And Then There Were None

by Agatha Christie

Her nerves— Nerves! The doctor’s eyebrows went up. These women and their nerves! Well, it was good for business after all. Half the women who consulted him had nothing the matter with them but boredom, but they wouldn’t thank you for telling them so! And one could usually find something. “A slightly uncommon condition of the (some long word) nothing at all serious—but it needs just putting right. A simple treatment.”

He summed them up dispassionately. One old maid—the sour kind—he knew them well enough. She was a tartar he could bet. Old military gentleman—real Army look about him. Nice-looking young lady—but the ordinary kind, not glamorous—no Hollywood touch about her. That bluff cheery gent—he wasn’t a real gentleman. Retired tradesman, that’s what he is, thought Fred Narracott. The other gentleman, the lean hungry-looking gentleman with the quick eyes, he was a queer one, he was. Just possible he might have something to do with the pictures. No, there was only one satisfactory passenger in the boat. The last gentleman, the one who had arrived in the car (and what a car! A car such as had never been seen in Sticklehaven before. Must have cost hundreds and hundreds, a car like that). He was the right kind.

Ten little soldier boys went out to dine; One choked his little self and then there were Nine. Nine little soldier boys sat up very late; One overslept himself and then there were Eight. Eight little soldier boys travelling in Devon; One said he’d stay there and then there were Seven. Seven little soldier boys chopping up sticks; One chopped himself in halves and then there were Six. Six little soldier boys playing with a hive; A bumble bee stung one and then there were Five. Five little soldier boys going in for law; One got in Chancery and then there were Four. Four little soldier boys going out to sea; A red herring swallowed one and then there were Three. Three little soldier boys walking in the Zoo; A big bear hugged one and then there were Two. Two little soldier boys sitting in the sun; One got frizzled up and then there was One. One little soldier boy left all alone; He went and hanged himself and then there were None.

Forewarned is forearmed.

As you’re just about to tell me, it’s not worth the trouble of guessing.”

And all of them, suddenly, looked less like human beings.

“Good for you, Vera. You’ve got your wits about you—even if you have been scared half out of your life.

He was not afraid of danger in the open, only of danger undefined and tinged with the supernatural.

“Don’t you see? We’re the Zoo… Last night, we were hardly human anymore. We’re the Zoo.…”

But no artist, I now realize, can be satisfied with art alone. There is a natural craving for recognition which cannot be gainsaid.