The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie Page A

from England in winter does not do so! It is an abominable climate. All this trouble is very annoying. The house agents say it will be next to impossible to let the Mill House after all the publicity. Caroline has been pacified—with double pay. We could have sent her a cable to that effect from Cannes. In fact, as I have said all along, there was no earthly purpose to serve by our coming over. I shall go back tomorrow.
    One day later.
    Several very suprising things have occurred. To begin with, I met Augustus Milray, the most perfect example of an old ass the present Government has produced. His manner oozed diplomatic secrecy as he drew me aside in the Club into a quiet corner. He talked a good deal. About South Africa and the industrial situation there. About the growing rumours of a strike on the Rand. Of the secret causes actuating that strike. I listened as patiently as I could. Finally, he dropped his voice to a whisper and explained that certain documents had come to light which ought to be placed in the hands of General Smuts.
    â€œI’ve no doubt you’re quite right,” I said, stifling a yawn.
    â€œBut how are we to get them to him? Our position in the matter is delicate—very delicate.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with the post?” I said cheerfully. “Put a two-penny stamp on and drop ’em in the nearest letter box.”
    He seemed quite shocked at the suggestion.
    â€œMy dear Pedler! The common post!”
    It has always been a mystery to me why Governments employ King’s Messengers and draw such attention to their confidential documents.
    â€œIf you don’t like the post, send one of your own young fellows. He’ll enjoy the trip.”
    â€œImpossible,” said Milray, wagging his head in a senile fashion. “There are reasons, my dear Pedler—I assure you there are reasons.”
    â€œWell,” I said rising, “all this is very interesting, but I must be off—”
    â€œOne minute, my dear Pedler, one minute, I beg of you. Now tell me, in confidence, is it not true that you intend visiting South Africa shortly yourself? You have large interests in Rhodesia, I know, and the question of Rhodesia joining in the Union is one in which you have a vital interest.”
    â€œWell, I had thought of going out in about a month’s time.”
    â€œYou couldn’t possibly make it sooner? This month? This week, in fact?”
    â€œI could,” I said, eyeing him with some interest. “But I don’t know that I particularly want to.”
    â€œYou would be doing the Government a great service—a very great service. You would not find them—er—ungrateful.”
    â€œMeaning, you want me to be the postman?”
    â€œExactly. Your position is an unofficial one, your journey is bona fide. Everything would be eminently satisfactory.”
    â€œWell,” I said slowly, “I don’t mind if I do. The one thing I am anxious to do is to get out of England again as soon as possible.”
    â€œYou will find the climate of South Africa delightful—quite delightful.”
    â€œMy dear fellow, I know all about the climate. I was out there shortly before the war.”
    â€œI am really much obliged to you, Pedler. I will send you round the package by messenger. To be placed in General Smuts’s own hands, you understand? The Kilmorden Castle sails on Saturday—quite a good boat.”
    I accompanied him a short way along Pall Mall, before we parted. He shook me warmly by the hand, and thanked me again effusively. I walked home reflecting on the curious byways of Governmental policy.
    It was the following evening that Jarvis, my butler, informed me that a gentleman wished to see me on private business, but declined to give his name. I have always a lively apprehension of insurance touts, so told Jarvis to say I could not see him. Guy Pagett, unfortunately, when he might for once have been of real