The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie Page A

Pedler.”
    â€œMy dear Race,” I said, “I venture to suggest that I am not quite the fool you think me. I may commit indiscretions, but I don’t write them down in black and white. After my death, my executors will know my opinion of a great many people, but I doubt if they will find anything to add or detract from their opinion of me. A diary is useful for recording the idiosyncrasies of other people—but not one’s own.”
    â€œThere is such a thing as unconscious self-revelation, though.”
    â€œIn the eyes of the psychoanalyst, all things are vile,” I replied sententiously.
    â€œYou must have had a very interesting life, Colonel Race?” said Miss Beddingfeld, gazing at him with wide, starry eyes.
    That’s how they do it, these girls! Othello charmed Desdemona by telling her stories, but, oh, didn’t Desdemona charm Othello by the way she listened?
    Anyway, the girl set Race off all right. He began to tell lion stories. A man who has shot lions in large quantities has an unfair advantage over other men. It seemed to me that it was time I, too, told a lion story. One of a more sprightly character.
    â€œBy the way,” I remarked, “that reminds me of a rather exciting tale I heard. A friend of mine was out on a shooting trip somewhere in East Africa. One night he came out of his tent for some reason, and was startled by a low growl. He turned sharply and saw a lion crouching to spring. He had left his rifle in the tent. Quick as thought, he ducked, and the lion sprang right over his head. Annoyed at having missed him, the animal growled and prepared to spring again. Again he ducked, and again the lion sprang right over him. This happened a third time, but by now he was close to the entrance of his tent, and he darted in and seized his rifle. When he emerged, rifle in hand, the lion had disappeared. That puzzled him greatly. He crept round the back of the tent, where there was a little clearing. There, sure enough, was the lion, busily practising low jumps.”
    This was received by a roar of applause. I drank some champagne.
    â€œOn another occasion,” I remarked, “this friend of mine had a second curious experience. He was trekking across country, and being anxious to arrive at his destination before the heat of the day he ordered his boys to inspan whilst it was still dark. They had some trouble in doing so, as the mules were very restive, but at last they managed it, and a start was made. The mules raced along like the wind, and when daylight came they saw why. In the darkness, the boys had inspanned a lion as the near wheeler.”
    This, too, was well-received, a ripple of merriment going round the table, but I am not sure that the greatest tribute did not come from my friend the Labour Member, who remained pale and serious.
    â€œMy God!” he said anxiously. “Who un’arnessed them?”
    â€œI must go to Rhodesia,” said Mrs. Blair. “After what you have told us, Colonel Race, I simply must. It’s a horrible journey though, five days in the train.”
    â€œYou must join me in my private car,” I said gallantly.
    â€œOh, Sir Eustace, how sweet of you! Do you really mean it?”
    â€œDo I mean it!” I exclaimed reproachfully, and drank another glass of champagne.
    â€œJust about another week, and we shall be in South Africa,” sighed Mrs. Blair.
    â€œAh, South Africa,” I said sentimentally, and began to quote from a recent speech of mine at the Colonial Institute. “What has South Africa to show the world? What indeed? Her fruit and her farms, her wool and her wattles, her herds and her hides, her gold mines and her diamonds—”
    I was hurrying on, because I knew that as soon as I paused Reeves would butt in and inform me that the hides were worthless because the animals hung themselves up on barbed wire or something of that sort, would crab everything else, and end up with