And Then There Were None

by Agatha Christie

Frank Green, 1869

Original author of poem.

Yours truly, Una Nancy Owen.”

Vera Claythorne,

“Quite attractive—a bit schoolmistressy perhaps.”

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….

One fancied things sometimes—fancied a fellow was looking at you queerly.

Nerves! The doctor’s eyebrows went up. These women and their nerves!

Lucky that he’d managed to pull himself together in time after that business ten—no, fifteen years ago.

sleep. Mr. Blore was writing carefully in a little notebook. “That’s the lot,” he muttered to himself. “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.”

Now why would he have the whole crew in a notebook?

Soldier Island. He remembered Soldier Island as a boy

Why was he there as a boy?

Subsiding on to his seat Mr. Blore thought to himself: He’s nearer the day of judgment than I am! But there, as it happens, he was wrong….

Down the steep track into the village a car was coming. A car so fantastically powerful, so superlatively beautiful that it had all the nature of an apparition.

Is this why the book is almost 300 pages?

Queer business when you came to think of it—the whole thing was queer—very queer….

how many times can you say Queer in a sentence and it still make sense?

Sometimes ’tis cut off for a week or more.”

Mr. Owen—unfortunately delayed—unable to get here till tomorrow.

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.

“Mrs. Oliver has been lucky to get these two. The woman’s a good cook.” Vera thought: “Funny how elderly people always get names wrong.” She said: “Yes, I think Mrs. Owen has been very lucky indeed.”

“Prisoners at the bar, have you anything to say in your defence?”

Damn its murder island now.

Only Miss Brent remained alone sitting erect in her chair.

“Quite right, sir. It was entitled Swan Song.…”

“We’ve only been here just under a week, sir, my wife and I. We were engaged by letter, through an agency. The Regina Agency in Plymouth.”

Ulick Norman Owen. Quite a mouthful.”

Is it an anagram?

All eyes were turned on Blore. Angry suspicious eyes. Anthony Marston moved a step nearer to him. His fists clenched themselves.

Una Nancy Owen—each time, that is to say, U. N. Owen. Or by a slight stretch of fancy, Unknown!”

“But this is fantastic—mad!”

“Oh, yes. I’ve no doubt in my own mind that we have been invited here by a madman—probably a d...

Whoever it was who enticed us here, that person knows or has taken the trouble to find out a good deal about us all.

“Judge was dead against him. Turned the jury right round and they brought him in guilty.

“Did you know Seton at all? I mean previous to the case.” The hooded reptilian eyes met his. In a clear cold voice the judge said: “I knew nothing of Seton previous to the case.” Armstrong said to himself: “The fellow’s lying—I know he’s lying.”

Lombard said: “Not quite the act of a pukka sahib, I’m afraid. But self-preservation’s a man’s first duty. And natives don’t mind dying, you know. They don’t feel about it as Europeans do.”

Drunk—that’s what it was—drunk … And I operated! Nerves all to pieces—hands shaking. I killed her all right.

I suggest that we leave tonight.” Rogers said: “I beg your pardon, sir, but there’s no boat on the island.” “No boat at all?”

“Yes. Can’t say exactly. Everything points to one of the cyanides.

Carefully, Mr. Justice Wargrave removed his false teeth and dropped them into a glass of water. The shrunken lips fell in. It was a cruel mouth now, cruel and predatory. Hooding his eyes, the judge smiled to himself. He’d cooked Seton’s goose all right!

He muttered to himself: “That’s a rum go! I could have sworn there were ten of them.”

It 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….

God damn the fellow! Damn his smiling face, his brisk “Yes, sir.” Liar and hypocrite! Stealer of another man’s wife!

But young Armitage was different. He’d looked at his commanding officer very oddly. He’d known, perhaps, that Richmond was being deliberately sent to death.

He knew, suddenly, that he didn’t want to leave the island.

“Ten little soldier boys went out to dine; One choked his little self and then there were Nine.”

Emily Brent, of course. It was Emily Brent that he had to kill.

“What was her health like normally?” Rogers said: “She was a bit rheumaticky.”

“You regard it as impossible that a sinner should be struck down by the wrath of God! I do not!”

You were listed too girlie. Just 'cuz you carry a bible don't mean you are innocent. That killer don't care how thick your bible is.

Vera interrupted. In a low voice she said: “No, I don’t think Mrs. Rogers ever felt safe.” Blore looked slightly annoyed at the interruption. “Just like a woman,” his glance said.

“When a man’s neck’s in danger, he doesn’t stop to think too much about sentiment.”

morning. If he’s ill he’d send his brother.” Philip Lombard said: “What’s the time now?” “Ten minutes to ten, sir.”

“Ah, I understand you now. Well, there is that Mr. Lombard. He admits to having abandoned twenty men to their deaths.”

Vera said: “They were only natives….”

Actually maniacal. Wtf.

Emily Brent said sharply: “Black or white, they a...

“It could have been—yes—if it hadn’t been for Marston’s death. Two suicides within twelve hours is a little too much to swallow!