Ten Little Niggers / Десять негритят. Агата Кристи

      III

      The manservant, Rogers, looking very nervous, asked for permission to speak.

      Lombard said:

      “Go ahead, Rogers.”

      Rogers cleared his throat and passed his tongue over his dry lips.

      “Mrs. Rogers and I, and Miss Brady were mentioned, sir. There isn’t a word of truth in it, sir. From the time we came to her, Miss Brady was in poor health, sir. There was a storm, sir, that night when she got worse. The telephone was out of order. We couldn’t get the doctor to her. I went for him, sir, on foot. But he got there too late. We’d done everything possible for her, sir. We were devoted to her.”

      Lombard looked thoughtfully at the man’s twitching face, the fright in his eyes. He remembered the crash of the falling coffee tray. He thought, but did not say, “Oh, yea?”

      But Blore said:

      “Came into a little something[24] at her death, though? Eh?”

      Rogers said stiffly:

      “Miss Brady left us a legacy in recognition of our faithful services. And why not, I’d like to know?”

      Lombard turned to Blore.

      “What about yourself, Mr. Blore? Your name was included in the list.”

      Blore went dark red.

      “Landor, you mean? That was the bank robbery.”

      Mr. Justice Wargrave said:

      “I remember the case. Landor was convicted on your evidence. He got life sentence and died in Dartmoor a year later. He was not a very healthy man.”

      Blore said:

      “He was a criminal. He knocked out the night watchman. The case was quite clear against him.”

      Wargrave said slowly:

      “You were praised, I think, on your efficient work on the case.”

      Blore said darkly:

      “I got my promotion. But I was only doing my duty.”

      Lombard laughed suddenly and said:

      “How duty-loving and law-abiding, it seems, we all are! Except myself. Now doctor, what was your little professional mistake? Illegal operation?”

      Dr. Armstrong, very much master of himself, shook his head good-humouredly. He said calmly that he didn’t remember having a patient of that name, or being connected with a death in any way.

      “Of course, it’s a long time ago. It might possibly be one of my operation cases in hospital. They come too late, so many of these people. Then, when the patient dies, they always suppose it’s the surgeon’s fault.”

      He sighed and shook his head again.

      To himself, he thought:

      “Drunk – I was drunk… And I operated with shaking hands! I killed her, poor woman – simple job if I’d been sober. Luckily, there’s loyalty in our profession. The Sister knew, of course – but she held her tongue, God, it gave me a shock! I pulled myself together. But who could have known about it – after all these years?”

      IV

      In silence, they all were looking at Emily Brent. She did not understand at once that they were expecting she would tell her story. Then her eyebrows rose on her narrow forehead. She said:

      “I have nothing to say.”

      The judge said:

      “You reserve your defence?”[25]

      Miss Brent said coldly:

      “There is no question of defence. My actions have been always dictated by my conscience. I have nothing with which to reproach myself.”

      There was an unsatisfied feeling in the air. But public opinion was not important for Emily Brent. She remained silent.

      Then the judge asked the butler who else was there on the island besides eight guests and Rogers and his wife. Rogers said there was nobody else, and he was absolutely sure of that.

      Wargrave continued:

      “I have no idea why our unknown host has assembled us here. But in my opinion this person, whoever he may be, is not sane in the usual sense of the word.

      “He may be dangerous. I think we should leave this place tonight.”

      Rogers said:

      “I beg your pardon, sir, but there’s no boat on the island.”

      “No boat at all?”

      “No, sir.”

      “How do you communicate with the mainland?”

      “Fred Narracott comes over every morning, sir. He brings the bread and the milk and the post, and takes the orders.”

      Mr. Justice Wargrave said:

      “Then in my opinion it would be well if we all left tomorrow morning in Narracott’s boat.”

      They all agreed except Anthony Marston.

      “A bit unsporting, that.” he said. “The whole thing’s like a detective story. Really thrilling.”

      Ought to disclose the mystery before we go. The judge said acidly:

      “At my time of life, I have no desire for ’thrills,’ as you call them.”

      Anthony said with a grin:

      “The legal life’s narrowing! I’m all for crime! Here’s to it.” He picked up his drink and drank it off at a gulp.

      Too quickly, perhaps. He choked – choked badly. He gasped for breath – then fell down from his chair.

      Chapter 5

      I

      It was so shocking that they couldn’t move and sat still staring at the body on the floor.

      Then Dr. Armstrong jumped up and crossed the room, kneeling beside him. Then he looked at them with bewildered eyes and whispered:

      “My God! he’s dead!”

      They didn’t understand it. Not at once.

      That young god in the prime of his health and strength – dead? Healthy young men didn’t die like that, choking over a whiskey and soda…

      Dr. Armstrong was peering into the dead man’s face. He sniffed at the blue twisted lips. Then he picked up the glass from which Anthony Marston had been drinking and sniffed at it. His expression changed.

      General Macarthur said:

      “Dead? D’you mean the fellow just choked and – and died?”

      Emily Brent said in a clear voice:

      “In the midst of life we are in death.”

      The physician stood up. He said sharply:

      “No, Marston’s death wasn’t what we call a natural death.”

      Vera almost whispered:

      “Was there – something – in the whiskey?”

      Armstrong nodded.

      “Yes. Everything points to one of the cyanides, probably potassium cyanide. It acts pretty instantaneously.”

      The judge said sharply:

      “It was in his glass?”

      The doctor nodded again. Then he went to the table with the drinks. He smelt and tasted the whiskey in the decanter. Then he tasted the soda water. He shook his head.

      “They’re both all right.”

      Lombard said:

      “You mean – he put the stuff in his glass himself!”

      Armstrong

24

Кое-что получили в наследство

25

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