Page:ManInBrownSuit-Christie.pdf/94

Rh "My dear fellow," I interrupted brutally, "that was a bilious attack. You're always having bilious attacks."

Pagett winced slightly.

"It wasn't the usual sort of bilious attack. This time"

"For God's sake, don't go into the details of your condition, Pagett. I don't want to hear them."

"Very well, Sir Eustace. But my belief is that I was deliberately poisoned!"

"Ah!" I said. "You've been talking to Rayburn."

He did not deny it.

"At any rate, Sir Eustace, he thinks so—and he should be in a position to know."

"By the way, where is the chap?" I asked. "I've not set eyes on him since we came on board."

"He gives out that he's ill, and stays in his cabin, Sir Eustace." Pagett's voice dropped again. "But that's camouflage, I'm sure. So that he can watch better."

"Watch?"

"Over your safety, Sir Eustace. In case an attack should be made upon you."

"You're such a cheerful fellow, Pagett," I said. "I trust that your imagination runs away with you. If I were you I should go to the dance as a death's head or an executioner. It will suit your mournful style of beauty."

That shut him up for the time being. I went on deck. The Beddingfeld girl was deep in conversation with the missionary parson, Chichester. Women always flutter round parsons.

A man of my figure hates stooping, but I had the courtesy to pick up a bit of paper that was fluttering round the parson's feet.

I got no word of thanks for my pains. As a matter of fact, I couldn't help seeing what was written on the sheet of paper. There was just one sentence: