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Miss Brent’s lips set closely. She would like to make an example of certain people.
“Watch and pray,” he said. “Watch and pray. The day of judgment is at hand.”
He collapsed through the doorway on to the platform. From a recumbent position he looked up at Mr. Blore and said with immense dignity: “I’m talking to you, young man. The day of judgment is very close at hand.”
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.
He didn’t care for the girl, cold-blooded young hussy.
In the drawing room the French windows were open on to the terrace and the sound of the sea murmuring against the rocks came up to them. Emily Brent said, “Pleasant sound.” Vera said sharply, “I hate it.”
The judge nodded gently. He said:
“Oh, yes. I’ve no doubt in my own mind that we have been invited here by a madman—probably a dangerous homicidal lunatic.”
Whoever it was who enticed us here, that person knows or has taken the trouble to find out a good deal about us all.
Lombard laughed—a sudden ringing laugh. He said: “What a duty-loving law-abiding lot we all seem to be! Myself excepted. What about you, doctor—and your little professional mistake? Illegal operation, was it?”
He thought: Peaceful sound. Peaceful place…. He thought: Best of an island is once you get there—you can’t go any farther … you’ve come to the end of things…. He knew, suddenly, that he didn’t want to leave the island.
Cyril wasn’t really strong. A puny child—no stamina. The kind of child, perhaps, who wouldn’t live to grow up…. And then—? “Miss Claythorne, why can’t I swim to the rock?” Irritating whiney repetition. “It’s too far, Cyril.”
She didn’t want to die. She couldn’t imagine wanting to die…. Death was for—the other people…
“The motorboat’s not coming,” it said.
“You think not too, General?” General Macarthur said sharply: “Of course it won’t come. We’re counting on the motorboat to take us off the island. That’s the meaning of the whole business. We’re not going to leave the island… None of us will ever leave … It’s the end, you see—the end of everything….” He hesitated, then he said in a low strange voice: “That’s peace—real peace. To come to the end—not to have to go on … Yes, peace….”
Miss Brent murmured: “I remember a text that hung in my nursery as a child. ‘Be sure thy sin will find thee out.’ It’s very true, that. Be sure thy sin will find thee out.”
“Her own action—her own sin—that was what drove her to it. If she had behaved like a decent modest young woman none of this would have happened.”
Lombard said dryly: “It’s easier of belief than the truth! If the village were told that the island was to be isolated until Mr. Unknown Owen had quietly murdered all his guests—do you think they’d believe that?” Dr. Armstrong said: “There are moments when I can’t believe it myself. And yet—” Philip Lombard, his lips curling back from his teeth said: “And yet—that’s just it! You’ve said it, doctor!”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s pleasant. It’s a good place, I think, to wait.” “To wait?” said Vera sharply. “What are you waiting for?” He said gently: “The end. But I think you know that, don’t you? It’s true, isn’t it? We’re all waiting for the end.” She said unsteadily: “What do you mean?” General Macarthur said gravely:
“None of us are going to leave the island. That’s the plan. You know it, of course, perfectly. What, perhaps, you can’t understand is the relief!”
“For we are in a trap—I’ll take my oath on that! Mrs. Rogers’ death! Tony Marston’s! The disappearing soldier boys on the dinner table! Oh yes, Mr. Owen’s hand is plainly seen—but where the devil is Mr. Owen himself?”
“Murdered in our beds! These doctors are all the same—they think in clichés. A thoroughly commonplace mind.”
“Or don’t you mind dying?” Dying! It was as though a sharp little gimlet had run into the solid congealed mess of Emily Brent’s brain. Dying? But she wasn’t going to die! The others would die—yes—but not she, Emily Brent. This girl didn’t understand! Emily wasn’t afraid, naturally—none of the Brents were afraid. All her people were Service people. They faced death unflinchingly. They led upright lives just as she, Emily Brent, had led an upright life … She had never done anything to be ashamed of … And so, naturally, she wasn’t going to die….
Philip Lombard’s senses seemed heightened, rather than diminished. His ears reacted to the slightest sound. His step was lighter and quicker, his body was lithe and graceful. And he smiled often, his lips curling back from his long white teeth.
Horrid whiney spoilt little brat! If it weren’t for him, Hugo would be rich … able to marry the girl he loved….
