Chapter 23 Chapter Twenty Two

(Excerpt from the Diary of Sir Eustace Peterler) I want to ditch my memoir and rewrite a short "All My Secretaries".Regarding the secretary, I seem to get frustrated repeatedly.One moment I don't have any secretaries, and the next moment I have too many.At present I travel to Rhodesia with a group of women, Rhys with the two prettiest, and leave the worst for me.It happens to me all the time, and, after all, it's my private car, not Rhys's. Anne Beddingfeld accompanied me to Rhodesia under the pretense of being my temporary secretary.But all afternoon, she and Reese watched the scenery backstage, cheering now and then.I said her main job was to shake my hand, but she didn't even do that.Maybe she was afraid of Miss Pettigrew, and if that was the case, I don't blame her.There was nothing charming about Pettigrew—she was a nasty woman with big feet; she looked more like a man than a woman.

Anne Beddingfeld is very mysterious.She jumped on the train at the last minute, panting like a steam engine, as if she had just run a race—and Pagett told me he had seen her board the train to Durban the night before!Either Pagett was drunk again, or the girl had the ability to double. She never explained it, and no one ever explained it.By the way, "all my secretaries".Number one, the escaped murderer.No. 2, the secret alcoholic who had done something shady in Italy.Number three, a pretty girl with the ability to be in two different places at once.Number four, Miss Pettigrew, I believe she is a dangerous villain in disguise!Perhaps one of Pagett's friends in Italy, whom she bribed to introduce me to.I wouldn't be surprised if the whole world one day found out that Pagett had been duped by one man.In general I think Rayburn is the best one, he never bothers me or meddles in my affairs.Pagett had the audacity to leave the pencil-case on the car, and none of us could move it without being thrown off our feet.

I just stepped out onto the observation deck, expecting a round of cheers for my presence.Both women listened obsessively to Reese's traveler stories.I should change the nameplate on this carriage--not "Sir Eustace Peterler and Associates" but "Colonel Race and His Ladies". Mrs. Blair will definitely be taking silly pictures again when she comes again.She took snapshots of the locomotive every time the train made its way around the tight curves and as we climbed higher and higher. "You see," she exclaimed happily, "you have to be at the turn, so you can take a picture of the front of the train from behind. With the mountains in the background, the train in the photo must look dangerous."

I told her that no one would have been able to tell from the photo that it was taken from the back of the train, and she looked at me sullenly. "Then I marked it under the photo: 'The winding locomotive, taken from the train', isn't that enough?" "You can put that on any train snapshot," I said.Women never think of such simple things. "I'm glad we came up here during the day," Anne Beddingfeld exclaimed. "If I'd been in Durban last night, I wouldn't have seen this, would I?" "Yes," said Colonel Race, laughing, "if you go there, you'll wake up tomorrow morning in the Karoo, a hot, smoky, rocky desert."

"I'm glad I changed my mind." Annie let out a sigh of satisfaction and looked around. The scenery is quite beautiful, and we climbed up and down among the surrounding mountains. "Is this the best day train to Rhodesia?" asked Anne Beddingfeld. "Day?" Rhys laughed. "Well, my dear Miss Anne, there are only three trains in a week. Monday, Wednesday and Saturday. Do you know that you can't get to the Falls until next Saturday?" ?” "We don't know how much we know each other by then!" said Mrs. Blair maliciously. "How long will you stay at the Falls, Sir Eustace?"

"That depends," I replied cautiously. "What's the situation?" "See how things are going in Johannesburg. I was going to spend a few days in the Falls area - an area I've never visited, even though it's my third trip to Africa - and then go to Johannesburg. Go to Johannesburg and study the conditions on the River Heights. You know, I'm a South African political authority in my hometown. But from what I know, Johannesburg is going to be an unpleasant place to visit in a week or so. place. I don’t want to study politics in the middle of a riot.” Rhys smiled with a sort of detachment.

"I think you are overly worried, Sir Eustace. There is no great danger in Johannesburg." The two women immediately gave him a "you're a hero" look.This makes me very uncomfortable.I'm as brave as Rhys - but I lack his looks.These slender, brown-skinned men had their way. "I think you're going there too," I said coldly. "Very likely, we may be on the same path." "I'm not sure I won't be in the Falls any longer," I replied disapprovingly.Why did Reese think so eagerly that I should go to Johannesburg?I believe he was paying attention to Anne, "Miss Anne, what is your plan?"

"That depends," she replied solemnly, imitating me. "I thought you were my secretary," I objected. "Oh, but I've been fired, and you've been shaking Miss Pettigrew's hand all afternoon." "No matter what I've been doing, I can swear I didn't hold her hand," I assured her. Thursday night. We had just left Kimberley and they asked Reese to tell the story of the diamond theft again.Why do women always get so excited about diamonds? Finally Anne Beddingfeld has revealed her mystery.She seems to be a newspaper liaison, and she sent a long telegram from Diar this morning.Judging by the gurgling in Mrs Blair's carriage which continued almost all night.She must have been reading her special report aloud.

She seems to have been following the "man in brown".Apparently she didn't meet him on the "Gillmorden"—in fact, she had little chance, but she was busy telegraphing back: "How I sailed with a murderer" and made up some very fictional stories. "What He Said To Me" type of story.I know how she writes.I myself invented some stories in my memoirs, when Pagett allowed me to do so.Of course Nasby's fine staff has a way of weaving the stories in such detail and vividness that even Rayburn himself, when he saw them in the Daily Gazette, could not recognize himself as the main character in them.

This girl is quite smart.By her own account, she had apparently spied out the identity of the woman murdered in my house.She was the Russian dancer named Nadina.I asked Anne Beddingfeld if she was sure, and she replied that it was only a presumption—a pretty close resemblance to Sharlock Holmes' attitude.However, I think she must have telegraphed it back to Nasby as a proven fact.Women have intuitions about this - I don't doubt that Anne Beddingfeld's guesses are perfectly right - but calling it a presumption would be absurd. I can't imagine how she ended up being a part of the Daily Gazette, but she's the kind of young woman who does that kind of thing.She is irresistible, using all kinds of coaxing methods to hide her insurmountable determination.Just think how she got into my private compartment!

I'm starting to understand a little bit why.Race had said something about the police suspicions that Rayburn would go to Rhodesia.He might just catch the train on Monday, and the police sent arrest calls along the way, but there was no trace of him.He's a shrewd young man, and he knows Africa.He may have been subtly disguised as an old Negro woman - while the innocent policeman has been pursuing a handsome young man in European clothes and a scar on his face.I will never forget his scar. Anne Beddingfeld was after him anyway, and she wanted the glory of finding him for herself and for the Daily Gazette.Young women these days are very cruel.I suggested to her that that was unfeminine behavior.She laughed at me.She assured me that if she chased him underground, she would be rich.I could see that Rhys didn't like what she was doing either.Maybe Rayburn was on this train, and if so, we could all be murdered in our beds.I told Mrs. Blair--but she seemed to like the idea, and said if I got murdered it would be great scoop for Anne!Annie's scoop?fuck her! Tomorrow we will pass through Bechuanaland and it will be dusty everywhere.Also, at every station, the black children of the indigenous people would come to sell some weird wooden animals carved by themselves, as well as dinner bowls, dinner plates and so on.I was a little afraid that Mrs. Blair might go into a murderous frenzy, because I felt a primordial fascination about these toys might work on her. Friday night. As I had feared, Mrs Blair and Anne bought forty-nine wooden animals!