THEN THERE WERE NONE EBOOK

adminComment(0)

And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie. Read online, or download in secure EPUB format. Agatha Christie's most famous brocapazbebuh.ml published as 'TEN LITTLE RED INDIANS'. As of today we have 78,, eBooks for you to download for free. Agatha Christie: And Then There Were None Unlockables Alternative Endings.


Then There Were None Ebook

Author:KALA PRESSEY
Language:English, Portuguese, Arabic
Country:Mexico
Genre:Personal Growth
Pages:184
Published (Last):26.07.2016
ISBN:216-6-43244-807-8
ePub File Size:24.82 MB
PDF File Size:8.70 MB
Distribution:Free* [*Registration Required]
Downloads:42797
Uploaded by: ARMIDA

Editorial Reviews. brocapazbebuh.ml Review. Considered the best mystery novel ever written by download a site site eBooks site Unlimited Prime Reading Best Sellers & More site Book Deals Free Reading Apps site Singles Newsstand . And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie; 78 editions; First DAISY for print-disabled Download ebook for print-disabled (DAISY). Read "And Then There Were None" by Agatha Christie available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first download. A PBS Great American.

A beast of prey — pleasant to the eye. He was smiling to himself. A week — eh? He was going to enjoy that week. The Lord is known by the judgment which he executeth: the wicked 51 p q is snared in the work of his own hands.

The wicked shall be turned into hell. She shut the Bible. Rising, she pinned a cairngorm brooch at her neck, and went down to dinner. The food had been good, the wine perfect. Rogers waited well. Every one was in better spirits. They had begun to talk to each other with more freedom and intimacy. Mr Justice Wargrave, mellowed by the excellent port, was being amusing in a caustic fashion, Dr Armstrong and Tony Marston were listening to him.

Miss Brent chatted to General Macarthur, they had discovered some mutual friends. Lombard listened to the conversation. Once or twice he looked up quickly, and his eyes narrowed. Now and then his eyes played round the table, studying the others. How many are there? In my bedroom the rhyme is framed and hung up over the mantelpiece.

Emily Brent looked at Vera Claythorne.

And Then There Were None Books

Vera Claythorne looked at Miss Brent. The two women rose. In the drawing-room the French windows were open on to the terrace and the sound of the sea murmuring against the rocks came up to them.

Now, as she was about to thread her needle, she paused. Did you say Owen? The door opened and the men joined them. Rogers followed them into the room with the coffee tray. The judge came and sat down by Emily Brent. Armstrong came up to Vera. Tony Marston strolled to the open window. General Macarthur stood with his back to the mantelpiece. He pulled at his little white moustache. That had been a damned good dinner!

His spirits were rising. Lombard turned over the pages of Punch that lay with other papers on a table by the wall. Rogers went round with the coffee tray.

The coffee was good — really black and very hot. The whole party had dined well. The hands of the clock pointed to twenty minutes past nine.

There was a silence — a comfortable replete silence. Into that silence came The Voice. Without warning, inhuman, penetrating. Silence please! They looked round — at each other, at the walls. Who was speaking? Rogers had dropped the coffee tray! At the same moment, from somewhere outside the room there came a scream and the sound of a thud. Outside, lying in a huddled mass, was Mrs Rogers.

Between them, they lifted up the woman and carried her into the drawingroom. Dr Armstrong came across quickly. He helped them to lift her on to the sofa and bent over her. Where was he? What kind of a practical joke was that? His shoulders sagged.

He looked suddenly ten years older. Blore was mopping his face with a handkerchief. Emily Brent sat upright, her head held high. In both cheeks was a spot of hard colour. The judge sat in his habitual pose, his head sunk down into his neck. With one hand he gently scratched his ear. Only his eyes were active, darting round and round the room, puzzled, alert with intelligence.

Again it was Lombard who acted. Armstrong being busy with the collapsed woman, Lombard was free once more to take the initiative. It sounded as though it were in the room. Who was it? They rested a minute on the open window, then he shook his head decisively.

Suddenly 59 p q his eyes lighted up. He passed through and immediately uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. Only Miss Brent remained alone sitting erect in her chair. Inside the second room a table had been brought up close to the wall which adjoined the drawing-room. On the table was a gramophone — an old-fashioned type with a large trumpet attached. The mouth of the trumpet was against the wall, and Lombard, pushing it aside indicated where two or three small holes had been unobtrusively bored through the wall.

Turn it off! Who the devil turned the thing on and set it going? The others followed. Rogers had just come in with a glass of brandy. Miss Brent was bending over the moaning form of Mrs Rogers. Adroitly Rogers slipped between the two women. All right, do you hear? Pull yourself together. Her eyes, staring frightened eyes, went round and round the ring of faces. Just a nasty turn. Someone handed it to the doctor and he bent over the gasping woman with it. The spirit did her good. The colour returned to her face.

It just — gave me a turn. It gave me a turn, too. Fair made me drop that tray. Wicked lies, it was! It was only a cough — a dry little cough but it had the effect of stopping him in full cry. He stared at Mr Justice Wargrave and the latter coughed again. Was it you, Rogers? It had a name on it — I thought it was just a piece of music. He grinned suddenly, showed his white pointed teeth. It was entitled Swan Song. Slinging accusations about like this! Something must be done about it. He spoke with the authority that a lifetime in the courts had given him.

Then come back here. He returned a second or two later. The next minute or two was spent in dispensing drinks. General Macarthur had a stiff whisky and so did the judge. Every one felt the need of a stimulant. Only Emily Brent demanded and obtained a glass of water.

Dr Armstrong re-entered the room. I could do with one. A moment or two later Rogers re-entered the room. Mr Justice Wargrave took charge of the proceedings. The room became an impromptu court of law. Who is this Mr Owen? What I want you to tell me is what you yourself know about the man. We were engaged by letter, through an agency. The Regina Agency in Plymouth. No, sir. You were engaged, as you say, by letter. We were to arrive on a certain day.

We did. Everything was in order here. Plenty of food in stock and everything very nice. Just needed dusting and that. We got orders — by letter again — to prepare the rooms for a house-party, and then yesterday by the afternoon post I got another letter from Mr Owen. It said he and Mrs Owen were detained and to do the best we could, and it gave the instructions about dinner and coffee and putting on the gramophone record.

The judge took it. Quite new — no defects. Ensign paper — the most widely used make.

You are here

Anthony Marston was standing beside Blore looking over his shoulder. Ulick Norman Owen. Quite a mouthful. You have drawn my attention to a curious and suggestive point. It would be well, I think, for everybody to come forward with all the information they have regarding the owner of this house.

It purported to be from a woman I had met at a certain summer resort two or three years ago. I took the name to be either Ogden or Oliver. I am acquainted with a Mrs Oliver and also with a Miss Ogden. I am quite certain that I have never met, or become friendly with any one of the name of Owen.

The judge read it. Miss Claythorne? From a pal of mine. Badger Berkeley. Surprised me at the time because I had an idea the old horse had gone to Norway. Told me to roll up here. You had no previous acquaintanceship with the family? A colleague of mine was mentioned in the letter. Yes, and that colleague, I presume, was momentarily out of touch with you? We are at present inquiring into the causes which have resulted in our being assembled here tonight.

General Macarthur? Was he to come out in the open, or not? He made up his mind. An apparently disembodied voice spoke to us all by name, uttering certain precise accusations against us. We will deal with those accusations presently. At the moment I am interested in a minor point. Amongst the names recited was that of William Henry Blore. But as far as we know there is no one named Blore amongst us.

The name of Davis was not mentioned. What have you to say about that, Mr Davis? You claim to have come from Natal, South Africa. Angry suspicious eyes. Anthony Marston moved a step nearer to him. I run a detective agency in Plymouth. I was put on this job. Enclosed a handsome money order for expenses and instructed me as to what he wanted done.

I was to join the house-party, posing as a guest. I was given all your names. I was to watch you all. Mrs Owen my foot! A silence of dismay and bewilderment. First however, I will just add my own credentials to the list. I have not seen her for some years. She went to the East. It is exactly the kind of vague incoherent letter she would write, urging me to join her here and referring to her host and hostess in the vaguest of terms.

The same technique, you will observe. I only mention it because it agrees with the other evidence — from all of which emerges one interesting point. He, whoever he may be, is aware of my friendship for Lady Constance — and is familiar with her epistolary style. He knows exactly where Miss Brent was two years ago for her holiday and the kind of people she met there.

Our unknown friend accuses me of the murder of one Edward Seton. I remember Seton perfectly well. He came up before me for trial in June of the year He was charged with the murder of an elderly woman. He was very ably defended and made a good impression on the jury in the witness-box.

Nevertheless, on the evidence, he was certainly guilty. I summed up accordingly, and the jury brought in a verdict of Guilty. In passing sentence of death I concurred with the verdict.

An appeal was lodged on the grounds of misdirection. The appeal was rejected and the man was duly executed. I wish to say before you all that my conscience is perfectly clear on the matter. I did my duty and nothing more. I passed sentence on a rightly convicted murderer. The Seton case! The verdict had come as a great surprise.

He had met Matthews, KC on one of the days of the trial dining at a restaurant. Acquittal practically certain. Turned the jury right round and they brought him in guilty. Quite legal, though. Old Wargrave knows his law. It was almost as though he had a private down on the fellow. I mean previous to the case. About that child — Cyril Hamilton. I was nursery governess to him.

He was forbidden to swim out far. One day, when my attention was distracted, he started off. I swam after him. It was awful. At the inquest the Coroner exonerated me. And his mother — she was so kind. General Macarthur patted her shoulder. A madman! Got a bee in his bonnet! Got hold of the wrong end of the stick all round. However, feel I ought to say — no truth — no truth whatever in what he said about — er — young Arthur Richmond.

I sent him on a reconnaissance. He was killed. Natural course of events in wartime. Wish to say resent very much — slur on my wife. Best woman in the world. His shaking hand pulled at his moustache. The effort to speak had cost him a good deal. Lombard spoke. His eyes were amused. Matter of selfpreservation. We were lost in the bush. I and a couple of other fellows took what food there was and cleared out. Must have been a couple of kids I ran over near Cambridge. Beastly bad luck.

Of course it was a pure accident. They rushed out of some cottage or other.

I had my licence suspended for a year. Beastly nuisance. Young men like you are a danger to the community. English roads are hopeless, of course. Just an accident! And of Miss Brady.

My wife and I were with Miss Brady till she died. She was always in poor health, sir, always from the time we came to her. There was a storm, sir, that night — the night she was taken bad. The telephone was out of order. I went for him, sir, on foot. But he got there too late. Devoted to her, we were.

Anyone will tell you the same. There was never a word said against us. Not a word. He remembered the crash of the falling coffee tray. That was the bank robbery — London and Commercial. Landor was convicted on your evidence. He was a delicate man. It was he who knocked out the night watchman. The case was quite clear against him. Myself excepted. What about you, doctor — and your little professional mistake? Illegal operation, was it? Dr Armstrong, very much master of himself, shook his head good-humouredly.

What was it — Clees? It might possibly be one of my operation cases in hospital. They come too late, so many of these people. And I operated! Nerves all to pieces — hands shaking. I killed her all right. The Sister knew, of course — but she held her tongue. God, it gave me a shock!

Pulled me up. But who could have known about it — after all these years? IV There was a silence in the room. Everybody was looking, covertly or openly, at Emily Brent. It was a minute or two before she became aware of the expectation. Her eyebrows rose on her narrow forehead. I have nothing to say. I have always acted in accordance with the dictates of my conscience. I have nothing with which to reproach myself. But Emily Brent was not one to be swayed by public opinion.

She sat unyielding. The judge cleared his throat once or twice. Now Rogers, who else is there on this island besides ourselves and you and your wife? Nobody at all. But in my opinion this person, whoever he may be, is not sane in the accepted sense of the word. In my opinion it would be well for us to leave this place as soon as possible.

I suggest that we leave tonight. He brings the bread and the milk and the post, and takes the orders. It was Anthony Marston who disagreed with the majority. Positively thrilling. Too quickly, perhaps. He choked — choked badly. His face contorted, turned purple. He gasped for breath — then slid down off his chair, the glass falling from his hand. Then Dr Armstrong jumped up and went over to him, kneeling beside him. When he raised his head his eyes were bewildered.

Not at once. That young Norse God in the prime of his health and strength. Struck down all in a moment. He sniffed at the blue twisted lips. Then he picked up the glass from which Anthony Marston had been drinking. He died of asphyxiation right enough. His expression altered. Everything points to one of the cyanides. No distinctive smell of Prussic Acid, probably Potassium Cyanide. It acts pretty well instantaneously.

He removed the stopper from the whisky and smelt and tasted it. Then he tasted the soda water. He shook his head. He was so alive. He was — oh — enjoying himself! Anthony Marston, in the height of his youth and manhood, had seemed like a being who was immortal. There could be no other explanation. The drinks themselves were 87 q p untampered with. They had all seen Anthony Marston go across and help himself.

It followed therefore that any cyanide in the drink must have been put there by Anthony Marston himself. And yet — why should Anthony Marston commit suicide? What else was there to say? Together Armstrong and Lombard had carried the inert body of Anthony Marston to his bedroom and had laid him there covered over with a sheet. When they came downstairs again, the others were standing in a group, shivering a little, though the night was not cold.

The suggestion was a wise one — yet every one hesitated. The others went upstairs, a slow unwilling procession. If this had been an old house, with creaking wood, and dark shadows, and heavily panelled walls, there might have been an eerie feeling. Of course — old Wargrave. Always looked half-asleep, but was shrewd as could be when it came to a point of law. Had great power with a jury — it was said he could make their minds up for them any day of the week.

A hanging judge, some people said. Funny place to meet him. Remember him in the witness-box. Very correct and cautious. All doctors are damned fools. Harley Street ones are the worst of the lot. Aloud he grunted: Very curious state of affairs. When he thought the old gentleman had actually gone to sleep, Wargrave said suddenly: Undependable like all women.

His mind went on to the two women in the house, the tight-lipped old maid and the girl. No, three women, if you counted the Rogers woman. Respectable pair and knew their job. Rogers coming out on the terrace that minute, the judge asked him: But he only grunted. He luxuriated in the steaming water. His limbs had felt cramped after his long drive. Very few thoughts passed through his head.

Anthony was a creature of sensation — and of action. He thought to himself: Warm steaming water — tired limbs — presently a shave — a cocktail — dinner. And after —? Did he look all right? He supposed so. Nobody had been exactly cordial to him.

Funny the way they all eyed each other — as though they knew. Well, it was up to him. He glanced up at the framed nursery rhyme over the mantelpiece. Neat touch, having that there! Remember this island when I was a kid. X General Macarthur was frowning to himself. Damn it all, the whole thing was deuced odd! Throw up the whole business. That fellow Lombard now, he was a queer chap. Not straight. XI As the gong sounded, Philip Lombard came out of his room and walked to the head of the stairs.

He moved like a panther, smoothly and noiselessly. There was something of the panther about him altogether. A beast of prey — pleasant to the eye.

He was smiling to himself. A week — eh? He was going to enjoy that week. Her lips moved as she followed the words: The Lord is known by the judgment which he executeth: The wicked shall be turned into hell. She shut the Bible. Rising, she pinned a cairngorm brooch at her neck, and went down to dinner.

The food had been good, the wine perfect. Rogers waited well. Every one was in better spirits. They had begun to talk to each other with more freedom and intimacy. Mr Justice Wargrave, mellowed by the excellent port, was being amusing in a caustic fashion, Dr Armstrong and Tony Marston were listening to him. Miss Brent chatted to General Macarthur, they had discovered some mutual friends. Lombard listened to the conversation. Once or twice he looked up quickly, and his eyes narrowed.

Now and then his eyes played round the table, studying the others. Anthony Marston said suddenly: How many are there? In my bedroom the rhyme is framed and hung up over the mantelpiece. Vera said: Emily Brent looked at Vera Claythorne. Vera Claythorne looked at Miss Brent.

The two women rose. In the drawing-room the French windows were open on to the terrace and the sound of the sea murmuring against the rocks came up to them.

She said, more composedly: Now, as she was about to thread her needle, she paused. She said sharply: Did you say Owen? The door opened and the men joined them. Rogers followed them into the room with the coffee tray. The judge came and sat down by Emily Brent. Armstrong came up to Vera. Tony Marston strolled to the open window. General Macarthur stood with his back to the mantelpiece. He pulled at his little white moustache.

That had been a damned good dinner! His spirits were rising. Lombard turned over the pages of Punch that lay with other papers on a table by the wall. Rogers went round with the coffee tray.

The coffee was good — really black and very hot. The whole party had dined well. The hands of the clock pointed to twenty minutes past nine. There was a silence — a comfortable replete silence. Into that silence came The Voice. Without warning, inhuman, penetrating.

Silence please! They looked round — at each other, at the walls. Who was speaking? The Voice went on — a high clear voice: Rogers had dropped the coffee tray!

At the same moment, from somewhere outside the room there came a scream and the sound of a thud. Outside, lying in a huddled mass, was Mrs Rogers.

Lombard called: Between them, they lifted up the woman and carried her into the drawingroom. Dr Armstrong came across quickly. He helped them to lift her on to the sofa and bent over her. Where was he? What kind of a practical joke was that? His shoulders sagged. He looked suddenly ten years older. Blore was mopping his face with a handkerchief. Emily Brent sat upright, her head held high. In both cheeks was a spot of hard colour.

The judge sat in his habitual pose, his head sunk down into his neck. With one hand he gently scratched his ear. Only his eyes were active, darting round and round the room, puzzled, alert with intelligence. Again it was Lombard who acted. Armstrong being busy with the collapsed woman, Lombard was free once more to take the initiative. It sounded as though it were in the room.

Who was it? They rested a minute on the open window, then he shook his head decisively. Suddenly 59 p q his eyes lighted up. He passed through and immediately uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. Only Miss Brent remained alone sitting erect in her chair.

Inside the second room a table had been brought up close to the wall which adjoined the drawing-room. On the table was a gramophone — an old-fashioned type with a large trumpet attached. The mouth of the trumpet was against the wall, and Lombard, pushing it aside indicated where two or three small holes had been unobtrusively bored through the wall. Turn it off! Dr Armstrong said, with a sigh of relief: Who the devil turned the thing on and set it going? The others followed. Rogers had just come in with a glass of brandy.

Miss Brent was bending over the moaning form of Mrs Rogers. Adroitly Rogers slipped between the two women. All right, do you hear? Pull yourself together. Her eyes, staring frightened eyes, went round and round the ring of faces. Just a nasty turn. Dr Armstrong said sharply: Someone handed it to the doctor and he bent over the gasping woman with it.

The spirit did her good. The colour returned to her face. It just — gave me a turn. It gave me a turn, too. Fair made me drop that tray. Wicked lies, it was! It was only a cough — a dry little cough but it had the effect of stopping him in full cry. He stared at Mr Justice Wargrave and the latter coughed again. Then he said: Was it you, Rogers? He said earnestly: It had a name on it — I thought it was just a piece of music.

He grinned suddenly, showed his white pointed teeth. It was entitled Swan Song. He exclaimed: Slinging accusations about like this! Something must be done about it. He spoke with the authority that a lifetime in the courts had given him. Then come back here. When they had gone Tony Marston said: He returned a second or two later.

The next minute or two was spent in dispensing drinks. General Macarthur had a stiff whisky and so did the judge. Every one felt the need of a stimulant. Only Emily Brent demanded and obtained a glass of water. Dr Armstrong re-entered the room. I could do with one. A moment or two later Rogers re-entered the room. Mr Justice Wargrave took charge of the proceedings.

The room became an impromptu court of law. The judge said: Who is this Mr Owen? What I want you to tell me is what you yourself know about the man. We were engaged by letter, through an agency. The Regina Agency in Plymouth.

Wargrave said: No, sir. You were engaged, as you say, by letter. We were to arrive on a certain day. We did. Everything was in order here. Plenty of food in stock and everything very nice. Just needed dusting and that. We got orders — by letter again — to prepare the rooms for a house-party, and then yesterday by the afternoon post I got another letter from Mr Owen.

It said he and Mrs Owen were detained and to do the best we could, and it gave the instructions about dinner and coffee and putting on the gramophone record. The judge took it. He murmured: Quite new — no defects. Ensign paper — the most widely used make. Anthony Marston was standing beside Blore looking over his shoulder.

Ulick Norman Owen. Quite a mouthful. You have drawn my attention to a curious and suggestive point. It would be well, I think, for everybody to come forward with all the information they have regarding the owner of this house.

It purported to be from a woman I had met at a certain summer resort two or three years ago. I took the name to be either Ogden or Oliver. I am acquainted with a Mrs Oliver and also with a Miss Ogden.

I am quite certain that I have never met, or become friendly with any one of the name of Owen. The judge read it.

Miss Claythorne? From a pal of mine. Badger Berkeley. Surprised me at the time because I had an idea the old horse had gone to Norway. Told me to roll up here. You had no previous acquaintanceship with the family? A colleague of mine was mentioned in the letter. Yes, and that colleague, I presume, was momentarily out of touch with you? We are at present inquiring into the causes which have resulted in our being assembled here tonight. General Macarthur?

Was he to come out in the open, or not? He made up his mind. An apparently disembodied voice spoke to us all by name, uttering certain precise accusations against us. We will deal with those accusations presently. At the moment I am interested in a minor point. Amongst the names recited was that of William Henry Blore. But as far as we know there is no one named Blore amongst us. The name of Davis was not mentioned. What have you to say about that, Mr Davis?

You claim to have come from Natal, South Africa. Angry suspicious eyes. Anthony Marston moved a step nearer to him. I run a detective agency in Plymouth. I was put on this job. Enclosed a handsome money order for expenses and instructed me as to what he wanted done. I was to join the house-party, posing as a guest.

I was given all your names. I was to watch you all. Mrs Owen my foot! A silence of dismay and bewilderment. First however, I will just add my own credentials to the list. I have not seen her for some years. She went to the East.

It is exactly the kind of vague incoherent letter she would write, urging me to join her here and referring to her host and hostess in the vaguest of terms.

The same technique, you will observe. I only mention it because it agrees with the other evidence — from all of which emerges one interesting point. He, whoever he may be, is aware of my friendship for Lady Constance — and is familiar with her epistolary style. He knows exactly where Miss Brent was two years ago for her holiday and the kind of people she met there.

General Macarthur shouted: He said, picking his words with care: Our unknown friend accuses me of the murder of one Edward Seton. I remember Seton perfectly well. He came up before me for trial in June of the year He was charged with the murder of an elderly woman. He was very ably defended and made a good impression on the jury in the witness-box. Nevertheless, on the evidence, he was certainly guilty. I summed up accordingly, and the jury brought in a verdict of Guilty.

In passing sentence of death I concurred with the verdict. An appeal was lodged on the grounds of misdirection. The appeal was rejected and the man was duly executed. I wish to say before you all that my conscience is perfectly clear on the matter. I did my duty and nothing more. I passed sentence on a rightly convicted murderer. The Seton case! The verdict had come as a great surprise. He had met Matthews, KC on one of the days of the trial dining at a restaurant. Acquittal practically certain.

Turned the jury right round and they brought him in guilty. Quite legal, though. Old Wargrave knows his law. It was almost as though he had a private down on the fellow.

Before he could consider the wisdom of the 75 q p question he had asked impulsively: I mean previous to the case. In a clear cold voice the judge said: About that child — Cyril Hamilton. I was nursery governess to him. He was forbidden to swim out far. One day, when my attention was distracted, he started off. I swam after him.

It was awful. At the inquest the Coroner exonerated me.

And his mother — she was so kind. General Macarthur patted her shoulder. A madman! Got a bee in his bonnet! Got hold of the wrong end of the stick all round. He barked out: However, feel I ought to say — no truth — no truth whatever in what he said about — er — young Arthur Richmond.

I sent him on a reconnaissance. He was killed. Natural course of events in wartime. Wish to say resent very much — slur on my wife. Best woman in the world. His shaking hand pulled at his moustache. The effort to speak had cost him a good deal. Lombard spoke. His eyes were amused. Matter of selfpreservation. We were lost in the bush. I and a couple of other fellows took what food there was and cleared out. She said, staring at him: Anthony Marston said in a slow puzzled voice: Must have been a couple of kids I ran over near Cambridge.

Beastly bad luck. Of course it was a pure accident. They rushed out of some cottage or other. I had my licence suspended for a year. Beastly nuisance. Young men like you are a danger to the community. English roads are hopeless, of course. He said over his shoulder: Just an accident!

He said now in a low deferential voice: And of Miss Brady. My wife and I were with Miss Brady till she died. She was always in poor health, sir, always from the time we came to her. There was a storm, sir, that night — the night she was taken bad. The telephone was out of order. I went for him, sir, on foot. But he got there too late. Devoted to her, we were. Anyone will tell you the same. There was never a word said against us. Not a word. He remembered the crash of the falling coffee tray.

He thought, but did not say: That was the bank robbery — London and Commercial. Landor was convicted on your evidence. He was a delicate man. It was he who knocked out the night watchman. The case was quite clear against him. Myself excepted. What about you, doctor — and your little professional mistake? Illegal operation, was it? Dr Armstrong, very much master of himself, shook his head good-humouredly.

What was it — Clees? It might possibly be one of my operation cases in hospital. They come too late, so many of these people.

And I operated! Nerves all to pieces — hands shaking. I killed her all right. The Sister knew, of course — but she held her tongue. God, it gave me a shock!

Pulled me up. But who could have known about it — after all these years? IV There was a silence in the room. Everybody was looking, covertly or openly, at Emily Brent. It was a minute or two before she became aware of the expectation. Her eyebrows rose on her narrow forehead. I have nothing to say. He said mildly: I have always acted in accordance with the dictates of my conscience. I have nothing with which to reproach myself. But Emily Brent was not one to be swayed by public opinion.

She sat unyielding. The judge cleared his throat once or twice. Now Rogers, who else is there on this island besides ourselves and you and your wife? Nobody at all. But in my opinion this person, whoever he may be, is not sane in the accepted sense of the word.

In my opinion it would be well for us to leave this place as soon as possible. I suggest that we leave tonight. He brings the bread and the milk and the post, and takes the orders. It was Anthony Marston who disagreed with the majority. Positively thrilling. Too quickly, perhaps. He choked — choked badly. His face contorted, turned purple. He gasped for breath — then slid down off his chair, the glass falling from his hand. Then Dr Armstrong jumped up and went over to him, kneeling beside him. When he raised his head his eyes were bewildered.

He said in a low awe-struck whisper: Not at once. That young Norse God in the prime of his health and strength. Struck down all in a moment. He sniffed at the blue twisted lips. Then he picked up the glass from which Anthony Marston had been drinking. He died of asphyxiation right enough. His expression altered. He said brusquely: Everything points to one of the cyanides. No distinctive smell of Prussic Acid, probably Potassium Cyanide. It acts pretty well instantaneously.

He removed the stopper from the whisky and smelt and tasted it. Then he tasted the soda water. He shook his head. He was so alive. He was — oh — enjoying himself! Anthony Marston, in the height of his youth and manhood, had seemed like a being who was immortal. Dr Armstrong said: There could be no other explanation.

The drinks themselves were 87 q p untampered with. They had all seen Anthony Marston go across and help himself. It followed therefore that any cyanide in the drink must have been put there by Anthony Marston himself. And yet — why should Anthony Marston commit suicide? Blore said thoughtfully: What else was there to say? Together Armstrong and Lombard had carried the inert body of Anthony Marston to his bedroom and had laid him there covered over with a sheet.

When they came downstairs again, the others were standing in a group, shivering a little, though the night was not cold. The suggestion was a wise one — yet every one hesitated.

The others went upstairs, a slow unwilling procession. If this had been an old house, with creaking wood, and dark shadows, and heavily panelled walls, there might have been an eerie feeling. But this house was the essence of modernity.

Join Kobo & start eReading today

There was nothing hidden in this house, nothing concealed. It had no atmosphere about it. They exchanged good-nights on the upper landing. Each of them went into his or her own room, and each of them automatically, almost without conscious thought, locked the door.

He was thinking about Edward Seton. He remembered Seton very well.

Join Kobo & start eReading today

His fair hair, his blue eyes, his habit of looking you straight in the face with a pleasant air of straightforwardness. That was what had made so good an impression on the jury. Llewellyn, for the Crown, had bungled it a bit. He had been over-vehement, had tried to prove too much. Matthews, on the other hand, for the Defence, had been good. His points had told. His cross-examinations had been deadly. His handling of his client in the witness-box had been masterly. And Seton had come through the ordeal of crossexamination well.

He had not got excited or overvehement. The jury had been impressed. The judge wound up his watch carefully and placed it by the bed. He remembered exactly how he had felt sitting there — listening, making notes, appreciating everything, tabulating every scrap of evidence that told against the prisoner. Llewellyn, coming after it, had failed to remove the good impression that the defending counsel had made. And then had come his own summing up.

Carefully, Mr Justice Wargrave removed his false teeth and dropped them into a glass of water. The shrunken lips fell in. It was a cruel mouth now, cruel and predatory. Hooding his eyes, the judge smiled to himself. With a slightly rheumatic grunt, he climbed into bed and turned out the electric light.

He muttered to himself: I could have sworn there were ten of them. Sleep would not come to him. Leslie was so capricious. Lots of good fellows that Leslie would turn up her nose at and pronounce dull.

And he, Macarthur, had been delighted at the thought that 92 And Then There Were None Leslie took quite a motherly interest in the boy. Motherly indeed! He could see her now. Her heartshaped face, and her dancing deep grey eyes, and the brown curling mass of her hair. It had come about exactly in the way things happened in books.

The letter in the wrong envelope. Even now, all these years after, he could feel the shock of it — the pain. God, it had hurt! And the business had been going on some time. The letter made that clear. Leslie — Leslie and Arthur! God damn the fellow! It had gathered slowly — that cold murderous rage. Had he succeeded? He thought so. Only young Armitage had looked at him curiously once or twice. Armitage, perhaps, had guessed — when the time came. Only a miracle could have brought him through unhurt.

It had been easy enough. All was confusion, panic. But young Armitage was different. After the War was over — had Armitage talked? That had been a long time ago. Fifteen years — sixteen years? Nice neighbours — pleasant part of the world. But not the day that the lesson was read about David putting Uriah in the forefront of the battle.

Gave him an uncomfortable feeling. Everybody had been very friendly. They eyed him differently, somehow. Supposing Armitage had talked. Unpleasant to feel that people were discussing you.

And all so long ago. So — so purposeless now. Leslie had faded into the distance and Arthur Richmond too. Nothing of what had happened seemed to matter any more. And now — this evening — a hidden voice had blared out that old hidden story. Had he dealt with it all right?

Kept a stiff upper lip? Surely nobody could have taken the accusation seriously. There had been a pack of other nonsense, just as far-fetched. That charming girl — the voice had accused her of drowning a child! Some madman throwing crazy accusations about! Emily Brent, too — actually a niece of old Tom Brent of the Regiment.

It had accused her of murder! Any one could see with half an eye that the woman was as pious as could be — the kind that was hand and glove with parsons. Damned curious business the whole thing! Crazy, nothing less. Ever since they had got here — when was that?

Why, damn it, it was only this afternoon! Seemed a good bit longer than that. To go back to the mainland, back to his little house, back to all the troubles and worries.

Through the open window he could hear the waves breaking on the rocks — a little louder now than earlier in the evening. Wind was getting up, too. Peaceful sound. Peaceful place. VI Vera Claythorne lay in bed, wide awake, staring up at the ceiling.

The light beside her was on. She was frightened of the dark. She was thinking: Somewhere quite close. I never shall know. He just went away — right away — out of my life. He was close to her. She had to think of him — to remember. The black rocks, the smooth yellow sand. Mrs Hamilton, stout, good-humoured. Cyril, whining a little always, pulling at her hand. The evenings after Cyril was in bed. The moonlight — the soft Atlantic air. I love you.

You know I love you, Vera? Or thought she knew. Queer, you know, once, for three months I had the chance of being a rich man to look forward to. But it was a bit of a knock. A puny child — no stamina. And then —? She went to the dressing-table and swallowed three aspirins. She thought: As she passed the mantelpiece, she looked up at the framed doggerel.

Death was for — the other people. It was very hot in the operating-room. The sweat was rolling down his face. His hands were clammy. How beautifully sharp it was. Easy to do a murder with a knife like that.He could see her now. Respectable pair and knew their job.

Mark Twain. Please review your cart. Even now, all these years after, he could feel the shock of it — the pain.

MONSERRATE from New York City
I do relish sharing PDF docs hopelessly . Please check my other posts. I'm keen on fishkeeping.
>