Ten Little Niggers / Десять негритят. Агата Кристи

was some mystery about Owen. Mr. Narracott agreed with them.

      Perhaps it was indeed Miss Gabrielle Turl who had bought the island. But he rejected that theory as he looked at his passengers. They could hardly have anything to do with a film star.

      He sized them up objectively.

      One spinster – the sour kind – he knew them well enough. She was a dragon, he could bet. Old military gentleman. Nice-looking young lady – but the ordinary kind, not glamourous – 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 thin hungry looking gentleman with the quick eyes, he was a queer one.

      No, there was only one satisfactory passenger in the boat. The last gentleman, the one who had arrived in the car (and what a car!).

      He was the right kind. Born to money, he was. If the party had been all like him… he’d understand it…

      Queer business – the whole thing was queer – very queer.

      V

      The boat went round the rock. The south side of the island was quite different. It sloped gently down to the sea. Now at last they saw the house – low and square and modern-looking with rounded windows letting in all the light.

      An exciting house – a house that lived up to expectation![12]

      Fred Narracott stopped the engine, they nosed their way gently into a little natural inlet between rocks.

      Philip Lombard said sharply:

      “Must be difficult to land here in bad weather.”

      Fred Narracott said cheerfully:

      “Can’t land on Nigger Island when there’s a southeasterly. Sometimes it’s cut off for a week or more.”

      Fred Narracott jumped out and he and Lombard helped the others to get out. Narracott tied the boat to a ring in the rock. Then they went up the steps cut in the rock.

      General Macarthur said:

      “Ha, enchanting spot!”

      But he felt uneasy. Damned odd sort of place.

      As the party came out on a terrace above, their mood brightened. In the open doorway of the house a correct butler was awaiting them, and something about his appearance reassured them. And then the house itself was really most attractive, the view from the terrace magnificent…

      The butler bowed slightly and said:

      “Will you come this way, please?”

      In the wide hall drinks stood ready. Rows of bottles. That pleased Anthony Marston. His mood improved a little. He’d just been thinking this was not his kind of company. How could old Badger have let him in for this?[13] But the drinks were all right. Plenty of ice, too.

      What was the butler chap saying?

      “Mr. Owen – unfortunately delayed – unable to get here till tomorrow. Instructions – everything they wanted – if they would like to go to their rooms?.. dinner would be at 8 o’clock.”

      VI

      Mrs. Rogers showed Vera to her room upstairs. It was a delightful bedroom with a big window that opened upon the sea and another looking east. At one side of the room a door stood open into a pale blue-tiled bathroom. Vera was very pleased with it.

      Mrs. Rogers was saying:

      “I hope you’ve got everything you want, Miss?”

      Vera looked round. Her luggage had been brought up and had been unpacked.

      She said quickly:

      “Yes, everything, I think.”

      Mrs. Rogers asked her to ring the bell if she wanted anything. She had a flat monotonous voice. Her queer light eyes moved the whole time from place to place.

      Vera thought:

      “She looks frightened of her own shadow.”

      Yes, she looked like a woman who walked in mortal fear.

      Vera shivered a little. What on earth was the woman afraid of?

      She said pleasantly:

      “I’m Mrs. Owen’s new secretary. I expect you know that.”

      Mrs. Rogers said:

      “I haven’t seen Mrs. Owen – not yet. We only came here two days ago.”

      “Extraordinary people, these Owens,” thought Vera. Aloud she said:

      “What staff is there here?”

      “Just me and Rogers, Miss.”

      Vera frowned. She thought such small staff was not enough for so large a party.

      Mrs. Rogers said:

      “I’m a good cook and Rogers is handy about the house. If there’s to be large parties often perhaps Mrs. Owen could get extra help in.”

      Mrs. Rogers turned and quietly left the room.

      Vera went over to the window and sat down on the window seat. She was faintly worried. Everything – somehow – was a little queer. The absence of the Owens, the pale ghostlike Mrs. Rogers. And the guests! Yes, the guests were queer too. A strangely assorted party.

      She got up and walked restlessly about the room. She stopped in front of the fireplace. On the mantelpiece there was a huge block of white marble shaped like a bear, a piece of modern sculpture in which was inset a clock. Over it, in a chromium frame, was a poem.

      It was the old nursery rhyme that she remembered from her childhood days.

      Ten little Nigger boys went out to dine;

      One choked his little self and then there were nine.

      Nine little Nigger boys sat up very late;

      One overslept himself and then there were eight.

      Eight little Nigger boys travelling in Devon;

      One said he’d stay there and then there were seven.

      Seven little Nigger boys chopping up sticks;

      One chopped himself in halves and then there were six.

      Six little Nigger boys playing with a hive;

      A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.

      Five little Nigger boys going in for law;

      One got in Chancery and then there were four.

      Four little Nigger boys going out to sea;

      A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.

      Three little Nigger boys walking in the Zoo;

      A big bear hugged one and then there were two.

      Two little Nigger boys sitting in the sun;

      One got frizzled up[14] and then there was one.

      One little Nigger boy left all alone;

      He went and hanged himself and then there were none.

      Vera smiled. Of course! This was Nigger Island!

      She returned to the window and sat again looking out to sea.

      How big the sea was! No land could be seen from here – just blue water around everywhere.

      The sea… So peaceful today – sometimes so cruel… The sea that dragged you down to its depths. Drowned. Found drowned. Drowned at sea. Drowned – drowned – drowned.

      No, she wouldn’t think of it!

      All that was over.

      VII

      Dr.

12

оправдал надежды

13

Как мог старина Бэджер впутать его в это?

14

сгорел, изжарился (на солнце)