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 of a man behaving suspiciously. Those are Pagett’s words. He has taken them straight from the pages of a German Spy Story. What he means by a man behaving suspiciously he doesn’t know himself. I said so to him.

“He was slinking along in a very furtive manner, and it was the middle of the night, Sir Eustace.”

“Well, what were you doing yourself? Why weren’t you in bed and asleep like a good Christian?” I demanded irritably.

“I had been coding those cables of yours, Sir Eustace, and typing the diary up to date.”

Trust Pagett to be always in the right and a martyr over it!

“Well?”

“I just thought I would have a look around before turning in, Sir Eustace. The man was coming down the passage from your cabin. I thought at once there was something wrong by the way he looked about him. He slunk up the stairs by the saloon. I followed him.

“My dear Pagett,” I said, “why shouldn’t the poor chap go on deck without having his footsteps dogged? Lots of people even sleep on deck—very uncomfortable, I’ve always thought. The sailors wash you down with the rest of the deck at five in the morning.” I shuddered at the idea.

“Anyway,” I continued, “if you went worrying some poor devil who was suffering from insomnia, I don’t wonder he landed you one.”

Pagett looked patient.

“If you would hear me out, Sir Eustace. I was convinced the man had been prowling about near your cabin where he had no business to be. The only two cabins down that passage are yours and Colonel Race’s.”

“Race,” I said, lighting a cigar carefully, “can look after himself without your assistance, Pagett.” I added as an afterthought: “So can I.”

Pagett came nearer and breathed heavily as he always does before imparting a secret.

“You see, Sir Eustace, I fancied—and now indeed I am sure—it was Rayburn.”

“Rayburn?”

“Yes, Sir Eustace.”

I shook my head.

“Rayburn has far too much sense to attempt to wake me up in the middle of the night.”

“Quite so, Sir Eustace. I think it was Colonel Race he went to see. A secret meeting—for orders!”

“Don’t hiss at me, Pagett,” I said, drawing back a little, “and do control your breathing. Your idea is absurd. Why should they want to have a secret meeting in the middle of the night? If they’d anything to say to each other, they could hob-nob over beef-tea in a perfectly casual and natural manner.”

I could see that Pagett was not in the least convinced.

“Something was going on last night, Sir Eustace,” he urged, “or why should Rayburn assault me so brutally.”

“You’re quite sure it was Rayburn?”

Pagett appeared to be perfectly convinced of that. It was the only part of the story that he wasn’t vague about.

“There’s something very queer about all this,” he said. “To begin with, where is Rayburn?”

It’s perfectly true that we haven’t seen the fellow since we came on shore. He did not come up to the hotel with us. I decline to believe that he is afraid of Pagett, however.

Altogether the whole thing is very annoying. One of my secretaries has vanished into the blue, and the other looks like a disreputable prize-fighter. I can’t take him about with me in his present condition. I shall be the laughing-stock of Cape Town. I have an appointment later in the day to deliver old Milray’s billet-doux, but I shall not take Pagett with me. Confound the fellow and his prowling ways.

Altogether I am decidedly out of temper. I had poisonous breakfast with poisonous people. Dutch waitresses with thick ankles who took half an hour to bring me a bad bit of fish. And this farce of getting up at 5 a.m. on arrival at the port to see a blinking doctor and hold your hands above your head simply makes me tired.

Later.

A very serious thing has occurred. I went to my appointment with the Prime Minister, taking Milray’s sealed letter. It didn’t look as though it had been tampered with, but inside was a blank sheet of paper!

Now, I suppose, I’m in the devil of a mess. Why I ever let that bleating old fool Milray embroil me in the matter I can’t think.

Pagett is a famous Job’s comforter. He displays a certain gloomy satisfaction that maddens me. Also, he has taken advantage of my perturbation to saddle me with the stationery trunk. Unless he is careful, the next funeral he attends will be his own.

However, in the end I had to listen to him.

“Supposing, Sir Eustace, that Rayburn had overheard a word or two of your conversation with Mr. Milray in the street? Remember, you had no written authority from Mr. Milray. You accepted Rayburn on his own valuation.”

“You think Rayburn is a crook, then?” I said slowly.

Pagett did. How far his views were influenced by resentment over his black eye I don’t know. He made out a pretty fair case against Rayburn. And the appearance of the latter told against him. My idea was to do nothing in the matter. A man who has permitted himself to be made a thorough fool of is not anxious to broadcast the fact.

But Pagett, his energy unimpaired by his recent misfortunes, was all for vigorous measures. He had his way of course. He bustled out to the police station, sent innumerable cables, and brought a herd of English and Dutch officials to drink whiskies and sodas at my expense.

We got Milray’s answer that evening. He knew nothing of my late secretary! There was only one spot of comfort to be extracted from the situation.

“At any rate,” I said to Pagett, “you weren’t poisoned. You had one of your ordinary bilious attacks.”

I saw him wince. It was my only score.

Later.

Pagett is in his element. His brain positively scintillates with bright ideas. He will have it now that Rayburn is none other than the famous “Man in the Brown Suit.” I dare say he is right. He usually is. But all this is getting unpleasant. The sooner I get off to Rhodesia the better. I have explained to Pagett that he is not to accompany me.

“You see, my dear fellow,” I said, “you must remain here on the spot. You might be required to identify Rayburn any minute. And, besides, I have my dignity as an English Member of Parliament to think of. I can’t go about with a secretary who has apparently recently been indulging in a vulgar street-brawl.”

Pagett winced. He is such a respectable fellow that his appearance is pain and tribulation to him.

“But what will you do about your correspondence and the notes for your speeches, Sir Eustace?”

“I shall manage,” I said airily.

“Your private car is to be attached to the eleven-o’clock train to-morrow, Wednesday, morning,” Pagett continued. “I have made all arrangements. Is Mrs. Blair taking a maid with her?”

“Mrs. Blair?” I gasped.

“She tells me you offered her a place.”

So I did, now I come to think of it. On the night of the Fancy Dress ball. I even urged her to come. But I never thought she would! Delightful as she is, I do not know that I want Mrs. Blair’s society all the way to Rhodesia and back. Women require such a lot of attention. And they are confoundedly in the way sometimes.

“Have I asked any one else?” I said nervously. One does these things in moments of expansion.

“Mrs. Blair seemed to think you had asked Colonel Race as well.”

I groaned.

“I must have been very drunk if I asked Race. Very drunk indeed. Take my advice, Pagett, and let your black eye be a warning to you, don’t go on the bust again.”

“As you know, I am a teetotaller, Sir Eustace.”

“Much wiser to take the pledge if you have a weakness that way. I haven’t asked any one else, have I, Pagett?”

“Not that I know of, Sir Eustace.”

I heaved a sigh of relief.

“There’s Miss Beddingfeld,” I said thoughtfully. “She wants to get to Rhodesia to dig up bones, I believe. I’ve a good mind to offer her a temporary job as a secretary. She can typewrite, I know, for she told me so.”

To my surprise, Pagett opposed the idea vehemently. He does not like Anne Beddingfeld. Ever since the night of the black eye, he has displayed uncontrollable emotion whenever she is mentioned. Pagett is full of mysteries nowadays.

Just to annoy him, I shall ask the girl. As I said before, she has extremely nice legs.