Nadina, the Russian dancer who had taken Paris by storm, swayed to the sound of the applause, bowed and bowed again. Her narrow black eyes narrowed themselves still more, the long line of her 17 страница

Yours ever, Eustace Pedler.

Harry was furious. It is the one point on which he and I do not see eye to eye. To him, Sir Eustace was the man who tried to murder me and whom he regards as responsible for the death of his friend. Sir Eustace's attempts on my life have always puzzled me. They are not in the picture, so to speak. For I am sure that he always had a genuinely kindly feeling towards me.

Then why did he twice attempt to take my life? Harry says "because he's a damned scoundrel," and seems to think that settles the matter. Suzanne was more discriminating. I talked it over with her, and she put it down to a "fear complex." Suzanne goes in rather for psycho-analysis. She pointed out to me that Sir Eustace's whole life was actuated by a desire to be safe and comfortable. He had an acute sense of self-preservation. And the murder of Nadina removed certain inhibitions. His actions did not represent the state of his feeling towards me, but were the result of his acute fears for his own safety. I think Suzanne is right. As for Nadina, she was the kind of woman who deserved to die. Men do all sorts of questionable things in order to get rich, but women shouldn't pretend to be in love when they aren't for ulterior motives.

I can forgive Sir Eustace easily enough, but I shall never forgive Nadina. Never, never never!

The other day I was unpacking some tins that were wrapped in bits of an old Daily Budget, and I suddenly came upon the words, "The Man in the Brown Suit." How long ago it seemed! I had, of course, severed my connection with the Daily Budget long ago -1 had done with it sooner than it had done with me. 'My Romantic Wedding' was given a halo of publicity.

My son is lying in the sun, kicking his legs. There's a "man in a brown suit" if you like. He's wearing as little as possible, which is the best costume for Africa, and is as brown as a berry. He's always burrowing in the earth. I think he takes after Papa. He'll have that same mania for Pleistocene clay.

Suzanne sent me a cable when he was born:

"Congratulations and love to the latest arrival on Lunatics' Island. Is his head dolichocephalic or brachycephalic?"

I wasn't going to stand that from Suzanne. I sent her a reply of one word, economical and to the point:

"Platycephalic!"

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