anne Beddingfeld?’
‘Oh, yes,’ I said, with an assumption of coolness I was far from feeling. ‘Wasps, sarcastic women, very young men, cockroaches, and superior shop assistants.’
He gave the same short laugh as before. Then he stirred the unconscious form of Pagett with his feet.
‘What shall we do with this junk? Throw it overboard?’ he asked carelessly.
‘If you like,’ I answered with equal calm.
‘I admire your whole-hearted, bloodthirsty instincts, Miss Beddingfeld. But we will leave him to recover at his leisure. He is not seriously hurt.’
‘You shrink from a second murder, I see,’ I said sweetly.
‘A second murder?’
He looked genuinely puzzled.
‘The woman at Marlow,’ I reminded him, watching the effect of my words closely.
An ugly brooding expression settled down on his face. He seemed to have forgotten my presence.
‘I might have killed her,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I believe that I meant to kill her…’
A wild rush of feeling, hatred of the dead woman, surged through me. I could have killed her that moment, had she stood before me…For he must have loved her once–he must–he must–to have felt like that!
I regained control of myself and spoke in my normal voice:
‘We seem to have said all there is to be said–except good night.’
‘Good night and goodbye, Miss Beddingfeld.’
‘Au revoir, Mr Lucas.’
Again he flinched at the name. He came nearer.
‘Why do you say that–au revoir, I mean?’
‘Because I have a fancy that we shall meet again.’
‘Not if I can help it!’
Emphatic as his tone was, it did not offend me. On the contrary, I hugged myself with secret satisfaction. I am not quite a fool.
‘All the same,’ I said gravely, ‘I think we shall.’
‘Why?’
I shook my head, unable to explain the feeling that had actuated my words.
‘I never wish to see you again,’ he said suddenly, and violently.
It was really a very rude thing to say, but I only laughed softly and slipped away into the darkness.
I heard him start after me, and then pause, and a word floated down the deck. I think it was ‘witch’!
Chapter 17
(Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler)
Mount Nelson Hotel, Cape Town.
It is really the greatest relief to get off the Kilmorden. The whole time that I was on board I was conscious of being surrounded by a network of intrigue. To put the lid on everything, Guy Pagett must needs engage in a drunken brawl the last night. It is all very well to explain it away, but that is what it actually amounts to. What else would you think if a man comes to you with a lump the size of an egg on the side of his head and an eye coloured all the tints of the rainbow?
Of course Pagett would insist on trying to be mysterious about the whole thing. According to him, you would think his black eye was the direct result of his devotion to my interests. His story was extraordinarily vague and rambling and it was a long time before I could make head or tail of it.
To begin with, it appears he caught sight