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  THE MAN IN THE BROWN SUIT

  A diamond robbery. An accidental death

  at a London Tube station. And the

  murder of a beautiful woman in a remote

  country mansion. Who or What is the

  connection? Is it the foreigner who

  claimed to be a doctor and then disappeared?

  The one the papers called

  "The Man in the Brown Suit"? Only

  Anne Beddingfield, who discovered that

  strange scrap of paper smelling of mothballs, believes he man in the brown suiteshe can solve the mystery.

  And her investigation takes her on a

  danger-fraught ocean voyage to Africa

  where the real intrigue begins . . .

  AGATHA CHRISTIE

  THE MAN

  IN THE

  BROWN SUIT

  Complete and Unabridged

  ,vw^

  Q

  Ai

  ' ULVERSCROFT

  Leicester

  First published 1924

  First Large Print Edition

  published May 1984

  by arrangement with

  The Bodley Head, London

  and

  Dodd, Mead & Company, Inc.

  New York

  © Agatha Christie 1924

  British Library CIP Data

  Christie, Agatha - UJCL

  The man in the brown suit.--Large print r,., .-^...- *-L (Ulverscroft large print series: mystery) - j' "

  1. Title '

  823'.912[F] PR6005.H66

  IrCL

  ISBN 0-7089-1125-0 /

  public library

  Published by IF . A. Thorpe (Publishing) Ltd.

  Anstey, Leicestershire

  Printed and Bound in Great Britain by

  T. J. Press (Padstow) Ltd., Padstow, Cornwall

  Prologue

  NADINA,

  had taker

  the soun

  ADINA, 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.

  Enf ^sisstic Frenchmen continued to beat

  Lx^ p.ound appreciatively as the curtain fell

  with a swish, hiding the reds and blues and

  magentas of the bizarre decor. 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. "To-night 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

  1

  was hot and sweet with the scent of the

  massed blossoms and with more sophisticated

  perfumes and essences, Jeanne, the dresser,

  ministered to her mistress, talking incessantly

  and pouring out a stream of fulsome

  compliment.

  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.

  Nadine 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

  2

  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 musichall

  artiste in London.

  "You had a great success to-night," 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."

  3

  "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 had not touched.

  Wisest of all, he knows when to stop. The

  game begins to be dangerous?—he retires

  gracefully—with an enormous fortune!"

  "ITm!" 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!"

  4

  Something, some undercurrent of mockery

  in her tone, made the man look .at her

  sharply. She was smiling to herself, and the

  quality other smile aroused his curiosity. But

  he proceeded diplomaticall
y:

  "Yes, the 'Colonel' has always been a

  generous 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 we are, 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.

  5

  "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 year.

  January, a detest^ale 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 doublecross

  him. You remember the De Beers

  diamonds?"

  "Yes, I remember. At Kimberley, just

  before the War broke out? I had nothing to do

  6

  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 Beers 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 o ' 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 reserve, but

  now matters are different. I want my

  price--and it will be a 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 round 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 a resurrection would be

  8

  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 to-morrow, 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."

  9

  "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."

  10

  1

  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-allwork,

  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 Beddingfield starts to

  narrate her adventures.

  I'd always longed for adventures. You see,

  my life had such a dreadful sameness. My

  father. Professor Beddingfield, was one of

  England's greatest living authorities on

  TMITBS 2 11

  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. Mama 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

  12

  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