The Man in the Brown Suit - Agatha Christie [91]
I think he was right about that. Although I knew well enough the kind of man he was and must be, I could not bring myself to realize it. He had tried to kill me on more than one occasion, he had actually killed another woman, and he was responsible for endless other deeds of which I knew nothing, and yet I was quite unable to bring myself into the frame of mind for appreciating his deeds as they deserved. I could not think of him as other than our amusing, genial travelling companion. I could not even feel frightened of him–and yet I knew he was capable of having me murdered in cold blood if it struck him as necessary. The only parallel I can think of is the case of Stevenson’s Long John Silver. He must have been much the same kind of man.
‘Well, well,’ said this extraordinary person, leaning back in his chair. ‘It’s a pity that the idea of being Lady Pedler doesn’t appeal to you. The other alternatives are rather crude.’
I felt a nasty feeling going up and down my spine. Of course I had known all along that I was taking a big risk, but the prize had seemed worth it. Would things turn out as I had calculated, or would they not?
‘The fact of the matter is,’ Sir Eustace was continuing, ‘I’ve a weakness for you. I really don’t want to proceed to extremes. Suppose you tell me the whole story, from the very beginning, and let’s see what we can make of it. But no romancing, mind–I want the truth.’
I was not going to make any mistake over that. I had a great deal of respect for Sir Eustace’s shrewdness. It was a moment for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I told him the whole story, omitting nothing, up to the moment of my rescue by Harry. When I had finished, he nodded his head in approval.
‘Wise girl. You’ve made a clean breast of the thing. And let me tell you I should soon have caught you out if you hadn’t. A lot of people wouldn’t believe your story, anyway, expecially the beginning part, but I do. You’re the kind of girl who would start off like that–at a moment’s notice, on the slenderest of motives. You’ve had amazing luck, of course, but sooner or later the amateur runs up against the professional and then the result is a foregone conclusion. I am the professional. I started on this business when I was quite a youngster. All things considered, it seemed to me a good way of getting rich quickly. I always could think things out and devise ingenious schemes–and I never made the mistake of trying to carry out my schemes myself. Always employ the expert–that has been my motto. The one time I departed from it I came to grief–but I couldn’t trust anyone to do that job for me. Nadina knew too much. I’m an easy-going man, kind-hearted and good-tempered so long as I’m not thwarted. Nadina both thwarted me and threatened me–just as I was at the apex of a successful career. Once she was dead and the diamonds were in my possession, I was safe. I’ve come to the conclusion now that I bungled the job. That idiot Pagett, with his wife and family! My fault–it tickled my sense of humour to employ the fellow, with his Cinquecento poisoner’s face and his mid-Victorian soul. A maxim for you, my dear Anne. Don’t let your sense of humour carry you away. For years I’ve had an instinct that it would be wise to get rid of Pagett, but the fellow was so hard-working and conscientious that I honestly couldn’t find an excuse for sacking him. So I let things drift.
‘But we’re wandering from the point. The question is what to do with you. Your narrative was admirably clear, but there is one thing that still escapes me. Where are the diamonds now?’
‘Harry Rayburn has them,’ I said, watching him.
His face did not change, it retained its expression of sardonic good-humour.
‘H’m. I want those diamonds.’
‘I don’t see much chance of your getting them,’ I replied.
‘Don’t you? Now I do. I don’t want to be unpleasant, but I should like you to reflect that a dead girl or so found in this quarter of the city will occasion no surprise.