Агата Кристи - Десять негритят / And Then There Were None

Lombard panted: «Not such an easy job.»

They managed it, however, drawing the body clear of the high water mark. Lombard said as he straightened up:

«Satisfied?»

Vera said: «Quite.»

Her tone warned him. He spun around. Even as he clapped his hand to his pocket he knew that he would find it empty.

She had moved a yard or two and was facing him, revolver in hand.

Lombard said: «So that’s the reason for your womanly solicitude! You wanted to pick my pocket.»

She nodded.

She held it steadily and unwaveringly.

Death was very near to Philip Lombard now. It had never, he knew, been nearer.

Nevertheless he was not beaten yet.

He said authoritatively:

«Give that revolver to me.»

Vera laughed.

Lombard said: «Come on, hand it over.»

His quick brain was working. Which way – which method – talk her over – lull her into security – or a swift dash —

All his life Lombard had taken the risky way. He took it now.

He spoke slowly, argumentatively.

«Now look here, my dear girl, you just listen – »

And then he sprang. Quick as a panther – as any other feline creature…

Automatically Vera pressed the trigger…

Lombard’s leaping body stayed poised in mid-spring, then crashed heavily to the ground.

Vera came warily forward, the revolver ready in her hand.

But there was no need of caution.

Philip Lombard was dead – shot through the heart…

Relief possessed Vera – enormous exquisite relief.

At last it was over.

There was no more fear – no more steeling of her nerves.

She was alone on the island…

Alone with nine dead bodies…

But what did that matter? She was alive.

She sat there – exquisitely happy – exquisitely at peace.

No more fear…

The sun was setting when Vera moved at last. Sheer reaction had kept her immobile. There had been no room in her for anything but the glorious sense of safety.

She realized now that she was hungry and sleepy. Principally sleepy. She wanted to throw herself on her bed and sleep and sleep and sleep…

Tomorrow, perhaps, they would come and rescue her – but she didn’t really mind. She didn’t mind staying here. Not now that she was alone…

Oh! blessed, blessed peace…

She got to her feet and glanced up at the house.

Nothing to be afraid of any longer! No terrors waiting for her! Just an ordinary well-built modern house. And yet, a little earlier in the day, she had not been able to look at it without shivering…

Fear – what a strange thing fear was…

Well, it was over now. She had conquered – had triumphed over the most deadly peril. By her own quick-wittedness and adroitness she had turned the tables on her would-be destroyer.

She began to walk up towards the house.

The sun was setting, the sky to the west was streaked with red and orange. It was beautiful and peaceful…

Vera thought: «The whole thing might be a dream…»

How tired she was – terribly tired. Her limbs ached, her eyelids were drooping. Not to be afraid any more… To sleep. Sleep… sleep… sleep… To sleep safely since she was alone on the island. One little Soldier boy left all alone.

She smiled to herself. She went in at the front door. The house, too, felt strangely peaceful.

Vera thought: «Ordinarily one wouldn’t care to sleep where there’s a dead body in practically every bedroom!»

Should she go the kitchen and get herself something to eat?

She hesitated a moment, then decided against it. She was really too tired…

She paused by the dining-room door. There were still three little china figures in the middle of the table.

Vera laughed. She said:

«You’re behind the times, my dears.»

She picked up two of them and tossed them out through the window. She heard them crash on the stone of the terrace.

The third little figure she picked up and held in her hand. She said:

«You can come with me. We’ve won, my dear! We’ve won!»

The hall was dim in the dying light.

Vera, the little Soldier clasped in her hand, began to mount the stairs. Slowly, because her legs were suddenly very tired.

«One little Soldier boy left all alone.» How did it end? Oh, yes! «He got married and then there were none.»

Married… Funny, how she suddenly got the feeling again that Hugo was in the house…

Very strong. Yes, Hugo was upstairs waiting for her.

Vera said to herself:

«Don’t be a fool. You’re so tired that you’re imagining the most fantastic things…»

Slowly up the stairs…

At the top of them something fell from her hand, making hardly any noise on the soft pile carpet. She did not notice that she had dropped the revolver. She was only conscious of clasping a little china figure.

How very quiet the house was. And yet – it didn’t seem like an empty house…

Hugo, upstairs, waiting for her…

«One little Soldier boy left all alone… What was the last line again? Something about being married – or was it something else?»

She had come now to the door of her room. Hugo was waiting for her inside – she was quite sure of it.

She opened the door…

She gave a gasp…

What was that – hanging from the hook in the ceiling? A rope with a noose all ready? And a chair to stand upon – a chair that could be kicked away…

That was what Hugo wanted…

And of course that was the last line of the rhyme.

«He went and hanged himself and then there were none…»

The little china figure fell from her hand. It rolled unheeded and broke against he fender.

Like an automaton Vera moved forward. This was the end – here where the cold wet hand (Cyril’s hand, of course) had touched her throat…

«You can go to the rock, Cyril…»

That was what murder was – as easy as that!

But afterwards you went on remembering…

She climbed up on the chair, her eyes staring in front of her like a sleepwalker’s… She adjusted the noose round her neck.

Hugo was there to see she did what she had to do.

She kicked away the chair…

Sir Thomas Legge, Assistant Commissioner at Scotland Yard, said irritably:

«But the whole thing’s incredible!»

Inspector Maine said respectfully: «I know, sir.»

The A. C. went on:

«Ten people dead on an island and not a living soul on it. It doesn’t make sense!»

Inspector Maine said stolidly: «Nevertheless, it happened, sir.»

Sir Thomas Legge said: «Damn it all, Maine, somebody must have killed em.»

«That’s just our problem, sir.»

«Nothing helpful in the doctor’s report?»

«No, sir. Wargrave and Lombard were shot, the first through the head, the second through the heart. Miss Brent and Marston died of cyanide poisoning, Mrs. Rogers died of an overdose of chloral. Rogers’ head was split open. Blore’s head was crushed in. Armstrong died of drowning. Macarthur’s skull was fractured by a blow on the back of the head and Vera Claythorne was hanged.»

The A. C. winced. He said:

«Nasty business – all of it.»

He considered for a minute or two. He said irritably:

«Do you mean to say that you haven’t been able to get anything helpful out of the Sticklehaven people. Dash it, they must know something.»

Inspector Maine shrugged his shoulders.

«They’re ordinary decent seafaring folk. They know that the island was bought by a man called Owen – and that’s about all they do know.»

«Who provisioned the island and made all the necessary arrangements?»

«Man called Morris. Isaac Morris.»