Chapter 9 chapter eight

(Excerpt from the Diary of Sir Eustace Peterler) I never seem to be at peace, which is really strange.I am a person who likes a quiet life.I love my club, bridge competitions, good food and wine.I love England in the summer and the Riviera in the winter.I don't want to be involved in any sensational events.Sometimes sitting in front of a warm wall fire and reading newspapers, I have no objection, but that's all.My goal is to make life completely comfortable and enjoyable.I have spent a lot of thought and money to achieve this goal.However, I cannot say it was a success.Horrible things of this sort happen around me, if not to me, and often, regardless of my will, I am always involved.I hate being involved in it.

It all started when Pagett came to my bedroom this morning.He held a telegram in his hand, and his face was solemn as if at a funeral. Pagett was my secretary, a warm, industrious, and in every way admirable man.I don't know anyone who bothers me more than him.For a long time, I racked my brains to get rid of him.But you can't fire a secretary who works hard, wakes up early and goes to bed late without any bad habits.The only interesting thing about him was his face, which was that of a fourteenth-century poisoner. I wouldn't mind if Pagett didn't force me to work too.My concept of work is that you don't need to bother too much, and it can be done easily.I doubt Pagett ever took anything lightly in his life.He is serious about everything.This is where I have a hard time with him.

Last week I conceived a clever way of sending him to Florence.He talked about Florence and said he would love to go there. "My good secretary," I called, "you go tomorrow, and I will take care of all the expenses." January isn't the normal time to go to Florence, but it was no different for Pagett.I can imagine him looking at the scenery while referring to the guidebook along the way.And it was too cheap for me to pay his travel expenses for a week of freedom. It was an exciting week.I did everything I wanted to do, and I was completely free to do whatever I didn't like.But when I opened my eyes and saw Pagett standing between me and the clock pointing at nine in the morning, I knew my freedom was over.

"My good secretary," I said, "has the funeral started already? Or will it be later?" Pagett didn't appreciate my dry humor, he just looked at me. "You already know, then, Sir Eustace?" "Know what?" I asked him back, "From the expression on your face, I presume that a close relative of yours must be buried in the ground this morning." Pagett avoided my wisecracks as much as possible. "I don't think you can know that." He snapped the telegram. "I know you don't like being woken up in the morning—but it's nine o'clock."—Pagett insisted that nine o'clock was halfway through the day—"and I think under the circumstances—" He repeated Tapped the telegraph paper.

"What the hell is that?" I asked. "Cable from Marlow Police Station. A woman has been murdered in your house." This made me jump out of bed. "What audacity," I cried. "Why in my house? Who killed her?" "They didn't say, I suppose we should go back to England at once, Sir Eustace?" "Needless to say. Why should we go back?" "Policemen--" "What do I have to do with the police?" "Well, that's your house." "That," I said, "is my misfortune and not my fault." Pagett shook his head sadly.

"That thing will have a bad influence on your constituents." he said sadly. I don't see why—yet I have a feeling that Pagett's instincts are always right in this regard.On the face of it, a Member of Parliament would not be disqualified in the slightest by the murder of a lost young woman in an empty house belonging to him - but you can't guarantee that the public in the British Empire will not take it seriously. "She's a foreigner, which is worse," Pagett continued mournfully. Again I believe he is right.If it is dishonorable to have a woman murdered in your house, it is even more dishonorable if she is a foreigner.Another thought hit me.

"Jesus," I yelled, "hope this doesn't bother Caroline." Caroline, who cooks for me, is the gardener's wife.I don't know what kind of wife she is, but she's a good cook.James, on the other hand, was not a very good gardener--but I kept him and gave him a cottage, mostly for Caroline's sake. "I don't think she's going to be there after this happened," Pagett said. "You're such a crowd pleaser!" I said. I know I have to go back to England.Pagett urged me to go back, and Caroline needed reassurance. (three days later)

I can't believe anyone with the means doesn't leave England during the winter!The weather was really bad.This trouble is really annoying.Realtors say it's almost impossible to rent out the house again.Caroline has been appeased—with a double salary.We could just send her a telegram from Cannay.In fact, I have been saying that there is really no need to rush back in person.I will go back tomorrow. (one day later) Something very amazing happened.First, I met Augustus Millray, a quintessential old donkey produced by today's government.When he pulled me into a quiet corner of the club, his manner oozes diplomatic mystique.He talked a great deal about South Africa and the state of industry there, rumors of strikes rising in the South African river highlands, and the secret hierarchy which drove them.I listened as patiently as I could.Finally, he said in a low voice that some documents had appeared and had to be handed over to General Simazi.

"I think you're right," I said, yawning slightly. "But how do we hand it over to him? Our position in this matter is delicate -- very delicate." "The post office is on strike?" I jokingly said, "Just affix two stamps and put it in the mailbox." "Dear Peter! By regular mail?" I've always wondered why the government employs royal postmen and is so concerned about secret documents being delivered by them. "If you don't like postage, you can send one of your young servants. He'll love the journey." "Impossible," said Milley, shaking his head old-fashionedly. "There is a reason, my dear Peter - there is a reason, I assure you."

"Uh," I said, raising my voice, "it's all very interesting what you said, but I have to go—" "Wait a minute, dear Peter, I beg you. Now tell me honestly, are you really going to visit South Africa recently? I know that you are very interested in Rhodesia, and you are particularly interested in Rhodesia. Desia's entry into the Commonwealth of Britain." "Well, I think I'll be out in about another month." "Can't it be earlier? This month? This week?" "Okay," I said, looking at him with some interest. "But I don't know if I should go earlier."

"You will do the government a great service. They will appreciate it." "You mean, want me to be a postman?" "Fine. Your status is unofficial and your visit is benign. Everything fits." "Well," I said slowly, "if I had to do it, I wouldn't mind. The only thing I'm in a hurry to do is get out of England as soon as possible." "You'll find the climate in South Africa to be pleasant - quite pleasant." "My dear friend, I know the weather there, having been there not long before the war." "I really appreciate you, Peter. I'll send it to you. To General Smuts, you know? The Gilmorden is anchored Saturday—a pretty good ship." I took him for a walk before we broke up.He squeezed my hand warmly and thanked me again and again.I walked home thinking about the strange side effects of government policy. The next evening, Gavesh, my butler, told me that a gentleman wanted to see me on private business, but would not give his name.I thought it was insurance, so I told Gavis that I couldn't see him.Pagett had the misfortune of lying in bed with cholera when I occasionally thought he was really useful.These active, industrious young men were always susceptible to biliary attacks from weak stomachs. Gavis came back and said: "The gentleman wanted me to tell you, Sir Eustace, that he came from Mr. Millray." This changed things.A few minutes later, I met my visitor in the study.He was a young man with a brown face and a well-built body.A scar stretched diagonally from the corner of the eye to the chin, ruining the originally delicate but reckless face. "Well," I said, "what's the matter?" "Mr Milley sent me to look for you, Sir Eustace. He asked me to accompany you to South Africa as your secretary." "My good friend," said I, "I already have a secretary and I don't want any more." "I think you do, Sir Eustace. Where is your secretary now?" "He's suffering from hypercholesterolemia and is lying in bed," I explained. "Are you sure it's just hyperbilia?" "Of course he is. He's prone to that disease." My visitor smiles. "That may or may not be cholera, time will tell. But I tell you, Sir Eustace, Mr. Millwray would not be surprised if someone tried to get rid of your secretary. Oh, you needn't be afraid." "--my face must have shown a momentary look of fear--"not a threat to you, it will be easier to get close to you after getting rid of your secretary. In any case, Mr. Milley wants me to accompany you. Of course, the travel expenses are ours. Your own business, but with regard to passports, you take the necessary steps as if you had decided that you needed the services of a second secretary." He seemed to be a determined young man.We looked at each other and I lost him. "Fine," I said weakly. "About my company with you, don't mention it to anyone." "Very well," I said again. After all, it might be better to have this person with me, but I have a premonition of falling into deep water.Just when I thought I'd found peace! When my interviewer is about to leave, I stop him. "It might be better if I knew the name of my new secretary." I said it sarcastically. He thought about it. "Harry Raeburn seems like a pretty fitting name," he said. This is really strange. "Good," I said for the third time.