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Mr. Justice Wargrave, lately retired from the bench, puffed at a cigar and ran an interested eye through the political news in The Times.
Soldier Island had really been bought by Miss Gabrielle Turl, the Hollywood film star! She wanted to spend some months there free from all publicity!
Vera Claythorne, in a third-class carriage with five other travellers in it, leaned her head back and shut her eyes.
She must not think of Hugo….
Philip Lombard, summing up the girl opposite in a mere flash of his quick moving eyes thought to himself:
Miss Emily Brent sat very upright as was her custom. She was sixty-five and she did not approve of lounging. Her father, a Colonel of the old school, had been particular about deportment. The present generation was shamelessly lax—in their carriage, and in every other way…. Enveloped in an aura of righteousness and unyielding principles, Miss Brent sat in her crowded third-class carriage and triumphed over its discomfort and its heat.
General Macarthur looked out of the carriage window. The train was just coming into Exeter, where he had to change.
Dr. Armstrong was driving his Morris across Salisbury Plain. He was very tired … Success had its penalties.
Tony Marston, roaring down into Mere, thought to himself:
Mr. Blore was in the slow train from Plymouth.
“Emily Brent, Vera Claythorne, Dr. Armstrong, Anthony Marston, old Justice Wargrave, Philip Lombard, General Macarthur, C.M.G., D.S.O. Manservant and wife: Mr. and Mrs. Rogers.”
Erm
As a man of means from South Africa, Mr. Blore felt that he could enter into any society unchallenged.
“Watch and pray,” he said. “Watch and pray. The day of judgment is at hand.”
But General Macarthur did not mention the War.
Ten little soldier boys went out to dine; One choked his little self and then there were Nine.
There was something magical about an island—the mere word suggested fantasy. You lost touch with the world—an island was a world of its own. A world, perhaps, from which you might never return.
Every one was in better spirits. They had begun to talk to each other with more freedom and intimacy.
“Edward George Armstrong, that you did upon the 14th day of March, 1925, cause the death of Louisa Mary Clees. “Emily Caroline Brent, that upon the 5th of November, 1931, you were responsible for the death of Beatrice Taylor. “William Henry Blore, that you brought about the death of James Stephen Landor on October 10th, 1928. “Vera Elizabeth Claythorne, that on the 11th day of August, 1935, you killed Cyril Ogilvie Hamilton. “Philip Lombard, that upon a date in February, 1932, you were guilty of the death of twenty-one men, members of an East African tribe.
“John Gordon Macarthur, that on the 4th of January, 1917, you deliberately sent your wife’s lover, Arthur Richmond, to his death. “Anthony James Marston, that upon the 14th day of November last, you were guilty of the murder of John and Lucy Combes. “Thomas Rogers and Ethel Rogers, that on the 6th of May, 1929, you brought about the death of Jennifer Brady. “Lawrence John Wargrave, that upon the 10th day of June, 1930, you were guilty of the murder of Edward Seton. “Prisoners at the bar, have you anything to say in your defence?”
Outside, lying in a huddled mass, was Mrs. Rogers.
was to put a record on the gramophone. I’d find the record in the drawer and my wife was to start the gramophone when I’d gone into the drawing room with the coffee tray.”
“Quite right, sir. It was entitled Swan Song.…”
Only Emily Brent demanded and obtained a glass of water.
“Nothing, sir. We got orders—by letter again—to prepare the rooms for a house party, and then yesterday by the afternoon post I got another letter from Mr. Owen. It said he and Mrs. Owen were detained and to do the best we could, and it gave the instructions about dinner and coffee and putting on the gramophone record.”
“I received a letter with a signature that was not very easy to read. It purported to be from a woman I had met at a certain summer resort two or three years ago. I took the name to be either Ogden or Oliver. I am acquainted with a Mrs. Oliver and also with a Miss Ogden. I am quite certain that I have never met, or become friendly with any one of the name of Owen.”
Whoever it was who enticed us here, that person knows or has taken the trouble to find out a good deal about us all.
I remember Seton perfectly well. He came up before me for trial in June of the year 1930. He was charged with the murder of an elderly woman. He was very ably defended and made a good impression on the jury in the witness-box. Nevertheless, on the evidence, he was certainly guilty. I summed up accordingly, and the jury brought in a verdict of Guilty. In passing sentence of death I concurred with the verdict. An appeal was lodged on the grounds of misdirection. The appeal was rejected and the man was duly executed. I wish to say before you all that my conscience is perfectly clear on the
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Cyril Hamilton. I was nursery governess to him. He was forbidden to swim out far. One day, when my attention was distracted, he started off. I swam after him … I couldn’t get there in time … It was awful … But it wasn’t my fault. At the inquest the Coroner exonerated me. And his mother—she was so kind. If even she
“Best really to leave this sort of thing unanswered. However, feel I ought to say—no truth—no truth whatever in what he said about—er—young Arthur Richmond. Richmond was one of my officers. I sent him on a reconnaissance. He was killed. Natural course of events in wartime. Wish to say resent very much—slur on my wife. Best woman in the world. Absolutely—Cæsar’s wife!”
“Story’s quite true! I left ’em! Matter of self-preservation. We were lost in the bush. I and a couple of other fellows took what food there was and cleared out.”
“I’ve just been thinking—John and Lucy Combes. Must have been a couple of kids I ran over near Cambridge. Beastly bad luck.”
They rushed out of some cottage or other. I had my licence suspended for a year. Beastly nuisance.”
were with Miss Brady till she died. She was always in poor health, sir, always from the time we came to her. There was a storm, sir, that night—the night she was taken bad. The telephone was out of order. We couldn’t get the doctor to her. I went for him, sir, on foot. But he got there too late. We’d done everything possible for her, sir. Devoted to her, we were. Anyone will tell you the same. There was never a word said against us. Not a word.”
“Landor got penal servitude for life and died on Dartmoor a year later. He was a delicate man.”
Anthony said with a grin: “The legal life’s narrowing! I’m all for crime! Here’s to it.” He picked up his drink and drank it off at a gulp. Too quickly, perhaps. He choked—choked badly. His face contorted, turned purple. He gasped for breath—then slid down off his chair, the glass falling from his hand.
“Yes. Can’t say exactly. Everything points to one of the cyanides. No distinctive smell of Prussic Acid, probably Potassium Cyanide. It acts pretty well instantaneously.”
had come about exactly in the way things happened in books. The letter in the wrong envelope. She’d been writing to them both and she’d put her letter to Richmond in the envelope addressed to her husband. Even now, all these years after, he could feel the shock of it—the pain….
They’d gone on together—only, somehow, she hadn’t seemed very real anymore. And then, three or four years later she’d got double pneumonia and died.
He lifted the cold hand, raised the eyelid. It was some few minutes before he straightened himself and turned from the bed.
“You must excuse any—er—shortcomings this morning. Rogers has had to do the best he can for breakfast single-handed. Mrs. Rogers has—er—not been able to carry on this morning.”
“I thought it better to wait until you had had your breakfast before telling you of a sad piece of news. Mrs. Rogers died in her sleep.”
Yes, I loved Leslie. That’s why I did it.”
Seven people looked at each other and could find no words to say.
You had come, doubtless, to the same conclusion that I had—namely that the deaths of Anthony Marston and Mrs. Rogers were neither accidental nor were they suicides. No doubt you also reached a certain conclusion as to the purpose of Mr. Owen in enticing us to this island?”
“I don’t know. He—he was very queer.”
Well—after all—what of it? It’s mad—but so’s everything else. Anyway it doesn’t matter. You can’t kill anybody with an oilsilk curtain. Forget about it.”
Mr. Justice Wargrave, shaved, dressed and with his false teeth in position, came down the stairs. He moved to the open dining room door.
weird mention?
He was in the little washhouse across the yard. He had been chopping sticks in preparation for lighting the kitchen fire. The small chopper was still in his hand. A bigger chopper, a heavy affair, was leaning against the door—the metal of it stained a dull brown. It corresponded only too well with the deep wound in the back of Rogers’ head….
He bent forward, peering into the still face. Then, with a swift movement he raised the wig. It fell to the floor revealing the high bald forehead with, in the very middle, a round stained mark from which something had trickled.
