Free The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie

but I found it eminently satisfactory.
    â€œI’ll fetch your things right away, miss,” said the steward.
    But at that moment the man with the sinister face (as I had nicknamed him) appeared in the doorway.
    â€œExcuse me,” he said, “but this cabin is reserved for the use of Sir Eustace Pedler.”
    â€œThat’s all right, sir,” explained the steward. “We’re fitting up No. 13 instead.”
    â€œNo, it was No. 17 I was to have.”
    â€œNo. 13 is a better cabin, sir—larger.”
    â€œI specially selected No. 17, and the purser said I could have it.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said coldly. “But No. 17 has been allotted to me.”
    â€œI can’t agree to that.”
    The steward put in his oar.
    â€œThe other cabin’s just the same, only better.”
    â€œI want No. 17.”
    â€œWhat’s all this?” demanded a new voice. “Steward, put my things in here. This is my cabin.”
    It was my neighbour at lunch, the Rev. Edward Chichester.
    â€œI beg your pardon,” I said. “It’s my cabin.”
    â€œIt is allotted to Sir Eustace Pedler,” said Mr. Pagett.
    We were all getting rather heated.
    â€œI’m sorry to have to dispute the matter,” said Chichester with a meek smile which failed to mask his determination to get his own way. Meek men are always obstinate, I have noticed.
    He edged himself sideways into the doorway.
    â€œYou’re to have No. 28 on the port side,” said the steward. “A very good cabin, sir.”
    â€œI am afraid that I must insist. No. 17 was the cabin promised to me.”
    We had come to an impasse. Each one of us was determined not to give way. Strictly speaking, I, at any rate, might have retired from the contest and eased matters by offering to accept Cabin 28. So long as I did not have 13 it was immaterial to me what other cabin I had. But my blood was up. I had not the least intention of being the first to give way. And I disliked Chichester. He had false teeth that clicked when he ate. Many men have been hated for less.
    We all said the same things over again. The steward assured us, even more strongly, that both the other cabins were better cabins. None of us paid any attention to him.
    Pagett began to lose his temper. Chichester kept his serenely. With an effort I also kept mine. And still none of us would give way an inch.
    A wink and a whispered word from the steward gave me my cue. I faded unobtrusively from the scene. I was lucky enough to encounter the purser almost immediately.
    â€œOh, please,” I said, “you did say I could have cabin 17? And the others won’t go away. Mr. Chichester and Mr. Pagett. You will let me have it, won’t you?”
    I always say that there are no people like sailors for being nice to women. My little purser came to scratch splendidly. He strode to the scene, informed the disputants that No. 17 was my cabin, they could have Nos 13 and 28 respectively or stay where they were—whichever they chose.
    I permitted my eyes to tell him what a hero he was and then installed myself in my new domain. The encounter had done me worlds of good. The sea was smooth, the weather growing daily warmer. Seasickness was a thing of the past!
    I went up on deck and was initiated into the mysteries of deck quoits. I entered my name for various sports. Tea was served on deck, and I ate heartily. After tea, I played shovelboard with some pleasant young men. They were extraordinarily nice to me. I felt that life was satisfactory and delightful.
    The dressing bugle came as a surprise and I hurried to my new cabin. The stewardess was awaiting me with a troubled face.
    â€œThere’s a terrible smell in your cabin, miss. What it is, I’m sure I can’t think, but I doubt if you’ll be able to sleep here. There’s a deck cabin up on C deck. You might move into that—just for the night, anyway.”
    The