Chapter - 8 | And Then There Were None

I
Blore was easily roped in. He expressed immediate
agreement with their arguments.
‘What you’ve said about those china ﬁgures, sir,
makes all the difference. That’s crazy, that is! There’s
only one thing. You don’t think this Owen’s idea might
be to do the job by proxy, as it were?’
‘Explain yourself, man.’
‘Well, I mean like this. After the racket last night this
young Marston gets the wind up and poisons himself.
And Rogers, he gets the wind up too and bumps off
his wife! All according to U.N.O’s plan.’
Armstrong shook his head. He stressed the point
about the cyanide. Blore agreed.
‘Yes, I’d forgotten that. Not a natural thing to be
carrying about with you. But how did it get into his
drink, sir?’
Lombard said:
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‘I’ve been thinking about that. Marston had several
drinks that night. Between the time he had his last one
and the time he ﬁnished the one before it, there was
quite a gap. During that time his glass was lying about
on some table or other. I think – though I can’t be sure,
it was on the little table near the window. The window
was open. Somebody could have slipped a dose of the
cyanide into the glass.’
Blore said unbelievingly:
‘Without our all seeing him, sir?’
Lombard said dryly:
‘We were all – rather concerned elsewhere.’
Armstrong said slowly:
‘That’s true. We’d all been attacked. We were walk-
ing about, moving about the room. Arguing, indignant,
intent on our own business. I think it could have been
done . . .’
Blore shrugged his shoulders.
‘Fact is, it must have been done! Now then, gentle-
men, let’s make a start. Nobody’s got a revolver, by
any chance? I suppose that’s too much to hope for.’
Lombard said:
‘I’ve got one.’ He patted his pocket.
Blore’s eyes opened very wide. He said in an over-
casual tone:
‘Always carry that about with you, sir?’
Lombard said:
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‘Usually. I’ve been in some tight places, you know.’
‘Oh,’ said Blore and added: ‘Well, you’ve probably
never been in a tighter place than you are today! If
there’s a lunatic hiding on this island, he’s probably
got a young arsenal on him – to say nothing of a knife
or dagger or two.’
Armstrong coughed.
‘You may be wrong there, Blore. Many homicidal
lunatics are very quiet unassuming people. Delightful
fellows.’
Blore said:
‘I don’t feel this one is going to be of that kind, Dr
Armstrong.’
II
The three men started on their tour of the island.
It proved unexpectedly simple. On the north-west
side, towards the coast, the cliffs fell sheer to the sea
below, their surface unbroken.
On the rest of the island there were no trees and
very little cover. The three men worked carefully and
methodically, beating up and down from the high-
est point to the water’s edge, narrowly scanning the
least irregularity in the rock which might point to the
entrance to a cave. But there were no caves.
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They came at last, skirting the water’s edge, to where
General Macarthur sat looking out to sea. It was very
peaceful here with the lap of the waves breaking over
the rocks. The old man sat very upright, his eyes ﬁxed
on the horizon.
He paid no attention to the approach of the
searchers. His oblivion of them made one at least
faintly uncomfortable.
Blore thought to himself:
‘’Tisn’t natural – looks as though he’d gone into a
trance or something.’
He cleared his throat and said in a would-be
conversational tone:
‘Nice peaceful spot you’ve found for yourself, sir.’
The General frowned. He cast a quick look over his
shoulder. He said:
‘There is so little time – so little time. I really must
insist that no one disturbs me.’
Blore said genially:
‘We won’t disturb you. We’re just making a tour
of the island so to speak. Just wondered, you know,
if someone might be hiding on it.’
The General frowned and said:
‘You don’t understand – you don’t understand at all.
Please go away.’
Blore retreated. He said, as he joined the other two:
‘He’s crazy . . . It’s no good talking to him.’
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Lombard asked with some curiosity:
‘What did he say?’
Blore shrugged his shoulders.
‘Something about there being no time and that he
didn’t want to be disturbed.’
Dr Armstrong frowned.
He murmured:
‘I wonder now . . .’
III
The search of the island was practically completed.
The three men stood on the highest point looking over
towards the mainland. There were no boats out. The
wind was freshening.
Lombard said:
‘No ﬁshing boats out. There’s a storm coming.
Damned nuisance you can’t see the village from here.
We could signal or do something.’
Blore said:
‘We might light a bonﬁre tonight.’
Lombard said, frowning:
‘The devil of it is that that’s all probably been
provided for.’
‘In what way, sir?’
‘How do I know? Practical joke, perhaps. We’re to
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be marooned here, no attention is to be paid to signals,
etc. Possibly the village has been told there’s a wager
on. Some damn’ fool story anyway.’
Blore said dubiously:
‘Think they’d swallow that?’
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!’
Blore was gazing down into the water.
He said:
‘Nobody could have clambered down here, I
suppose?’
Armstrong shook his head.
‘I doubt it. It’s pretty sheer. And where could he
hide?’
Blore said:
‘There might be a hole in the cliff. If we had a boat
now, we could row round the island.’
Lombard said:
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And Then There Were None
‘If we had a boat, we’d all be halfway to the mainland
by now!’
‘True enough, sir.’
Lombard said suddenly:
‘We can make sure of this cliff. There’s only one
place where there could be a recess – just a little to
the right below here. If you fellows can get hold of a
rope, you can let me down to make sure.’
Blore said:
‘Might as well be sure. Though it seems absurd – on
the face of it! I’ll see if I can get hold of something.’
He started off briskly down to the house.
Lombard stared up at the sky. The clouds were
beginning to mass themselves together. The wind was
increasing.
He shot a sideways look at Armstrong. He said:
‘You’re very silent, doctor. What are you thinking?’
Armstrong said slowly:
‘I was wondering exactly how mad old Macarthur
was . . .’
IV
Vera had been restless all the morning. She had avoided
Emily Brent with a kind of shuddering aversion.
Miss Brent herself had taken a chair just round the
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corner of the house so as to be out of the wind. She
sat there knitting.
Every time Vera thought of her she seemed to see
a pale drowned face with seaweed entangled in the
hair . . . A face that had once been pretty – impudently
pretty perhaps – and which was now beyond the reach
of pity or terror.
And Emily Brent, placid and righteous, sat
knitting.
On the main terrace, Mr Justice Wargrave sat
huddled in a porter’s chair. His head was poked down
well into his neck.
When Vera looked at him, she saw a man standing
in the dock – a young man with fair hair and blue
eyes and a bewildered frightened face. Edward Seton.
And in imagination she saw the judge’s old hands put
the black cap on his head and begin to pronounce
sentence . . .
After a while Vera strolled slowly down to the
sea. She walked along towards the extreme end of
the island where an old man sat staring out to the
horizon.
General Macarthur stirred at her approach. His head
turned – there was a queer mixture of questioning and
apprehension in his look. It startled her. He stared
intently at her for a minute or two.
She thought to herself:
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And Then There Were None
‘How queer. It’s almost as though he knew .. .’
He said:
‘Ah, it’s you! You’ve come . . .’
Vera sat down beside him. She said:
‘Do you like sitting here looking out to sea?’
He nodded his head gently.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s pleasant. It’s a good place, I
think, to wait.’
‘To wait?’ said Vera sharply. ‘What are you wait-
ing 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 !’
Vera said wonderingly:
‘The relief ?’
He said:
‘Yes. Of course, you’re very young . . . you haven’t
got to that yet. But it does come! The blessed relief
when you know that you’ve done with it all – that you
haven’t got to carry the burden any longer. You’ll feel
that too, someday . . .’
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Vera said hoarsely:
‘I don’t understand you.’
Her ﬁngers worked spasmodically. She felt suddenly
afraid of this quiet old soldier.
He said musingly:
‘You see, I loved Leslie. I loved her very much . . .’
Vera said questioningly:
‘Was Leslie your wife?’
‘Yes, my wife . . . I loved her – and I was very proud
of her. She was so pretty – and so gay.’
He was silent for a minute or two, then he said:
‘Yes, I loved Leslie. That’s why I did it.’
Vera said:
‘You mean –’ and paused.
General Macarthur nodded his head gently.
‘It’s not much good denying it now – not when we’re
all going to die. I sent Richmond to his death. I suppose,
in a way, it was murder. Curious. Murder – and I’ve
always been such a law-abiding man! But it didn’t
seem like that at the time. I had no regrets. “Serves
him damned well right!” – that’s what I thought. But
afterwards –’
In a hard voice, Vera said:
‘Well, afterwards?’
He shook his head vaguely. He looked puzzled and
a little distressed.
‘I don’t know. I – don’t know. It was all different, you
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see. I don’t know if Leslie ever guessed . . . I don’t think
so. But, you see, I didn’t know about her any more.
She’d gone far away where I couldn’t reach her. And
then she died – and I was alone . . .’
Vera said:
‘Alone – alone –’ and the echo of her voice came
back to her from the rocks.
General Macarthur said:
‘You’ll be glad, too, when the end comes.’
Vera got up. She said sharply:
‘I don’t know what you mean!’
He said:
‘I know, my child. I know .. .’
‘You don’t. You don’t understand at all . . .’
General Macarthur looked out to sea again. He
seemed unconscious of her presence behind him.
He said very gently and softly:
‘Leslie . . . ?’
V
When Blore returned from the house with a rope coiled
over his arm, he found Armstrong where he had left
him staring down into the depths.
Blore said breathlessly:
‘Where’s Mr Lombard?’
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Armstrong said carelessly:
‘Gone to test some theory or other. He’ll be back in
a minute. Look here, Blore, I’m worried.’
‘I should say we were all worried.’
The doctor waved an impatient hand.
‘Of course – of course. I don’t mean it that way. I’m
thinking of old Macarthur.’
‘What about him, sir?’
Dr Armstrong said grimly:
‘What we’re looking for is a madman. What price
Macarthur?’
Blore said incredulously:
‘You mean he’s homicidal?’
Armstrong said doubtfully:
‘I shouldn’t have said so. Not for a minute. But, of
course, I’m not a specialist in mental diseases. I haven’t
really had any conversation with him – I haven’t studied
him from that point of view.’
Blore said doubtfully:
‘Ga-ga, yes! But I wouldn’t have said –’
Armstrong cut in with a slight effort as of a man who
pulls himself together.
‘You’re probably right! Damn it all, there must
be someone hiding on the island! Ah! here comes
Lombard.’
They fastened the rope carefully.
Lombard said:
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‘I’ll help myself all I can. Keep a lookout for a sudden
strain on the rope.’
After a minute or two, while they stood together
watching Lombard’s progress, Blore said:
‘Climbs like a cat, doesn’t he?’
There was something odd in his voice.
Dr Armstrong said:
‘I should think he must have done some mountain-
eering in his time.’
‘Maybe.’
There was a silence and the ex-Inspector said:
‘Funny sort of cove altogether. D’you know what
I think?’
‘What?’
‘He’s a wrong ’un!’
Armstrong said doubtfully:
‘In what way?’
Blore grunted. Then he said:
‘I don’t know – exactly. But I wouldn’t trust him
a yard.’
Dr Armstrong said:
‘I suppose he’s led an adventurous life.’
Blore said:
‘I bet some of his adventures have had to be kept
pretty dark.’ He paused and then went on: ‘Did you
happen to bring a revolver along with you, doctor?’
Armstrong stared.
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‘Me? Good Lord, no. Why should I?’
Blore said:
‘Why did Mr Lombard?’
Armstrong said doubtfully:
‘I suppose – habit.’
Blore snorted.
A sudden pull came on the rope. For some moments
they had their hands full. Presently, when the strain
relaxed, Blore said:
‘There are habits and habits! Mr Lombard takes a
revolver to out of the way places, right enough, and
a primus and a sleeping-bag and a supply of bug
powder no doubt! But habit wouldn’t make him bring
the whole outﬁt down here! It’s only in books people
carry revolvers around as a matter of course.’
Dr Armstrong shook his head perplexedly.
They leaned over and watched Lombard’s progress.
His search was thorough and they could see at once that
it was futile. Presently he came up over the edge of the
cliff. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘We’re up against it. It’s the house
or nowhere.’
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VI
The house was easily searched. They went through
the few outbuildings ﬁrst and then turned their atten-
tion to the building itself. Mrs Rogers’ yard measure
discovered in the kitchen dresser assisted them. But
there were no hidden spaces left unaccounted for.
Everything was plain and straightforward, a modern
structure devoid of concealments. They went through
the ground ﬂoor ﬁrst. As they mounted to the bedroom
ﬂoor, they saw through the landing window Rogers
carrying out a tray of cocktails to the terrace.
Philip Lombard said lightly:
‘Wonderful animal, the good servant. Carries on
with an impassive countenance.’
Armstrong said appreciatively:
‘Rogers is a ﬁrst-class butler, I’ll say that for him!’
Blore said:
‘His wife was a pretty good cook, too. That dinner
– last night –’
They turned in to the ﬁrst bedroom.
Five minutes later they faced each other on the
landing. No one hiding – no possible hiding-place.
Blore said:
‘There’s a little stair here.’
Dr Armstrong said:
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‘It leads up to the servants’ room.’
Blore said:
‘There must be a place under the roof – for cis-
terns, water tank, etc. It’s the best chance – and the
only one!’
And it was then, as they stood there, that they heard
the sound from above. A soft furtive footfall overhead.
They all heard it. Armstrong grasped Blore’s arm.
Lombard held up an admonitory ﬁnger.
‘Quiet – listen.’
It came again – someone moving softly, furtively,
overhead.
Armstrong whispered:
‘He’s actually in the bedroom itself. The room where
Mrs Rogers’ body is.’
Blore whispered back:
‘Of course! Best hiding-place he could have
chosen! Nobody likely to go there. Now then – quiet as
you can.’
They crept stealthily upstairs.
On the little landing outside the door of the bedroom
they paused again. Yes, someone was in the room.
There was a faint creak from within.
Blore whispered:
‘Now.’
He ﬂung open the door and rushed in, the other two
close behind him.
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Then all three stopped dead.
Rogers was in the room, his hands full of garments.
VII
Blore recovered himself ﬁrst. He said:
‘Sorry – er – Rogers. Heard someone moving about
in here, and thought – well –’
He stopped.
Rogers said:
‘I’m sorry, gentlemen. I was just moving my things.
I take it there will be no objection if I take one of
the vacant guest chambers on the ﬂoor below? The
smallest room.’
It was to Armstrong that he spoke and Armstrong
replied:
‘Of course. Of course. Get on with it.’
He avoided looking at the sheeted ﬁgure lying on
the bed.
Rogers said:
‘Thank you, sir.’
He went out of the room with his arm full of belong-
ings and went down the stairs to the ﬂoor below.
Armstrong moved over to the bed and, lifting the
sheet, looked down on the peaceful face of the dead
woman. There was no fear there now. Just emptiness.
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Armstrong said:
‘Wish I’d got my stuff here. I’d like to know what
drug it was.’
Then he turned to the other two.
‘Let’s get ﬁnished. I feel it in my bones we’re not
going to ﬁnd anything.’
Blore was wrestling with the bolts of a low man-
hole.
He said:
‘That chap moves damned quietly. A minute or two
ago we saw him in the garden. None of us heard him
come upstairs.’
Lombard said:
‘I suppose that’s why we assumed it must be a
stranger moving about up here.’
Blore disappeared into a cavernous darkness. Lombard
pulled a torch from his pocket and followed.
Five minutes later three men stood on an upper
landing and looked at each other. They were dirty and
festooned with cobwebs and their faces were grim.
There was no one on the island but their eight
selves.
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