And Then There Were None

by Agatha Christie

“It’s those little figures, sir. In the middle of the table. The little china figures. Ten of them, there were. I’ll swear to that, ten of them.” Armstrong said: “Yes, ten. We counted them last night at dinner.” Rogers came nearer. “That’s just it, sir. Last night, when I was clearing up, there wasn’t but nine, sir. I noticed it and thought it queer. But that’s all I thought. And now, sir, this morning. I didn’t notice when I laid the breakfast. I was upset and all that. “But now, sir, when I came to clear away. See for yourself if you don’t believe me. “There’s only eight, sir! Only eight! It doesn’t make sense, does it? Only eight.…”

“I could believe in Anthony’s suicide (with difficulty) if it weren’t for Mrs. Rogers. I could believe in Mrs. Rogers’ suicide (easily) if it weren’t for Anthony Marston. I can believe that Rogers put his wife out of the way—if it were not for the unexpected death of Anthony Marston. But what we need is a theory to explain two deaths following rapidly on each other.”