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Mr Justice Wargrave,
meet you at Oakbridge…
Constance Culmington.
Vera Claythorne,
you will be met at Oakbridge station.
Una Nancy Owen.’
Philip Lombard,
‘Take it or leave it, Captain Lombard.’
Mr Isaac Morris
for which you will travel to Sticklehaven, Devon. The nearest station is Oakbridge, you will be met there and motored to Sticklehaven where a motor launch will convey you to Soldier Island.
Miss Emily Brent
This year, however, it would be quite different. Soldier Island…
Mentally she re-read the letter
spending your summer holiday on Soldier Island—quite
U.N.O—’
Una Nancy Owen... Probably
If only she could remember a little more about Mrs—or was it Miss—Oliver?
General Macarthur
The train was just coming into Exeter, where he had to change.
He hadn’t got it clear who this fellow Owen was.
Dr Armstrong
‘You ought to try Armstrong—quite a young man—but so clever—Pam had been to all sorts of people for years and he put his finger on the trouble at once!’
he was glad that he was leaving London and going to be for some days on an island off the Devon coast.
The letter he had received had been rather vague in its terms,
With a devastating ear-splitting blast on the horn an enormous Super-Sports Dalmain car rushed past him at eighty miles an hour.
Tony Marston,
This island place ought to be rather good fun—if
Who were these Owens, he wondered?
Mr Blore
Trying to impersonate?
‘Emily Brent, Vera Claythorne, Dr Armstrong, Anthony Marston, old Justice Wargrave, Philip Lombard, General Macarthur, CMG, DSO, Manservant and wife: Mr and Mrs Rogers.’
Soldier Island. He remembered Soldier Island as a boy…
‘I’m talking to you, young man. The day of judgment is very close at hand.’
Drunkard said to Blore
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
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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
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There's a bear sculpture in Vera's room
in either case you notice, the same initials. Ulick Norman Owen—Una Nancy Owen—each time, that is to say, U. N. Owen. Or by a slight stretch of fancy, UNKNOWN!’
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.
One soldier choked.
There was no one on the island but their eight selves.
The murderer?
