Agatha Christie - And Then There Were None

"And Landor got penal servitude and died in prison."

"I couldn't know he was going to die, could I?" demanded Blore.

"No, that was your bad luck."

"Mine? His, you mean."

"Yours, too. Because, as a result of it, it looks as though your own life is going to be cut unpleasantly short."

"Me?" Blore stared at him. "Do you think I'm going to go the way of Rogers and the rest of them? Not me! I'm watching out for myself pretty carefully, I can tell you."

Lombard said:

"Oh, well - I'm not a betting man. And anyway if you were dead I wouldn't get paid."

"Look here, Mr. Lombard, what do you mean?"

Philip Lombard showed his teeth. He said:

"I mean, my dear Blore, that in my opinion you haven't got a chance!"

"What?"

"Your lack of imagination is going to make you absolutely a sitting target. A criminal of the imagination of U.N. Owen can make rings round you any time he - or she - wants to."

Blore's face went crimson. He demanded angrily:

"And what about you?"

Philip Lombard's face went hard and dangerous.

He said:

"I've a pretty good imagination of my own. I've been in tight places before now and got out of them! I think - I won't say more than that but I think I'll get out of this one."

The eggs were in the frying-pan. Vera, at the stove, thought to herself:

"Why did I make a hysterical fool of myself? That was a mistake. Keep calm, my girl, keep calm."

After all, she'd always prided herself on her levelheadedness!

"Miss Claythorne was wonderful - kept her head - started off swimming after Cyril at once."

Why think of that now? All that was over - over... Cyril had disappeared long before she got near the rock. She had felt the current take her, sweeping her out to sea. She had let herself go with it - swimming quietly, floating - till the boat arrived at last...

They had praised her courage and her sang-froid...

But not Hugo. Hugo had just - looked at her...

God, how it hurt, even now, to think of Hugo...

Where was he? What was he doing? Was he engaged - married?

Emily Brent said sharply:

"Vera, that bacon is burning."

"Oh, sorry, Miss Brent, so it is. How stupid of me."

Emily Brent lifted out the last egg from the sizzling fat.

Vera, putting fresh pieces of bacon in the frying-pan, said curiously:

"You're wonderfully calm, Miss Brent."

Emily Brent said, pressing her lips together:

"I was brought up to keep my head and never to make a fuss."

Vera thought mechanically:

"Repressed as a child... That accounts for a lot..."

She said:

"Aren't you afraid?"

She paused and then added:

"Or don't you mind dying?"

Dying! It was as though a sharp little gimlet had run into the solid congealed mass of Emily Brent's brain. Dying? But she wasn't going to die! The others would die - yes - but not she, Emily Brent. This girl didn't understand! Emily wasn't afraid naturally - none of the Brents were afraid, All her people were Service people. They faced death unflinchingly. They led upright lives just as she, Emily Brent, had led an upright life... She had never done anything to be ashamed of... And so, naturally, she wasn't going to die...

"The Lord is mindful of his own." "Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day..." It was daylight now - there was no terror. "We shall none of us leave this island... Who had said that? General Macarthur, of course, whose cousin had married Elsie MacPherson. He hadn't seemed to care. He had seemed - actually - to welcome the idea! Wicked! Almost impious to feel that way. Some people thought so little of death that they actually took their own lives. Beatrice Taylor... Last night she had dreamed of Beatrice - dreamt that she was outside pressing her face against the window and moaning, asking to be let in. But Emily Brent hadn't wanted to let her in. Because, if she did, something terrible would happen...

Emily came to herself with a start. That girl was looking at her very strangely. She said in a brisk voice:

"Everything's ready, isn't it? We'll take the breakfast in."

Breakfast was a curious meal. Every one was very polite.

"May I get you some more coffee, Miss Brent?"

"Miss Claythorne, a slice of ham?"

"Another piece of bacon?"

Six people, all outwardly self-possessed and normal.

And within? Thoughts that ran round in a circle like squirrels in a cage...

"What next? What next? Who? Which?"

"Would it work? I wonder. It's worth trying. If there's time. My God, if there's time..."

"Religious mania, that's the ticket... Looking at her, though, you can hardly believe it... Suppose I'm wrong..."

"It's crazy - every thing's crazy. I'm going crazy. Wool disappearing - red silk curtains - it doesn't make sense. I can't get the hang of it..."

"The damned fool, he believed every word I said to him. It was easy... I must be careful, though, very careful...

"Six of those little china figures... only six - how many will there be by tonight?..."

"Who'll have the last egg?"

"Marmalade?"

"Thanks, can I give you some ham?"

Six people, behaving normally at breakfast...

The meal was over.

Mr. Justice Wargrave cleared his throat. He said in a small authoritative voice:

"It would be advisable, I think, if we met to discuss the situation. Shall we say in half an hour's time in the drawing-room?"

Every one made a sound suggestive of agreement.

Vera began to pile plates together.

She said:

"I'll clear away and wash up."

Philip Lombard said:

"We'll bring the stuff out to the pantry for you."

"Thanks."

Emily Brent, rising to her feet; sat down again. She said:

"Oh, dear."

The judge said:

"Anything the matter, Miss Brent?"

Emily said apologetically:

"I'm sorry. I'd like to help Miss Claythorne, but I don't know how it is. I feel just a little giddy."

"Giddy, eh?" Dr. Armstrong came towards her. "Quite natural. Delayed shock. I can give you something to -"

"No!"

The word burst from her lips like an exploding shell.

It took every one aback. Dr. Armstrong flushed a deep red.

There was no mistaking the fear and suspicion in her face. He said stiffly:

"Just as you please, Miss Brent."

She said:

"I don't wish to take anything - anything at all. I will just sit here quietly till the giddiness passes off."

They finished clearing away the breakfast things. Blore said:

"I'm a domestic sort of man. I'll give you a hand, Miss Claythorne."

Vera said: "Thank you."

Emily Brent was left alone sitting in the dining-room.

For a while she heard a faint murmur of voices from the pantry.

The giddiness was passing. She felt drowsy now, as though she could easily go to sleep.

There was a buzzing in her ears - or was it a real buzzing in the room?

She thought:

"It's like a bee - a bumblebee."

Presently she saw the bee. It was crawling up the window-pane.

Vera Claythorne had talked about bees this morning.

Bees and honey...

She liked honey. Honey in the comb, and strain it yourself through a muslin bag. Drip, drip, drip...

There was somebody in the room... somebody all wet and dripping... Beatrice Taylor came from the river...

She had only to turn her head and she would see her.

But she couldn't turn her head...

If she were to call out...

But she couldn't call out...

There was no one else in the house. She was all alone...

She heard footsteps - soft dragging footsteps coming up behind her. The stumbling footsteps of the drowned girl...