Agatha Christie - And Then There Were None

She was laughing now. No, nurse, don't put the handkerchief back. I've got to see. I've got to give the anaesthetic. Where's the ether? I must have brought the ether with me. What have you done with the ether, Sister? Chвteau Neuf du Pape? Yes, that will do quite as well.

Take the handkerchief away, nurse.

Of course! I knew it all the time! It's Anthony Marston! His face is purple and convulsed. But he's not dead - he's laughing. I tell you he's laughing! He's shaking the operating table.

Look out, man, look out. Nurse, steady it - steady - it -

With a start Dr. Armstrong woke up. It was morning. Sunlight was pouring into the room.

And some one was leaning over him - shaking him. It was Rogers. Rogers, with a white face, saying: "Doctor - doctor!"

Dr. Armstrong woke up completely.

He sat up in bed. He said sharply:

"What is it?"

"It's the wife, doctor. I can't get her to wake. My God! I can't get her to wake. And - and she don't look right to me."

Dr. Armstrong was quick and efficient. He wrapped himself in his dressing-gown and followed Rogers.

He bent over the bed where the woman was lying peacefully on her side. He lifted the cold hand, raised the eyelid. It was some few minutes before he straightened himself and turned from the bed.

Rogers whispered:

"Is - she - is she -?"

He passed a tongue over dry lips.

Armstrong nodded.

"Yes, she's gone."

His eyes rested thoughtfully on the man before him. Then they went to the table by the bed, to the washstand, then back to the sleeping woman.

Rogers said:

"Was it - was it - 'er 'eart, doctor?"

Dr. Armstrong was a minute or two before replying. Then he said:

"What was her health like normally?"

Rogers said:

"She was a bit rheumaticky."

"Any doctor been attending her recently?"

"Doctor?" Rogers stared. "Not been to a doctor for years - neither of us."

"You'd no reason to believe she suffered from heart trouble?"

"No, doctor. I never knew of anything."

Armstrong said:

"Did she sleep well?"

Now Rogers' eyes evaded his. The man's hands came together and turned and twisted uneasily. He muttered.

"She didn't sleep extra well - no."

The doctor said sharply:

"Did she take things to make her sleep?"

Rogers stared at him, surprised.

"Take things? To make her sleep? Not that I knew of. I'm sure she didn't."

Armstrong went over to the washstand.

There were a certain number of bottles on it. Hair lotion, lavender water, cascara, glycerine of cucumber for the hands, a mouthwash, toothpaste and some Elliman's.

Rogers helped by pulling out the drawers of the dressing-table. From there they moved on to the chest of drawers. But there was no sign of sleeping draughts or tablets.

Rogers said:

"She didn't have nothing last night, sir, except what you gave her..."

When the gong sounded for breakfast at nine o'clock it found every one up and awaiting the summons.

General Macarthur and the judge had been pacing the terrace outside, exchanging desultory comments on the political situation.

Vera Claythorne and Philip Lombard had been up to the summit of the island behind the house. There they had discovered William Henry Blore, standing staring at the mainland.

He said:

"No sign of that motor boat yet. I've been watching for it."

Vera said, smiling:

"Devon's a sleepy county. Things are usually late."

Philip Lombard was looking the other way, out to sea.

He said abruptly:

"What d'you think of the weather?"

Glancing up at the sky, Blore remarked:

"Looks all right to me."

Lombard pursed up his mouth into a whistle.

He said:

"It will come on to blow before the day's out."

Blore said:

"Squally - eh?"

From below them came the boom of a gong.

Philip Lombard said:

"Breakfast? Well, I could do with some."

As they went down the steep slope Blore said to Lombard in a ruminating voice:

"You know, it beats me - why that young fellow wanted to do himself in! I've been worrying about it all night."

Vera was a little ahead. Lombard hung back slightly. He said:

"Got any alternative theory?"

"I'd want some proof. Motive, to begin with. Well-off I should say he was."

Emily Brent came out of the drawing-room window to meet them.

She said sharply:

"Is the boat coming?"

"Not yet," said Vera.

They went in to breakfast. There was a vast dish of eggs and bacon on the sideboard and tea and coffee.

Rogers held the door open for them to pass in, then shut it from the outside.

Emily Brent said:

"That man looks ill this morning."

Dr. Armstrong, who was standing by the window, cleared his throat. He said:

"You must excuse any - er - shortcomings this morning. Rogers has had to do the best he can for breakfast single-handed. Mrs. Rogers has - er - not been able to carry on this morning."

Emily Brent said sharply:

"What's the matter with the woman?"

Dr. Armstrong said easily:

"Let us start our breakfast. The eggs will be cold. Afterwards, there are several matters I want to discuss with you all."

They took the hint. Plates were filled, coffee and tea was poured. The meal began.

Discussion of the island was, by mutual consent, tabooed. They spoke instead in a desultory fashion of current events. The news from abroad, events in the world of sport, the latest reappearance of the Loch Ness monster.

Then, when plates were cleared, Dr. Armstrong moved back his chair a little, cleared his throat importantly and spoke.

He said:

"I thought it better to wait until you had had your breakfast before telling you of a sad piece of news. Mrs. Rogers died in her sleep."

There were startled and shocked ejaculations.

Vera exclaimed:

"How awful! Two deaths on this island since we arrived!"

Mr. Justice Wargrave, his eyes narrowed, said in his small precise clear voice:

"H'm - very remarkable - what was the cause of death?"

Armstrong shrugged his shoulders.

"Impossible to say offhand."

"There must be an autopsy?"

"I certainly couldn't give a certificate. I have no knowledge whatsoever of the woman's state of health."

Vera said:

"She was a very nervous-looking creature. And she had a shock last night. It might have been heart failure, I suppose?"

Dr. Armstrong said drily:

"Her heart certainly failed to beat - but what caused it to fail is the question."

One word fell from Emily Brent. It fell hard and clear into the listening group.

"Conscience!" she said.

Armstrong turned to her.

"What exactly do you mean by that, Miss Brent?"

Emily Brent, her lips tight and hard, said:

"You all heard. She was accused, together with her husband, of having deliberately murdered her former employer - an old lady."

"And you think?"

Emily Brent said:

"I think that that accusation was true. You all saw her last night. She broke down completely and fainted. The shock of having her wickedness brought home to her was too much for her. She literally died of fear."

Dr. Armstrong shook his head doubtfully.

"It is a possible theory," he said. "One cannot adopt it without more exact knowledge of her state of health. If there was cardiac weakness -"

Emily Brent said quietly.

"Call it, if you prefer, an Act of God."

Every one looked shocked. Mr. Blore said uneasily:

"That's carrying things a bit far, Miss Brent."

She looked at them with shining eyes. Her chin went up. She said:

"You regard it as impossible that a sinner should be struck down by the wrath of God! I do not!"

The judge stroked his chin. He murmured in a slightly ironic voice: