And Then There Were None

VII

Mr Justice Wargrave thought to himself:

‘Armstrong? Remember him in the witness-box. Very correct and cautious. All doctors are damned fools. Harley Street ones are the worst of the lot.’ And his mind dwelt malevolently on a recent interview he had had with a suave personage in that very street.

Aloud he grunted:

‘Drinks are in the hall.’

Dr Armstrong said:

‘I must go and pay my respects to my host and hostess.’

Mr Justice Wargrave closed his eyes again, looking decidedly reptilian, and said:

‘You can’t do that.’

Dr Armstrong was startled.

‘Why not?’

The judge said:

‘No host and hostess. Very curious state of affairs. Don’t understand this place.’

Dr Armstrong stared at him for a minute. When he thought the old gentleman had actually gone to sleep, Wargrave said suddenly:

‘D’you know Constance Culmington?’

‘Er—no, I’m afraid I don’t.’

‘It’s of no consequence,’ said the judge. ‘Very vague woman—and practically unreadable handwriting. I was just wondering if I’d come to the wrong house.’

Dr Armstrong shook his head and went on up to the house.

Mr Justice Wargrave reflected on the subject of Constance Culmington. Undependable like all women.

His mind went on to the two women in the house, the tight-lipped old maid and the girl. He didn’t care for the girl, cold-blooded young hussy. No, three women, if you counted the Rogers woman. Odd creature, she looked scared to death. Respectable pair and knew their job.

Rogers coming out on the terrace that minute, the judge asked him:

‘Is Lady Constance Culmington expected, do you know?’

Rogers stared at him.

‘No, sir, not to my knowledge.’

The judge’s eyebrows rose. But he only grunted. He thought:

‘Soldier Island, eh? There’s a fly in the ointment.’

VIII

Anthony Marston was in his bath. He luxuriated in the steaming water. His limbs had felt cramped after his long drive. Very few thoughts passed through his head. Anthony was a creature of sensation—and of action.

He thought to himself:

‘Must go through with it, I suppose,’ and thereafter dismissed everything from his mind.

Warm steaming water—tired limbs—presently a shave—a cocktail—dinner.

And after—?

IX

Mr Blore was tying his tie. He wasn’t very good at this sort of thing.

Did he look all right? He supposed so.

Nobody had been exactly cordial to him… Funny the way they all eyed each other—as though they knew…

Well, it was up to him.

He didn’t mean to bungle his job.

He glanced up at the framed nursery rhyme over the mantelpiece.

Neat touch, having that there!

He thought:

Remember this island when I was a kid. Never thought I’d be doing this sort of a job in a house here. Good thing, perhaps, that one can’t foresee the future.

X

General Macarthur was frowning to himself.

Damn it all, the whole thing was deuced odd! Not at all what he’d been led to expect…

For two pins he’d make an excuse and get away… Throw up the whole business…

But the motor-boat had gone back to the mainland.

He’d have to stay.

That fellow Lombard now, he was a queer chap.

Not straight. He’d swear the man wasn’t straight.