Author’s Note
Author’s Note
I had written this book because it was so difficult to do that the idea hadfascinated me. Ten people had to die without it becoming ridiculous or themurderer being obvious. I wrote the book after a tremendous amount ofplanning, and I was pleased with what I had made of it. It was clear,straightforward, baffling, and yet had a perfectly reasonable explanation;in fact it had to have an epilogue in order to explain it. It was well re-ceived and reviewed, but the person who was really pleased with it wasmyself, for I knew better than any critic how difficult it had been.
Agatha Christie
from An Autobiography
Ten Little Soldier Boys
Ten little soldier boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were Nine.
Nine little soldier boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were Eight.
Eight little soldier boys travelling in Devon;
One said he’d stay there and then there were Seven.
Seven little soldier boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves and then there were Six.
Six little soldier boys playing with a hive;
A bumble bee stung one and then there were Five.
Five little soldier boys going in for law;
One got in Chancery and then there were Four.
Four little soldier boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were Three.
Three little soldier boys walking in the Zoo;
A big bear hugged one and then there were Two.
Two little soldier boys sitting in the sun;
One got frizzled up and then there was One.
One little soldier boy left all alone;
He went and hanged himself And then there were None.
Frank Green, 1869
 
作者的话
作者的话
我之所以写这本书，是因为书中的故事很难写，可它一直在我脑海中挥之不去。故事里有十个人要接连死去，但情节不能过于荒诞，凶手也不能过于明显。经过深思熟虑，我终于创作出这部令自己满意的作品。这个故事清晰、直截，虽然谜团重重，但是解释起来合情合理。事实上，为了揭开谜底，这个故事必须有一篇尾声。此书面世以后反响热烈，评价颇高。不过真正感到高兴的人无疑是我自己，因为我比任何评论家都更清楚这本书创作历程之艰辛。
十个小士兵，出门打牙祭；不幸噎住喉，十个只剩九。
九个小士兵，秉烛到夜半；清早叫不答，九个只剩八。
八个小士兵，旅行去德文；流连不离去，八个只剩七。
七个小士兵，举斧砍柴火；失手砍掉头，七个只剩六。
六个小士兵，捅了马蜂窝；蜂来无处躲，六个只剩五。
五个小士兵，同去做律师；皇庭判了死，五个只剩四。
四个小士兵，结伴去海边；青鱼吞下腹，四个只剩三。
三个小士兵，动物园里耍；狗熊一巴掌，三个只剩俩。
两个小士兵，日头下面栖；毒日把命夺，两个只剩一。
一个小士兵，落单孤零零；悬梁了此生，一个也不剩。
弗兰克•格林，一八六九
 
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
IIn the corner of a first-class smoking carriage, Mr Justice Wargrave, latelyretired from the bench, puffed at a cigar and ran an interested eyethrough the political news in The Times.
He laid the paper down and glanced out of the window. They were run-ning now through Somerset. He glanced at his watch—another two hoursto go.
He went over in his mind all that had appeared in the papers about Sol-dier Island. There had been its original purchase by an American million-aire who was crazy about yachting—and an account of the luxurious mod-ern house he had built on this little island off the Devon coast. The unfor-tunate fact that the new third wife of the American millionaire was a badsailor had led to the subsequent putting up of the house and island forsale. Various glowing advertisements of it had appeared in the papers.
Then came the first bald statement that it had been bought — by a MrOwen. After that the rumours of the gossip writers had started. Soldier Is-land had really been bought by Miss Gabrielle Turl, the Hollywood filmstar! She wanted to spend some months there free from all publicity! BusyBee had hinted delicately that it was to be an abode for Royalty??! MrMerryweather had had it whispered to him that it had been bought for ahoneymoon — Young Lord L — had surrendered to Cupid at last! Jonasknew for a fact that it had been purchased by the Admiralty with a view tocarrying out some very hush-hush experiments!
Definitely, Soldier Island was news!
From his pocket Mr Justice Wargrave drew out a letter. The handwritingwas practically illegible but words here and there stood out with unexpec-ted clarity. Dearest Lawrence…such years since I heard anything of you…must come to Soldier Island…the most enchanting place…so much to talkover… old days… communion with nature… bask in sunshine… 12.40 fromPaddington…meet you at Oakbridge…and his correspondent signed herselfwith a flourish his ever Constance Culmington.
Mr Justice Wargrave cast back in his mind to remember when exactlyhe had last seen Lady Constance Culmington. It must be seven—no, eightyears ago. She had then been going to Italy to bask in the sun and be atone with Nature and the contadini. Later, he had heard, she had pro-ceeded to Syria where she proposed to bask in a yet stronger sun and liveat one with Nature and the bedouin.
Constance Culmington, he reflected to himself, was exactly the sort ofwoman who would buy an island and surround herself with mystery! Nod-ding his head in gentle approval of his logic, Mr Justice Wargrave allowedhis head to nod…
He slept…
II
Vera Claythorne, in a third-class carriage with five other travellers in it,leaned her head back and shut her eyes. How hot it was travelling by traintoday! It would be nice to get to the sea! Really a great piece of luck gettingthis job. When you wanted a holiday post it nearly always meant lookingafter a swarm of children—secretarial holiday posts were much more dif-ficult to get. Even the agency hadn’t held out much hope.
And then the letter had come.
‘I have received your name from the Skilled Women’sAgency together with their recommendation. I understandthey know you personally. I shall be glad to pay you thesalary you ask and shall expect you to take up your dutieson August 8th. The train is the 12.40 from Paddington andyou will be met at Oakbridge station. I enclose five ?1 notesfor expenses.
Yours truly,
Una Nancy Owen.’
And at the top was the stamped address, Soldier Island, Sticklehaven,Devon…
Soldier Island! Why, there had been nothing else in the papers lately! Allsorts of hints and interesting rumours. Though probably they were mostlyuntrue. But the house had certainly been built by a millionaire and wassaid to be absolutely the last word in luxury.
Vera Claythorne, tired by a recent strenuous term at school, thought toherself, ‘Being a games mistress in a third- class school isn’t much of acatch…If only I could get a job at some decent school.’
And then, with a cold feeling round her heart, she thought: ‘But I’mlucky to have even this. After all, people don’t like a Coroner’s Inquest,even if the Coroner did acquit me of all blame!’
He had even complimented her on her presence of mind and courage,she remembered. For an inquest it couldn’t have gone better. And MrsHamilton had been kindness itself to her—only Hugo—but she wouldn’tthink of Hugo!
Suddenly, in spite of the heat in the carriage she shivered and wishedshe wasn’t going to the sea. A picture rose clearly before her mind. Cyril’shead, bobbing up and down, swimming to the rock…Up and down—up anddown…And herself, swimming in easy practised strokes after him—cleav-ing her way through the water but knowing, only too surely, that shewouldn’t be in time…
The sea—its deep warm blue—mornings spent lying out on the sands—Hugo—Hugo who had said he loved her…
She must not think of Hugo…
She opened her eyes and frowned across at the man opposite her. A tallman with a brown face, light eyes set rather close together and an arrog-ant, almost cruel mouth.
She thought to herself:
I bet he’s been to some interesting parts of the world and seen some in-teresting things…
III
Philip Lombard, summing up the girl opposite in a mere flash of his quickmoving eyes thought to himself:
‘Quite attractive—a bit schoolmistressy perhaps.’
A cool customer, he should imagine—and one who could hold her own—in love or war. He’d rather like to take her on…He frowned. No, cut out all that kind of stuff. This was business. He’d gotto keep his mind on the job.
What exactly was up, he wondered? That little Jew had been damnedmysterious.
‘Take it or leave it, Captain Lombard.’
He had said thoughtfully:
‘A hundred guineas, eh?’
He had said it in a casual way as though a hundred guineas was nothingto him. A hundred guineas when he was literally down to his last squaremeal! He had fancied, though, that the little Jew had not been deceived—that was the damnable part about Jews, you couldn’t deceive them aboutmoney—they knew!
He said in the same casual tone:
‘And you can’t give me any further information?’
Mr Isaac Morris had shaken his little bald head very positively.
‘No, Captain Lombard, the matter rests there. It is understood by my cli-ent that your reputation is that of a good man in a tight place. I am em-powered to hand you one hundred guineas in return for which you willtravel to Sticklehaven, Devon. The nearest station is Oakbridge, you willbe met there and motored to Sticklehaven where a motor launch will con-vey you to Soldier Island. There you will hold yourself at the disposal ofmy client.’
Lombard had said abruptly:
‘For how long?’
‘Not longer than a week at most.’
Fingering his small moustache, Captain Lombard said:
‘You understand I can’t undertake anything—illegal?’
He had darted a very sharp glance at the other as he had spoken. Therehad been a very faint smile on the thick Semitic lips of Mr Morris as heanswered gravely:
‘If anything illegal is proposed, you will, of course, be at perfect libertyto withdraw.’
Damn the smooth little brute, he had smiled! It was as though he knewvery well that in Lombard’s past actions legality had not always been asine qua non…
Lombard’s own lips parted in a grin.
By Jove, he’d sailed pretty near the wind once or twice! But he’d alwaysgot away with it! There wasn’t much he drew the line at really…No, there wasn’t much he’d draw the line at. He fancied that he was go-ing to enjoy himself at Soldier Island…
IV
In a non-smoking carriage Miss Emily Brent sat very upright as was hercustom. She was sixty- five and she did not approve of lounging. Herfather, a Colonel of the old school, had been particular about deportment.
The present generation was shamelessly lax—in their carriage, and inevery other way…
Enveloped in an aura of righteousness and unyielding principles, MissBrent sat in her crowded third-class carriage and triumphed over its dis-comfort and its heat. Everyone made such a fuss over things nowadays!
They wanted injections before they had teeth pulled—they took drugs ifthey couldn’t sleep—they wanted easy chairs and cushions and the girlsallowed their figures to slop about anyhow and lay about half naked onthe beaches in summer.
Miss Brent’s lips set closely. She would like to make an example of cer-tain people.
She remembered last year’s summer holiday. This year, however, itwould be quite different. Soldier Island…
Mentally she re-read the letter which she had already read so manytimes.
‘Dear Miss Brent,
I do hope you remember me? We were together at BelhavenGuest House in August some years ago, and we seemed tohave so much in common.
I am starting a guest house of my own on an island off thecoast of Devon. I think there is really an opening for aplace where there is good plain cooking and a nice old-fashioned type of person. None of this nudity and gramo-phones half the night. I shall be very glad if you could seeyour way to spending your summer holiday on Soldier Is-land—quite free—as my guest. Would early in August suityou? Perhaps the 8th.
Yours sincerely,
U.N.O—.’
What was the name? The signature was rather difficult to read. EmilyBrent thought impatiently: ‘So many people write their signatures quite il-legibly.’
She let her mind run back over the people at Belhaven. She had beenthere two summers running. There had been that nice middle-aged wo-man—Miss—Miss—now what was her name?—her father had been aCanon. And there had been a Mrs Olton—Ormen—No, surely it was Oliver!
Yes—Oliver.
Soldier Island! There had been things in the paper about Soldier Island—something about a film star—or was it an American millionaire?
Of course often those places went very cheap—islands didn’t suit every-body. They thought the idea was romantic but when they came to livethere they realized the disadvantages and were only too glad to sell.
Emily Brent thought to herself: ‘I shall be getting a free holiday at anyrate.’
With her income so much reduced and so many dividends not beingpaid, that was indeed something to take into consideration. If only shecould remember a little more about Mrs—or was it Miss—Oliver?
VGeneral Macarthur looked out of the carriage window. The train was justcoming into Exeter, where he had to change. Damnable, these slow branchline trains! This place, Soldier Island, was really no distance at all as thecrow flies.
He hadn’t got it clear who this fellow Owen was. A friend of Spoof Leg-gard’s, apparently—and of Johnnie Dyer’s.
‘—One or two of your old cronies are coming—would liketo have a talk over old times.’
Well, he’d enjoy a chat about old times. He’d had a fancy lately that fel-lows were rather fighting shy of him. All owing to that damned rumour!
By God, it was pretty hard—nearly thirty years ago now! Armitage hadtalked, he supposed. Damned young pup! What did he know about it? Oh,well, no good brooding about these things! One fancied things sometimes—fancied a fellow was looking at you queerly.
This Soldier Island, now, he’d be interested to see it. A lot of gossip flyingabout. Looked as though there might be something in the rumour that theAdmiralty or the War Office or the Air Force had got hold of it…Young Elmer Robson, the American millionaire, had actually built theplace. Spent thousands on it, so it was said. Every mortal luxury…Exeter! And an hour to wait! And he didn’t want to wait. He wanted toget on…
VI
Dr Armstrong was driving his Morris across Salisbury Plain. He was verytired…Success had its penalties. There had been a time when he had sat inhis consulting room in Harley Street, correctly apparelled, surroundedwith the most up to date appliances and the most luxurious furnishingsand waited—waited through the empty days for his venture to succeed orfail…
Well, it had succeeded! He’d been lucky! Lucky and skilful of course. Hewas a good man at his job—but that wasn’t enough for success. You had tohave luck as well. And he’d had it! An accurate diagnosis, a couple ofgrateful women patients—women with money and position—and wordhad got about. ‘You ought to try Armstrong—quite a young man—but soclever—Pam had been to all sorts of people for years and he put his fingeron the trouble at once!’ The ball had started rolling.
And now Dr Armstrong had definitely arrived. His days were full. Hehad little leisure. And so, on this August morning, he was glad that he wasleaving London and going to be for some days on an island off the Devoncoast. Not that it was exactly a holiday. The letter he had received hadbeen rather vague in its terms, but there was nothing vague about the ac-companying cheque. A whacking fee. These Owens must be rolling inmoney. Some little difficulty, it seemed, a husband who was worried abouthis wife’s health and wanted a report on it without her being alarmed. Shewouldn’t hear of seeing a doctor. Her nerves—Nerves! The doctor’s eyebrows went up. These women and their nerves!
Well, it was good for business after all. Half the women who consultedhim had nothing the matter with them but boredom, but they wouldn’tthank you for telling them so! And one could usually find something.
‘A slightly uncommon condition of the (some long word) nothing at allserious—but it needs just putting right. A simple treatment.’
Well, medicine was mostly faith-healing when it came to it. And he hada good manner—he could inspire hope and belief.
Lucky that he’d managed to pull himself together in time after that busi-ness ten—no, fifteen years ago. It had been a near thing, that! He’d beengoing to pieces. The shock had pulled him together. He’d cut out drink al-together. By Jove, it had been a near thing, though…With a devastating ear-splitting blast on the horn an enormous Super-Sports Dalmain car rushed past him at eighty miles an hour. Dr Armstrongnearly went into the hedge. One of these young fools who tore round thecountry. He hated them. That had been a near shave, too. Damned youngfool!
VII
Tony Marston, roaring down into Mere, thought to himself:
‘The amount of cars crawling about the roads is frightful. Always some-thing blocking your way. And they will drive in the middle of the road!
Pretty hopeless driving in England, anyway…Not like France where youreally could let out…’
Should he stop here for a drink, or push on? Heaps of time! Only an-other hundred miles and a bit to go. He’d have a gin and ginger beer. Fizz-ing hot day!
This island place ought to be rather good fun—if the weather lasted.
Who were these Owens, he wondered? Rich and stinking, probably. Badgerwas rather good at nosing people like that out. Of course, he had to, poorold chap, with no money of his own…
Hope they’d do one well in drinks. Never knew with these fellows who’dmade their money and weren’t born to it. Pity that story about GabrielleTurl having bought Soldier Island wasn’t true. He’d like to have been inwith that film star crowd.
Oh, well, he supposed there’d be a few girls there…Coming out of the hotel, he stretched himself, yawned, looked up at theblue sky and climbed into the Dalmain.
Several young women looked at him admiringly—his six feet of well-proportioned body, his crisp hair, tanned face, and intensely blue eyes.
He let in the clutch with a roar and leapt up the narrow street. Old menand errand boys jumped for safety. The latter looked after the car admir-ingly.
Anthony Marston proceeded on his triumphal progress.
VIII
Mr Blore was in the slow train from Plymouth. There was only one otherperson in his carriage, an elderly seafaring gentleman with a bleary eye.
At the present moment he had dropped off to sleep.
Mr Blore was writing carefully in a little notebook.
‘That’s the lot,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Emily Brent, Vera Claythorne, DrArmstrong, Anthony Marston, old Justice Wargrave, Philip Lombard, Gen-eral Macarthur, C.M.G., D.S.O. Manservant and wife: Mr and Mrs Rogers.’
He closed the notebook and put it back in his pocket. He glanced over atthe corner and the slumbering man.
‘Had one over the eight,’ diagnosed Mr Blore accurately.
He went over things carefully and conscientiously in his mind.
‘Job ought to be easy enough,’ he ruminated. ‘Don’t see how I can slip upon it. Hope I look all right.’
He stood up and scrutinized himself anxiously in the glass. The face re-flected there was of a slightly military cast with a moustache. There wasvery little expression in it. The eyes were grey and set rather close to-gether.
‘Might be a Major,’ said Mr Blore. ‘No, I forgot. There’s that old militarygent. He’d spot me at once.’
‘South Africa,’ said Mr Blore, ‘that’s my line! None of these people haveanything to do with South Africa, and I’ve just been reading that travelfolder so I can talk about it all right.’
Fortunately there were all sorts and types of colonials. As a man ofmeans from South Africa, Mr Blore felt that he could enter into any societyunchallenged.
Soldier Island. He remembered Soldier Island as a boy…Smelly sort ofrock covered with gulls—stood about a mile from the coast.
Funny idea to go and build a house on it! Awful in bad weather! But mil-lionaires were full of whims!
The old man in the corner woke up and said:
‘You can’t never tell at sea—never!’
Mr Blore said soothingly, ‘That’s right. You can’t.’
The old man hiccupped twice and said plaintively:
‘There’s a squall coming.’
Mr Blore said:
‘No, no, mate, it’s a lovely day.’
The old man said angrily:
‘There’s a squall ahead. I can smell it.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Mr Blore pacifically.
The train stopped at a station and the old fellow rose unsteadily.
‘Thish where I get out.’ He fumbled with the window. Mr Blore helpedhim.
The old man stood in the doorway. He raised a solemn hand andblinked his bleary eyes.
‘Watch and pray,’ he said. ‘Watch and pray. The day of judgment is athand.’
He collapsed through the doorway on to the platform. From a recum-bent position he looked up at Mr Blore and said with immense dignity:
‘I’m talking to you, young man. The day of judgment is very close athand.’
Subsiding on to his seat Mr Blore thought to himself: He’s nearer the dayof judgment than I am!
But there, as it happens, he was wrong…
第一章
第一章
1瓦格雷夫法官先生刚刚退休。此刻他正坐在一等车厢的吸烟室角落里，一边吸雪茄，一边饶有兴致地读《泰晤士报》上的政治新闻。
他放下报纸，眺望窗外。列车在萨默塞特平原上疾驰。他看看手表，还有两小时的路程。
瓦格雷夫法官回想着报纸上有关士兵岛 [1] 的各种奇闻逸事：据说首位岛主是个美国富翁，酷爱帆船运动，于是买下这座德文郡海岸附近的孤岛，在岛上建了一幢豪华时髦的别墅。可惜他新婚的第三任太太非常怕水，结果只能连房带岛一起挂牌出售。随之而来的是报纸上铺天盖地的广告。后来传出一则简讯，称一位名叫欧文的先生买下了整座岛和别墅。打那时起，关于士兵岛的流言蜚语就传开了。有人说士兵岛的真正买主是好莱坞大明星加布里埃尔•特尔！她为了避开公众视线，来岛上躲几个月清净。署名为“大忙人”的记者又含沙射影地透露，说这座岛将成为皇亲国戚的私邸！“结婚季先生”则称是一位青年贵族一掷千金，买下该岛当蜜月爱巢。还有个名叫乔纳斯的人说自己得到可靠消息，海军部买下了这个地方，准备搞几项秘密试验。
总之，有一点可以肯定：士兵岛成了新闻！
瓦格雷夫法官从口袋里掏出一封信。尽管手写笔迹模糊不清，一些词却格外清晰。
亲爱的劳伦斯……一别多年……务请光临士兵岛……实为景色迷人之地……畅谈往日云烟……拥抱自然……沐浴阳光……十二点四十分由帕丁顿车站出发……在橡树桥恭迎……
署名是位女士，花体签名：康斯坦斯•卡尔明顿。
瓦格雷夫法官使劲回忆上次见到康斯坦斯•卡尔明顿夫人的具体时间。想来已时隔七年，不，八年了！后来她去了意大利，为的是沐浴阳光，让心融化在田野乡间。据说之后又去了叙利亚，想必那里的阳光更加充足，她可以与大自然和贝都因人亲密无间。
康斯坦斯•卡尔明顿，他猛然忆起，她正是那种会独自买下一座孤岛的女人，这样做能让她显得更加神秘！瓦格雷夫法官微微点头，觉得自己的推断挺有道理。他的头随着列车的节奏点着、点着……
他睡着了……
2维拉•克莱索恩闭着眼，头往后靠着。三等车厢里除了她，还坐着五名乘客。这种天气坐火车旅行太热了！所以去海边一定非常舒服。能找到这样一份工作真幸运。一般来说，像她这样找假期工作，十之八九是摊上照看一群孩子的活儿，哪儿那么容易找到秘书之类的工作。就算是职业妇女介绍所也帮不上忙。
可就在她发愁的时候，这封信如期而至。
我收到职业妇女介绍所对你的推荐，从推荐信来看，他们对你深为了解。我同意支付你所期望的薪水，并希望你在八月八日入职。火车十二点四十分从帕丁顿车站出发。有人会到橡树桥车站接你。另附现金五镑作为旅途开支。
乌娜•南希•欧文
信头打印了地址，德文郡斯蒂克尔黑文的士兵岛……士兵岛！就是它！最近的报纸除了它简直就不谈别的了！流言蜚语和各种猜测，说什么的都有，不过绝大部分可能都是空穴来风。但是，岛上的别墅归一位百万富翁所有，这个说法确凿无疑。而且，用奢华至极来形容这幢别墅绝对没错。
上个学期，维拉•克莱索恩在学校里忙得不可开交。她不甘心地想：一个只能带孩子做游戏的女教师，在一所三流学校里混日子能赚几个钱？要是能去体面些的学校工作，恐怕会好得多……
想到这里，她突然不寒而栗。心想：“能找到一份教师的工作已经谢天谢地了。谁都不愿听到死因审讯这类话，就算验尸官已经帮我开脱了所有罪名，想起来还是后怕！”
就连他都对她当时的表现和勇气称赞不已，她对此念念不忘。就说那次死因审讯吧，简直不能再顺利了。汉密尔顿夫人对她非常照顾——只有雨果——算了，何必去想雨果呢！
想到这里，尽管车厢里是那样闷热，她却突然打起寒战来。真希望自己现在不是去海边！当时的情景历历在目！她眼前是西里尔的脑袋在水面上一起一伏，漂向岩石……他的脑袋在水面上一起一伏，一起一伏……而她就跟在他身后，摆出一副奋力向前游的架势，其实她心里再清楚不过，自己无论如何也追不上他了……那片海——那片温暖的深蓝色的大海——躺在柔软的沙滩上度过整个早晨……雨果……雨果说他爱她……
她一定不能去想那个叫雨果的男人……
她睁开双眼，眉头紧锁，瞥了一眼坐在她对面的男人。这个男人身材高大，棕色的皮肤，两只浅色眼睛的间距很窄。他的嘴型看起来很傲慢，一副不屑一顾的模样，表情近乎残忍。
她想：
对面这个男人一定去过很多不可思议的地方，见过很多有意思的事……3菲利普•隆巴德的眼珠骨碌一转，往对面瞥了一眼，打量着坐在他面前的女人。
很吸引人，就是女教师的味道重了些。
冷静的猎物——他看得出来，自制力很强——不论是谈恋爱还是上阵打仗。不过他倒是挺愿意跟这个女人发生些什么……
他皱了皱眉，赶紧打消这些没用的念头。做生意才是正经事，先得集中精力把这笔生意搞定。
可是，这笔生意到底怎么做，他根本不知道。那个瘦小的犹太人太会故弄玄虚了。
“你干还是不干？隆巴德上校！”
他琢磨了一会儿，回答说：
“一百块金币，嗯？”
他故意表现得满不在乎，把价钱说得很轻松，好像一百块金币在他眼里根本不算什么。这可是一百块金币啊！实情是，他现在连一顿像样的饭都快吃不上了。他有点儿担心，这小个子犹太人应该不是受骗了吧——犹太人最该死的就是，在钱的问题上谁也玩不过他们——他们可精明了！
他仍然满不在乎地问：
“你能不能把话说明白点儿？”
艾萨克•莫里斯先生斩钉截铁地摇了摇他的秃脑袋。
“不行，隆巴德上校，我只能告诉你这么多。我的客户说你是对付这种棘手事件的专家。我被授权交给你一百块金币，前提是你答应去德文郡的斯蒂克尔黑文跑一趟。离那儿最近的车站是橡树桥，到了车站，会有人接你，驾车送你去斯蒂克尔黑文，再用摩托艇把你送上士兵岛。到了士兵岛，你只要听我那位客户的安排就可以了。”
隆巴德立刻问：
“在岛上要待多久？”
“最多不超过一个星期。”
隆巴德捋着小胡子说：
“你知道，我是不干那种事的——我的意思是，犯法的事。”
他说着，眼睛恶狠狠地盯着对方。
莫里斯先生那犹太人特有的厚嘴唇上隐约掠过一丝笑意。他一本正经地说：
“当然，要是我的客户让你干什么犯法的事，你完全可以退出。”
这个狡猾的小畜生真该死，居然还笑！仿佛对隆巴德过去的所作所为了如指掌，知道对于隆巴德这种人来说，哪儿在乎什么犯法与不犯法。
隆巴德禁不住咧嘴一笑。
天知道，有那么一两次他差点儿就完了！然而最后他总能全身而退。其实，他才不在乎合法与否……
不，根本不需要冒险做犯法的事。到了士兵岛，他期待的是好好享受一番……4禁烟车厢里，埃米莉•布伦特小姐像往常一样挺直腰板坐着。虽说她已经六十五岁了，可还是看不惯那种懒懒散散的人。她那位古板老派的上校父亲对举止做派的要求最为严格。
看看现在这代人！瞧瞧这个车厢里的人！其实他们在哪儿都一样：懒散，不知道害臊……
布伦特小姐满脑子都是各种愤世嫉俗的念头，对于看不惯的事物，向来毫不妥协。虽然坐在拥挤不堪的三等车厢里，她却表现出完全不受拥挤和闷热干扰的姿态。现代人活得太矫情！拔牙要打麻药，睡不着觉就要吃安眠药，椅子要坐有软垫、有靠背的，女孩子走路居然把身子扭来扭去，夏天还半裸躺在沙滩上！
布伦特小姐紧闭双唇。她要让这些没教养的人好好瞧瞧！
她还记得去年暑假。不过，这个暑假肯定完全不一样。士兵岛……她把那封已经读过不知多少遍的信又在心里默念了一遍：
亲爱的布伦特小姐，
你还记得我吗？几年前的八月，我们一起住进贝尔黑文的旅馆，相处得非常愉快。
现在我自己经营一家旅馆，就在德文郡海岸的一座小岛上。在我这里，你可以品尝到清淡的饮食，与那些气质高贵古典的人交往。我这里没有袒胸露体的人，也没有深更半夜唱歌喧哗的讨厌鬼。如果你有时间，作为我的贵客来士兵岛轻松度假，我将深感荣幸。八月初合适吗？就定在八日吧！
你真诚的
尤•纳•……
落款是什么？签名太难认了。埃米莉•布伦特不耐烦地想：“很多人签名总是不认真。”
她回想在贝尔黑文见过的人。她连续两年夏天去过那里，有一个挺不错的中年女人——叫什么——叫什么太太的人，她父亲是大教堂里的牧师。还有一位奥尔顿小姐——要不就是奥曼——不，叫奥利弗！对，就是奥利弗。
士兵岛！报纸上提过。这座岛是不是和一个电影明星有关？还是和一个美国百万富翁有关？
这种地方的房价一般挺便宜的——小岛并非任何人都能住。一开始的想法可能很浪漫，但是等住在岛上就会发现，这也不方便，那也不称心，所以就尽快脱手了。
埃米莉•布伦特心想：总之，我是去那儿白住一个假期。
近期她的收入迅速减少，碰到这家公司欠债、那家停发股息的情况，她不得不考虑节俭度日。要是能回忆起这位叫什么夫人，或者叫奥利弗小姐的人是谁就好了，哪怕再想起一丁点儿也好。
5麦克阿瑟将军从车窗望出去，列车刚刚驶入埃克塞特。这些该死的支线区间慢车！士兵岛那地方如果坐直达的火车过去，根本就没有多远。
他没弄明白这个叫欧文的家伙到底是谁。是斯波夫•莱加德的朋友吧！肯定是——要不就是约翰尼•威尔的朋友？
……你的一两位老战友也要来……大家都想来叙叙旧。
没错，他是挺爱絮叨这些陈年往事。最近他怀疑大家都在躲着他。一定是那个该死的谣言搞的鬼！他越想越生气。算起来事情已经过去近三十年了。一定是阿米泰奇走漏了风声。那个莽撞的小子！那件事他究竟知道多少？算了，还是别想那么多了！人有时就是爱瞎猜，猜想有人盯着自己。
想想这座士兵岛吧！他多么想赶快见到这座岛。关于这座岛的流言传得沸沸扬扬。有传闻提到海军部、陆军部或空军部斥资买下了士兵岛，这种说法似乎不完全是空穴来风。
年轻的美国百万富翁埃尔默•罗布森确实在岛上盖了那幢别墅，而且是花重金修建，极尽奢华。
埃克塞特！看来还有一小时才能到！他等不及了，真想赶紧上岛……6阿姆斯特朗医生开着莫里斯汽车驶过索尔兹伯里平原。他万分疲惫……人难免为名声所累。回想当年刚入行的时候，他穿戴整齐地坐在装修漂亮、门可罗雀的候诊室里，独守着崭新的医疗设备，深感前途渺茫，不知何时才能熬出头。
终于，他成功了。好运再加上高明的医术，让他总算熬出头了！他对专业确实精通，不过单凭这个还不够，成名还要靠运气。而他偏偏赶上了好运！有一次，他快速准确地为病人确诊，之后又遇到了两三个感恩戴德的女病人——既有钱，又有人脉的上层人士——有关他医术高超之类的赞美就从此传开了。“你应该去找阿姆斯特朗医生，虽然他年纪不大，可是经验丰富极了。帕姆的病找过好几个医生，治了好几年，经他一诊治就好转了！”从此，阿姆斯特朗的事业可谓一帆风顺。
现在，他的诊室门庭若市，每天的预约都排得很满。因此，能在炎热的八月离开伦敦，前往德文郡附近的小岛吹海风，他自然喜出望外。不过，此行不完全是度假。他收到的信件内容含糊其辞，随信附上的支票金额也出人意料。欧文家想必家境殷实，否则不会一下子开出如此高额的支票。从信的内容看，男主人不放心妻子的身体健康，又怕自己的担心吓到胆小的妻子，因此请医生上门为她检查，但是要装成是普通客人，不和她提起治病之类的话。以免让她神经——
神经。医生扬起眉毛。女人和她们脆弱的神经。不过嘛，这对生意有好处。反正找他看病的女人至少有一半是什么毛病也说不出来，纯属大惊小怪。但是对于这种女病人，实话实说可不会得到感谢，幸亏他总能编出一套说辞应付她们：
“你的情况属于一种什么（总之是非常拗口的医学名词），稍微有点儿不正常——不过不严重。还是需要治疗的，但是并不复杂。”
坦白说，所谓的药效其实是信则有，不信则无。然而，他的方法总能让病人寄予希望和信任。
幸好过了十年，那桩事总算过去了——不，都有十五年了。那件事让他一只脚已经跨到了悬崖外面。幸好从那以后，他洗心革面，从此滴酒不沾。可是有时想起来，仿佛就发生在昨天……
伴随着震耳欲聋的喇叭声，一辆达尔曼超级跑车以每小时八十英里的速度与他擦肩而过，害得他差点儿撞到路边的围栏上。又是一个无法无天的傻瓜！他讨厌这种年轻人，这次又差点儿被这种人撞到。这群该死的笨蛋！
7安东尼•马斯顿猛踩油门，他心想：
这么一堆汽车像蜗牛一样在路上爬，实在夸张。总有车子挡在前面，胡乱并线，在马路中间开！英国的交通真可怕。不像法国，你大可以……是停车歇会儿喝一杯，还是继续赶路？反正时间有的是。再开一百多英里就到了。得来一杯杜松子加姜汁啤酒。这热得要命的鬼天气！
如果天气一直这么热的话，去岛上可就太享受了！那个叫欧文的是什么人，他并不清楚。大概就是个暴发户，家财万贯的有钱人。巴杰尔在帮人打听有钱人的消息这方面的确很在行。当然，他也是身不由己。这可怜的老家伙，自己穷得叮当响。
希望他家能用好酒招待客人。他跟这类不是生来就懂得花钱享受的暴发户从没打过交道。可惜关于加布里埃尔•特尔买下士兵岛的说法纯属虚构，要不然他还真想跟这些电影人打打交道。
不过，那儿总会有几个姑娘助兴吧……
走出饭店，他伸了个懒腰，打了个哈欠，望一望蓝天，然后又钻进达尔曼跑车。
几个年轻姑娘一脸崇拜地盯着他——他身高六英尺，身材匀称，头发蓬松，小麦色的皮肤，还有一双深邃的蓝眼睛。
他猛轰油门。随着马达的轰鸣声，跑车在狭窄的街道上飞驰而过，把老人和那些替人跑腿的男孩儿吓得直往两边跳。那些男孩儿还一个劲儿盯着他的汽车瞧呢，满脸羡慕。
安东尼•马斯顿开心地继续享受他的旅程。
8布洛尔先生乘坐的是从普利茅斯出发的慢车。车厢里除了他，只有一位乘客，是一位视力模糊的老海员，已经低着头睡着了。
布洛尔先生在一个小本子上一笔一画地写着。
“这群人包括，”他自言自语道，“埃米莉•布伦特，维拉•克莱索恩，阿姆斯特朗医生，安东尼•马斯顿，瓦格雷夫老法官，菲利普•隆巴德，麦克阿瑟将军，男管家和他妻子——罗杰斯先生和罗杰斯太太。”
他合上小本子，放回口袋，望了望角落里酣睡的老人。
“比八个人多了一位。”布洛尔先生仔细计算了一番。
他把每件事都仔细想了一遍。
“这次的行程还挺轻松，”他琢磨着，“应该不会有人找麻烦。希望我外表看起来没什么问题。”
他赶忙站起身来，仔细端详镜中的自己：一撮小胡子让他看起来颇有军人气概。他面无表情。两只灰色的眼睛挨得很近。
“看起来应该像个少校吧，”布洛尔先生想，“不对，我忘了这群人里有个老兵，他一眼就能看穿我。”
“南非。”布洛尔先生又想，“南非我可太熟了。这些人似乎都不了解南非，而我正好一直在看南非旅行资料，聊起来可以装作对那儿很熟悉。”
幸亏有各种各样的殖民地。布洛尔先生自认为对南非了如指掌，应该能就这个话题和别人聊上好一会儿，也不会露马脚。
士兵岛！他从小就知道。这座岛离岸约有一英里远，海鸥在发臭的岩石上歇脚，这座岛因为形状像士兵头部的轮廓而得名。
到这座岛上来盖别墅，真是个奇怪的想法！一变天就让人傻眼！要不说嘛，百万富翁就是爱瞎胡闹！
坐在角落里的老人醒过来了，说：
“你永远也摸不准大海的脾气，永远！”
布洛尔先生随声附和：“说得没错。永远也摸不准。”
老人打了两个嗝，叹口气说：
“风暴就要来了！”
布洛尔先生说：
“不，不，我看天气挺好的。”
老人生气地说：
“风暴就在眼前，我能感觉出来。”
“也许是吧。”布洛尔先生从善如流。
火车到站了。老人颤颤巍巍地站了起来。
“我得下车了。”他摸着窗户说。布洛尔先生帮了他一把。
站在车厢门口，老人眨着昏花的双眼，郑重其事地举起一只手。
“边走边祈祷吧，”他说，“边走边祈祷。审判的日子就在眼前。”
老人走下火车，跌跌撞撞地走上站台。他斜着身子，望着车上的布洛尔先生，表情严肃地说：
“我跟你说，年轻人，审判的日子就在眼前！”
布洛尔先生回到座位上，心想：“上帝的审判对于他而言，确实比我近得多，就在眼前。”
但是，后来发生的一切都证明，他错了……
[1]本书于一九三九年在英国首次出版时，此处原文为Nigger Island，意为“黑人岛”；在一九六四年再版的英国版中，将Nigger Island替换为Indian Island，意为“印第安岛”；在二〇〇三年出版的英国版中，此处改称Soldier Island，本版据此译为“士兵岛”，下同。
Chapter 2
Chapter 2
IOutside Oakbridge station a little group of people stood in momentary un-certainty. Behind them stood porters with suitcases. One of these called,‘Jim!’
The driver of one of the taxis stepped forward.
‘You’m for Soldier Island, maybe?’ he asked in a soft Devon voice. Fourvoices gave assent—and then immediately afterwards gave quick surrepti-tious glances at each other.
The driver said, addressing his remarks to Mr Justice Wargrave as thesenior member of the party:
‘There are two taxis here, sir. One of them must wait till the slow trainfrom Exeter gets in—a matter of five minutes—there’s one gentlemancoming by that. Perhaps one of you wouldn’t mind waiting? You’d bemore comfortable that way.’
Vera Claythorne, her own secretarial position clear in her mind, spokeat once.
‘I’ll wait,’ she said, ‘if you will go on?’ She looked at the other three, herglance and voice had that slight suggestion of command in it that comesfrom having occupied a position of authority. She might have been direct-ing which tennis sets the girls were to play in.
Miss Brent said stiffly, ‘Thank you,’ bent her head and entered one of thetaxis, the door of which the driver was holding open.
Mr Justice Wargrave followed her.
Captain Lombard said:
‘I’ll wait with Miss—’
‘Claythorne,’ said Vera.
‘My name is Lombard, Philip Lombard.’
The porters were piling luggage on the taxi. Inside, Mr Justice Wargravesaid with due legal caution:
‘Beautiful weather we are having.’
Miss Brent said:
‘Yes, indeed.’
A very distinguished old gentleman, she thought to herself. Quite unlikethe usual type of man in seaside guest houses. Evidently Mrs or MissOliver had good connections…
Mr Justice Wargrave inquired:
‘Do you know this part of the world well?’
‘I have been to Cornwall and to Torquay, but this is my first visit to thispart of Devon.’
The judge said:
‘I also am unacquainted with this part of the world.’
The taxi drove off.
The driver of the second taxi said:
‘Like to sit inside while you’re waiting?’
Vera said decisively:
‘Not at all.’
Captain Lombard smiled. He said:
‘That sunny wall looks more attractive. Unless you’d rather go inside thestation?’
‘No, indeed. It’s so delightful to get out of that stuffy train.’
He answered:
‘Yes, travelling by train is rather trying in this weather.’
Vera said conventionally:
‘I do hope it lasts—the weather, I mean. Our English summers are sotreacherous.’
With a slight lack of originality Lombard asked:
‘Do you know this part of the world well?’
‘No, I’ve never been here before.’ She added quickly, conscientiously de-termined to make her position clear at once, ‘I haven’t even seen my em-ployer yet.’
‘Your employer?’
‘Yes, I’m Mrs Owen’s secretary.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Just imperceptibly his manner changed. It was slightly moreassured—easier in tone. He said: ‘Isn’t that rather unusual?’
Vera laughed.
‘Oh, no, I don’t think so. Her own secretary was suddenly taken ill andshe wired to an agency for a substitute and they sent me.’
‘So that was it. And suppose you don’t like the post when you’ve gotthere?’
Vera laughed again.
‘Oh, it’s only temporary—a holiday post. I’ve got a permanent job at agirls’ school. As a matter of fact, I’m frightfully thrilled at the prospect ofseeing Soldier Island. There’s been such a lot about it in the papers. Is itreally very fascinating?’
Lombard said:
‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen it.’
‘Oh, really? The Owens are frightfully keen on it, I suppose. What arethey like? Do tell me.’
Lombard thought: Awkward, this—am I supposed to have met them ornot? He said quickly:
‘There’s a wasp crawling up your arm. No—keep quite still.’ He made aconvincing pounce. ‘There. It’s gone!’
‘Oh, thank you. There are a lot of wasps about this summer.’
‘Yes, I suppose it’s the heat. Who are we waiting for, do you know?’
‘I haven’t the least idea.’
The loud drawn-out scream of an approaching train was heard. Lom-bard said:
‘That will be the train now.’
It was a tall soldierly old man who appeared at the exit from the plat-form. His grey hair was clipped close and he had a neatly trimmed whitemoustache.
His porter, staggering slightly under the weight of the solid leather suit-case, indicated Vera and Lombard.
Vera came forward in a competent manner. She said:
‘I am Mrs Owen’s secretary. There is a car here waiting.’ She added,‘This is Mr Lombard.’
The faded blue eyes, shrewd in spite of their age, sized up Lombard. Fora moment a judgment showed in them—had there been any one to read it.
‘Good-looking fellow. Something just a little wrong about him…’
The three of them got into the waiting taxi. They drove through thesleepy streets of little Oakbridge and continued about a mile on the mainPlymouth road. Then they plunged into a maze of cross- country lanes,steep, green and narrow.
General Macarthur said:
‘Don’t know this part of Devon at all. My little place is in East Devon—just on the border-line of Dorset.’
Vera said:
‘It really is lovely here. The hills and the red earth and everything sogreen and luscious-looking.’
Philip Lombard said critically:
‘It’s a bit shut in…I like open country myself. Where you can see what’scoming…’
General Macarthur said to him:
‘You’ve seen a bit of the world, I fancy?’
Lombard shrugged his shoulders disparagingly.
‘I’ve knocked about here and there, sir.’
He thought to himself: ‘He’ll ask me now if I was old enough to be in theWar. These old boys always do.’
But General Macarthur did not mention the War.
II
They came up over a steep hill and down a zigzag track to Sticklehaven—amere cluster of cottages with a fishing boat or two drawn up on the beach.
Illuminated by the setting sun, they had their first glimpse of Soldier Is-land jutting up out of the sea to the south.
Vera said, surprised:
‘It’s a long way out.’
She had pictured it differently, close to shore, crowned with a beautifulwhite house. But there was no house visible, only the boldly silhouettedrock with its faint resemblance to a giant head. There was something sinis-ter about it. She shivered faintly.
Outside a little inn, the Seven Stars, three people were sitting. There wasthe hunched elderly figure of the judge, the upright form of Miss Brent,and a third man—a big bluff man who came forward and introduced him-self.
‘Thought we might as well wait for you,’ he said. ‘Make one trip of it. Al-low me to introduce myself. Name’s Davis. Natal, South Africa’s my natalspot, ha, ha!’
He laughed breezily.
Mr Justice Wargrave looked at him with active malevolence. He seemedto be wishing that he could order the court to be cleared. Miss Emily Brentwas clearly not sure if she liked Colonials.
‘Any one care for a little nip before we embark?’ asked Mr Davis hospit-ably.
Nobody assenting to this proposition, Mr Davis turned and held up a fin-ger.
‘Mustn’t delay, then. Our good host and hostess will be expecting us,’ hesaid.
He might have noticed that a curious constraint came over the othermembers of the party. It was as though the mention of their host and host-ess had a curiously paralysing effect upon the guests.
In response to Davis’s beckoning finger, a man detached himself from anearby wall against which he was leaning and came up to them. Hisrolling gait proclaimed him as a man of the sea. He had a weather-beatenface and dark eyes with a slightly evasive expression. He spoke in his softDevon voice.
‘Will you be ready to be starting for the island, ladies and gentlemen?
The boat’s waiting. There’s two gentlemen coming by car but Mr Owen’sorders was not to wait for them as they might arrive at any time.’
The party got up. Their guide led them along a small stone jetty. Along-side it a motor boat was lying.
Emily Brent said:
‘That’s a very small boat.’
The boat’s owner said persuasively:
‘She’s a fine boat that, Ma’am. You could go to Plymouth in her as easyas winking.’
Mr Justice Wargrave said sharply:
‘There are a good many of us.’
‘She’d take double the number, sir.’
Philip Lombard said in his pleasant easy voice:
‘It’s quite all right. Glorious weather—no swell.’
Rather doubtfully, Miss Brent permitted herself to be helped into theboat. The others followed suit. There was as yet no fraternizing among theparty. It was as though each member of it was puzzled by the other mem-bers.
They were just about to cast loose when their guide paused, boat-hookin hand.
Down the steep track into the village a car was coming. A car so fantast-ically powerful, so superlatively beautiful that it had all the nature of anapparition. At the wheel sat a young man, his hair blown back by thewind. In the blaze of the evening light he looked, not a man, but a youngGod, a Hero God out of some Northern Saga.
He touched the horn and a great roar of sound echoed from the rocks ofthe bay.
It was a fantastic moment. In it, Anthony Marston seemed to be some-thing more than mortal. Afterwards more than one of those present re-membered that moment.
III
Fred Narracott sat by the engine thinking to himself that this was a queerlot. Not at all his idea of what Mr Owen’s guests were likely to be. He’d ex-pected something altogether more classy. Togged up women and gentle-men in yachting costume and all very rich and important-looking.
Not at all like Mr Elmer Robson’s parties. A faint grin came to Fred Nar-racott’s lips as he remembered the millionaire’s guests. That had been aparty if you like—and the drink they’d got through!
This Mr Owen must be a very different sort of gentleman. Funny, it was,thought Fred, that he’d never yet set eyes on Owen—or his Missus either.
Never been down here yet he hadn’t. Everything ordered and paid for bythat Mr Morris. Instructions always very clear and payment prompt, but itwas odd, all the same. The papers said there was some mystery aboutOwen. Mr Narracott agreed with them.
Perhaps after all, it was Miss Gabrielle Turl who had bought the island.
But that theory departed from him as he surveyed his passengers. Not thislot—none of them looked likely to have anything to do with a film star.
He summed them up dispassionately.
One old maid—the sour kind—he knew them well enough. She was atartar he could bet. Old military gentleman—real Army look about him.
Nice-looking young lady—but the ordinary kind, not glamorous—no Holly-wood touch about her. That bluff cheery gent—he wasn’t a real gentle-man. Retired tradesman, that’s what he is, thought Fred Narracott. Theother gentleman, the lean hungry-looking gentleman with the quick eyes,he was a queer one, he was. Just possible he might have something to dowith the pictures.
No, there was only one satisfactory passenger in the boat. The last gen-tleman, the one who had arrived in the car (and what a car! A car such ashad never been seen in Sticklehaven before. Must have cost hundreds andhundreds, a car like that). He was the right kind. Born to money, he was. Ifthe party had been all like him…he’d understand it…Queer business when you came to think of it — the whole thing wasqueer—very queer…
IV
The boat churned its way round the rock. Now at last the house came intoview. The south side of the island was quite different. It shelved gentlydown to the sea. The house was there facing south—low and square andmodern-looking with rounded windows letting in all the light.
An exciting house—a house that lived up to expectation!
Fred Narracott shut off the engine, they nosed their way gently into alittle natural inlet between rocks.
Philip Lombard said sharply:
‘Must be difficult to land here in dirty weather.’
Fred Narracott said cheerfully:
‘Can’t land on Soldier Island when there’s a south-easterly. Sometimes’tis cut off for a week or more.’
Vera Claythorne thought:
‘The catering must be very difficult. That’s the worst of an island. All thedomestic problems are so worrying.’
The boat grated against the rocks. Fred Narracott jumped out and heand Lombard helped the others to alight. Narracott made the boat fast to aring in the rock. Then he led the way up steps cut in the cliff.
General Macarthur said:
‘Ha! delightful spot!’
But he felt uneasy. Damned odd sort of place.
As the party ascended the steps and came out on a terrace above, theirspirits revived. In the open doorway of the house a correct butler wasawaiting them, and something about his gravity reassured them. And thenthe house itself was really most attractive, the view from the terrace mag-nificent…
The butler came forward bowing slightly. He was a tall lank man, grey-haired and very respectable. He said:
‘Will you come this way, please.’
In the wide hall drinks stood ready. Rows of bottles. Anthony Marston’sspirits cheered up a little. He’d just been thinking this was a rum kind ofshow. None of his lot! What could old Badger have been thinking about tolet him in for this? However, the drinks were all right. Plenty of ice, too.
What was it the butler chap was saying?
Mr Owen—unfortunately delayed—unable to get here till tomorrow. In-structions — everything they wanted — if they would like to go to theirrooms?…dinner would be at eight o’clock…
VVera had followed Mrs Rogers upstairs. The woman had thrown open adoor at the end of a passage and Vera had walked into a delightful bed-room with a big window that opened wide upon the sea and another look-ing east. She uttered a quick exclamation of pleasure.
Mrs Rogers was saying:
‘I hope you’ve got everything you want, Miss?’
Vera looked round. Her luggage had been brought up and had been un-packed. At one side of the room a door stood open into a pale blue-tiledbathroom.
She said quickly:
‘Yes, everything, I think.’
‘You’ll ring the bell if you want anything, Miss?’
Mrs Rogers had a flat monotonous voice. Vera looked at her curiously.
What a white bloodless ghost of a woman! Very respectable-looking, withher hair dragged back from her face and her black dress. Queer light eyesthat shifted the whole time from place to place.
Vera thought:
‘She looks frightened of her own shadow.’
Yes, that was it—frightened!
She looked like a woman who walked in mortal fear…A little shiver passed down Vera’s back. What on earth was the womanafraid of?
She said pleasantly:
‘I’m Mrs Owen’s new secretary. I expect you know that.’
Mrs Rogers said:
‘No, Miss, I don’t know anything. Just a list of the ladies and gentlemenand what rooms they were to have.’
Vera said:
‘Mrs Owen didn’t mention me?’
Mrs Rogers’ eyelashes flickered.
‘I haven’t seen Mrs Owen—not yet. We only came here two days ago.’
Extraordinary people, these Owens, thought Vera. Aloud she said:
‘What staff is there here?’
‘Just me and Rogers, Miss.’
Vera frowned. Eight people in the house—ten with the host and hostess—and only one married couple to do for them.
Mrs Rogers said:
‘I’m a good cook and Rogers is handy about the house. I didn’t know, ofcourse, that there was to be such a large party.’
Vera said:
‘But you can manage?’
‘Oh yes, Miss, I can manage. If there’s to be large parties often perhapsMrs Owen could get extra help in.’
Vera said, ‘I expect so.’
Mrs Rogers turned to go. Her feet moved noiselessly over the ground.
She drifted from the room like a shadow.
Vera went over to the window and sat down on the window seat. Shewas faintly disturbed. Everything—somehow—was a little queer. The ab-sence of the Owens, the pale ghostlike Mrs Rogers. And the guests! Yes, theguests were queer, too. An oddly assorted party.
Vera thought:
‘I wish I’d seen the Owens…I wish I knew what they were like.’
She got up and walked restlessly about the room.
A perfect bedroom decorated throughout in the modern style. Off-whiterugs on the gleaming parquet floor—faintly tinted walls—a long mirrorsurrounded by lights. A mantelpiece bare of ornaments save for anenormous block of white marble shaped like a bear, a piece of modernsculpture in which was inset a clock. Over it, in a gleaming chromiumframe, was a big square of parchment—a poem.
She stood in front of the fireplace and read it. It was the old nurseryrhyme that she remembered from her childhood days.
Ten little soldier boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were Nine.
Nine little soldier boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were Eight.
Eight little soldier boys travelling in Devon;One said he’d stay there and then there were Seven.
Seven little soldier boys chopping up sticks;One chopped himself in halves and then there were Six.
Six little soldier boys playing with a hive;
A bumble bee stung one and then there were Five.
Five little soldier boys going in for law;
One got in Chancery and then there were Four.
Four little soldier boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were Three.
Three little soldier boys walking in the Zoo;A big bear hugged one and then there were Two.
Two little soldier boys sitting in the sun;
One got frizzled up and then there was One.
One little soldier boy left all alone;
He went and hanged himself and then there were None.
Vera smiled. Of course! This was Soldier Island!
She went and sat again by the window looking out to sea.
How big the sea was! From here there was no land to be seen anywhere—just a vast expanse of blue water rippling in the evening sun.
The sea…So peaceful today—sometimes so cruel…The sea that draggedyou down to its depths. Drowned… Found drowned… Drowned at sea…Drowned—drowned—drowned…
No, she wouldn’t remember…She would not think of it!
All that was over…
VI
Dr Armstrong came to Soldier Island just as the sun was sinking into thesea. On the way across he had chatted to the boatman—a local man. Hewas anxious to find out a little about these people who owned Soldier Is-land, but the man Narracott seemed curiously ill-informed, or perhaps un-willing to talk.
So Dr Armstrong chatted instead of the weather and of fishing.
He was tired after his long motor drive. His eyeballs ached. Driving westyou were driving against the sun.
Yes, he was very tired. The sea and perfect peace—that was what heneeded. He would like, really, to take a long holiday. But he couldn’t af-ford to do that. He could afford it financially, of course, but he couldn’t af-ford to drop out. You were soon forgotten nowadays. No, now that he hadarrived, he must keep his nose to the grindstone.
He thought:
‘All the same, this evening, I’ll imagine to myself that I’m not going back—that I’ve done with London and Harley Street and all the rest of it.’
There was something magical about an island—the mere word sugges-ted fantasy. You lost touch with the world—an island was a world of itsown. A world, perhaps, from which you might never return.
He thought:
‘I’m leaving my ordinary life behind me.’
And, smiling to himself, he began to make plans, fantastic plans for thefuture. He was still smiling when he walked up the rock-cut steps.
In a chair on the terrace an old gentleman was sitting and the sight ofhim was vaguely familiar to Dr Armstrong. Where had he seen that frog-like face, that tortoise-like neck, that hunched up attitude—yes and thosepale shrewd little eyes? Of course—old Wargrave. He’d given evidenceonce before him. Always looked half-asleep, but was shrewd as could bewhen it came to a point of law. Had great power with a jury—it was saidhe could make their minds up for them any day of the week. He’d got oneor two unlikely convictions out of them. A hanging judge, some peoplesaid.
Funny place to meet him…here—out of the world.
VII
Mr Justice Wargrave thought to himself:
‘Armstrong? Remember him in the witness-box. Very correct and cau-tious. All doctors are damned fools. Harley Street ones are the worst of thelot.’ And his mind dwelt malevolently on a recent interview he had hadwith a suave personage in that very street.
Aloud he grunted:
‘Drinks are in the hall.’
Dr Armstrong said:
‘I must go and pay my respects to my host and hostess.’
Mr Justice Wargrave closed his eyes again, looking decidedly reptilian,and said:
‘You can’t do that.’
Dr Armstrong was startled.
‘Why not?’
The judge said:
‘No host and hostess. Very curious state of affairs. Don’t understand thisplace.’
Dr Armstrong stared at him for a minute. When he thought the old gen-tleman had actually gone to sleep, Wargrave said suddenly:
‘D’you know Constance Culmington?’
‘Er—no, I’m afraid I don’t.’
‘It’s of no consequence,’ said the judge. ‘Very vague woman—and prac-tically unreadable handwriting. I was just wondering if I’d come to thewrong house.’
Dr Armstrong shook his head and went on up to the house.
Mr Justice Wargrave reflected on the subject of Constance Culmington.
Undependable like all women.
His mind went on to the two women in the house, the tight-lipped oldmaid and the girl. He didn’t care for the girl, cold-blooded young hussy.
No, three women, if you counted the Rogers woman. Odd creature, shelooked scared to death. Respectable pair and knew their job.
Rogers coming out on the terrace that minute, the judge asked him:
‘Is Lady Constance Culmington expected, do you know?’
Rogers stared at him.
‘No, sir, not to my knowledge.’
The judge’s eyebrows rose. But he only grunted.
He thought:
‘Soldier Island, eh? There’s a fly in the ointment.’
VIII
Anthony Marston was in his bath. He luxuriated in the steaming water.
His limbs had felt cramped after his long drive. Very few thoughts passedthrough his head. Anthony was a creature of sensation—and of action.
He thought to himself:
‘Must go through with it, I suppose,’ and thereafter dismissed everythingfrom his mind.
Warm steaming water—tired limbs—presently a shave—a cocktail—dinner.
And after—?
IX
Mr Blore was tying his tie. He wasn’t very good at this sort of thing.
Did he look all right? He supposed so.
Nobody had been exactly cordial to him…Funny the way they all eyedeach other—as though they knew…
Well, it was up to him.
He didn’t mean to bungle his job.
He glanced up at the framed nursery rhyme over the mantelpiece.
Neat touch, having that there!
He thought:
Remember this island when I was a kid. Never thought I’d be doing thissort of a job in a house here. Good thing, perhaps, that one can’t foreseethe future.
XGeneral Macarthur was frowning to himself.
Damn it all, the whole thing was deuced odd! Not at all what he’d beenled to expect…
For two pins he’d make an excuse and get away…Throw up the wholebusiness…
But the motor-boat had gone back to the mainland.
He’d have to stay.
That fellow Lombard now, he was a queer chap.
Not straight. He’d swear the man wasn’t straight.
XI
As the gong sounded, Philip Lombard came out of his room and walked tothe 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.
XII
In her bedroom, Emily Brent, dressed in black silk ready for dinner, wasreading her Bible.
Her lips moved as she followed the words:
‘The heathen are sunk down in the pit that they made:
in the net which they hid is their own foot taken. TheLord is known by the judgment which he executeth: thewicked is snared in the work of his own hands. Thewicked shall be turned into hell.’
Her lips tight closed. She shut the Bible.
Rising, she pinned a cairngorm brooch at her neck, and went down todinner.
第二章
第二章
1橡树桥车站外，几个人三五成群，表情茫然地站着。这群人身后跟着搬运工，正在搬他们的箱子，其中一个人喊道：“吉姆！”
其中一个出租车司机走过来。
“你们是去士兵岛吧？”他问道，一口柔和的德文郡口音。
四个人异口同声地回答——又马上以怀疑的目光互相打量起来。
因为瓦格雷夫法官是这群人中的长者，司机便对他说：
“先生，这儿有两辆出租车。不过我们得留下一辆，等一等从埃克塞特开过来的慢车，那趟车马上就到了——最多再过五分钟——要接乘那趟车来的一位先生。哪一位不介意等他一下？这样一来，大家的座位就可以宽敞些。”
考虑到自己的秘书身份，维拉•克莱索恩抢先开口道：
“我留下来等吧。各位是不是可以先走一步？”她一边说，一边看着其他三个人，眼神和语气都透露出自己的职务身份，隐隐有种命令的意味，就像在学校的网球课上让女生遵循她的安排一样。
布伦特小姐端着架子说了声“辛苦了”。率先弯腰钻进了其中一辆车，司机一只手为她扶着车门。
随后上车的是瓦格雷夫法官。
隆巴德上校说：
“我和这位小姐一起等吧。”
“我叫维拉•克莱索恩。”维拉说。
“我叫隆巴德。菲利普•隆巴德。”
搬运工正忙着把行李往车上堆。车里，瓦格雷夫法官先生非常绅士地说：
“天气真是不错！”
布伦特小姐答道：
“确实不错。”
这位老先生看起来挺气派的，布伦特小姐暗自思量。和她在海滨旅馆里经常见到的男人完全不同。如此看来，那位奥利弗小姐或奥利弗夫人交往的都是些上流人士——瓦格雷夫法官先生问道：
“你对这附近熟悉吗？”
“我去过康沃尔和托基，德文郡这边倒是第一次来。”
瓦格雷夫法官说：
“我对这儿也不熟。”
第一辆出租车开走了。
第二辆出租车的司机说：
“请两位上车等吧！”
维拉果断拒绝道：
“不用了。”
隆巴德上校微微一笑，说：
“外面那堵阳光照着的墙看起来真不错。你想去车站里面等吗？”
“当然不想。好不容易才从那趟拥挤的火车上下来！”
他回应道：
“没错，这么热的天气挤火车确实很不舒服。”
维拉以同样的语气回答：
“我希望能稳定下来——我是说天气。英国夏天的天气总是说变就变。”
隆巴德没话找话地问：
“你来过这里吗？”
“没有，从没来过。”维拉决定实话实说，所以赶紧补充道，“其实，我还没见过我的雇主。”
“你的雇主？”
“欧文夫人。我是她的秘书。”
“哦，我明白了。”隆巴德的态度起了一种不易察觉的变化，就像心里一块石头落了地，说话的声音也放松了许多，他说，“你不觉得有点儿奇怪吗？”
维拉笑了。
“我没觉得哪里奇怪啊。欧文夫人原来的秘书突然病了。职业介绍所收到了她发去的电报，然后就让我来了。”
“原来如此。可是，假如你到了岛上，发现自己不喜欢这份工作，该怎么办呢？”
维拉又笑了。
“这只是兼职，一份暑期工作而已。我在一所女子学校有长期职位。说实话，一想到要去士兵岛，我心里还有些抵触。报纸上议论纷纷。它真是那么引人注目吗？”
“不知道。我从没来过这座岛。”
“真的吗？欧文一家可喜欢这里了。这座岛究竟是什么模样？给我讲一讲欧文一家吧。”
隆巴德想：糟糕，我怎么说呢？说见过欧文一家，还是说没见过他们？他灵机一动，说：“别动！你身上有只马蜂，正在胳膊上爬呢。”他煞有介事地哄赶了一下，“没事了，马蜂飞走了。”
“谢谢。今年夏天的马蜂可真多。”
“就是。估计是天气太热的缘故。你知道我们现在是在等谁吗？”
“一点儿也不清楚。”
一列火车驶入站台，拖着长音的汽笛声从站台传来。
隆巴德说：
“火车到了。”
从月台出口走出来的是位身材高大、军人气概十足的老人，灰白色的头发剪得很短，白胡子也修得整整齐齐。
他带来的大皮箱看起来很沉，压得搬运工走起路来都有点儿晃悠。搬运工向维拉和隆巴德招了招手。
维拉走过去，得体地做自我介绍：
“你好。我是欧文夫人的秘书。出租车已等候多时。”她接着说，“这位是隆巴德先生。”
老人那双饱经风霜的蓝眼睛已经少了光彩。尽管如此，他打量隆巴德的目光依旧锐利，只一瞬间，从他的眼神里就能看出，他已经对隆巴德做出了判断。“这个人长得不错。
就是有点儿邪气……”
三人上了出租车。汽车穿过死气沉沉的橡树桥街道，又在普利茅斯大道上行驶了几英里，然后转进迂曲的乡间小路。那里倒是一片绿意盎然，不过道路又陡又窄。
麦克阿瑟将军说：
“我对德文郡的这一带很不熟悉。我从小在德文郡东部生活，就在多尔塞特旁边。”
维拉说：
“这里真可爱。小山包，红土，一片绿野，景色宜人。”
菲利普•隆巴德挑剔地说：
“就是有些闭塞。我喜欢空旷的乡村，放眼望去，无边无际——”
麦克阿瑟将军问他：
“依我看，你去过不少地方吧？”
隆巴德肩膀一耸：
“东奔西走地去过一些地方。你呢？”
隆巴德心想：估计他下个问题就该问我大战爆发的时候干了什么。这些老家伙都爱吹牛。
不过，麦克阿瑟将军压根儿没提起大战。
2他们的汽车翻过一个陡坡，驶上了通往斯蒂克尔黑文的公路。道路弯弯曲曲，放眼望去，只见一个小村庄挨着海边，零星散落着几间茅屋和小渔船。
在落日余晖中，他们遥望海面上的士兵岛，就在正南方，他们第一次看到这座岛。
维拉惊讶地说：
“它离岸这么远。”
完全出乎意料。她原以为要去的小岛离岸边不远，岛上建造了美丽的白色别墅。但是现在根本连别墅的影子都看不见，只能看见粗糙的黑色岩石和状似士兵头部的轮廓。这座岛似乎被不祥的气氛笼罩着。她不寒而栗。
一个叫“七星”的小旅社门前坐着三个人。年迈的法官先生，挺胸抬头的布伦特小姐，还有一个魁梧的男人，他走过来做自我介绍。
“我们觉得还是等等你们比较好，”他说，“我们一起过去。自我介绍一下，我是戴维斯，出生在南非，那里是我的故乡。哈哈！”
他的笑声很放松。
瓦格雷夫法官先生看着他，毫不掩饰自己的厌恶。如果这一幕发生在他的法庭上，他一定立刻命令旁听人员全部退席。布伦特小姐的态度也很明确，她显然不喜欢从殖民地来的人。
“上船之前有人想先吃点儿东西吗？”戴维斯先生好心好意地问。
对于他的建议，没人吭声。戴维斯先生竖起一根手指，转过身去。
“好，那就不再耽误时间了，好客的主人和他太太正等着我们！”他说。
在说话的时候，他也许应该注意到，这群人中出现了一种诡异的情绪。提起主人和女主人，似乎给他们造成了奇怪的影响。
戴维斯勾了勾手指，歪靠在墙边的男人就走了过来。他的罗圈腿和走路的步态让人一眼就能看出这是个以海为生的人。他的脸饱经风霜，黑眼睛闪烁不定，说话声音不大，操着一口柔和的德文郡口音。
“女士们，先生们，都准备好了吗？船早就准备好了。还有两位先生要开车来，欧文先生嘱咐说不必等他们了，也不知道他们什么时候才到。”
大家站起身，跟着向导沿着岸边走上一座小小的码头。一艘摩托小艇紧靠码头停着。
埃米莉•布伦特说：
“这船可真小。”
船主一个劲儿解释：
“太太，这船很棒！开起来快极了！开着它从这儿去普利茅斯，一眨眼的工夫就到了，棒极了。”
瓦格雷夫法官先生的语气刻薄得多：
“我们这儿人可不少。”
“比你们多一倍的人也坐得下，先生。”
菲利普•隆巴德和气地说：
“没问题。今天天气好，风平浪静。”
布伦特小姐半信半疑，但还是被人扶着上了船。其余人也陆续登上船。这一群人到现在还谈不上有多熟悉，反而在互相猜疑。
向导刚要解开缆绳，忽然停了手，手里还拿着锚。
一辆跑车沿着村子里那条又斜又陡的小路飞驰。这辆车马力强劲，外形惹眼，看起来不同凡响。一个年轻人把控着方向盘，头发在风中飘扬。暮光中，他看起来不像凡人，简直是一位英姿飒爽的天神，和北欧传说中的英雄一模一样。
他按了按喇叭，喇叭声在海湾的山石草木之中回响。
这一刻的景象如此美妙。安东尼•马斯顿此时神气活现。后来，不止一个人曾回想起这幅画面。
3弗雷德•纳拉科特坐在发动机旁，心想这帮人可真奇怪，也不知道欧文先生请来的客人究竟是些什么人。他原本以为来访的客人都是上流人士，像是那些珠光宝气、气派非凡的先生和太太，都身着乘游艇出海时穿的高档服装。
和罗布森先生的派对根本没法比。弗雷德•纳拉科特回想起那些和埃尔默•罗布森先生来往的人，不由得微微一笑。当时的派对多高档，喝的是顶级窖藏！
这位欧文先生真是个怪人。弗雷德想想也觉得够滑稽的。他根本没见过这位先生，更别说他太太了。他从来就没出现过，所有的安排都是莫里斯先生张罗的，钱也由他来付。
应该做些什么、怎么做，总是安排得井井有条，给钱也很及时。尽管如此，欧文先生一定是个另类的人，否则报纸上怎么会提到那么多关于他的传闻？弗雷德琢磨着，这些传闻确实也有道理。
说实话，他觉得这座岛或许就是加布里埃尔•特尔小姐买下的产业。但是望着眼前的客人，又觉得这种想法没道理。这帮人没一个攀得上电影明星。
他不动声色地打量着这群人。
一位是老小姐，脾气不小。他一眼就能看出她的本性。谁敢跟他打赌？她若不是怪脾气，那才奇怪。一位是老军人，气质像是个地道的军人。那个年轻姑娘长得挺漂亮，就是平凡了点儿，没有好莱坞女人那种魅力。那个装腔作势的男人一看就不是真正的绅士。弗雷德•纳拉科特想，他应该是做生意赔本了。另外，那个精瘦的男人，面相凶狠，眼睛滴溜溜地转个不停。这种人挺少见的，倒很有可能是个拍电影的。
对了，这船人里面到底还是有一位像样的绅士，就是开着跑车最后才到的那位——真是辆好车！斯蒂克尔黑文以前从没有见过这种车，少说也值好几万——只有他像钱堆里长大的富家子弟。如果举办高端派对，也只有他够资格参加。
有时越想把一件事搞清楚，反而越糊涂。再说，这本来就是件糊涂事，一塌糊涂……4小船在礁石之间颠簸穿行。现在终于能看见那幢别墅了。岛的南侧与北侧截然不同，岩石边缘延伸为斜坡，一直伸进海里。那幢别墅坐北朝南，正好可以从南边看清楚。房子不高，方方正正的，很有现代气息，窗户是圆形的，屋内的采光非常好。
这幢漂亮的别墅果然没有辜负大家的期望。
弗雷德•纳拉科特关掉马达，小船载着他们一行人顺利地驶入岩石之间形成的天然港口。
菲利普•隆巴德贸然说：
“赶上坏天气，要想在这儿上岸那可就难啦！”
弗雷德•纳拉科特乐呵呵地说：
“一刮东南风，谁也别想登上士兵岛。有时候交通一中断就是一个星期。”
维拉•克莱索恩心想：
“岛上的物资供给真不方便，交通中断对住在岛上的人来说是最麻烦的事。看来要当好这个家的秘书也够操心的。”
小船在岩石边停下。弗雷德•纳拉科特率先跳下船，和隆巴德一起扶着其他人下了船。
纳拉科特把小船牢牢地拴在钉进岩石里的环上，随后带领一行人沿着岩石上凿出的石阶向上走。
麦克阿瑟将军嘴里念叨着：
“哈哈！这地方真不错！”
然而，他心里并非这样想。这个该死的鬼地方。
一行人拾级而上，到了一层露台上，才松了口气。在这幢别墅敞开的大门前面，一个体面的男管家正等着他们。他那副庄重的架势让这帮人更放心了。此外，这幢房子本身确实是再美不过了，站在露台上欣赏海岛风光，景色令人心旷神怡。
男管家走过来，微微躬着身。他瘦高的个子，头发灰白，派头十足。
管家说：
“请随我来。”
宽敞的客厅里，酒席已经备好，餐桌上各种美酒列成几排。看到这些，安东尼•马斯顿立刻振奋起来。刚才他还一直琢磨，不知道邀请他来这儿的人在耍什么把戏！巴杰尔这个老家伙把他和这帮人一起请来，也不知道安的是什么心。不过话说回来，这些酒确实不错，冰块也准备了不少。
这个男管家刚才说什么？
不凑巧，欧文先生有事耽误了，明天才能到。他已经全都安排好了，一切应有尽有。
现在请各位去房间。八点钟开饭。
5罗杰斯太太领着维拉走上楼，推开走廊尽头的一扇门，走进了这间讨人喜欢的卧室。
卧室里有一扇大窗户面朝大海，另一扇窗朝东开。维拉立刻高兴得叫出了声。
罗杰斯太太问：
“小姐，还需要些什么吗？”
维拉看了一圈。行李早就搬进来，而且已经帮她打开了。房间另一边是敞着门的浴室，里面铺着浅蓝色的瓷砖。
她马上说：
“暂时不需要了。”
“小姐，要是需要什么，请拉铃。”
罗杰斯太太的声音单调乏味。维拉好奇地看着她，她的皮肤白得惊人，像个面无血色的幽灵，头发全梳向脑后，一身黑衣服，打扮得体面极了。那双眼睛出奇的亮，骨碌碌转个不停。
维拉想：
“她看起来战战兢兢的，似乎连她自己的影子都能吓到她。”
对了，就是这样！这个女人非常害怕！
她看上去就像被恐惧劫持了……
维拉感到脊背一阵发凉。她究竟在害怕什么？
她笑着说：
“我是欧文夫人新雇的秘书。我想你是知道的。”
罗杰斯太太说：
“不，小姐，我什么也不知道。我只知道各位女士和先生的名字，以及你们分别住哪个房间。”
维拉说：
“欧文夫人没提起过我吗？”
罗杰斯太太眨着眼睛说：
“我没见过欧文夫人……暂时还没有。我们不过才来了两天。”
欧文这家人可真奇怪！维拉想着，大声问道：
“这里有几个仆人？”
“就我和罗杰斯，小姐。”
维拉皱起眉头。
这幢别墅里有八位客人，再加上男主人和女主人的话，一共是十个人，却只安排了一对夫妇为这么多人服务。
罗杰斯太太说：
“我的厨艺很好，我先生是个好管家。不过，我本来也不知道会有这么多客人。”
维拉问：
“你能忙得过来吗？”
“没问题，小姐，我能行。如果总有这么多客人的话，欧文夫人会再请帮手的。”
维拉说：
“那就好。”
罗杰斯太太转身离开了。她的脚步悄无声息，像一道影子似的离开了房间。
维拉走到窗前，坐在窗边的椅子上，隐隐感到一丝不安。一切……似乎哪里不太对劲儿。欧文夫妇未曾露面，幽灵一般的罗杰斯太太，还有那些客人！那些客人本身就非常诡异，一个奇怪的派对！
维拉想：
“要是我见过欧文夫妇就好了……我真希望自己了解他们。”
她站起来，在房间里心神不宁地走来走去。
这是一间完全按照现代风格装修的卧室，无可挑剔。镶木地板干净得发亮，地板上铺着洁白的地毯。墙壁是浅色调的，墙上挂着一面大镜子，镜子四周装点着灯泡。壁炉架的造型简单大方，上面是一大块白色大理石，雕刻成狗熊的样子，中间镶嵌着一面现代式样的钟表。旁边挂着一个发亮的镀铬镜框，镜框里裱了一张很大的羊皮纸，纸上写着一首诗。
她站在炉台前读这首诗。原来，这是一首她在上幼儿园的时候就会唱的歌谣：
十个小士兵，出门打牙祭；不幸噎住喉，十个只剩九。
九个小士兵，秉烛到夜半；清早叫不答，九个只剩八。
八个小士兵，旅行去德文；流连不离去，八个只剩七。
七个小士兵，举斧砍柴火；失手砍掉头，七个只剩六。
六个小士兵，捅了马蜂窝；蜂来无处躲，六个只剩五。
五个小士兵，同去做律师；皇庭判了死，五个只剩四。
四个小士兵，结伴去海边；青鱼吞下腹，四个只剩三。
三个小士兵，动物园里耍；狗熊一巴掌，三个只剩俩。
两个小士兵，日头下面栖；毒日把命夺，两个只剩一。
一个小士兵，落单孤零零；悬梁了此生，一个也不剩。
维拉微微一笑。对呀，这里不就是士兵岛吗？
她又走到窗前的椅子边坐下，望着大海。
海面辽阔，一眼望不到边。目及之处是一片茫茫天水，海浪在落日余晖中荡起层层涟漪。
大海……今天是如此平静，可有时它又是如此凶残……把人拖入海底深渊。淹死了……他被淹死了……在海中……淹死了……淹死了……淹死了……不，她不愿回忆……她不愿回想起这些！
一切都已经过去了……
6阿姆斯特朗医生到达士兵岛时，太阳正好落山。坐船上岛之前，他和一个本地船夫聊了一阵，想打听出有关岛主的情况。然而这位纳拉科特好像什么都不知道，也许，他只是不愿意多讲。
于是，阿姆斯特朗医生只能聊聊天气和打鱼的事。
长途旅行确实太累了。他眼睛都疼了。一路向西行驶，正好直对着太阳。
是啊，他太累了。大海能给人带来宁静，这正合他意。他真想歇个长假，但是做不到。当然，并非经济上做不到，而是他怎么能就这样放下工作呢？你很快就会被别人抛在脑后。不行！既然来了，就必须搞出点儿名堂来。
他想：
“今晚就假装自己再也不回去了，假装和伦敦哈里街 [1] 及那里的一切都一刀两断。”
说起士兵岛，似乎总带有某种魔力。单是这个名字就让人浮想联翩。来到岛上，与世隔绝，自成一个世界。在这个世界里，你也许真就一辈子都回不去了！
他想：
我把自己原本老套的生活全都抛到脑后了。
他美美地盘算起以后的生活，其实不过是徒劳。
直到踏上石阶，他还在对自己笑呢。
在士兵岛的露台上，有一位老先生坐在椅子上，阿姆斯特朗医生一眼看过去，觉得此人仿佛有点儿眼熟。他在哪儿见过这张癞蛤蟆似的脸——这个乌龟似的脖子，这副弯腰驼背的架势，还有这双暗淡而狡猾的小眼睛？没错，就是老瓦格雷夫。阿姆斯特朗医生曾经在他面前出庭作过一次证。瞧他那副样子，像是总也睡不醒似的。可是，一说到法律，他的机灵劲儿就来了。比如对付陪审团的时候，他可是满脑子主意。别人都说他能牵着陪审团的鼻子走，让陪审团按他的意思作出裁决。那些原本通不过的案子，他一次次地让陪审团表决通过了。而且，他说在哪天通过，就能在哪天通过。所以也有人说，他是个穿着法袍的刽子手。
在这个远离尘世的地方居然遇到了他，真是不可思议。
7瓦格雷夫法官先生暗自思量：
阿姆斯特朗？我当然记得！我在证人席上见过他。他是个很能装腔作势的人，那副谨小慎微的样子简直别提有多夸张了。医生都是无赖，哈里街的医生是无赖中的无赖。他想到前不久才见过那条街上一个阿谀奉承的医生，一口恶气涌上心头。
他含含糊糊地说：
“客厅里面有酒水。”
阿姆斯特朗医生说：
“我得去和岛主夫妇打声招呼，以示致意。”
瓦格雷夫法官先生又闭上了眼，表情神秘兮兮的。
“恐怕不行。”
阿姆斯特朗医生惊讶地问：
“为什么？”
法官说：
“这儿没有男主人，也没有女主人。这地方奇怪得很。”
阿姆斯特朗医生盯着他看了足有一分钟。正当他以为这个半天没出声的老家伙睡着了的时候，瓦格雷夫突然又说：
“你听说过康斯坦斯•卡尔明顿吗？”
“呃……没有，我好像没听说过。”
“那也无所谓，”法官说，“这个女人身份不明，她的笔迹其实也辨认不清。我正在怀疑自己是不是来错了地方。”
阿姆斯特朗医生摇摇头，向房子里走去。
瓦格雷夫法官先生脑子里盘算着康斯坦斯•卡尔明顿到底是什么人。这个女人和所有的女人都一样，不可靠。
他又想到房子里的两个女人，一个嘴巴闭得死死的老小姐和另一个冷冰冰的姑娘。不对，算上罗杰斯夫人，一共是三个女人。罗杰斯夫人很奇怪，看起来害怕得要死。不过他们两个倒是一对挺体面的夫妻，服务也算周到。
这时，罗杰斯走到露台上。法官问他：
“你知道他们邀请了康斯坦斯•卡尔明顿夫人吗？”
罗杰斯盯着他说：
“不知道，先生，我不清楚。”
法官扬起眉毛，轻声咕哝了一句。他想：士兵岛，嗯？必定大有文章！
8安东尼•马斯顿正在洗澡，热水冒着腾腾蒸气，舒服极了。开车时间一长，四肢酸疼，他脑子里什么也不愿想。安东尼是个容易对事情感兴趣的行动派。
他想：
“既来之则安之吧。”随后他就什么也不想了。
温热的水淋着酸疼的四肢。刮完胡子，喝鸡尾酒，再吃上一顿大餐。
然后呢？
9布洛尔先生正在笨手笨脚地打领带。
这身打扮看上去怎么样？他自认为没有问题。
没一个人对他是真诚的。大家都在互相试探，你看看我，我看看你，奇怪！就好像他们都知道……
不过，这取决于他自己。
他可不打算把事情抖搂出去。
他瞥了一眼壁炉架上镜框里的童谣。
摆在这里倒是正合适。
他想：自己从小就记住这座岛了，但从来没想过待会儿要在这里做那种事。或许，无法预知未来，对自己而言反而是件好事。
10
麦克阿瑟将军皱起了眉头。
该死！整个安排从头到尾都见鬼了！与他之前想的根本不一样。
他得找机会溜走，离开这儿……
摩托艇已经开走了。
没办法，只能留下。
隆巴德这个人真是奇怪。
不是好东西。他敢打赌，这个人不是好东西。
11
听到铃声，菲利普•隆巴德走出房间，像豹子一样敏捷无声地一路走到楼梯尽头。他的气场确实有点儿像豹子，或者说像一头猛兽，看上去很精神。
他暗自开心地咧嘴笑了。
一周，是吧？
他可要好好享受一周了。
12
埃米莉•布伦特身着黑绸衣衫，正坐在自己的卧室里等着吃晚餐。现在，她在读《圣经》。
她嘴唇翕动，喃喃地念道：
外邦人陷在自己所掘的坑中。他们的脚，在自己暗设的网罗里缠住了。耶和华已将自己显明了，他已施行审判。恶人被自己手所作的缠住了。恶人，就是忘记神的外邦人，都必归到阴间。
她闭上嘴，紧紧地抿着，合上《圣经》。
她站起身来，在领口别上一枚苏格兰烟晶宝石别针，走下楼吃饭。
[1]此处有许多名医聚居。
Chapter 3
Chapter 3
IDinner was drawing to a close.
The food had been good, the wine perfect. Rogers waited well.
Every one was in better spirits. They had begun to talk to each otherwith more freedom and intimacy.
Mr Justice Wargrave, mellowed by the excellent port, was being amus-ing in a caustic fashion, Dr Armstrong and Tony Marston were listening tohim. Miss Brent chatted to General Macarthur, they had discovered somemutual friends. Vera Claythorne was asking Mr Davis intelligent questionsabout South Africa. Mr Davis was quite fluent on the subject. Lombardlistened to the conversation. Once or twice he looked up quickly, and hiseyes narrowed. Now and then his eyes played round the table, studyingthe others.
Anthony Marston said suddenly:
‘Quaint, these things, aren’t they?’
In the centre of the round table, on a circular glass stand, were somelittle china figures.
‘Soldiers,’ said Tony. ‘Soldier Island. I suppose that’s the idea.’
Vera leaned forward.
‘I wonder. How many are there? Ten?’
‘Yes—ten there are.’
Vera cried:
‘What fun! They’re the ten little soldier boys of the nursery rhyme, I sup-pose. In my bedroom the rhyme is framed and hung up over the mantel-piece.’
Lombard said:
‘In my room, too.’
‘And mine.’
‘And mine.’
Everybody joined in the chorus. Vera said:
‘It’s an amusing idea, isn’t it?’
Mr Justice Wargrave grunted:
‘Remarkably childish,’ and helped himself to port.
Emily Brent looked at Vera Claythorne. Vera Claythorne looked at MissBrent. The two women rose.
In the drawing-room the French windows were open on to the terraceand the sound of the sea murmuring against the rocks came up to them.
Emily Brent said, ‘Pleasant sound.’
Vera said sharply, ‘I hate it.’
Miss Brent’s eyes looked at her in surprise. Vera flushed. She said, morecomposedly:
‘I don’t think this place would be very agreeable in a storm.’
Emily Brent agreed.
‘I’ve no doubt the house is shut up in winter,’ she said. ‘You’d never getservants to stay here for one thing.’
Vera murmured:
‘It must be difficult to get servants anyway.’
Emily Brent said:
‘Mrs Oliver has been lucky to get these two. The woman’s a good cook.’
Vera thought:
‘Funny how elderly people always get names wrong.’
She said:
‘Yes, I think Mrs Owen has been very lucky indeed.’
Emily Brent had brought a small piece of embroidery out of her bag.
Now, as she was about to thread her needle, she paused.
She said sharply:
‘Owen? Did you say Owen?’
‘Yes.’
Emily Brent said sharply:
‘I’ve never met anyone called Owen in my life.’
Vera stared.
‘But surely—’
She did not finish her sentence. The door opened and the men joinedthem. Rogers followed them into the room with the coffee tray.
The judge came and sat down by Emily Brent. Armstrong came up toVera. Tony Marston strolled to the open window. Blore studied with na?vesurprise a statuette in brass—wondering perhaps if its bizarre angularitieswere really supposed to be the female figure. General Macarthur stoodwith his back to the mantelpiece. He pulled at his little white moustache.
That had been a damned good dinner! His spirits were rising. Lombardturned over the pages of Punch that lay with other papers on a table by thewall.
Rogers went round with the coffee tray. The coffee was good—reallyblack and very hot.
The whole party had dined well. They were satisfied with themselvesand with life. 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, penetrat-ing…
‘Ladies and gentlemen! Silence please!’
Everyone was startled. They looked round—at each other, at the walls.
Who was speaking?
The Voice went on—a high clear voice:
‘You are charged with the following indictments:
‘Edward George Armstrong, that you did upon the 14th day of March, 1925,cause the death of Louisa Mary Clees.
‘Emily Caroline Brent, that upon the 5th of November, 1931, you were re-sponsible for the death of Beatrice Taylor.
‘William Henry Blore, that you brought about the death of James StephenLandor on October 10th, 1928.
‘Vera Elizabeth Claythorne, that on the 11th day of August, 1935, you killedCyril Ogilvie Hamilton.
‘Philip Lombard, that upon a date in February, 1932, you were guilty of thedeath of twenty-one men, members of an East African tribe.
‘John Gordon Macarthur, that on the 4th of January, 1917, you deliberatelysent your wife’s lover, Arthur Richmond, to his death.
‘Anthony James Marston, that upon the 14th day of November last, youwere guilty of the murder of John and Lucy Combes.
‘Thomas Rogers and Ethel Rogers, that on the 6th of May, 1929, youbrought about the death of Jennifer Brady.
‘Lawrence John Wargrave, that upon the 10th day of June, 1930, you wereguilty of the murder of Edward Seton.
‘Prisoners at the bar, have you anything to say in your defence?’
II
The voice had stopped.
There was a moment’s petrified silence and then a resounding crash!
Rogers had dropped the coffee tray!
At the same moment, from somewhere outside the room there came ascream and the sound of a thud.
Lombard was the first to move. He leapt to the door and flung it open.
Outside, lying in a huddled mass, was Mrs Rogers.
Lombard called:
‘Marston.’
Anthony sprang to help him. Between them, they lifted up the womanand carried her into the drawing-room.
Dr Armstrong came across quickly. He helped them to lift her on to thesofa and bent over her. He said quickly:
‘It’s nothing. She’s fainted, that’s all. She’ll be round in a minute.’
Lombard said to Rogers:
‘Get some brandy.’
Rogers, his face white, his hands shaking, murmured:
‘Yes, sir,’ and slipped quickly out of the room.
Vera cried out:
‘Who was that speaking? Where was he? It sounded—it sounded—’
General Macarthur spluttered out:
‘What’s going on here? What kind of a practical joke was that?’
His hand was shaking. His shoulders sagged. He looked suddenly tenyears older.
Blore was mopping his face with a handkerchief.
Only Mr Justice Wargrave and Miss Brent seemed comparatively un-moved. Emily Brent sat upright, her head held high. In both cheeks was aspot of hard colour. The judge sat in his habitual pose, his head sunk downinto his neck. With one hand he gently scratched his ear. Only his eyeswere active, darting round and round the room, puzzled, alert with intelli-gence.
Again it was Lombard who acted. Armstrong being busy with the col-lapsed woman, Lombard was free once more to take the initiative.
He said:
‘That voice? It sounded as though it were in the room.’
Vera cried:
‘Who was it? Who was it? It wasn’t one of us.’
Like the judge, Lombard’s eyes wandered slowly round the room. Theyrested a minute on the open window, then he shook his head decisively.
Suddenly his eyes lighted up. He moved forward swiftly to where a doornear the fireplace led into an adjoining room.
With a swift gesture, he caught the handle and flung the door open. Hepassed through and immediately uttered an exclamation of satisfaction.
He said:
‘Ah, here we are.’
The others crowded after him. Only Miss Brent remained alone sittingerect in her chair.
Inside the second room a table had been brought up close to the wallwhich adjoined the drawing-room. On the table was a gramophone—anold-fashioned type with a large trumpet attached. The mouth of the trum-pet was against the wall, and Lombard, pushing it aside indicated wheretwo or three small holes had been unobtrusively bored through the wall.
Adjusting the gramophone he replaced the needle on the record and im-mediately they heard again ‘You are charged with the following indictments—’
Vera cried:
‘Turn it off! Turn it off! It’s horrible!’
Lombard obeyed.
Dr Armstrong said, with a sigh of relief:
‘A disgraceful and heartless practical joke, I suppose.’
The small clear voice of Mr Justice Wargrave murmured:
‘So you think it’s a joke, do you?’
The doctor stared at him.
‘What else could it be?’
The hand of the judge gently stroked his upper lip.
He said:
‘At the moment I’m not prepared to give an opinion.’
Anthony Marston broke in. He said:
‘Look here, there’s one thing you’ve forgotten. Who the devil turned thething on and set it going?’
Wargrave murmured:
‘Yes, I think we must inquire into that.’
He led the way back into the drawing-room. The others followed.
Rogers had just come in with a glass of brandy. Miss Brent was bendingover the moaning form of Mrs Rogers.
Adroitly Rogers slipped between the two women.
‘Allow me, Madam, I’ll speak to her. Ethel—Ethel—it’s all right. All right,do you hear? Pull yourself together.’
Mrs Rogers’ breath came in quick gasps. Her eyes, staring frightenedeyes, went round and round the ring of faces. There was urgency in Ro-gers’ tone.
‘Pull yourself together, Ethel.’
Dr Armstrong spoke to her soothingly:
‘You’ll be all right now, Mrs Rogers. Just a nasty turn.’ She said:
‘Did I faint, sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘It was the voice—that awful voice—like a judgment—’
Her face turned green again, her eyelids fluttered.
Dr Armstrong said sharply:
‘Where’s that brandy?’
Rogers had put it down on a little table. Someone handed it to the doctorand he bent over the gasping woman with it.
‘Drink this, Mrs Rogers.’
She drank, choking a little and gasping. The spirit did her good. The col-our returned to her face. She said:
‘I’m all right now. It just—gave me a turn.’
Rogers said quickly:
‘Of course it did. It gave me a turn, too. Fair made me drop that tray.
Wicked lies, it was! I’d like to know—’
He was interrupted. It was only a cough—a dry little cough but it hadthe effect of stopping him in full cry. He stared at Mr Justice Wargrave andthe latter coughed again. Then he said:
‘Who put on that record on the gramophone. Was it you, Rogers?’
Rogers cried:
‘I didn’t know what it was. Before God, I didn’t know what it was, sir. If Ihad I’d never have done it.’
The judge said dryly:
‘That is probably true. But I think you’d better explain, Rogers.’
The butler wiped his face with a handkerchief. He said earnestly:
‘I was just obeying orders, sir, that’s all.’
‘Whose orders?’
‘Mr Owen’s.’
Mr Justice Wargrave said:
‘Let me get this quite clear. Mr Owen’s orders were—what exactly?’
Rogers said:
‘I was to put a record on the gramophone. I’d find the record in thedrawer and my wife was to start the gramophone when I’d gone into thedrawing-room with the coffee tray.’
The judge murmured:
‘A very remarkable story.’
Rogers cried:
‘It’s the truth, sir. I swear to God it’s the truth. I didn’t know what it was—not for a moment. It had a name on it—I thought it was just a piece ofmusic.’
Wargrave looked at Lombard.
‘Was there a title on it?’
Lombard nodded. He grinned suddenly, showed his white pointed teeth.
He said:
‘Quite right, sir. It was entitled Swan Song…’
III
General Macarthur broke out suddenly. He exclaimed:
‘The whole thing is preposterous—preposterous! Slinging accusationsabout like this! Something must be done about it. This fellow Owen who-ever he is—’
Emily Brent interrupted. She said sharply:
‘That’s just it, who is he?’
The judge interposed. He spoke with the authority that a lifetime in thecourts had given him. He said:
‘That is exactly what we must go into very carefully. I should suggestthat you get your wife to bed first of all, Rogers. Then come back here.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Dr Armstrong said:
‘I’ll give you a hand, Rogers.’
Leaning on the two men, Mrs Rogers tottered out of the room. Whenthey had gone Tony Marston said:
‘Don’t know about you, sir, but I could do with a drink.’
Lombard said:
‘I agree.’
Tony said:
‘I’ll go and forage.’
He went out of the room.
He returned a second or two later.
‘Found them all waiting on a tray outside ready to be brought in.’
He set down his burden carefully. The next minute or two was spent indispensing drinks. General Macarthur had a stiff whisky and so did thejudge. Every one felt the need of a stimulant. Only Emily Brent demandedand obtained a glass of water.
Dr Armstrong re-entered the room.
‘She’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’ve given her a sedative to take. What’s that, adrink? I could do with one.’
Several of the men refilled their glasses. A moment or two later Rogersre-entered the room.
Mr Justice Wargrave took charge of the proceedings. The room becamean impromptu court of law.
The judge said:
‘Now then, Rogers, we must get to the bottom of this. Who is this MrOwen?’
Rogers stared.
‘He owns this place, sir.’
‘I am aware of that fact. What I want you to tell me is what you yourselfknow about the man.’
Rogers shook his head.
‘I can’t say, sir. You see, I’ve never seen him.’
There was a faint stir in the room.
General Macarthur said:
‘You’ve never seen him? What d’yer mean?’
‘We’ve only been here just under a week, sir, my wife and I. We wereengaged by letter, through an agency. The Regina Agency in Plymouth.’
Blore nodded.
‘Old established firm,’ he volunteered.
Wargrave said:
‘Have you got that letter?’
‘The letter engaging us? No, sir. I didn’t keep it.’
‘Go on with your story. You were engaged, as you say, by letter.’
‘Yes, sir. We were to arrive on a certain day. We did. Everything was inorder here. Plenty of food in stock and everything very nice. Just neededdusting and that.’
‘What next?’
‘Nothing, sir. We got orders—by letter again—to prepare the rooms for ahouse-party, and then yesterday by the afternoon post I got another letterfrom Mr Owen. It said he and Mrs Owen were detained and to do the bestwe could, and it gave the instructions about dinner and coffee and puttingon the gramophone record.’
The judge said sharply:
‘Surely you’ve got that letter?’
‘Yes, sir, I’ve got it here.’
He produced it from a pocket. The judge took it.
‘H’m,’ he said. ‘Headed Ritz Hotel and typewritten.’
With a quick movement Blore was beside him.
He said:
‘If you’ll just let me have a look.’
He twitched it out of the other’s hand, and ran his eye over it. He mur-mured:
‘Coronation machine. Quite new—no defects. Ensign paper—the mostwidely used make. You won’t get anything out of that. Might be finger-prints, but I doubt it.’
Wargrave stared at him with sudden attention.
Anthony Marston was standing beside Blore looking over his shoulder.
He said:
‘Got some fancy Christian names, hasn’t he? Ulick Norman Owen. Quitea mouthful.’
The old judge said with a slight start:
‘I am obliged to you, Mr Marston. You have drawn my attention to acurious and suggestive point.’
He looked round at the others and thrusting his neck forward like anangry tortoise, he said:
‘I think the time has come for us all to pool our information. It would bewell, I think, for everybody to come forward with all the information theyhave regarding the owner of this house.’ He paused and then went on: ‘Weare all his guests. I think it would be profitable if each one of us were toexplain exactly how that came about.’
There was a moment’s pause and then Emily Brent spoke with decision.
‘There’s something very peculiar about all this,’ she said. ‘I received aletter with a signature that was not very easy to read. It purported to befrom a woman I had met at a certain summer resort two or three yearsago. I took the name to be either Ogden or Oliver. I am acquainted with aMrs Oliver and also with a Miss Ogden. I am quite certain that I havenever met, or become friendly with any one of the name of Owen.’
Mr Justice Wargrave said:
‘You have that letter, Miss Brent?’
‘Yes, I will fetch it for you.’
She went away and returned a minute later with the letter.
The judge read it. He said:
‘I begin to understand…Miss Claythorne?’
Vera explained the circumstances of her secretarial engagement.
The judge said:
‘Marston?’
Anthony said:
‘Got a wire. From a pal of mine. Badger Berkeley. Surprised me at thetime because I had an idea the old horse had gone to Norway. Told me toroll up here.’
Again Wargrave nodded. He said:
‘Dr Armstrong?’
‘I was called in professionally.’
‘I see. You had no previous acquaintanceship with the family?’
‘No. A colleague of mine was mentioned in the letter.’
The judge said:
‘To give verisimilitude… Yes, and that colleague, I presume, was mo-mentarily out of touch with you?’
‘Well—er—yes.’
Lombard, who had been staring at Blore, said suddenly:
‘Look here, I’ve just thought of something—’
The judge lifted a hand.
‘In a minute—’
‘But I—’
‘We will take one thing at a time, Mr Lombard. We are at present inquir-ing into the causes which have resulted in our being assembled here to-night. General Macarthur?’
Pulling at his moustache, the General muttered:
‘Got a letter—from this fellow Owen—mentioned some old pals of minewho were to be here—hoped I’d excuse informal invitation. Haven’t keptthe letter, I’m afraid.’
Wargrave said: ‘Mr Lombard?’
Lombard’s brain had been active. Was he to come out in the open, ornot? He made up his mind.
‘Same sort of thing,’ he said. ‘Invitation, mention of mutual friends—Ifell for it all right. I’ve torn up the letter.’
Mr Justice Wargrave turned his attention to Mr Blore. His forefingerstroked his upper lip and his voice was dangerously polite.
He said:
‘Just now we had a somewhat disturbing experience. An apparently dis-embodied voice spoke to us all by name, uttering certain precise accusa-tions against us. We will deal with those accusations presently. At the mo-ment I am interested in a minor point. Amongst the names recited wasthat of William Henry Blore. But as far as we know there is no one namedBlore amongst us. The name of Davis was not mentioned. What have youto say about that, Mr Davis?’
Blore said sulkily:
‘Cat’s out of the bag, it seems. I suppose I’d better admit that my nameisn’t Davis.’
‘You are William Henry Blore?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I will add something,’ said Lombard. ‘Not only are you here under afalse name, Mr Blore, but in addition I’ve noticed this evening that you’rea first-class liar. You claim to have come from Natal, South Africa. I knowSouth Africa and Natal and I’m prepared to swear that you’ve never setfoot in South Africa in your life.’
All eyes were turned on Blore. Angry suspicious eyes. Anthony Marstonmoved a step nearer to him. His fists clenched themselves.
‘Now then, you swine,’ he said. ‘Any explanation?’
Blore flung back his head and set his square jaw.
‘You gentlemen have got me wrong,’ he said. ‘I’ve got my credentials andyou can see them. I’m an ex-CID man. I run a detective agency in Ply-mouth. I was put on this job.’
Mr Justice Wargrave asked:
‘By whom?’
‘This man Owen. Enclosed a handsome money order for expenses andinstructed 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.’
‘Any reason given?’
Blore said bitterly:
‘Mrs Owen’s jewels. Mrs Owen my foot! I don’t believe there’s any suchperson.’
Again the forefinger of the judge stroked his lip, this time appreciatively.
‘Your conclusions are, I think, justified,’ he said. ‘Ulick Norman Owen! InMiss Brent’s letter, though the signature of the surname is a mere scrawlthe Christian names are reasonably clear—Una Nancy—in either case younotice, the same initials. Ulick Norman Owen—Una Nancy Owen—eachtime, that is to say, U. N. Owen. Or by a slight stretch of fancy, UN-KNOWN!’
Vera cried:
‘But this is fantastic—mad!’
The judge nodded gently.
He said:
‘Oh, yes. I’ve no doubt in my own mind that we have been invited hereby a madman—probably a dangerous homicidal lunatic.’
第三章
第三章
1晚饭即将结束。
罗杰斯服务周到，美酒佳肴，宾客尽兴。
在座的每位客人都心情愉快，相互交谈时自在了许多，变得熟络起来。
饮下几杯醇美的葡萄酒，瓦格雷夫法官先生脸上浮现酒意，说起话来幽默风趣。阿姆斯特朗医生和安东尼•马斯顿津津有味地听瓦格雷夫法官说话。布伦特小姐和麦克阿瑟将军正在聊天，说起几个他们都认识的朋友。维拉•克莱索恩向戴维斯先生询问南非的情况，详细地打听南非的方方面面，戴维斯对答如流。隆巴德则在一旁听着。他眯着双眼，偶尔抬起头来扫一眼桌子，观察在座的人。
安东尼•马斯顿忽然说：
“这玩意儿是不是挺有意思的？”
原来，在圆桌中央的玻璃托盘里，摆着几个小瓷人。
“小士兵玩偶，”安东尼说，“这不是士兵岛嘛！我猜是这个意思。”
维拉凑上前去。
“让我看看一共几个？十个吗？”
“没错，正好十个。”
维拉高兴地说：
“真有趣！我看这就是那首童谣说的十个小士兵。我卧室里的壁炉架上有个镜框，里面就镶着这首童谣。”
隆巴德说：
“我房间里也有。”
“我也有。”
“我也有。”
每个人都重复了一遍。维拉说：
“真有意思！”
瓦格雷夫法官嘟囔了一句：“幼稚。”然后继续喝波尔图。
埃米莉•布伦特看看维拉•克莱索恩。维拉•克莱索恩也看看布伦特小姐。两个女人站起身来走了出去。
客厅那扇面向露台的法式落地窗敞着，她们听着海浪拍击礁石的声音。
埃米莉•布伦特说：“真好听。”
维拉语气生硬地说：“我讨厌这种声音。”
布伦特小姐用诧异的目光看着她。
维拉紧张得脸红了起来，但很快又平静下来，说：
“我看这地方一起风就没那么舒服了。”
埃米莉•布伦特表示赞同。
“一到冬天，这幢房子里的人肯定哪儿也去不了，我保证。”她说，“还有一点，这儿的用人也干不长。”
维拉喃喃地说：
“是啊！这座岛不容易雇到人。”
埃米莉•布伦特说：
“奥利弗夫人能雇到这两个用人算是运气好。那个女用人确实烧得一手好菜。”
维拉想：
真有意思，人一上年纪总把别人的名字记混。
她说：
“是啊，我也觉得欧文夫人的运气的确不错。”
埃米莉•布伦特从手提包里拿出针线，正打算开始刺绣，听到维拉的话，她突然停住手，疑惑地问：
“欧文？你刚才说的是欧文太太？”
“是啊。”
埃米莉•布伦特接着说：
“我从来没听说过叫欧文的人。”
维拉一愣。
“可明明是——”
她的话音未落，客厅的门开了。先生们都走了过来。罗杰斯手里托着咖啡盘跟着在后面。
法官走到埃米莉•布伦特身边坐下。阿姆斯特朗医生走到维拉旁边，安东尼•马斯顿大步走到敞开的窗边。布洛尔把玩着一尊铜制小塑像，傻傻地研究塑像上奇特的衣褶线条，似乎是想弄明白这个塑像到底是不是个女性人物。麦克阿瑟将军背对壁炉架而立，捻着自己白色的小胡子。这顿晚饭真不错！他感到精神抖擞。隆巴德站在墙边，从桌上的报纸堆里挑出一本《笨拙》杂志随意翻看。
罗杰斯端着托盘，按顺序给大家端咖啡。高档咖啡，又浓又热，口感一流。
这些客人晚餐吃得很满足，罗杰斯的服务也得到了一致认可，大家都非常愉快。
时钟指针指向八点四十分，屋子里突然变得非常安静，一种令人身心放松的安静。
正在这个宁静的时刻，突然响起一个“声音”，冷酷无情，尖刻刺耳。
“女士们，先生们！请安静！”
所有人都大吃一惊，四处张望，然后看向彼此。是谁在说话？那个清晰洪亮的“声音”继续说着：
“你们被控犯有以下罪行：
爱德华•乔治•阿姆斯特朗，一九二五年三月十四日，你造成路易莎•玛丽•克利斯的死亡。
埃米莉•卡罗琳•布伦特，你要对一九三一年十一月五日比阿特丽斯•泰勒之死负全部责任。
威廉•亨利•布洛尔，一九二八年十月十日，是你导致了詹姆斯•斯蒂芬•兰道的死亡。
维拉•伊丽莎白•克莱索恩，一九三五年八月十一日，你谋害了西里尔•奥格尔维•汉密尔顿。
菲利普•隆巴德，一九三二年二月某日，你杀害了东非部落二十一名男子。
约翰•戈登•麦克阿瑟，一九一七年一月四日，你蓄意谋害妻子的情人阿瑟•里奇蒙。
安东尼•詹姆斯•马斯顿，去年十一月十四日，你杀害了约翰和露西•库姆斯。
托马斯•罗杰斯和埃塞尔•罗杰斯，一九二九年五月六日，你们害死了詹尼弗•布雷迪。
劳伦斯•约翰•瓦格雷夫，一九三〇年六月十日，你谋害了爱德华•塞顿。
监狱的铁栅已经关闭，你们这些罪人还有什么要替自己辩解的吗？”
2“声音”戛然而止。
屋内死一般寂静。突然，一声大响，回声震动了每个人的心。原来罗杰斯失手把咖啡托盘掉在了地上！
就在此时，客厅外某个地方响起一声尖叫，然后传来“扑通”一声。
隆巴德第一个反应过来，奔到门口，一下子推开门。门外，罗杰斯太太倒在了地上。
隆巴德喊道：
“马斯顿！”
安东尼赶忙冲过去帮忙。他们搀扶着罗杰斯太太，把她扶进客厅。
阿姆斯特朗医生立刻走过来，帮着他们把罗杰斯太太安顿在沙发上。他弯腰查看她，然后说：
“没什么，她只是晕过去了，应该很快就会醒过来。”
隆巴德对罗杰斯说：
“去拿点儿白兰地来！”
罗杰斯脸色煞白，双手颤抖，喃喃地说：
“好的，先生。”然后便出了房间。
维拉喊了起来。
“是谁在说话？他在哪儿？听起来——听起来像是——”
麦克阿瑟将军气愤地说：
“怎么回事？这是开什么玩笑？”
他双手发抖，肩膀塌了下来，好像一下子老了十岁。
布洛尔拿着手帕一个劲儿擦汗。
和他们相比，只有瓦格雷夫法官和布伦特小姐看起来还算镇定。埃米莉•布伦特端庄地坐在那儿，昂首挺胸，脸颊微红。法官一如往常，不拘小节地坐着，脑袋几乎要缩到脖子里去了。他挠着耳朵，眼珠转个不停，东看看西看看，脸上露出既困惑又警觉的神情。
轮到隆巴德发话了。阿姆斯特朗正在照顾晕倒的罗杰斯太太。这让他正好得空，便开口说：
“那个声音听上去好像就在这个房间里。”
维拉喊道：
“是谁？是谁？肯定不是我们当中的人。”
隆巴德也像法官那样，东看西看，眼珠转来转去。他盯着敞开的窗户看了一会儿，接着坚决地摇摇头。突然，他步伐敏捷地走向壁炉架旁边那扇通向隔壁房间的门，眼睛里闪出坚定的光。他一把抓住门把手，猛地把门推开，走了进去，紧接着满意地喊了一声：
“啊，原来如此！”
其他人随即一拥而入。只有布伦特小姐独自坐在椅子上，挺直腰板，纹丝不动。
就在隔壁房间，紧挨着客厅的那堵墙边放着一张桌子。桌上摆着一台留声机，带大喇叭的老式留声机，喇叭正冲着墙。隆巴德一下子把喇叭推开，指了指墙上钻透的几个小孔。若不仔细看，根本无法发现这些小孔。
他调整了一下留声机，把唱针放在唱片上，立刻又响起了那个“声音”：
“你们被控犯有以下罪行——”
维拉喊了起来：
“快关上！关上！太可怕了！”
隆巴德听从她的话，关上了留声机。
阿姆斯特朗医生松了一口气，说：
“这个玩笑未免太不体面，太没有底线了。”
瓦格雷夫法官先生声音不大，但是语气很严肃：
“你认为这只是开玩笑而已？”
阿姆斯特朗医生瞪着他。
“不然是什么？”
法官用手指轻轻点着上嘴唇，说：
“我目前不发表任何看法。”
安东尼•马斯顿说：
“我觉得你们都忘了一个关键问题，究竟是谁把唱片放上去，让它转起来的？”
瓦格雷夫低声说：
“没错，是得查一查。”
他率先走回客厅，其余人也跟着他回来了。
罗杰斯端着一杯白兰地走进来。布伦特小姐俯下身，照顾着哼哼唧唧的罗杰斯太太。
罗杰斯挤进她们中间。
“不好意思，太太，让我来照顾她吧。埃塞尔，埃塞尔，没事了，没事了！你听见了吗？来，振作一点儿！”
罗杰斯太太呼吸急促，两只眼睛惊恐万状地一遍又一遍扫过周围的人，眼神直勾勾的。罗杰斯在她旁边不停地说：
“振作一点儿，埃塞尔，没事了。”
阿姆斯特朗医生安慰她说：
“你现在没事了，罗杰斯太太，只不过受了点儿惊吓。”
她问道：
“我晕过去了？先生？”
“是的。”
“是那个声音。那个可怕的声音，就像末日审判似的……”
她的脸色又发青了，连眼皮都开始发抖。
阿姆斯特朗医生急忙问：
“白兰地呢？”
刚才罗杰斯把酒杯留在一张小桌子上，此时有人帮忙递了过来。阿姆斯特朗端着酒杯，俯身向呼吸急促的罗杰斯太太说：
“把它喝了，罗杰斯太太。”
她把酒一饮而尽。稍微呛了一口，然后急促地喘气。酒精的作用让她脸上顿时有了血色。她说：
“我现在没事了，刚才只是晕过去了。”
罗杰斯立刻说：
“那个声音确实令人头晕，我刚才听到之后也脑袋晕了一下，把盘子都摔了。这是可恶的诽谤，简直罪大恶极！我真想弄弄清楚……”
一声咳嗽。他突然住了嘴。一声轻轻的干咳竟然如同一声大喝，制止了他继续说下去。他看着瓦格雷夫法官先生。法官先生又咳了一声，然后问：
“留声机上的唱片是谁放上去的？是你吗，罗杰斯？”
“我不知道唱片的内容！天哪，我真不知道唱片的内容，先生。如果知道的话，我说什么也不会放。”
法官语调平静地说：
“你说的也许是真话。但是罗杰斯，我希望你最好把事情说明白些。”
管家拿着手绢擦了擦脸上的汗，认真地说：
“我只是奉命行事，先生，真的。”
“奉谁的命？”
“奉欧文先生之命。”
瓦格雷夫法官先生说：
“让我把这一点搞清楚。你说你是奉欧文先生的命令，那么他具体是怎么说的？”
罗杰斯回答：
“他让我把唱片放在留声机上。唱片是从抽屉里拿出来的，我去给屋里送咖啡的时候，让我妻子把留声机打开了。”
法官轻声说：
“故事编的还挺像样。”
罗杰斯嚷了起来：
“我说的是实话，先生。我向上帝发誓，句句属实。我事先并不知道唱片是什么内容，一个字都不知道。唱片上写了标题，我原本以为只是一段音乐。”
瓦格雷夫瞧着隆巴德：
“上面是有标题吗？”
隆巴德点点头。他突然咧嘴一乐，露出一口尖利的白牙，说：
“没错，确实有。唱片标题是《天鹅绝唱》……”
3麦克阿瑟将军突然大喊大叫：
“这件事简直荒唐透顶，荒唐透顶！怎么能由着他胡乱指责我们？我得给他点儿颜色看看。这个叫欧文的人，我不管他是谁——”
埃米莉•布伦特打断了他，语气尖刻地说：
“关键就在这里。他是谁？”
法官又插话了。多年的法官生涯让他说起话来极富威严：
“我们确实应该把这个问题弄清楚。罗杰斯，我建议你先把你妻子送回房去，安顿她躺下，然后再回来。”
“遵命，先生。”
阿姆斯特朗医生说：
“我来帮你。”
罗杰斯太太浑身无力地靠在两个男人身上，步履蹒跚地走出了房间。他们走后，安东尼•马斯顿提议：
“你们要不要来一杯，各位？我可得喝点儿什么了。”
隆巴德答道：
“我也来一杯。”
安东尼说：
“我去拿酒。”
他走出房间。
转眼他就回来了，说：
“酒就在门口的盘子里放着，等着我把它端进来呢。”
他小心翼翼地把盘子放下，接着把酒倒进几个杯子。麦克阿瑟将军挑了杯烈性威士忌，法官也照样拿了一杯威士忌。大家都需要一点儿酒精刺激。只有埃米莉•布伦特没有喝酒，只要了一杯水。
阿姆斯特朗回到客厅里。
“她没事了，”他说，“我给了她一片镇静剂。这是什么？啊，酒！给我来一杯！”
几位男士又添了些酒。过了一会儿，罗杰斯回来了。
下面的程序由瓦格雷夫法官主持。
这间客厅变成了临时法庭。
瓦格雷夫法官开口问道：
“好吧，罗杰斯，我们必须把事情搞清楚。你告诉我，欧文先生到底是谁？”
罗杰斯瞪大了眼睛。
“他是这幢房子的主人，先生。”
“这一点我知道。我要你把自己对这个人的了解告诉我。”
罗杰斯摇摇头。
“我说不出来，先生。要知道，我从来没有见过他。”
房间里顿时响起一阵轻微的骚动。
麦克阿瑟将军说：
“从来没见过他？这么说是什么意思？”
“我们来到这座岛上还不到一个星期，先生，我是说我和我妻子。他写信联系职业介绍所，雇用了我们，就是普莱茅斯那家‘女王职业介绍公司’。”
布洛尔点头表示他听说过这家公司。
“那家公司有些年头了。”他主动介绍。
瓦格雷夫问：
“信还在吗？”
“你是指介绍所的信吗？没有了，先生。我没留着。”
“继续说吧。他们雇你来干活儿，按照你的话说，是写信雇的？”
“是的，先生。他在信上规定了我们要在哪一天到达，然后我们就来了。这里的一切都已经安排好了。厨房里储存了很多食品，家里的装饰品也都是高级货，我们只需要把屋子打扫干净就行了。”
“然后呢？”
“然后就没了，先生。我们都是按照信上的指示办的。他让我们收拾好房间，准备迎接客人。昨天下午，欧文先生来信说，他和他夫人临时有事不能来了，让我们尽量招待好客人。他把晚饭、咖啡之类的事都做了详细说明，并安排我们放唱片。”
法官厉声问：
“那封信一定还在吧？”
“还在，先生。在这里。”
说着，他从衣兜里掏出一封信。法官把信接了过来。
“嗯，”他说，“落款地址是丽兹饭店。信上的字是用打字机敲上去的。”
布洛尔三步并作两步走到他身边，说：
“让我看看。”
他一把将信纸抽过去，把信的内容从上到下扫了一遍，然后轻声说：
“用的是皇冠牌打字机，是新的一款，看不出什么问题。用的信纸是普通信纸。光从这些看，发现不了什么线索，没准儿会有指纹，但也很难说。”
瓦格雷夫突然刻意打量起他来。
安东尼•马斯顿站在布洛尔身旁探出头去看这封信。他说：
“签名真够花哨的。尤利克•诺尔曼•欧文。很特别。”
老法官微微一震，说：
“谢谢你，马斯顿先生。在你的提醒下，我注意到一个既有趣、又耐人寻味的问题。”
他把脖子伸得老长，环视周围的人，样子好像一只发怒的乌龟。他说：
“我觉得大家应该把手上的信息汇总一下，把各自对这幢房子主人的了解都说出来。”他停了一下，然后继续说，“我们都是他的客人。我认为每个人都把自己被邀请来的经过说明白，这样做会好一些。”
话音落下，一阵沉默。接着，埃米莉•布伦特下定决心，开口了。
“整个事情的过程的确有些古怪，”她说，“我收到一封信，署名看不清楚，大概是一位我两三年前在某个避暑度假村见过的女人写来的。我猜她不是姓奥尔顿，就是姓奥利弗。
我认识一个奥利弗夫人，也认识一位奥尔顿小姐，但我完全肯定，我从来没见过，也没有结交过任何叫欧文的人。”
瓦格雷夫法官问：
“你带了那封信吗，布伦特小姐？”
“我带来了。这就去给你拿来。”
她离开房间，不到一分钟就把信拿来了。
法官看了信，然后说：
“我开始明白了……维拉小姐？”
维拉把她被欧文雇来当秘书的经过也讲了一遍。
法官说：
“马斯顿，你呢？”
安东尼答道：
“我收到的是电报。是我一个好朋友发来的，他的名字是巴杰尔•巴克莱。当时我觉得很意外，因为我以为这个老家伙已经搬到挪威去了，他这次却请我到这儿来玩。”
瓦格雷夫又点了点头，说：
“阿姆斯特朗医生呢？”
“我是应邀来出诊的。”
“明白了。你以前认识这家人吗？”
“不认识。信里面提到了我的一位同行。”
法官说：
“让信看上去更可信……当然，我估计你跟这位同行最近也没有什么来往吧？”
“这……嗯……还真没有。”
隆巴德一直盯着布洛尔，突然对他说：
“等等，我刚想起来——”
法官举起了一只手。
“等等！”
“我觉得——”
“隆巴德先生，我们一个个来。现在我们正在试图弄清楚大家今晚是怎么聚到这里来的。麦克阿瑟将军，你说说？”
将军捻着胡须，喃喃道：
“有人给我写了一封信——就是这个姓欧文的家伙写的——提到了我的一些老熟人，说他们也要来这儿。说这是一封便函，不够隆重，希望我别介意。信我没留着。”
瓦格雷夫说：
“隆巴德先生？”
隆巴德心乱如麻。说实话？还是继续瞒着他们？他拿定了主意。
“我也是一样，”他说，“收到一封信，邀请我来，还提起了我认识的朋友。肯定是上当了。信我给撕了。”
瓦格雷夫法官转向布洛尔，手指轻拍上嘴唇，语气礼貌得令人不安。
他说：
“刚刚，我们大家经历了令人不安的指控。一个莫名其妙的声音对我们指名道姓地提出了具体的控诉。我们现在就来理一理思路。但是在此之前，有一个细节我很想先搞清楚：
在指控里提到的那些名字当中，有一个是威廉•亨利•布洛尔。据我所知，我们中间并没有一个人叫布洛尔，但是戴维斯的名字却没有提到过。这个问题，戴维斯先生，你打算怎么解释呢？”
布洛尔脸色一沉，说：
“真倒霉，被你给发现了。看来我必须承认我不姓戴维斯了！”
“那你是威廉•亨利•布洛尔？”
“没错。”
“我还要补充几点，”隆巴德说，“你到这儿来，不但用了假名，我还发现你是个一级骗子。你自称来自南非纳塔尔港，而我恰恰对南非和纳塔尔了如指掌。我敢发誓，你这辈子根本就没去过南非。”
所有的目光一下子都转向布洛尔，目光中充满了怀疑和愤怒。安东尼•马斯顿向前跨了一步，走近布洛尔，双手不自觉地攥起来。
“行啊，你这个笨蛋，”他说，“还有什么好说的吗？”
布洛尔仰起脸，咬紧牙关。
“各位先生，你们误会了。”他说，“我带着证件呢，给你们看。我本来是刑事调查局的警察。现在在普莱茅斯开了一家侦探事务所。我是受了委托，来办公事的。”
瓦格雷夫法官先生问：
“谁的委托？”
“欧文啊！欧文先生给我寄了一大笔钱作为酬金，让我装成普通客人来参加这次宴会。
他把你们的名字都告诉我了，要我把你们每一个人都盯紧了。”
“他说这样做的原因了吗？”
布洛尔苦着脸说：
“就是为了欧文夫人的珠宝啊！欧文夫人算个鬼！现在我才不信有这么个人呢！”
法官又开始拍打自己的上嘴唇了，但这次他神情泰然。
“我认为你说得有道理，”他说，“尤利克•诺尔曼•欧文！在布伦特小姐的信上，尽管姓氏签得糊里糊涂，可名字还是相当清楚的，乌娜•南希。你们注意到了吗？每份邀请用的都是同样的首字母：尤利克•诺尔曼•欧文、乌娜•南希•欧文，也就是说，每次都是U.N.欧文。
稍微联想一下就能发现，U.N是UNKNOWN [1] 的前两个字母，意思就是无名氏！”
维拉大叫着：
“这太荒唐了！真是疯了！”
法官慢慢点着头，说：
“是啊！我认为，毫无疑问，我们都是被一个疯子邀请来的，说不定这是一个极度危险的杀人狂。”
[1]U.N.欧文的同音词。
Chapter 4
Chapter 4
IThere was a moment’s silence. A silence of dismay and bewilderment.
Then the judge’s small clear voice took up the thread once more.
‘We will now proceed to the next stage of our inquiry. First however, Iwill just add my own credentials to the list.’
He took a letter from his pocket and tossed it on to the table.
‘This purports to be from an old friend of mine, Lady Constance Culm-ington. I have not seen her for some years. She went to the East. It is ex-actly the kind of vague incoherent letter she would write, urging me tojoin 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 agreeswith the other evidence—from all of which emerges one interesting point.
Whoever it was who enticed us here, that person knows or has taken thetrouble to find out a good deal about us all. He, whoever he may be, is awareof my friendship for Lady Constance—and is familiar with her epistolarystyle. He knows something about Dr Armstrong’s colleagues and theirpresent whereabouts. He knows the nickname of Mr Marston’s friend andthe kind of telegrams he sends. He knows exactly where Miss Brent wastwo years ago for her holiday and the kind of people she met there. Heknows all about General Macarthur’s old cronies.’
He paused. Then he said:
‘He knows, you see, a good deal. And out of his knowledge concerning us,he has made certain definite accusations.’
Immediately a babel broke out.
General Macarthur shouted:
‘A pack of dam’ lies! Slander!’
Vera cried out:
‘It’s iniquitous!’ Her breath came fast. ‘Wicked!’
Rogers said hoarsely:
‘A lie—a wicked lie…we never did—neither of us…’
Anthony Marston growled:
‘Don’t know what the damned fool was getting at!’
The upraised hand of Mr Justice Wargrave calmed the tumult.
He said, picking his words with care:
‘I wish to say this. Our unknown friend accuses me of the murder of oneEdward Seton. I remember Seton perfectly well. He came up before me fortrial in June of the year 1930. He was charged with the murder of an eld-erly woman. He was very ably defended and made a good impression onthe jury in the witness-box. Nevertheless, on the evidence, he was cer-tainly guilty. I summed up accordingly, and the jury brought in a verdictof Guilty. In passing sentence of death I concurred with the verdict. An ap-peal was lodged on the grounds of misdirection. The appeal was rejectedand the man was duly executed. I wish to say before you all that my con-science is perfectly clear on the matter. I did my duty and nothing more. Ipassed sentence on a rightly convicted murderer.’
Armstrong was remembering now. The Seton case! The verdict hadcome as a great surprise. He had met Matthews, KC on one of the days ofthe trial dining at a restaurant. Matthews had been confident. ‘Not a doubtof the verdict. Acquittal practically certain.’ And then afterwards he hadheard comments: ‘Judge was dead against him. Turned the jury rightround and they brought him in guilty. Quite legal, though. Old Wargraveknows his law. It was almost as though he had a private down on the fel-low.’
All these memories rushed through the doctor’s mind. Before he couldconsider the wisdom of the question he had asked impulsively:
‘Did you know Seton at all? I mean previous to the case.’
The hooded reptilian eyes met his. In a clear cold voice the judge said:
‘I knew nothing of Seton previous to the case.’
Armstrong said to himself:
‘The fellow’s lying—I know he’s lying.’
II
Vera Claythorne spoke in a trembling voice.
She said:
‘I’d like to tell you. About that child—Cyril Hamilton. I was nursery gov-erness to him. He was forbidden to swim out far. One day, when my atten-tion was distracted, he started off. I swam after him…I couldn’t get therein time…It was awful…But it wasn’t my fault. At the inquest the Coronerexonerated me. And his mother—she was so kind. If even she didn’t blameme, why should—why should this awful thing be said? It’s not fair—notfair…’
She broke down, weeping bitterly.
General Macarthur patted her shoulder.
He said:
‘There there, my dear. Of course it’s not true. Fellow’s a madman. Amadman! Got a bee in his bonnet! Got hold of the wrong end of the stickall round.’
He stood erect, squaring his shoulders. He barked out:
‘Best really to leave this sort of thing unanswered. However, feel I oughtto say—no truth—no truth whatever in what he said about—er—youngArthur Richmond. Richmond was one of my officers. I sent him on a re-connaissance. He was killed. Natural course of events in wartime. Wish tosay resent very much—slur on my wife. Best woman in the world. Abso-lutely—C?sar’s wife!’
General Macarthur sat down. His shaking hand pulled at his moustache.
The effort to speak had cost him a good deal.
Lombard spoke. His eyes were amused. He said:
‘About those natives—’
Marston said:
‘What about them?’
Philip Lombard grinned.
‘Story’s quite true! I left ’em! Matter of self-preservation. We were lost inthe bush. I and a couple of other fellows took what food there was andcleared out.’
General Macarthur said sternly:
‘You abandoned your men—left them to starve?’
Lombard said:
‘Not quite the act of a pukka sahib, I’m afraid. But self-preservation’s aman’s first duty. And natives don’t mind dying, you know. They don’t feelabout it as Europeans do.’
Vera lifted her face from her hands. She said, staring at him:
‘You left them—to die?’
Lombard answered:
‘I left them to die.’
His amused eyes looked into her horrified ones.
Anthony Marston said in a slow puzzled voice:
‘I’ve just been thinking — John and Lucy Combes. Must have been acouple of kids I ran over near Cambridge. Beastly bad luck.’
Mr Justice Wargrave said acidly:
‘For them, or for you?’
Anthony said:
‘Well, I was thinking—for me—but of course, you’re right, sir, it wasdamned bad luck on them. Of course it was a pure accident. They rushedout of some cottage or other. I had my licence suspended for a year.
Beastly nuisance.’
Dr Armstrong said warmly:
‘This speeding’s all wrong—all wrong! Young men like you are a dangerto the community.’
Anthony shrugged his shoulders. He said:
‘Speed’s come to stay. English roads are hopeless, of course. Can’t get upa decent pace on them.’
He looked round vaguely for his glass, picked it up off a table and wentover to the side table and helped himself to another whisky and soda. Hesaid over his shoulder:
‘Well, anyway it wasn’t my fault. Just an accident!’
III
The manservant, Rogers, had been moistening his lips and twisting hishands. He said now in a low deferential voice:
‘If I might just say a word, sir.’
Lombard said:
‘Go ahead, Rogers.’
Rogers cleared his throat and passed his tongue once more over his drylips.
‘There was a mention, sir, of me and Mrs Rogers. And of Miss Brady.
There isn’t a word of truth in it, sir. My wife and I were with Miss Bradytill she died. She was always in poor health, sir, always from the time wecame to her. There was a storm, sir, that night—the night she was takenbad. The telephone was out of order. We couldn’t get the doctor to her. Iwent for him, sir, on foot. But he got there too late. We’d done everythingpossible for her, sir. Devoted to her, we were. Anyone will tell you thesame. There was never a word said against us. Not a word.’
Lombard looked thoughtfully at the man’s twitching face, his dry lips,the fright in his eyes. He remembered the crash of the falling coffee tray.
He thought, but did not say: ‘Oh yeah?’
Blore spoke—spoke in his hearty bullying official manner.
He said:
‘Came into a little something at her death, though? Eh?’
Rogers drew himself up. He said stiffly:
‘Miss Brady left us a legacy in recognition of our faithful services. Andwhy not, I’d like to know?’
Lombard said:
‘What about yourself, Mr Blore?’
‘What about me?’
‘Your name was included in the list.’
Blore went purple.
‘Landor, you mean? That was the bank robbery—London and Commer-cial.’
Mr Justice Wargrave stirred. He said:
‘I remember. It didn’t come before me, but I remember the case. Landorwas convicted on your evidence. You were the police officer in charge ofthe case?’
Blore said:
‘I was.’
‘Landor got penal servitude for life and died on Dartmoor a year later.
He was a delicate man.’
Blore said:
‘He was a crook. It was he who knocked out the night watchman. Thecase was quite clear against him.’
Wargrave said slowly:
‘You were complimented, I think, on your able handling of the case.’
Blore said sulkily:
‘I got my promotion.’
He added in a thick voice.
‘I was only doing my duty.’
Lombard laughed—a sudden ringing laugh. He said:
‘What a duty-loving law-abiding lot we all seem to be! Myself excepted.
What about you, doctor—and your little professional mistake? Illegal op-eration, was it?’
Emily Brent glanced at him in sharp distaste and drew herself away alittle.
Dr Armstrong, very much master of himself, shook his head good-hu-mouredly.
‘I’m at a loss to understand the matter,’ he said. ‘The name meant noth-ing to me when it was spoken. What was it—Clees? Close? I really can’t re-member having a patient of that name, or being connected with a death inany way. The thing’s a complete mystery to me. Of course, it’s a long timeago. It might possibly be one of my operation cases in hospital. They cometoo late, so many of these people. Then, when the patient dies, they alwaysconsider it’s the surgeon’s fault.’
He sighed, shaking his head.
He thought:
Drunk—that’s what it was—drunk…And I operated! Nerves all to pieces—hands shaking. I killed her all right. Poor devil—elderly woman—simple job ifI’d been sober. Lucky for me there’s loyalty in our profession. The Sister knew,of course—but she held her tongue. God, it gave me a shock! Pulled me up. Butwho could have known about it—after all these years?
IV
There was a silence in the room. Everybody was looking, covertly oropenly, at Emily Brent. It was a minute or two before she became aware ofthe expectation. Her eyebrows rose on her narrow forehead. She said:
‘Are you waiting for me to say something? I have nothing to say.’
The judge said: ‘Nothing, Miss Brent?’
‘Nothing.’
Her lips closed tightly.
The judge stroked his face. He said mildly:
‘You reserve your defence?’
Miss Brent said coldly:
‘There is no question of defence. I have always acted in accordance withthe dictates of my conscience. I have nothing with which to reproach my-self.’
There was an unsatisfied feeling in the air. But Emily Brent was not oneto be swayed by public opinion. She sat unyielding.
The judge cleared his throat once or twice. Then he said: ‘Our inquiryrests there. Now Rogers, who else is there on this island besides ourselvesand you and your wife?’
‘Nobody, sir. Nobody at all.’
‘You’re sure of that?’
‘Quite sure, sir.’
Wargrave said:
‘I am not yet clear as to the purpose of our Unknown host in getting usto assemble here. But in my opinion this person, whoever he may be, isnot sane in the accepted sense of the word.
‘He may be dangerous. In my opinion it would be well for us to leavethis place as soon as possible. I suggest that we leave 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, he comes over every morning, sir. He brings the breadand 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 assoon as Narracott’s boat arrives.’
There was a chorus of agreement with only one dissentient voice. It wasAnthony Marston who disagreed with the majority.
‘A bit unsporting, what?’ he said. ‘Ought to ferret out the mystery beforewe go. Whole thing’s like a detective story. Positively thrilling.’
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. His face contorted,turned purple. He gasped for breath—then slid down off his chair, theglass falling from his hand.
第四章
第四章
1房间里顿时一片寂静，由于慌张和茫然失措导致的寂静。过了很久，法官终于打破沉默，声音虽小但吐字清晰。
“现在，我们进入下一步的询问。但是，在此之前，我也要做一份陈述证明。”
他从口袋里掏出一封信，放在桌上。
“写信人自称是我的一个老朋友，叫康斯坦斯•卡尔明顿。我很多年没见到她了。她去了东方。信的风格倒是完全像她以往那样：措辞含糊，前言不搭后语。她要我到这里来，提起了这里的这位欧文先生和他太太，但话说得一样含糊。你们都看得出来，像给你们的信一样，用的是同一种手段。我之所以提到此事，是因为这封信同其他证据吻合。总而言之，耐人寻味的一点是，无论把大家召集至此的人究竟是谁，他肯定对我们了如指掌，或者说费尽心机地打听到了不少有关我们的事情。不管他是谁，反正他知道我同康斯坦斯夫人是朋友，甚至熟悉她写信的风格。他知道阿姆斯特朗医生的同行，以及他们的近况。他知道马斯顿先生朋友的绰号以及他拍电报的习惯。他也的确知道布伦特小姐两年前在哪里度过假，遇到了哪些人。就连麦克阿瑟将军的那些老战友，他也都知道。
他停顿片刻，接着说：“他简直无所不知！然后，他根据了解的信息，针对每个人提出了具体的指控。”
话音未落便激起一阵喧哗。
麦克阿瑟将军喊叫起来：
“纯属胡说八道，这是诽谤！”
维拉也大叫着：
“不可理喻！”她呼吸急促，“居心不良！”
罗杰斯喘着粗气说：
“这是胡编乱造，胡编的！我们谁也没干过……没干过那种事……”
安东尼•马斯顿咆哮起来：
“我就不明白了，这个浑蛋想干什么？”
瓦格雷夫法官高举起手，平息骚动。
他一字一句地说：
“我想先说一说自己的问题。我被这位不知名的朋友指控，说我谋杀了一个叫爱德华•塞顿的人。塞顿这个人我当然记得很清楚。一九三〇年六月，他被指控谋杀了一位老妇人，就站在我面前受审，凭借三寸不烂之舌打动了陪审团。但是，事实无误，罪证确凿，他肯定是有罪的，再能言善辩也没用。我秉公执法，陪审团后来也认定他有罪，他被判处死刑。之后他不服判决，提起上诉，可是证据不足，上诉自然被驳回，最后他被如期处决了。当着大家的面，我想把话说清楚，在这件事情上，我恪守本职，问心无愧。绝对没有任何过错和触犯法律的地方。我处决的人，是一个证据确凿的杀人犯。”
阿姆斯特朗记起来了！没错，就是塞顿那桩案子！当时的审判结果让所有人大吃一惊。记得在审案期间，有一天他在饭馆吃饭时遇见了法律顾问马修斯。马修斯很有把握地告诉他：“基本上可以肯定，塞顿会被无罪释放，证据确凿，没有问题。”后来他又听到了各种议论：“法官执意与被告作对，操纵陪审团，结果是被告判处死刑。当然，法律流程上找不出任何破绽。说到底，这件案子完全是法官公报私仇，加害被告。”
这件案子的前前后后一下子涌上阿姆斯特朗心头，他还没想清楚，嘴就比脑子快了一步，开口问道：
“你以前不认识塞顿吗？我的意思是，在审理这件案子之前，你不认识塞顿吗？”
法官耷拉着眼皮，眼神诡异地望着他，语气冰冷、态度坚决地回答道：
“在审理这桩案子之前，我和塞顿这个人素不相识。”
阿姆斯特朗医生心想：
这个老东西在撒谎——我再清楚不过了，他分明是在撒谎。
2维拉•克莱索恩的声音哆哆嗦嗦的：
“我愿意跟你们说说关于那个孩子的事。那孩子叫西里尔•汉密尔顿，我负责照顾他。
本来不许他游泳的时候游出去太远。有一天，我一不留神，他就游远了。我使劲儿往前游，想追上他…但我真的追不上……确实太可怕了……但这不是我的错啊。法官质询时，验尸官对我丝毫没有质疑，孩子的母亲是个心地善良的人，她也没有责怪我。可是，这个人凭什么……凭什么说出这样可怕的话？这对我太不公平了，不公平……”
她一时语塞，兀自伤心地哭了起来。
麦克阿瑟将军拍拍她的肩膀，说：
“好了，好了，亲爱的姑娘。你受到这样的诬陷当然是不公平的。那家伙是个疯子，一个疯子，精神错乱，颠倒是非，胡说八道。”
他突然站起来，腰板挺直，端着肩膀大声说：
“我们都不要把这个人的话往心里去。当然，我也想说几句。他说得不对……他说的那些事根本不对。呃……阿瑟•里奇蒙是我的一个副官。有一次，他被我派去执行侦察任务，结果中了埋伏，牺牲了。战争中难免出这种事。不仅如此，还有一点我必须说清楚，我现在很气愤，这个家伙居然还敢污蔑我夫人。她是天底下最好的女人，就像恺撒的妻子一样！”
麦克阿瑟将军说完就坐下了，颤抖的手扯着胡子。说出这段话可费了他不少劲儿。
隆巴德说话了。他眼中闪过一丝狡黠：
“关于东非土著的事情——”
马斯顿问：
“他们是怎么回事？”
菲利普•隆巴德微微一笑。
“事情就是那样。我把他们甩下，自己跑了。为了保全自己嘛。我们在林子里迷了路。
我和另外几个人把粮食全带上，然后溜了。”
麦克阿瑟将军严肃地问：
“你把自己的部下抛弃了，让他们活活饿死在森林里？”
隆巴德说：
“我也知道自己这样做是有点儿不仗义。但是，我已经说过了，是为了保全我自己的性命！而且土著人本来也把生死这种事看得比较淡，你也知道，他们不像欧洲人。”
维拉抬起头，吃惊地望着隆巴德，说：
“你就让他们……等死吗？”
隆巴德说：
“对，让他们等死。”
他取乐般地盯着维拉惊恐的双眼。
安东尼•马斯顿一边琢磨，一边慢吞吞地说：
“我刚才一直在想，约翰和露西•库姆斯，这两个人应该就是我在剑桥附近撞死的那两个孩子了。可真是倒霉透顶。”
瓦格雷夫法官先生尖锐地问：
“谁倒霉？你？还是他们？”
安东尼说：
“是啊，我觉得算我倒霉。当然，你说得也没错，他们俩也够倒霉的。可这纯粹是个意外。他们突然从屋里还是什么别的地方冲出来，撞上我的车。害得我的驾驶执照被吊销了一年。真是倒霉透了。”
阿姆斯特朗医生气不打一处来，嚷嚷道：
“你把车开得这么快本来就不对！像你这样的年轻人对社会简直是个祸害。”
安东尼不屑地耸了耸肩膀，说：
“我的车开得快不快还得另当别论，反正英国的公路是没法指望了，速度根本提不上去。”
他环顾四周，想找自己的酒杯，结果在另一张桌子上找到了。
他跑到靠墙的酒桌边，给自己倒了一杯威士忌加苏打，回过头来说：
“反正不管怎么说，这件事怪不得我，不过是一次意外而已！”
3男管家罗杰斯搓着双手，舌头舔了舔发干的嘴唇，毕恭毕敬地轻声问道：
“能允许我说两句吗，先生们？”
隆巴德说：
“说吧，罗杰斯。”
罗杰斯清了清嗓子，再一次用舌头润润发干的嘴唇。
“是，先生。刚才那段指控里提到了我和我太太，还有布雷迪小姐。我保证，这家伙说的没有一句是真的，先生。我和我太太一直伺候布雷迪小姐，直到她去世。布雷迪小姐的身体一向不好，从我们开始伺候她的时候，她身体就不好。出事那天晚上刮着大风，先生，她突然就犯病了。碰巧电话又坏了，我们没法给她找医生。我是一路走着把医生请来的，可是医生到的时候已经来不及了。我们确实想尽了一切办法救她。我们两口子对她忠心耿耿，这是事实，不论是谁都会这样评价我们俩。从没有人指控过我们半句，从来没有。”
隆巴德看着罗杰斯由于紧张而扭曲的脸，若有所思。这人嘴唇发干，眼神惊恐。隆巴德心里想着他刚才失手打翻咖啡盘的事，默默地问道：“哦，是这样吗？”
布洛尔恢复了真实身份，盛气凌人地说：
“那老太太去世以后，你们俩应该得到了不少好处吧？是不是？”
罗杰斯打起精神，冷淡地回道：
“布雷迪小姐觉得我们忠心可靠，把她照顾得很周到，所以留了一笔遗产给我们。我想请教一下，这有什么问题吗？”
隆巴德说：
“布洛尔先生，说说你自己吧！”
“我有什么可说的？”
“那份起诉书上面也有你的大名。”
布洛尔脸色一沉。
“你是说兰道吗？那是一起银行抢劫案——伦敦商业银行。”
瓦格雷夫法官先生吃了一惊。他说：
“我想起来了。虽然这案子不是我审的，但我对这件事有印象。兰道是因为你的证词才被定罪的。你是负责那起案子的警察？”
布洛尔说：
“正是。”
“兰道被判处无期徒刑，终身劳役，他体质很弱，一年后就死在达特穆尔监狱。”
“他是罪犯，是他把夜班警卫打昏了的，这是明摆着的事，他活该被判刑。”
瓦格雷夫徐徐讲道：
“而你却因为办案有功，获得了嘉奖，我说得没错吧？”
布洛尔一本正经地答道：
“我被提拔了。”
随后，他又一字一句地补充说：
“我这叫尽职尽责，秉公办事。”
隆巴德突然放声大笑：
“看来我们都是些奉公守法、尽职尽责的优秀公民啊！当然，不包括我本人。那么，你又是怎么回事呢，阿姆斯特朗医生？还有你那小小的医疗事故？你是做了什么违法的手术吧！”
埃米莉•布伦特小姐十分厌恶地瞥了他一眼，挪得离他远了些。
阿姆斯特朗医生维持着他一贯的好性子，就像什么事也没发生一样，仅仅是摇了摇头。
“关于这件事，我也是一头雾水。”他说，“唱片里提到的那个名字，我也搞不清楚是谁。那个人叫什么来着，克利斯？还是克洛斯？我不记得自己接手过叫这个名字的病人，也不记得她和哪起医疗事故有什么关系。我感到相当迷茫！当然，有可能是我做过的某次手术，不过我也记不清具体是哪次了。有的病人送到医院的时候就已经不行了。这种情况多得很！但是只要病人一死，他们总说是医生失职。”
他叹口气，摇摇头。
他心里在想：喝醉了——就是那次——我喝醉了……醉醺醺地站到手术台上！神经麻痹……双手发抖。是我杀了她，没错，那个女人——变成了可怜的冤魂——要是没喝酒的话，这种小手术根本不会出事。当然，在场的护士心里是有数的——但是没人声张。天哪，那次可把我吓坏了！以后再也不敢了。可是事隔多年，谁会翻出这笔旧账来呢？
4房间里一片寂静。每个人都看着埃米莉•布伦特。有人偷偷摸摸地盯着她，有人上下打量着她。大家沉默了足足有一两分钟，布伦特这才意识到别人在等她开口说话。于是，她窄窄额头下面的眉毛一挑，说：
“你们都在等我说话？我没有什么好说的。”
法官问：
“一句话也没有吗？布伦特小姐？”
“无可奉告。”
她紧闭双唇。
法官摸摸下巴，和气地说：
“你想要保留为自己辩护的权利？”
布伦特小姐毫不客气地回答：
“根本就不是辩护不辩护的问题。我这个人做事从来不昧着良心，所以我也没有做过什么会被人谴责的事。”
房间里的气氛显然有些尴尬。但是埃米莉•布伦特不为所动，仍旧不卑不亢地坐着。
法官清了清嗓子，说：
“询问到此为止。罗杰斯，除了我们，还有你和你太太，此外，岛上有别的人吗？”
“没有人了，先生。一个人也没有。”
“你能肯定吗？”
“完全肯定，先生。”
瓦格雷夫说：
“虽然我还不太清楚这座岛的主人让我们在此聚会的目的是什么，但是据我看来，这个人无论是谁——至少用正常人的眼光来看——肯定不正常，甚至可能是非常危险的。所以，我建议我们尽快离开这儿，今晚就走。”
罗杰斯说：
“很抱歉，先生。岛上没有船。”
“一艘船都没有？”
“是的，先生。”
“那你和岸上怎么联系？”
“弗雷德•纳拉科特每天早晨过来，先生。他给岛上送来面包、牛奶、邮件，然后听候我们的吩咐。”
瓦格雷夫法官说：
“那么，等明天早晨纳拉科特一来，我们就走，就这样定了。”
大家纷纷表示赞成，只有一个人反对。
只有安东尼•马斯顿不以为然。
“你们是心虚还是怎么回事？”他说，“我们至少得把谜题解开再走。这简直就像一个侦探故事，太刺激了。”
法官挖苦他说：
“活到我这把年纪，是不会享受你所谓的这种‘刺激’了。”
安东尼微笑着说：
“平凡本分地度过余生，是多么无奈之举！犯法又如何？来，为犯法干一杯！”
他举起杯子，一饮而尽。
没准儿是因为喝得太急了，他被酒呛了一口——呛得很厉害，他面部抽搐，脸色发紫，大口大口地喘着气——
紧接着，他从椅子上跌下来，摔倒在地，酒杯滚落在一旁。
Chapter 5
Chapter 5
IIt was so sudden and so unexpected that it took every one’s breath away.
They remained stupidly staring at the crumpled figure on the ground.
Then Dr Armstrong jumped up and went over to him, kneeling besidehim. When he raised his head his eyes were bewildered.
He said in a low awe-struck whisper:
‘My God! he’s dead.’
They didn’t take it in. Not at once.
Dead? Dead? That young Norse God in the prime of his health andstrength. Struck down all in a moment. Healthy young men didn’t die likethat, choking over a whisky and soda…
No, they couldn’t take it in.
Dr Armstrong was peering into the deadman’s face. He sniffed at theblue twisted lips. Then he picked up the glass from which Anthony Mar-ston had been drinking.
General Macarthur said:
‘Dead? D’you mean the fellow just choked and—and died?’
The physician said:
‘You can call it choking if you like. He died of asphyxiation rightenough.’
He was sniffing now at the glass. He dipped a finger into the dregs andvery cautiously just touched the finger with the tip of his tongue.
His expression altered.
General Macarthur said:
‘Never knew a man could die like that—just of a choking fit!’
Emily Brent said in a clear voice:
‘In the midst of life we are in death.’
Dr Armstrong stood up. He said brusquely:
‘No, a man doesn’t die of a mere choking fit. Marston’s death wasn’twhat we call a natural death.’
Vera said almost in a whisper:
‘Was there—something—in the whisky?’
Armstrong nodded.
‘Yes. Can’t say exactly. Everything points to one of the cyanides. No dis-tinctive smell of Prussic Acid, probably Potassium Cyanide. It acts prettywell instantaneously.’
The judge said sharply:
‘It was in his glass?’
‘Yes.’
The doctor strode to the table where the drinks were. He removed thestopper from the whisky and smelt and tasted it. Then he tasted the sodawater. He shook his head.
‘They’re both all right.’
Lombard said:
‘You mean—he must have put the stuff in his glass himself?’
Armstrong nodded with a curiously dissatisfied expression. He said:
‘Seems like it.’
Blore said:
‘Suicide, eh? That’s a queer go.’
Vera said slowly:
‘You’d never think that he would kill himself. He was so alive. He was—oh—enjoying himself! When he came down the hill in his car this eveninghe looked—he looked—oh I can’t explain!’
But they knew what she meant. Anthony Marston, in the height of hisyouth and manhood, had seemed like a being who was immortal. Andnow, crumpled and broken, he lay on the floor.
Dr Armstrong said:
‘Is there any possibility other than suicide?’
Slowly every one shook their heads. There could be no other explana-tion. The drinks themselves were untampered with. They had all seen An-thony Marston go across and help himself. It followed therefore that anycyanide in the drink must have been put there by Anthony Marston him-self.
And yet—why should Anthony Marston commit suicide?
Blore said thoughtfully:
‘You know, doctor, it doesn’t seem right to me. I shouldn’t have said MrMarston was a suicidal type of gentleman.’
Armstrong answered:
‘I agree.’
II
They had left it like that. What else was there to say?
Together Armstrong and Lombard had carried the inert body of An-thony Marston to his bedroom and had laid him there covered over with asheet.
When they came downstairs again, the others were standing in a group,shivering a little, though the night was not cold.
Emily Brent said:
‘We’d better go to bed. It’s late.’
It was past twelve o’clock. The suggestion was a wise one—yet every onehesitated. It was as though they clung to each other’s company for reassur-ance.
The judge said:
‘Yes, we must get some sleep.’
Rogers said:
‘I haven’t cleared yet—in the dining-room.’
Lombard said curtly:
‘Do it in the morning.’
Armstrong said to him:
‘Is your wife all right?’
‘I’ll go and see, sir.’
He returned a minute or two later.
‘Sleeping beautiful, she is.’
‘Good,’ said the doctor. ‘Don’t disturb her.’
‘No, sir. I’ll just put things straight in the dining-room and make sureeverything’s locked up right, and then I’ll turn in.’
He went across the hall into the dining-room.
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. Butthis house was the essence of modernity. There were no dark corners—nopossible sliding panels—it was flooded with electric light—everything wasnew and bright and shining. There was nothing hidden in this house,nothing concealed. It had no atmosphere about it.
Somehow, that was the most frightening thing of all…They exchanged good-nights on the upper landing. Each of them wentinto his or her own room, and each of them automatically, almost withoutconscious thought, locked the door…
III
In his pleasant softly tinted room, Mr Justice Wargrave removed his gar-ments and prepared himself for bed.
He was thinking about Edward Seton.
He remembered Seton very well. His fair hair, his blue eyes, his habit oflooking 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-vehe-ment, had tried to prove too much.
Matthews, on the other hand, for the Defence, had been good. His pointshad told. His cross-examinations had been deadly. His handling of his cli-ent in the witness-box had been masterly.
And Seton had come through the ordeal of cross-examination well. Hehad not got excited or over-vehement. The jury had been impressed. Ithad seemed to Matthews, perhaps, as though everything had been overbar the shouting.
The judge wound up his watch carefully and placed it by the bed.
He remembered exactly how he had felt sitting there—listening, makingnotes, appreciating everything, tabulating every scrap of evidence thattold against the prisoner.
He’d enjoyed that case! Matthews’ final speech had been first- class.
Llewellyn, coming after it, had failed to remove the good impression thatthe defending counsel had made.
And then had come his own summing up…
Carefully, Mr Justice Wargrave removed his false teeth and droppedthem into a glass of water. The shrunken lips fell in. It was a cruel mouthnow, cruel and predatory.
Hooding his eyes, the judge smiled to himself.
He’d cooked Seton’s goose all right!
With a slightly rheumatic grunt, he climbed into bed and turned out theelectric light.
IV
Downstairs in the dining-room, Rogers stood puzzled.
He was staring at the china figures in the centre of the table.
He muttered to himself:
‘That’s a rum go! I could have sworn there were ten of them.’
VGeneral Macarthur tossed from side to side.
Sleep would not come to him.
In the darkness he kept seeing Arthur Richmond’s face.
He’d liked Arthur—he’d been damned fond of Arthur. He’d been pleasedthat Leslie liked him too.
Leslie was so capricious. Lots of good fellows that Leslie would turn upher nose at and pronounce dull. ‘Dull!’ Just like that.
But she hadn’t found Arthur Richmond dull. They’d got on well togetherfrom the beginning. They’d talked of plays and music and pictures to-gether. She’d teased him, made fun of him, ragged him. And he, Macar-thur, had been delighted at the thought that Leslie took quite a motherlyinterest in the boy.
Motherly indeed! Damn’ fool not to remember that Richmond wastwenty-eight to Leslie’s twenty-nine.
He’d loved Leslie. He could see her now. Her heart-shaped face, and herdancing deep grey eyes, and the brown curling mass of her hair. He’dloved Leslie and he’d believed in her absolutely.
Out there in France, in the middle of all the hell of it, he’d sat thinking ofher, taken her picture out of the breast pocket of his tunic.
And then—he’d found out!
It had come about exactly in the way things happened in books. The let-ter in the wrong envelope. She’d been writing to them both and she’d puther letter to Richmond in the envelope addressed to her husband. Evennow, 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 thatclear. Weekends! Richmond’s last leave…
Leslie—Leslie and Arthur!
God damn the fellow! Damn his smiling face, his brisk ‘Yes, sir.’ Liar andhypocrite! Stealer of another man’s wife!
It had gathered slowly—that cold murderous rage.
He’d managed to carry on as usual—to show nothing. He’d tried to makehis manner to Richmond just the same.
Had he succeeded? He thought so. Richmond hadn’t suspected. Inequal-ities of temper were easily accounted for out there, where men’s nerveswere continually snapping under the strain.
Only young Armitage had looked at him curiously once or twice. Quite ayoung chap, but he’d had perceptions, that boy.
Armitage, perhaps, had guessed—when the time came.
He’d sent Richmond deliberately to death. Only a miracle could havebrought him through unhurt. That miracle didn’t happen. Yes, he’d sentRichmond to his death and he wasn’t sorry. It had been easy enough. Mis-takes were being made all the time, officers being sent to death needlessly.
All was confusion, panic. People might say afterwards ‘Old Macarthur losthis nerve a bit, made some colossal blunders, sacrificed some of his bestmen.’ They couldn’t say more.
But young Armitage was different. He’d looked at his commanding of-ficer very oddly. He’d known, perhaps, that Richmond was being deliber-ately sent to death.
(After the War was over—had Armitage talked?)Leslie hadn’t known. Leslie had wept for her lover (he supposed) buther weeping was over by the time he’d come back to England. He’d nevertold her that he’d found her out. They’d gone on together—only, somehow,she hadn’t seemed very real any more. And then, three or four years latershe’d got double pneumonia and died.
That had been a long time ago. Fifteen years—sixteen years?
And he’d left the Army and come to live in Devon—bought the sort oflittle place he’d always meant to have. Nice neighbours—pleasant part ofthe world. There was a bit of shooting and fishing. He’d gone to church onSundays. (But not the day that the lesson was read about David puttingUriah in the forefront of the battle. Somehow he couldn’t face that. Gavehim an uncomfortable feeling.)
Everybody had been very friendly. At first, that is. Later, he’d had an un-easy feeling that people were talking about him behind his back. Theyeyed him differently, somehow. As though they’d heard something—somelying rumour…
(Armitage? Supposing Armitage had talked.)
He’d avoided people after that—withdrawn into himself. Unpleasant tofeel that people were discussing you.
And all so long ago. So—so purposeless now. Leslie had faded into thedistance and Arthur Richmond too. Nothing of what had happenedseemed to matter any more.
It made life lonely, though. He’d taken to shunning his old Army friends.
(If Armitage had talked, they’d know about it.)And now—this evening—a hidden voice had blared out that old hiddenstory.
Had he dealt with it all right? Kept a stiff upper lip? Betrayed the rightamount of feeling—indignation, disgust—but no guilt, no discomfiture?
Difficult to tell.
Surely nobody could have taken the accusation seriously. There hadbeen a pack of other nonsense, just as far-fetched. That charming girl—thevoice had accused her of drowning a child! Idiotic! Some madman throw-ing crazy accusations about!
Emily Brent, too—actually a niece of old Tom Brent of the Regiment. Ithad accused her of murder! Any one could see with half an eye that thewoman was as pious as could be—the kind that was hand and glove withparsons.
Damned curious business the whole thing! Crazy, nothing less.
Ever since they had got here—when was that? Why, damn it, it was onlythis afternoon! Seemed a good bit longer than that.
He thought: ‘I wonder when we shall get away again.’
Tomorrow, of course, when the motor-boat came from the mainland.
Funny, just this minute he didn’t want much to get away from the is-land…To go back to the mainland, back to his little house, back to all thetroubles and worries. Through the open window he could hear the wavesbreaking on the rocks—a little louder now than earlier in the evening.
Wind was getting up, too.
He thought: Peaceful sound. Peaceful place…
He thought: Best of an island is once you get there—you can’t go anyfarther…you’ve come to the end of things…
He knew, suddenly, that he didn’t want to leave the island.
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:
‘Hugo…Hugo…Why do I feel you’re so near to me tonight?…Somewherequite close…
‘Where is he really? I don’t know. I never shall know. He just went away—right away—out of my life.’
It was no good trying not to think of Hugo. He was close to her. She hadto think of him—to remember…
Cornwall…
The black rocks, the smooth yellow sand. Mrs Hamilton, stout, good-hu-moured. Cyril, whining a little always, pulling at her hand.
‘I want to swim out to the rock, Miss Claythorne. Why can’t I swim out to therock?’
Looking up—meeting Hugo’s eyes watching her.
The evenings after Cyril was in bed…
‘Come out for a stroll, Miss Claythorne.’
‘I think perhaps I will.’
The decorous stroll down to the beach. The moonlight—the soft Atlanticair.
And then, Hugo’s arms round her.
‘I love you. I love you. You know I love you, Vera?’
Yes, she knew.
(Or thought she knew.)
‘I can’t ask you to marry me. I’ve not got a penny. It’s all I can do to keepmyself. Queer, you know, once, for three months I had the chance of being arich man to look forward to. Cyril wasn’t born until three months afterMaurice died. If he’d been a girl…’
If the child had been a girl, Hugo would have come into everything. He’dbeen disappointed, he admitted.
‘I hadn’t built on it, of course. But it was a bit of a knock. Oh well, luck’sluck! Cyril’s a nice kid. I’m awfully fond of him.’ And he was fond of him,too. Always ready to play games or amuse his small nephew. No rancourin Hugo’s nature.
Cyril wasn’t really strong. A puny child—no stamina. The kind of child,perhaps, who wouldn’t live to grow up…
And then—?
‘Miss Claythorne, why can’t I swim to the rock?’
Irritating whiney repetition.
‘It’s too far, Cyril.’
‘But, Miss Claythorne…’
Vera got up. She went to the dressing-table and swallowed three aspir-ins.
She thought:
‘I wish I had some proper sleeping stuff.’
She thought:
‘If I were doing away with myself I’d take an overdose of veronal —something like that—not cyanide!’
She shuddered as she remembered Anthony Marston’s convulsed purpleface.
As she passed the mantelpiece, she looked up at the framed doggerel.
‘Ten little soldier boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were Nine.’
She thought to herself:
‘It’s horrible—just like us this evening…’
Why had Anthony Marston wanted to die?
She didn’t want to die.
She couldn’t imagine wanting to die…
Death was for—the other people…
第五章
第五章
1突如其来的死亡让在座的每个人都措手不及，他们屏住呼吸，呆若木鸡地看着在地上缩成一团的人。
随后，阿姆斯特朗医生猛地站起来，跑到马斯顿身边蹲下。当他抬起头来的时候，双眼茫然，一脸迷惑不解。
他轻轻地低语着，惊恐至极。
“我的天！他死了。”
所有人都没听懂，一时不知他在念叨什么。
死了？死了？这位拥有大把美好青春的小伙子，一下子就倒地不省人事了。健壮的年轻人不应该就这样死去，一杯威士忌苏打水就要了他的命。
不，不应该这样。
阿姆斯特朗医生盯着他的脸，凑上去闻了闻他发青扭曲的嘴唇，然后从地上捡起安东尼•马斯顿丢落的酒杯。
麦克阿瑟将军问：
“死了？这个小伙子喝酒呛了一口，结果--就呛死了？”
阿姆斯特朗医生说：
“也可以说是呛死的。总之是窒息导致死亡。”
说完他闻了闻那只杯子，用一根手指蘸了一下杯中的残酒，小心翼翼地伸进嘴里，舌尖轻轻地碰了碰手指。
他随即神色大变。
麦克阿瑟将军说：
“从来没听说过这种死法--就这么被呛死了！”
埃米莉•布伦特一字一顿地说：
“生即是死，无时无刻。”
阿姆斯特朗医生突然站起身，说：
“不，正常情况下，人是不会因为呛了一下就死的。马斯顿的死并不是我们通常说的自然死亡。”
维拉的声音低得几乎像耳语，她喃喃地说：
“难道是……酒里放了什么东西？”
阿姆斯特朗医生点点头。
“有可能。看来像是氰化物之类的化学品，没有闻到氢氰酸的特殊气味，可能是氰化钾。这种东西发作得特别快。”
法官厉声问道：
“他杯子里有氰化钾？”
“对，就在他杯子里。”
阿姆斯特朗走到放酒的桌子旁，打开威士忌酒瓶的瓶塞，闻了闻，又尝了尝。接着他又尝了尝苏打水，摇摇头。
“都没问题。”
隆巴德问：
“你的意思……难道那是他自己放到酒里的？”
阿姆斯特朗点点头，但是一脸迷惑，似乎对这个推论并不满意。
“看起来好像是这样。”
布洛尔说：
“自杀，嗯？太奇怪了！”
维拉慢慢地说：
“谁能想到他会自杀呢？他这么年轻！一副……一副活不够的样子！今天傍晚他开车驶下山坡的时候，那种感觉简直就像……就像……哎，我真没法形容！”
其实大家都知道她要说什么：安东尼•马斯顿春风得意，无论如何都不应该就这样死了。
阿姆斯特朗医生问：
“有没有自杀以外的可能呢？”
大家都慢慢地摇着头，沉思着。还能有别的解释吗？谁都没动过那瓶酒，大家都看到安东尼•马斯顿自己走过去，亲手往杯子里倒了酒。所以，显而易见，酒里的氰化物就是安东尼•马斯顿自己下的。
但是，还有一个问题：安东尼•马斯顿为什么要自杀呢？
布洛尔百思不得其解，说：
“医生，要我说，这件事有点儿不对劲儿。我觉得马斯顿肯定不是那种想自杀的人。”
阿姆斯特朗回答：
“我同意。”
2大家的分析只能到此为止，还能说什么呢？
阿姆斯特朗和隆巴德一起把安东尼•马斯顿的尸体放到他自己的房间里，盖上一条床单。
他们下楼的时候，其余人还围成一圈站着。虽然晚上天气并不冷，但是大家似乎都有点儿发抖。
埃米莉•布伦特说：
“我们都回房间睡觉吧，已经不早了。”
已经过了午夜十二点，她的建议并没错，但是没有人想离开客厅，似乎都想待在一起，让心里更踏实一些。
法官说：
“是啊！我们必须休息一会儿。”
罗杰斯说：
“我还没有收拾呢，我得收拾餐厅。”
隆巴德随口说：
“明天早上再做吧。”
阿姆斯特朗医生则问他：
“你太太没事了吧？”
“我去看看，先生。”
过了一会儿，他回来了。
“她睡熟了。”
“很好，”阿姆斯特朗医生说，“别吵醒她。”
“是，先生。我去把餐厅收拾一下，顺便看看四周的门是不是都锁好了，然后再回去休息。”
他穿过客厅，走向餐厅。
其他人陆陆续续地迈着沉重的步伐，慢吞吞地往楼上走。
如果这是那种老房子，地板踩上去嘎嘎作响，房子里忽明忽暗，夹板墙又厚又沉的话，很容易让人感到毛骨悚然。但这幢房子的装修风格是最时髦的，屋里没有任何黑暗的角落，也不可能设置暗门或者带轨道的墙。到处灯火通明，放眼看去，每件东西都是崭新的，光可鉴人。屋子里没有暗藏的机关，简直都没有秘密可言，连一丝阴森恐怖的气氛也没有。
不知为何，现在这幢别墅却成了最恐怖的……
他们互相道过晚安，走上楼回各自的房间。不用说，他们全都本能地、想都不想地锁上了门。
3瓦格雷夫法官的房间色调柔和、装饰温馨。他正在脱衣服准备就寝。
他脑子里还在想爱德华•塞顿。
他当然清楚地记得塞顿：一头漂亮的头发，蓝眼睛，总是那样真诚地望着你，表情亲切。也正是如此，陪审团才对他有强烈的好感。
卢埃林作为公诉人，太急于求成，以至于乱了手脚。
马修斯作为辩护律师，则表现得极为出色。他的论点有力，法庭询问过程中句句击中要害。应对证人席上的当事人时，表现无懈可击。
不仅如此，塞顿也经受住了盘问的考验，他既不紧张，也不冲动。陪审团的表情说明他们被打动了。照此情形，马修斯认为大局已定，只等着观众为他欢呼了。
法官小心地把表上好发条，放在床头。
他清楚记得当时自己高坐在法庭之上的那种感觉……耳朵听着，拿笔记着，每一处细节都不放过，哪怕是能够证实罪犯有嫌疑的一丁点儿证据，他都搜罗详尽。
他对这个案子极感兴趣！马修斯的结案陈词一气呵成。随后发言的卢埃林完全没能消除陪审团对辩护律师的好感。
之后就轮到他作总结陈词……
瓦格雷夫法官小心翼翼地取下假牙，放进水杯里。他干瘪的嘴唇凹进嘴里，模样立刻变得冷酷无情。不仅冷酷，甚至残忍嗜血。
法官眯着眼，默默地笑了。
结果，塞顿还是被他干掉了。
风湿病又发作了。他忍着病痛，低声呻吟着爬上床，随手关了灯。
4罗杰斯一脸疑惑地站在楼下的餐厅里。
他瞪着桌子中央的那盘小瓷人。
自言自语地咕哝：
“奇怪！我发誓本来应该一共有十个人。”
5麦克阿瑟将军在床上辗转反侧。
无论如何也无法入睡。
黑暗中，他眼前不断浮现出阿瑟•里奇蒙的面庞。
他曾经那么喜欢阿瑟--他一直是真心喜欢阿瑟，甚至连莱斯利也喜欢阿瑟这件事都让他很高兴。
莱斯利是个难以捉摸的女人，很多不错的家伙都让她嗤之以鼻，总是说他们“笨蛋一个”！
然而，她却很喜欢阿瑟•里奇蒙。他们俩一认识就相处得很好。一起谈论戏剧、音乐和电影。她和他开玩笑，逗他发笑。麦克阿瑟想到莱斯利像母亲一样喜爱这个大男孩，也感到由衷的高兴。他居然以为他们的感情就像母子一样！该死！他竟然把里奇蒙已经二十八岁而莱斯利只有二十九岁都忘了。
他是一直爱着莱斯利的。他此时此刻就能看到她。她那张桃心脸，深灰色的双眸顾盼生辉，褐色的头发浓密卷曲。他一直深爱着莱斯利，对她无比信任。部队远在法国的时候他度日如年，总是呆呆地坐着思念她，从军装上衣口袋里掏出她的相片来看。
但是后来，他发现了秘密！
就像小说里的情节一样。莱斯利把信放错了信封，她同时给他们两人写信，却把给里奇蒙的信纸装到寄给丈夫的信封里了。即使在事隔多年之后的今天，他一想起这件事，仍然能感受到当时的打击，那种痛苦--痛彻心扉！
他们之间的丑事已经持续很久了，信里写得很清楚。每个周末，还有里奇蒙上次休假，他们……莱斯利--莱斯利和里奇蒙！
这个该死的家伙！他那张该死的笑脸！那声该死的响亮的“是，长官！”骗子，伪君子！偷别人老婆的贼！
杀意在他心中的阴暗森林里滋生成长。
他想方设法表现得不露声色，尽力让自己对里奇蒙的态度和往常一样。
他能做到吗？里奇蒙毫无察觉，他自认为戏演得不错。他们都身处异乡，远离家园，情绪偶尔起伏也不足为奇。
就是小阿米泰奇有几次好奇地望着他。那孩子年纪还小，但是人小鬼大。
终于，他的机会来了--也许正是那时，阿米泰奇发现了端倪。
他故意让里奇蒙去前线送死。如果里奇蒙能毫发无伤地回来，那才叫奇迹。当然，奇迹并没有发生。没错，麦克阿瑟就是故意派他去送命。但他没有一丝愧疚之意。死亡对于士兵而言本来就是司空见惯的事。在军官的指挥下，士兵不断地被派往前线，做出无谓的牺牲。过后有人也许会说：“老将军当时也慌了神，乱了手脚，损失了几个好部下。”除此以外，还能说什么？
但是，在阿米泰奇眼里可不是这么简单。他看将军的眼神就是和别人不同。估计他已经发现里奇蒙是被他故意派去送命的。
（战争结束以后，阿米泰奇会不会把这件事说出去？）莱斯利毫不知情。莱斯利为了心上人的死哭泣过（他估计），但他回到英国的时候，她的伤心已经过去了。他从来没有向莱斯利摊牌。他们继续一起生活--只是，她难免常常表现得魂不守舍。就这样又过了三四年，她患上了双侧肺炎，不治而亡。
那些都是很多年以前的事，大概有十五年--十六年了吧？
随后，他离开军队搬到德文郡定居，买了一小块地，实现了多年以来的愿望。邻居待他都比较友善，所谓的幸福居所也不过如此了。偶尔去打猎、垂钓，每逢礼拜都去教堂。
（除了牧师讲大卫把乌利亚派去前线送死的那天，他无论如何都不想听这段话，因为一听这个他就会坐立不安。）大家都对他以礼相待。日子一开始就是这样平静，后来，他越来越不安，总感到有人在背后议论他。别人看他的眼神也多多少少有点儿不对劲儿，好像他们都听到了些什么--流言蜚语似的……（阿米泰奇？不会是阿米泰奇说了些什么话吧？）
从此以后，他总躲着别人，独自待着。总觉得有人在议论自己，那样确实过得不够舒心。
时光飞逝，带走了许多人和事。莱斯利已经去世多年，阿瑟•里奇蒙也一样。对于陈年旧事，还能有什么新麻烦？
不过如此一来，他的生活也变得相当孤单，一直躲着军队里的老战友。
（万一阿米泰奇乱说，那别人就全都知道了。）
现在--就在今天晚上--一个神秘莫测的声音揭穿了他多年来精心保守的秘密。
他处理得对不对？咬紧牙关不松口？通过表现出愤慨厌恶的情绪，把真实的心虚和惊慌掩盖过去？不知道。
当然，谁也不会把这种指控当真。这种莫须有的罪名，完全是捕风捉影。就拿那个可爱的姑娘来说，那个“声音”指控她淹死了一个小孩！这怎么可能？谁知道这是哪个疯子信口雌黄？
埃米莉•布伦特--原来是军队里老汤姆•布伦特的侄女。她竟然也被指控谋杀！明白人看一眼就知道，她有多么虔诚，说她是牧师的羔羊也不夸张。
该死的怪声！一定是有人疯了！绝对是！
自从他们来到这里--他们是什么时候到的？啊，该死！明明是今天下午才来到这儿的，怎么感觉时间已经过了那么久？
他想：不知道什么时候才能离开这里！
明天，只要大陆的摩托艇一来就走。
奇怪的是，此时此刻，他竟然不想离开这个岛了。回到对岸，回到他那个小房间，回到种种麻烦和烦恼之中。敞开的窗户里飘进海浪拍击礁石的声音，此时海水的声音比傍晚更加沉重，更加响亮。海风也呼啸起来。
他想，平静之声。平静之处……
他心想，小岛的好处就在于与世隔绝，谁也别想独自离开，就像是来到了万事的归处。
他忽然发现，自己根本不想离开这座岛。
6维拉•克莱索恩躺在床上瞪着天花板。
她的床头灯还亮着。她怕黑。
她脑中思绪起伏：雨果……雨果……为什么我觉得今晚你总是看着我？好像就在我的身旁……雨果究竟在哪儿？我不知道，也永远不想知道。他就这么走了--不辞而别--从此与我没有任何关系。
要做到不去想雨果谈何容易。他就在她身边。她无法不想他--无法忘了他……康沃尔……黑色的海礁，一望无际的金色沙滩，心宽体胖的汉密尔顿夫人，西里尔拉着她的手，没完没了地吵闹。
“我想游到礁石那边去，维拉小姐。你为什么不让我游到礁石那边去？”
她抬眼向上一看，正好与雨果注视着她的目光不期而遇。
晚上，西里尔睡着了。
“维拉小姐，出来散散步吧。”
“好，我们出去走一走。”
他们俩在海滩上散步，月光洒满海滩，大西洋的海风温柔地吹着。
突然，雨果的胳膊环住了她的腰。
“我爱你，我爱你，你知道我爱你吗，维拉？”
当然，她知道。
（也可以说她以为自己知道。）
“我没办法向你求婚。我身无分文，连自己都养活不起。说出来你也许不相信，我足足有三个月盼着自己能一下子变成富翁，其实机会就在我面前。莫里斯死了整整三个月之后，西里尔才出生。假如西里尔是个女孩……”
假如西里尔是女孩，那这一切就都是雨果的了。他承认自己失望透顶。
“当然，我没有完全指望这个。但是，我确实也很失望。算了，虽然我运气不好，但是西里尔还是很讨人喜欢的，我可是很疼爱他。”雨果很疼爱西里尔，无论小侄子想玩什么，雨果都陪他玩，所以西里尔这孩子也很喜欢他。雨果似乎天生就不会记仇。
西里尔不是那种强壮的孩子。也许可以更坦白地说，他是那种体质很弱，容易生病的孩子……然后……
“维拉小姐，为什么我不能游到礁石那边去？”
西里尔反反复复地缠着她问，快要把她烦死了。
“不行，太远了，西里尔。”“可我……维拉小姐……”
维拉起身走到梳妆台旁，吃了三片阿司匹林。
她想：如果我带了真正的安眠药就好了。
她又想：要是我想一了百了的话，就多吃些安眠药，我可不要吃氰化物！
一想到安东尼•马斯顿那张紫青色扭曲的脸，她不由得打了一阵寒战。
她走到壁炉前，抬头望着镜框里关于小士兵的歌谣。
十个小士兵，出门打牙祭；
不幸噎住喉，十个只剩九。
她暗自想道：太可怕了，就像我们今天晚上……
安东尼•马斯顿为什么要自杀呢？
她可不想自杀。
她根本无法想象轻生的念头。
死亡和她无关--死亡是别人的事……
Chapter 6
Chapter 6
IDr Armstrong was dreaming…
It was very hot in the operating-room…
Surely they’d got the temperature too high? The sweat was rolling downhis face. His hands were clammy. Difficult to hold the scalpel firmly…How beautifully sharp it was…
Easy to do a murder with a knife like that. And of course he was doing amurder…
The woman’s body looked different. It had been a large unwieldy body.
This was a spare meagre body. And the face was hidden.
Who was it that he had to kill?
He couldn’t remember. But he must know! Should he ask Sister?
Sister was watching him. No, he couldn’t ask her. She was suspicious, hecould see that.
But who was it on the operating-table?
They shouldn’t have covered up the face like that…If he could only see the face…
Ah! that was better. A young probationer was pulling off the handker-chief.
Emily Brent, of course. It was Emily Brent that he had to kill. How mali-cious her eyes were! Her lips were moving. What was she saying?
‘In the midst of life we are in death…’
She was laughing now. No, nurse, don’t put the handkerchief back. I’vegot to see. I’ve got to give the anaesthetic. Where’s the ether? I must havebrought the ether with me. What have you done with the ether, Sister?
Ch?teauneuf-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 purpleand 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 pour-ing into the room.
And someone was leaning over him—shaking him. It was Rogers. Ro-gers, 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 towake. And—and she don’t look right to me.’
Dr Armstrong was quick and efficient. He wrapped himself in his dress-ing-gown and followed Rogers.
He bent over the bed where the woman was lying peacefully on herside. He lifted the cold hand, raised the eyelid. It was some few minutesbefore 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 tothe 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 andturned 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 wa-ter, cascara, glycerine of cucumber for the hands, a mouthwash, tooth-paste and some Elliman’s.
Rogers helped by pulling out the drawers of the dressing-table. Fromthere they moved on to the chest of drawers. But there was no sign ofsleeping draughts or tablets.
Rogers said:
‘She didn’t have nothing last night, sir, except what you gave her…’
II
When the gong sounded for breakfast at nine o’clock it found everyone upand 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 theisland 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 ruminat-ing 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 hewas.’
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 into breakfast. There was a vast dish of eggs and bacon onthe sideboard and tea and coffee.
Rogers held the door open for them to pass in, then shut it from the out-side.
Emily Brent said:
‘That man looks ill this morning.’
Dr Armstrong, who was standing by the window, cleared his throat. Hesaid:
‘You must excuse any—er—shortcomings this morning. Rogers has hadto do the best he can for breakfast single-handed. Mrs Rogers has—er—notbeen 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 areseveral matters I want to discuss with you all.’
They took the hint. Plates were filled, coffee and tea was poured. Themeal began.
Discussion of the island was, by mutual consent, tabooed. They spoke in-stead in a desultory fashion of current events. The news from abroad,events in the world of sport, the latest reappearance of the Loch Nessmonster.
Then, when plates were cleared, Dr Armstrong moved back his chair alittle, cleared his throat importantly and spoke.
He said:
‘I thought it better to wait until you had had your breakfast beforetelling 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 clearvoice:
‘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 whatsoeverof the woman’s state of health.’
Vera said:
‘She was a very nervous- looking creature. And she had a shock lastnight. It might have been heart failure, I suppose?’
Dr Armstrong said dryly:
‘Her heart certainly failed to beat—but what caused it to fail is the ques-tion.’
One word fell from Emily Brent. It fell hard and clear into the listeninggroup.
‘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 havingdeliberately 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. Shebroke down completely and fainted. The shock of having her wickednessbrought 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 exactknowledge of her state of health. If there was cardiac weakness—’
Emily Brent said quietly:
‘Call it if you prefer, an Act of God.’
Everyone 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 thewrath of God! I do not!’
The judge stroked his chin. He murmured in a slightly ironic voice:
‘My dear lady, in my experience of ill-doing, Providence leaves the workof conviction and chastisement to us mortals—and the process is oftenfraught with difficulties. There are no short cuts.’
Emily Brent shrugged her shoulders.
Blore said sharply:
‘What did she have to eat and drink last night after she went up to bed?’
Armstrong said:
‘Nothing.’
‘She didn’t take anything? A cup of tea? A drink of water? I’ll bet you shehad a cup of tea. That sort always does.’
‘Rogers assures me she had nothing whatsoever.’
‘Ah,’ said Blore. ‘But he might say so!’
His tone was so significant that the doctor looked at him sharply.
Philip Lombard said:
‘So that’s your idea?’
Blore said aggressively:
‘Well, why not? We all heard that accusation last night. May be sheermoonshine—just plain lunacy! On the other hand, it may not. Allow forthe moment that it’s true. Rogers and his Missus polished off that old lady.
Well, where does that get you? They’ve been feeling quite safe and happyabout it—’
Vera interrupted. In a low voice she said:
‘No, I don’t think Mrs Rogers ever felt safe.’
Blore looked slightly annoyed at the interruption.
‘Just like a woman,’ his glance said.
He resumed:
‘That’s as may be. Anyway there’s no active danger to them as far asthey know. Then, last night, some unknown lunatic spills the beans. Whathappens? The woman cracks—she goes to pieces. Notice how her husbandhung over her as she was coming round. Not all husbandly solicitude! Noton your life! He was like a cat on hot bricks. Scared out of his life as towhat she might say.
‘And there’s the position for you! They’ve done a murder and got awaywith it. But if the whole thing’s going to be raked up, what’s going to hap-pen? Ten to one, the woman will give the show away. She hasn’t got thenerve to stand up and brazen it out. She’s a living danger to her husband,that’s what she is. He’s all right. He’ll lie with a straight face till kingdomcomes—but he can’t be sure of her! And if she goes to pieces, his neck’s indanger! So he slips something into a cup of tea and makes sure that hermouth is shut permanently.’
Armstrong said slowly:
‘There was no empty cup by her bedside—there was nothing there at all.
I looked.’
Blore snorted.
‘Of course there wouldn’t be! First thing he’d do when she’d drunk itwould be to take that cup and saucer away and wash it up carefully.’
There was a pause. Then General Macarthur said doubtfully:
‘It may be so. But I should hardly think it possible that a man would dothat—to his wife.’
Blore gave a short laugh.
He said:
‘When a man’s neck’s in danger, he doesn’t stop to think too much aboutsentiment.’
There was a pause. Before any one could speak, the door opened andRogers came in.
He said, looking from one to the other:
‘Is there anything more I can get you?’
Mr Justice Wargrave stirred a little in his chair. He asked:
‘What time does the motor-boat usually come over?’
‘Between seven and eight, sir. Sometimes it’s a bit after eight. Don’tknow what Fred Narracott can be doing this morning. If he’s ill he’d sendhis brother.’
Philip Lombard said:
‘What’s the time now?’
‘Ten minutes to ten, sir.’
Lombard’s eyebrows rose. He nodded slowly to himself.
Rogers waited a minute or two.
General Macarthur spoke suddenly and explosively:
‘Sorry to hear about your wife, Rogers. Doctor’s just been telling us.’
Rogers inclined his head.
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
He took up the empty bacon dish and went out.
Again there was a silence.
III
On the terrace outside Philip Lombard said:
‘About this motor-boat—’
Blore looked at him.
Blore nodded his head.
He said:
‘I know what you’re thinking, Mr Lombard. I’ve asked myself the samequestion. Motor-boat ought to have been here nigh on two hours ago. Ithasn’t come? Why?’
‘Found the answer?’ asked Lombard.
‘It’s not an accident—that’s what I say. It’s part and parcel of the wholebusiness. It’s all bound up together.’
Philip Lombard said:
‘It won’t come, you think?’
A voice spoke behind him—a testy impatient voice.
‘The motor-boat’s not coming,’ it said.
Blore turned his square shoulder slightly and viewed the last speakerthoughtfully.
‘You think not too, General?’
General Macarthur said sharply:
‘Of course it won’t come. We’re counting on the motor-boat to take usoff the island. That’s the meaning of the whole business. We’re not going toleave the island…None of us will ever leave…It’s the end, you see—the endof everything…’
He hesitated, then he said in a low strange voice:
‘That’s peace—real peace. To come to the end—not to have to go on…Yes, peace…’
He turned abruptly and walked away. Along the terrace, then down theslope towards the sea—obliquely—to the end of the island where looserocks went out into the water.
He walked a little unsteadily, like a man who was only half awake.
Blore said:
‘There goes another one who’s barmy! Looks as though it’ll end with thewhole lot going that way.’
Philip Lombard said:
‘I don’t fancy you will, Blore.’
The ex-Inspector laughed.
‘It would take a lot to send me off my head.’ He added dryly: ‘And I don’tthink you’ll be going that way either, Mr Lombard.’
Philip Lombard said:
‘I feel quite sane at the minute, thank you.’
IV
Dr Armstrong came out on to the terrace. He stood there hesitating. To hisleft were Blore and Lombard. To his right was Wargrave, slowly pacing upand down, his head bent down.
Armstrong, after a moment of indecision, turned towards the latter.
But at that moment Rogers came quickly out of the house.
‘Could I have a word with you, sir, please?’
Armstrong turned.
He was startled at what he saw.
Rogers’ face was working. Its colour was greyish green. His handsshook.
It was such a contrast to his restraint of a few minutes ago that Arm-strong was quite taken aback.
‘Please sir, if I could have a word with you. Inside, sir.’
The doctor turned back and re-entered the house with the frenzied but-ler. He said:
‘What’s the matter, man, pull yourself together.’
‘In here, sir, come in here.’
He opened the dining-room door. The doctor passed in. Rogers followedhim and shut the door behind him.
‘Well,’ said Armstrong, ‘what is it?’
The muscles of Rogers’ throat were working. He was swallowing. Hejerked out:
‘There’s things going on, sir, that I don’t understand.’
Armstrong said sharply:
‘Things? What things?’
‘You’ll think I’m crazy, sir. You’ll say it isn’t anything. But it’s got to beexplained, sir. It’s got to be explained. Because it doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Well, man, tell me what it is. Don’t go on talking in riddles.’
Rogers swallowed again.
He said:
‘It’s those little figures, sir. In the middle of the table. The little china fig-ures. Ten of them, there were. I’ll swear to that, ten of them.’
Armstrong said:
‘Yes, ten. We counted them last night at dinner.’
Rogers came nearer.
‘That’s just it, sir. Last night, when I was clearing up, there wasn’t butnine, sir. I noticed it and thought it queer. But that’s all I thought. Andnow, sir, this morning. I didn’t notice when I laid the breakfast. I was up-set and all that.
‘But now, sir, when I came to clear away. See for yourself if you don’tbelieve me.
‘There’s only eight, sir! Only eight! It doesn’t make sense, does it? Onlyeight…’
第六章
第六章
1阿姆斯特朗医生在做梦。
手术室里闷热难耐……
肯定是有人把温度调得太高了。汗水不停地从他脸上滴下来，他的两只手也湿漉漉的，连手术刀都握不牢……
这把刀的刀刃锋利，简直太完美了……
用这样的刀子杀人简直易如反掌。他现在不就是在杀人吗……这个女人的身体看起来很不一样，她本来应该是肥胖宽厚的，现在却瘦得像一把骨头，而且也看不到脸。
他要杀的人是谁来着？
他不记得了。可是他必须知道。该不该去问护士？
护士正盯着他。不，不能问护士，她已经起了疑心，他能看出来。
可是，躺在手术台上的是谁？
他们不应该把脸盖起来……
要是他能看见这张脸……
啊！这样好多了，一个年轻的实习医生把盖在脸上的单子扯掉了。
埃米莉•布伦特，就是她。他就是要杀死埃米莉•布伦特。她的眼神太恶毒了！她的嘴唇在翕动，她在说什么？
“生即是死……”
她正在笑。不，护士，别再把单子盖上去。让我来看看。我需要麻药。乙醚放在哪儿？我肯定带乙醚了。你把乙醚放到哪儿了，护士？沙托纳迪帕普红酒？行，这个也行。
把单子掀开，护士。
没错！我早就知道，这是安东尼•马斯顿！脸色乌青，五官变形。可他并没有死，他在笑。我说，他正在笑！手术台都被他晃动了。
小心点儿。护士，你要扶稳了，扶稳了——
突然，阿姆斯特朗医生惊醒过来。天色大亮，阳光照进房间。
有个人正弯腰摇晃他！是罗杰斯。他脸色苍白，喊着：“医生——医生！”
阿姆斯特朗医生完全清醒了。
他从床上坐起来，急忙问：
“怎么了？”
“我妻子，是我妻子不好了，医生。我叫不醒她，天哪！我怎么叫她都不管用，而且——我觉得她看上去不太对劲儿。”
阿姆斯特朗医生麻利地披上睡衣，跟着罗杰斯走了。
罗杰斯太太安静地躺在床上。阿姆斯特朗医生在床边俯下身，拿起她冷冰的手，翻开她的眼皮检查，过了好几分钟才站起来，转过身来。
罗杰斯小声问道：
“她是不是……是不是……”
他伸出舌头舔了舔发干的嘴唇。
阿姆斯特朗点点头。
“对，她死了。”
他看着眼前这个男人，若有所思。接着又走向床边的桌子，洗漱池，最后回到这个不会醒来的女人身旁。
罗杰斯问：
“是不是……心脏病？”
阿姆斯特朗医生过了一两分钟才答话：
“她平时身体如何？”
“有风湿病。”
“最近看过医生吗？”
“医生？”罗杰斯瞪大了眼睛，“我们俩好多年没看过医生了。”
“你为什么觉得她有心脏病？”
“我不知道，医生，我不知道是为什么。”
阿姆斯特朗说：
“她的睡眠好吗？”
这一次，罗杰斯眼神闪躲，双手握在一起不安地搅动着，嘴里嘟囔着：
“她睡眠不太好……不好。”
医生紧追不舍地问：
“她有没有吃过什么药物来帮助睡眠？”
罗杰斯惊讶地看着他。
“吃药？帮助睡眠？我没听她说过，肯定没有。”
阿姆斯特朗走向洗漱池。
池子周围放着不少瓶瓶罐罐。洗发露，香水，缓泻剂，黄瓜甘油，漱口水，牙膏……罗杰斯帮忙拉出梳妆台的抽屉，他们从这个抽屉开始翻，一直翻到五斗柜，也没找到任何安眠药。
罗杰斯说：
“除了你给她的药，昨晚她没吃过别的……”
2宣布早餐已经备好的钟声在九点钟准时敲响，大家都起床了，正等着一起吃饭。
麦克阿瑟将军和法官在外面的露台上散步，聊着对政局的看法。
维拉•克莱索恩和菲利普•隆巴德在别墅后面，他们登上了小岛的最高点，布洛尔也站在那里眺望远方的大陆。他说：
“我一直在这儿守着，还没看到摩托艇的影子。”
维拉微笑着说：
“德文郡是个适合睡懒觉的地方，人们做起事来总是拖拖拉拉的。”
菲利普•隆巴德望着海的另一边。
他突然问：
“你们觉得天气怎么样？”
布洛尔看了看头顶的天空，说：
“依我看没什么问题。”
隆巴德无奈地吹了声口哨，说：
“要我说，过不了一天就该起风了。”
布洛尔说：
“是风暴吗？”
下面的房子里传来钟声。
菲利普•隆巴德说：
“吃早餐了！好，我准备去吃点儿。”
他们沿斜坡走下来的时候，布洛尔心事重重地对隆巴德说：
“你知道，这件事我想不通——那小伙子为什么要自杀？昨天晚上我想了一宿都没有想通。”
维拉就在前面不远处。隆巴德放慢脚步，问道：
“你有什么疑问吗？”
“我在想证据，首先是自杀动机。我觉得，按理说他挺有钱的。”
埃米莉•布伦特穿过客厅的落地窗，迎了上来。
她不客气地问：
“船来了吗？”
“还没有。”维拉回答。
他们走进屋去吃早餐。餐架上摆着一大盘咸肉和鸡蛋，还有茶和咖啡。
罗杰斯打开门让他们进去，然后在外面随手把门带上。
埃米莉•布伦特说：
“这个人今天早晨不太对劲儿。”
阿姆斯特朗医生站在窗边，他清了清嗓子，说：
“今天早晨如果有什么照顾不周之处，请大家——呃——请大家谅解。早餐是罗杰斯一个人准备的，罗杰斯太太今天早晨已经，呃——无法继续工作了。”
埃米莉•布伦特唐突地问：
“她怎么了？”
阿姆斯特朗医生敷衍地说：
“我们还是先吃早餐吧，不然鸡蛋要凉了。吃完饭我有事要和大家说一说。”
大家心领神会，都去盛了早餐，端来咖啡和茶，开始吃饭。
所有人都心照不宣，闭口不提岛上的事，而是随便聊天，说说国外的新闻、体育比赛，还有尼斯湖水怪最近又出现了之类的事。
就这样，餐具撤走以后，阿姆斯特朗医生把椅子往后挪了挪，然后清了清嗓子，正色道：
“我认为还是等诸位用完早餐以后再来宣布这个不幸的消息。罗杰斯太太昨夜在睡梦中去世了。”
接着响起了惊叫声。
维拉大叫着：
“太可怕了！我们来到这儿之后，死了两个人！”
瓦格雷夫法官先生眯起双眼。他声音不大，但话说得很清楚：
“嗯，令人震惊。那么，死因是什么呢？”
阿姆斯特朗无奈地耸着肩，说：
“暂时还说不清。”
“必须要等尸体解剖吗？”
“当然，我现在无法做出任何结论。我也不清楚罗杰斯太太的健康状况。”
维拉说：
“她看上去精神高度紧张，昨晚又受到了惊吓，有可能是心脏吓出了毛病。我猜是这样。”
阿姆斯特朗医生干巴巴地说：
“她的心脏的确出了问题，因为已经不再跳动了。但关键是，什么原因导致了这个问题。”
埃米莉•布伦特突然说了一个词，对在座的各位而言，真是既有分量又干脆。
“良心！”
阿姆斯特朗向她转过身去。
“你想说什么？布伦特小姐？”
埃米莉•布伦特紧绷着嘴唇，她说：
“你们全都听见了。有人指控她和她丈夫，说他们蓄意谋杀了前任主人，一位老夫人。”
“你的看法呢？”
埃米莉•布伦特说：
“我觉得指控是真实的。昨天晚上你们都看见了，她听到之后就吓坏了，晕过去了。她的罪行被人公之于众，她受不了这种惊吓。她就是被吓死的。”
阿姆斯特朗医生疑虑重重地摇着头。
“这是一种推测，”他说，“但是在查清楚她的健康状况之前，谁也不能肯定。如果心脏确实出了问题——”
埃米莉•布伦特冷酷地说：
“如果说得委婉一些，就称之为‘天意’吧。”
所有人都大吃一惊。
布洛尔先生不安地说：
“你也未免把话题扯得太远了，布伦特小姐。”
她看着大家，两眼炯炯有神，抬着下巴说：
“你们不相信一个罪人会因为上帝的威怒而恐惧致死？反正我信。”
法官摸着下巴。语气里透着些许讽刺意味，轻声说：
“我亲爱的女士，根据我多年来的经验，以及我对犯罪案件的了解，天意总是把判决和惩罚的工作留给我们这些凡夫俗子来处理，这项工作总是困难重重，没有捷径。”
埃米莉•布伦特不以为然地耸耸肩。
布洛尔问：
“昨天晚上她上床以后吃过什么？喝过什么？”
阿姆斯特朗说：
“什么也没有。”
“没有吗？没喝过一杯茶、一杯水吗？我敢打赌说她喝过一杯茶。事情总是这样。”
“罗杰斯说她什么东西也没有吃过。”
“啊！”布洛尔说，“他肯定会这样说。”
他的语气如此坚决。阿姆斯特朗盯着他看了半天。
菲利普•隆巴德说：
“这样说来，你觉得她吃过别的东西？”
布洛尔粗鲁地反问道：
“怎么了，不可以吗？昨天晚上的指控我们大家都听见了。也许是空穴来风，血口喷人！但话说回来，也不是毫无可能！假设控告是真的，罗杰斯和他太太谋杀了那个老太太。如果是真的，你怎么想？他们之前一直是心安理得——”
维拉打断了他，低声说：
“不对，我觉得罗杰斯太太并不是那么心安理得。”
布洛尔对别人打断自己的话感到不快。他瞥了她一眼，似乎在说“真是多嘴”。
他继续说：
“那也有可能。但他们本来认为自己目前没有什么危险。然而，昨天晚上，那个不知名的疯子把他们干的丑事大白于天下。结果怎么样？那个女人被吓坏了。你们注意到了吗？
她刚刚苏醒的时候，她丈夫在她身边有什么反应？他根本没表现出作为丈夫应有的关心！
一丁点儿也没有！相反，他就像热锅上的蚂蚁，怕得要死，生怕她会说出些什么来。
“所以，请各位好好想一想！他们杀人后成功脱身，但是万一整件事不小心被抖出来，结果会怎么样？那个女人十有八九会认罪，因为她没有那个胆量抗过去。她就是一个……对她丈夫来说，她就是一个定时炸弹。这个男人的心理素质肯定没问题，就算在上帝面前撒谎，他也不会脸红。可是他无法控制这个女人。要是她被击垮了，他也自身难保！所以，他就在茶里下了药，让她把嘴巴永远闭上。”
阿姆斯特朗慢慢地说：
“她床边没有空杯子，我检查过了，什么也没有。”
布洛尔对这话嗤之以鼻：
“当然没有。她喝完茶，罗杰斯肯定第一时间就把杯子拿走，仔细洗干净了。”
一阵沉默。
麦克阿瑟将军表示怀疑：
“也许是这样。但是我很难相信，一个男人竟然会对自己妻子做出这种事！”
布洛尔嘿嘿一笑，说：
“要是一个男人连自己的命都要保不住了，哪儿还顾得上什么夫妻之情。”
又是一阵尴尬。没有人讲话。门开了。罗杰斯走了进来。
他一边说，一边扫视每一个人，说：
“各位还需要吃些什么吗？面包准备得少了点儿，真是抱歉，面包不够了，岸上的人还没有把新面包送来。”
瓦格雷夫法官先生挪了一下身子，他问道：
“船一般什么时候来？”
“七点到八点之间，先生。有时候八点过几分。不知道弗雷德•纳拉科特今天早上干什么去了。如果他生病，他也会派别的兄弟来。”
菲利普•隆巴德问：
“现在几点了？”
“十点差十分，先生。”
隆巴德挑了挑眉毛，慢慢点着头。
罗杰斯等待着。
过了一两分钟，麦克阿瑟将军突然说：
“关于你太太的事，我很遗憾。医生刚才告诉了我们这件事。”
罗杰斯低下了头。
“谢谢你，先生。”
他拿起装咸肉的空盘子，走出去了。
又是一阵沉默。
3菲利普•隆巴德站在外面的露台上说：
“这只摩托艇——”
布洛尔看着他，然后点点头，说：
“我知道你在想什么，隆巴德。我也在问自己同样的问题：船应该在两个小时之前就到了。但它没到，对吧？这是为什么？”
“你想到答案了吗？”隆巴德问。
“我觉得，这一点儿也不奇怪。这是一场戏，和整件事都是联系在一起的。”
隆巴德说：
“那么，你觉得船不会来了？”
忽然，他们两人身后响起了一个声音：
“船不会来了。”
布洛尔微微转过宽厚的肩膀，若有所思地看着说话的人。
“你也这样想吗，将军？”
麦克阿瑟将军显得很不耐烦，大声说：
“船当然不会来了。我们都盼望着船把我们从岛上带走。可这座岛才是主角。也就是说，我们谁都离不开这座小岛了，谁也别想离开——这就是结局，这就是我们的终点。”
他犹豫着，过了一会儿，用一种低沉、神秘的声音说：
“这就是平静——真正的平静。万物归隐，不再继续躲藏……对，这就是平静。”
他猛然转身离去。沿着露台走下斜坡，踉踉跄跄地向海的方向走去，一直走到岛的尽头。在那里，稀疏的礁石一直伸进大海。
他步履蹒跚，像是在梦游。
布洛尔说：
“又一个心怀鬼胎的人！看来，最后这些人都会被搞成这副德行！”
隆巴德说：
“我不相信你也会变成这样，布洛尔！”
布洛尔笑了起来。
“要让我魂不守舍，可没那么容易。”他接着又说，“我觉得你肯定也不会这样，隆巴德先生。”
隆巴德说：
“借你吉言。我觉得自己现在好得很。”
4阿姆斯特朗医生走到露台上，停住脚，迟疑了一会儿。布洛尔和隆巴德站在他左边，瓦格雷夫站在右边，正低着头踱来踱去。
阿姆斯特朗想了想，便向瓦格雷夫走去。
就在这时，罗杰斯急匆匆地从屋里走了出来。
“我能和你说句话吗，先生？”
阿姆斯特朗转过身去。
眼前这人的模样让他大吃一惊。
罗杰斯脸色灰白，嘴角抽搐，双手发抖。
和几分钟前那副镇定克制的神态相比，此刻的他好像变了一个人。阿姆斯特朗不由得大吃一惊。
“先生，请你到屋里来，听我说句话。”
阿姆斯特朗和失魂落魄的管家一起走回别墅。
他说：
“你镇定些！怎么了？”
“请到这边来，先生，这边。”
他打开餐厅的门。阿姆斯特朗走进去，罗杰斯紧随其后进去，随手拉上门。
“好吧，”阿姆斯特朗问道，“到底发生了什么事？”
罗杰斯喉咙发颤。他拼命咽着口水，一字一顿地说：
“这儿有个问题，先生，我实在搞不明白。”
阿姆斯特朗紧张地问：
“问题？什么问题？”
“你也许觉得我疯了，先生。你可能会说这没什么。但是，我真的搞不明白，先生。总得有人解释一下啊，这件事太奇怪了！”
“行了，你快告诉我到底有什么问题？别再说些没用的。”
罗杰斯又咽了咽口水，说：
“是那些小瓷人，先生。摆在桌子正中的那些小瓷人，一共有十个。本来应该是十个。
我发誓，本来一共有十个。”
阿姆斯特朗说：
“是啊，是十个。昨天晚上吃饭的时候大家数过了。”
罗杰斯凑过来。
“问题就在这儿，先生。昨天晚上我收拾桌子的时候，只有九个了。我当时就注意到了，也觉得有点儿奇怪。但无非就是有点儿奇怪，没再多想。今天早晨我摆桌子的时候，没注意这些小瓷人，因为我心里乱成一团麻。可是现在，先生，我正要收拾桌子，如果不信的话，请你自己看看吧。小瓷人只有八个了，先生！只有八个！这是怎么回事？只有八个了……”
Chapter 7
Chapter 7
IAfter breakfast, Emily Brent had suggested to Vera Claythorne that theyshould walk to the summit again and watch for the boat. Vera had acqui-esced.
The wind had freshened. Small white crests were appearing on the sea.
There were no fishing boats out—and no sign of the motor-boat.
The actual village of Sticklehaven could not be seen, only the hill aboveit, a jutting out cliff of red rock concealed the actual little bay.
Emily Brent said:
‘The man who brought us out yesterday seemed a dependable sort ofperson. It is really very odd that he should be so late this morning.’
Vera did not answer. She was fighting down a rising feeling of panic.
She said to herself angrily:
‘You must keep cool. This isn’t like you. You’ve always had excellentnerves.’
Aloud she said after a minute or two:
‘I wish he would come. I—I want to get away.’
Emily Brent said dryly:
‘I’ve no doubt we all do.’
Vera said:
‘It’s all so extraordinary…There seems no—no meaning in it all.’
The elderly woman beside her said briskly:
‘I’m very annoyed with myself for being so easily taken in. Really thatletter is absurd when one comes to examine it. But I had no doubts at thetime—none at all.’
Vera murmured mechanically: ‘I suppose not.’
‘One takes things for granted too much,’ said Emily Brent.
Vera drew a deep shuddering breath.
She said:
‘Do you really think—what you said at breakfast?’
‘Be a little more precise, my dear. To what in particular are you refer-ring?’
Vera said in a low voice:
‘Do you really think that Rogers and his wife did away with that oldlady?’
Emily Brent gazed thoughtfully out to sea. Then she said:
‘Personally, I am quite sure of it. What do you think?’
‘I don’t know what to think.’
Emily Brent said:
‘Everything goes to support the idea. The way the woman fainted. Andthe man dropped the coffee tray, remember. Then the way he spoke aboutit—it didn’t ring true. Oh, yes, I’m afraid they did it.’
Vera said:
‘The way she looked—scared of her own shadow! I’ve never seen a wo-man look so frightened…She must have been always haunted by it…’
Miss Brent murmured:
‘I remember a text that hung in my nursery as a child. “Be sure thy sinwill find thee out.” It’s very true, that. Be sure thy sin will find thee out.’
Vera scrambled to her feet. She said:
‘But, Miss Brent—Miss Brent—in that case—’
‘Yes, my dear?’
‘The others? What about the others?’
‘I don’t quite understand you.’
‘All the other accusations—they—they weren’t true? But if it’s true aboutthe Rogerses—’ She stopped, unable to make her chaotic thought clear.
Emily Brent’s brow, which had been frowning perplexedly, cleared.
She said:
‘Ah, I understand you now. Well, there is that Mr Lombard. He admits tohaving abandoned twenty men to their deaths.’
Vera said: ‘They were only natives…’
Emily Brent said sharply:
‘Black or white, they are our brothers.’
Vera thought:
‘Our black brothers—our black brothers. Oh, I’m going to laugh. I’m hys-terical. I’m not myself…’
Emily Brent continued thoughtfully.
‘Of course, some of the other accusations were very far fetched and ri-diculous. Against the judge, for instance, who was only doing his duty inhis public capacity. And the ex-Scotland Yard man. My own case, too.’
She paused and then went on:
‘Naturally, considering the circumstances, I was not going to say any-thing last night. It was not a fit subject to discuss before gentlemen.’
‘No?’
Vera listened with interest. Miss Brent continued serenely.
‘Beatrice Taylor was in service with me. Not a nice girl—as I found outtoo late. I was very much deceived in her. She had nice manners and wasvery clean and willing. I was very pleased with her. Of course, all that wasthe sheerest hypocrisy! She was a loose girl with no morals. Disgusting! Itwas some time before I found out that she was what they call “in trouble”.’
She paused, her delicate nose wrinkling itself in distaste. ‘It was a greatshock to me. Her parents were decent folk, too, who had brought her upvery strictly. I’m glad to say they did not condone her behaviour.’
Vera said, staring at Miss Brent:
‘What happened?’
‘Naturally I did not keep her an hour under my roof. No one shall eversay that I condoned immorality.’
Vera said in a lower voice:
‘What happened—to her?’
Miss Brent said:
‘The abandoned creature, not content with having one sin on her consci-ence, committed a still graver sin. She took her own life.’
Vera whispered, horror-struck:
‘She killed herself?’
‘Yes, she threw herself into the river.’
Vera shivered.
She stared at the calm delicate profile of Miss Brent. She said:
‘What did you feel like when you knew she’d done that? Weren’t yousorry? Didn’t you blame yourself?’
Emily Brent drew herself up.
‘I? I had nothing with which to reproach myself.’
Vera said:
‘But if your—hardness—drove her to it.’
Emily Brent said sharply:
‘Her own action—her own sin—that was what drove her to it. If she hadbehaved like a decent modest young woman none of this would havehappened.’
She turned her face to Vera. There was no self-reproach, no uneasinessin those eyes. They were hard and self-righteous. Emily Brent sat on thesummit of Soldier Island, encased in her own armour of virtue.
The little elderly spinster was no longer slightly ridiculous to Vera.
Suddenly—she was terrible.
II
Dr Armstrong came out of the dining-room and once more came out onthe terrace.
The judge was sitting in a chair now, gazing placidly out to sea.
Lombard and Blore were over to the left, smoking but not talking.
As before, the doctor hesitated for a moment. His eye rested speculat-ively on Mr Justice Wargrave. He wanted to consult with someone. He wasconscious of the judge’s acute logical brain. But nevertheless, he wavered.
Mr Justice Wargrave might have a good brain but he was an elderly man.
At this juncture, Armstrong felt what was needed was a man of action.
He made up his mind.
‘Lombard, can I speak to you for a minute?’
Philip started.
‘Of course.’
The two men left the terrace. They strolled down the slope towards thewater. When they were out of earshot Armstrong said:
‘I want a consultation.’
Lombard’s eyebrows went up. He said:
‘My dear fellow, I’ve no medical knowledge.’
‘No, no, I mean as to the general situation.’
‘Oh, that’s different.’
Armstrong said:
‘Frankly, what do you think of the position?’
Lombard reflected a minute. Then he said:
‘It’s rather suggestive, isn’t it?’
‘What are your ideas on the subject of that woman? Do you acceptBlore’s theory?’
Philip puffed smoke into the air. He said:
‘It’s perfectly feasible—taken alone.’
‘Exactly.’
Armstrong’s tone sounded relieved. Philip Lombard was no fool.
The latter went on:
‘That is, accepting the premise that Mr and Mrs Rogers have successfullygot away with murder in their time. And I don’t see why they shouldn’t.
What do you think they did exactly? Poisoned the old lady?’
Armstrong said slowly:
‘It might be simpler than that. I asked Rogers this morning what thisMiss Brady had suffered from. His answer was enlightening. I don’t needto go into medical details, but in a certain form of cardiac trouble, amyl ni-trite is used. When an attack comes on an ampoule of amyl nitrite isbroken and it is inhaled. If amyl nitrite were withheld—well, the conse-quences might easily be fatal.’
Philip Lombard said thoughtfully:
‘As simple as that. It must have been—rather tempting.’
The doctor nodded.
‘Yes, no positive action. No arsenic to obtain and administer—nothingdefinite—just—negation! And Rogers hurried through the night to fetch adoctor and they both felt confident that no one could ever know.’
‘And even if any one knew, nothing could ever be proved against them,’
added Philip Lombard.
He frowned suddenly.
‘Of course—that explains a good deal.’
Armstrong said, puzzled:
‘I beg your pardon.’
Lombard said:
‘I mean — it explains Soldier Island. There are crimes that cannot bebrought home to their perpetrators. Instance the Rogerses’. Another in-stance, old Wargrave, who committed his murder strictly within the law.’
Armstrong said sharply: ‘You believe that story?’
Philip Lombard smiled.
‘Oh, yes, I believe it. Wargrave murdered Edward Seton all right,murdered him as surely as if he’d stuck a stiletto through him! But he wasclever enough to do it from the judge’s seat in wig and gown. So in the or-dinary way you can’t bring his little crime home to him.’
A sudden flash passed like lightning through Armstrong’s mind.
‘Murder in Hospital. Murder on the Operating-table. Safe—yes, safe ashouses!’
Philip Lombard was saying:
‘Hence—Mr Owen—hence—Soldier Island!’
Armstrong drew a deep breath.
‘Now we’re getting down to it. What’s the real purpose of getting us allhere?’
Philip Lombard said:
‘What do you think?’
Armstrong said abruptly:
‘Let’s go back a minute to this woman’s death. What are the possible the-ories? Rogers killed her because he was afraid she would give the showaway. Second possibility: she lost her nerve and took an easy way out her-self.’
Philip Lombard said:
‘Suicide, eh?’
‘What do you say to that?’
Lombard said:
‘It could have been—yes—if it hadn’t been for Marston’s death. Two sui-cides within twelve hours is a little too much to swallow! And if you tellme that Anthony Marston, a young bull with no nerves and precious littlebrains, got the wind up over having mowed down a couple of kids and de-liberately put himself out of the way—well, the idea’s laughable! And any-way, how did he get hold of the stuff? From all I’ve ever heard, potassiumcyanide isn’t the kind of stuff you take about with you in your waistcoatpocket. But that’s your line of country.’
Armstrong said:
‘Nobody in their senses carries potassium cyanide. It might be done bysomeone who was going to take a wasps’ nest.’
‘The ardent gardener or landowner, in fact? Again, not Anthony Mar-ston. It strikes me that that cyanide is going to need a bit of explaining.
Either Anthony Marston meant to do away with himself before he camehere, and therefore came prepared—or else—’
Armstrong prompted him.
‘Or else?’
Philip Lombard grinned.
‘Why make me say it? When it’s on the tip of your own tongue. AnthonyMarston was murdered, of course.’
III
Dr Armstrong drew a deep breath.
‘And Mrs Rogers?’
Lombard said slowly:
‘I could believe in Anthony’s suicide (with difficulty) if it weren’t for MrsRogers. I could believe in Mrs Rogers’ suicide (easily) if it weren’t for An-thony Marston. I can believe that Rogers put his wife out of the way—if itwere not for the unexpected death of Anthony Marston. But what we needis a theory to explain two deaths following rapidly on each other.’
Armstrong said:
‘I can perhaps give you some help towards that theory.’
And he repeated the facts that Rogers had given him about the disap-pearance of the two little china figures.
Lombard said:
‘Yes, little china figures…There were certainly ten last night at dinner.
And now there are eight, you say?’
Dr Armstrong recited:
‘Ten little soldier boys going out to dine;
One went and choked himself and then there were Nine.
‘Nine little soldier boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were Eight.’
The two men looked at each other. Philip Lombard grinned and flungaway his cigarette.
‘Fits too damned well to be a coincidence! Anthony Marston dies of as-phyxiation or choking last night after dinner, and Mother Rogers over-sleeps herself with a vengeance.’
‘And therefore?’ said Armstrong.
Lombard took him up.
‘And therefore another kind of soldier. The Unknown Soldier! X! MrOwen! U. N. Owen! One Unknown Lunatic at Large!’
‘Ah!’ Armstrong breathed a sigh of relief. ‘You agree. But you see what itinvolves? Rogers swore that there was no one but ourselves and he andhis wife on the island.’
‘Rogers is wrong! Or possibly Rogers is lying!’
Armstrong shook his head.
‘I don’t think he’s lying. The man’s scared. He’s scared nearly out of hissenses.’
Philip Lombard nodded.
He said:
‘No motor-boat this morning. That fits in. Mr Owen’s little arrangementsagain to the fore. Soldier Island is to be isolated until Mr Owen has fin-ished his job.’
Armstrong had gone pale. He said:
‘You realize—the man must be a raving maniac!’
Philip Lombard said, and there was a new ring in his voice:
‘There’s one thing Mr Owen didn’t realize.’
‘What’s that?’
‘This island’s more or less a bare rock. We shall make short work ofsearching it. We’ll soon ferret out U. N. Owen, Esq.’
Dr Armstrong said warningly:
‘He’ll be dangerous.’
Philip Lombard laughed.
‘Dangerous? Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf? I’ll be dangerous when Iget hold of him!’
He paused and said:
‘We’d better rope in Blore to help us. He’ll be a good man in a pinch. Bet-ter not tell the women. As for the others, the General’s ga-ga, I think, andold Wargrave’s forte is masterly inactivity. The three of us can attend tothis job.’
第七章
第七章
1吃过早餐，布伦特叫上维拉和她一起去岛的最高处，看看船来了没有。维拉同意了。
海风清新，海面上泛起白色的浪花。既看不到出海的渔船，也没有摩托艇的踪影。
对岸的斯蒂克尔黑文小村此时也看不清楚，只能看到高处山坡的轮廓，那是一块突兀的红色岩石，与狭窄的海湾形成鲜明对比。
埃米莉•布伦特说：
“昨天开船送我们过来的人看起来就靠不住。今天上午都这么晚了他还不来，真是奇怪。”
维拉没说什么。她正在努力克制自己越来越惊慌不安的情绪。
她暗暗生气，对自己说：
“必须保持冷静。现在这副样子都不像我自己了，我不是总能把自己控制得很好吗？”
等了一会儿，她说：
“希望他会开船来接我们。我……我真想离开这儿。”
埃米莉•布伦特面无表情地说：
“我打赌没人不想离开这里。”
维拉说：
“这一切都太诡异了，乱成一团。”
上了年纪的埃米莉•布伦特突然自言自语道：
“我真后悔，怎么就轻易上了当。只要稍微动脑子想一下，就能发现那封信其实荒唐至极。可是，当时我竟然不假思索，深信不疑。”
维拉木然回应着：
“我也是。”
“我太想当然了。”埃米莉•布伦特说。
维拉战战兢兢地倒吸一口气，说：
“你真的认为——就像你刚才在餐厅里说的那样？”
“亲爱的，你把话说明白点儿，你想说什么？”
维拉低声说：
“你真的认为是罗杰斯和他太太杀害了那位老太太？”
埃米莉•布伦特若有所思地凝望着海的另一边。过了一会儿，她说：
“我个人认为一定是这样。你觉得呢？”
“我不知道。”
埃米莉•布伦特说：
“发生的一切都证明了我的想法。罗杰斯太太晕过去了，而她丈夫失手摔掉了咖啡盘，记得吗？还有他的解释，一听就是假的。我看啊，就是他们做的。”
维拉说：
“可是她的样子，看起来连自己的影子都害怕！我还从来没见过一个如此惊慌的女人。
一定是有什么东西无时无刻不在折磨着她……”
布伦特小姐喃喃道：
“我还记得，我在上幼儿园时，墙上挂着《圣经》里的一句话‘罪恶终将受惩罚’。说得没错，罪恶终将受惩罚。”
维拉站了起来，说：
“那么，布伦特小姐……布伦特小姐，这么说——”
“怎么了，亲爱的？”
“其他人呢？其他人是怎么回事？”
“我不太明白你的意思。”
“针对其他人的控告……难道……难道也是真的？但是，要说罗杰斯夫妇的罪行是真的，那么——”她说不下去了，脑子太乱了，没办法说清楚。
布伦特紧锁的眉头舒展开来。
“啊，我明白你的意思了。比如说那位隆巴德先生，他承认自己留下二十一个人活活饿死。”
维拉说：
“他们只不过是土著——”
布伦特尖锐地指出：
“不管是黑人还是白人，都是我们的兄弟。”
维拉心想：
“我们的黑人兄弟，我们的黑人兄弟！天哪，我要放声大笑，我要疯了，我简直不知道自己是谁……”
埃米莉•布伦特沉思片刻，继续说：
“当然，有些指控完全是胡说八道，荒谬可笑。比如指责法官的那条，他只不过是例行公事，履行自己的职责而已。还有针对那个以前在苏格兰场供职的男人和针对我的指控，都是空穴来风。”
她停了一下，继续说：
“昨天晚上，当着一群男人的面，我没打算解释，有些话不方便说出口。”
“什么话不方便说出口？”
维拉听得入神，布伦特小姐从容地说：
“比阿特丽斯•泰勒是我的用人，但她是个不检点的姑娘，可惜我发觉得太晚了。我完全看走眼了，因为她的工作表现好极了，爱干净，又懂事，所以我很宠爱她。当然，这一切都是她装出来的。她是个放荡的女人。真叫人恶心！很长时间之后，我才发现她确实像别人所说的那样‘有麻烦了’。”她停了一下，皱起漂亮的鼻子，表现出不屑的样子，“她真是让我大吃一惊。她父母也都是规规矩矩的人，对她的家教很严格。有一点我还比较满意，至少她父母对此没有听之任之。”
维拉盯着布伦特小姐的眼睛，问：
“后来出了什么事？”
“我家里她自然是一分钟也待不下去了，我可不愿意让别人说我包庇不守妇道的人。”
维拉低声问：
“后来……她怎么了？”
布伦特说：
“那个被上帝抛弃的女人，居然还嫌自己的罪孽不够深，自寻短见了。”
维拉大惊失色，声音更加微弱。
“她自杀了？”
“对，跳河。”
维拉浑身发抖。
她呆呆地看着布伦特小姐平静的脸，说：
“你得知她自杀以后，心里是怎么想的？你后悔吗？谴责过自己吗？”
埃米莉•布伦特把身子摆正。
“我？我为什么要谴责自己？”
维拉说：
“如果她是因为你——你的铁石心肠——被逼自杀的话——”
埃米莉•布伦特恶狠狠地说：
“她自作自受，咎由自取，要是她老老实实，恪守妇道，这些事情压根儿也就不会发生了。”
她转过来面对维拉，眼神坦然，毫无愧疚，显得冷酷又自信。埃米莉•布伦特站在士兵岛的最高处，用道德这层盔甲将自己裹得严严实实。
刹那间，维拉觉得眼前这个小个子女人不是不可理喻，而是让她感到害怕！
2阿姆斯特朗医生从餐厅出来，走回露台。
瓦格雷夫法官坐在一把椅子里，安逸地眺望着大海。隆巴德和布洛尔在左边抽烟，默不作声。
阿姆斯特朗迟疑了一会儿，目光落在瓦格雷夫法官身上。他心里的疑团需要找个人帮忙一起解开。法官的思维能力他是知道的，既逻辑清晰又反应迅速。但他还是犹豫要不要找瓦格雷夫搭话，毕竟他年事已高，而眼下，阿姆斯特朗需要的帮手应该是雷厉风行的年轻人。
他有了人选。
“隆巴德，借一步说话？”
隆巴德大吃一惊。
“好吧。”
于是，两人一起离开露台。他们走下斜坡，朝海边走去。走到没人能听到他们俩说话的地方，阿姆斯特朗开口道：
“我们应该做一下会诊。”
隆巴德皱着眉头说：
“朋友，我可不懂医术。”
“不，不，我是说把岛上的情况汇总分析一下。”
“啊，那倒是可以。”
阿姆斯特朗医生说：
“坦白说，你怎么看眼下的状况？”
隆巴德想了想才说：
“你话中另有玄机吧？”
“关于那个女人的事，你怎么看？你同意布洛尔的说法吗？”
菲利普抬头吐了口烟，说：
“她的事嘛，我觉得说得没错。”
“这样啊。”
阿姆斯特朗似乎松了一口气。-•隆巴德可不傻。
隆巴德继续说：
“假设罗杰斯夫妇很顺利地把布雷迪小姐谋杀了，其实，我觉得这本来也不是什么难办的事。你说说，你觉得他们具体是怎么下手的呢？是给那位老太太下了毒吗？”
阿姆斯特朗医生慢悠悠地说：
“也许比下毒还容易。今天早晨我问罗杰斯，问他知不知道那位布雷迪小姐得的是什么病。从他的话里听得出来，她得的并不是什么疑难杂症，是比较常见的心脏病，需要常备亚硝酸异戊酯，犯病的时候，就吸一支。假如她犯病的时候不及时用药，就可以轻轻松松地送她上天堂了。”
菲利普•隆巴德若有所思，说：
“原来就是这样简单，难怪他们动了邪念。”
阿姆斯特朗医生点了点头。
“是啊，他们不用主动去犯罪，也不用准备砒霜之类的毒药，什么都不用，只需要袖手旁观，就可以把她置于死地！而且罗杰斯当晚还连夜去请医生，他们相信这么做就不会惹人怀疑。”
“而且就算有人知道真相，也不能拿他们怎么样。”菲利普•隆巴德补充说。
他忽然皱起眉头。
“这么说来，情况就很清楚了。”
阿姆斯特朗没听懂这句话，问：
“你说什么？”
隆巴德说：
“我的意思是，终于搞清楚这些人来到士兵岛的原因。有些犯罪行为处于法律的灰色地带，罗杰斯夫妇就是一个例子。还有瓦格雷夫法官，他就是利用职权，在法律的框架内杀人。”
阿姆斯特朗急忙说：
“你相信他的事？”
菲利普•隆巴德笑了起来：
“没错，我相信。瓦格雷夫杀了爱德华•塞顿，毫无疑问，就像他用刀血淋淋地捅了塞顿一样。但是他聪明狡猾，身披法袍，手持法典，端坐在法庭之上，正是所谓的杀人不见血！因此，如果按照正常法律程序，能够给他定罪吗？”
突然，一个念头像闪电一样在阿姆斯特朗脑海里划过：
“在手术台上杀人，无异于借刀杀人。安全保险。没错，像在自己家里睡觉一样安全！”
菲利普•隆巴德继续说着：
“所以说，那个所谓的欧文先生——这座士兵岛！”
阿姆斯特朗深吸一口气。
“好吧，我们干脆现在把所有事都想通。把大家都骗到岛上的人，究竟打算做什么？”
菲利普•隆巴德说：
“你认为呢？”
阿姆斯特朗立刻说：
“我们不如将谈话拉回到那个女人身上。她为什么会死？有几种可能？是罗杰斯怕她露馅而杀了她？还是别有原因：她神志不清，自寻短见？”
菲利普•隆巴德说：
“自杀，嗯？”
“你觉得呢？”
隆巴德说：
“是有这种可能——对，如果在这之前马斯顿没有死的话，我们可以这样认为。不过，在不到十二个小时内有两个人相继自杀，实在让人难以接受。况且，如果你告诉我，说有个名叫安东尼•马斯顿的小伙子年轻富有，不知天高地厚，整天无忧无虑，仅仅因为开车撞死了两个孩子，就内疚地自杀抵命……这解释不通！听起来就滑稽！就算他真的是自杀，那么毒药又是从哪儿弄来的呢？据我所知，不会有人在旅行时把氰化钾随便塞进行李，这一点你比我更明白。”
阿姆斯特朗说：
“头脑正常的人怎么可能随身带着氰化钾？除非是打算用来清除花园里的马蜂窝。”
“那就是说，园丁或者花园的主人有可能随身带着氰化钾？安东尼•马斯顿显然不是这种人。我死活也想不通氰化物这个问题。所以说，若不是安东尼•马斯顿有备而来，打算在这里自杀，那就是——”
阿姆斯特朗追问道：
“要不就是？”
隆巴德咧开嘴一乐：
“你为什么非等我把话说出口？后半句话不就在你自己嘴边了吗？安东尼•马斯顿显然是被人谋杀了。”
3阿姆斯特朗医生深吸了一口气。
“那么罗杰斯太太的死是怎么回事？”
隆巴德慢慢分析道：
“假如没有发生罗杰斯太太这件事，尽管有很多疑点，我也可能相信安东尼是自杀的。
反言之，假如没有发生安东尼•马斯顿这件事，我完全会相信罗杰斯太太是自杀的。假如安东尼的死亡不是这样蹊跷，我没准儿会相信是罗杰斯杀死了自己的妻子。但现在接连发生了两起死亡事件，那就需要找出其中的联系。”
阿姆斯特朗说：
“我也许能帮你搞清楚这个问题。”
于是，他把罗杰斯告诉他的两个小士兵玩偶失踪的事重复了一遍。
隆巴德说：
“对了，小士兵……昨天晚上吃饭的时候肯定有十个。现在只有八个了？”
阿姆斯特朗医生背诵起来：
“十个小士兵，出门打牙祭；
不幸噎住喉，十个只剩九。
九个小士兵，秉烛到夜半；
清早叫不答，九个只剩八。”
两个人交换了一个眼神，菲利普•隆巴德露齿一笑，扔掉手里的烟头。
“再也没有比这更巧的事了！见鬼！昨天吃完了晚饭，安东尼•马斯顿呛死——或者说是噎死了，而罗杰斯太太的确是睡着以后，再也叫不醒了。”
“所以呢？”阿姆斯特朗说。
隆巴德紧接着说：
“所以还会有下一个小士兵消失！欧文先生！尤•纳•欧文。一个神出鬼没的狂徒！”
“啊！”阿姆斯特朗吸了一口气，放松下来。他说：
“你也这么想。然而，还有一个问题：罗杰斯发誓说，岛上除了我们、他本人以及他妻子以外，再没有别人了。”
“罗杰斯说错了！而且，罗杰斯可能在撒谎！”
阿姆斯特朗摇摇头。
“我认为他没有撒谎。他害怕得要死！简直要被吓疯了。”
菲利普•隆巴德点点头。
“今天上午不会有船来接我们回去了。这一点也不难想通，一定又是欧文先生的精心安排。士兵岛想必会一直与世隔绝，直到欧文先生把所有恩怨了结为止。”
阿姆斯特朗面无血色，说：
“你觉得这个人是杀人狂？”
隆巴德忽然换了一种口气：
“不过有一点，这个欧文先生肯定没有料到。”
“什么？”
“说到底，这座岛无非是一块光秃秃的礁石。我们迅速行动，彻底把这座岛搜查一遍，马上就可以把尤•纳•欧文先生找出来。”
阿姆斯特朗医生警告他说：
“他可是个危险人物！”
隆巴德大笑起来：
“危险人物？我会害怕大灰狼吗？要是让我抓住他，我就是他眼中的危险人物！”
他顿了顿，说：
“我们最好让布洛尔也参与行动，关键时刻他能帮上忙。这件事最好不要让女人知道。
至于其他人，将军太老了，瓦格雷夫也指望不上。就我们三人行动吧。”
Chapter 8
Chapter 8
IBlore was easily roped in. He expressed immediate agreement with theirarguments.
‘What you’ve said about those china figures, sir, makes all the differ-ence. That’s crazy, that is! There’s only one thing. You don’t think thisOwen’s idea might be to do the job by proxy, as it were?’
‘Explain yourself, man.’
‘Well, I mean like this. After the racket last night this young Marstongets the wind up and poisons himself. And Rogers, he gets the wind up tooand bumps off his wife! All according to U.N.O’s plan.’
Armstrong shook his head. He stressed the point about the cyanide.
Blore agreed.
‘Yes, I’d forgotten that. Not a natural thing to be carrying about withyou. But how did it get into his drink, sir?’
Lombard said:
‘I’ve been thinking about that. Marston had several drinks that night.
Between the time he had his last one and the time he finished the one be-fore it, there was quite a gap. During that time his glass was lying about onsome table or other. I think—though I can’t be sure, it was on the littletable near the window. The window was open. Somebody could haveslipped a dose of the cyanide into the glass.’
Blore said unbelievingly:
‘Without our all seeing him, sir?’
Lombard said dryly:
‘We were all—rather concerned elsewhere.’
Armstrong said slowly:
‘That’s true. We’d all been attacked. We were walking about, movingabout the room. Arguing, indignant, intent on our own business. I think itcould have been done…’
Blore shrugged his shoulders.
‘Fact is, it must have been done! Now then, gentlemen, let’s make a start.
Nobody’s got a revolver, by any chance? I suppose that’s too much to hopefor.’
Lombard said:
‘I’ve got one.’ He patted his pocket.
Blore’s eyes opened very wide. He said in an over-casual tone:
‘Always carry that about with you, sir?’
Lombard said:
‘Usually. I’ve been in some tight places, you know.’
‘Oh,’ said Blore and added: ‘Well, you’ve probably never been in atighter place than you are today! If there’s a lunatic hiding on this island,he’s probably got a young arsenal on him—to say nothing of a knife ordagger or two.’
Armstrong coughed.
‘You may be wrong there, Blore. Many homicidal lunatics are very quietunassuming people. Delightful fellows.’
Blore said:
‘I don’t feel this one is going to be of that kind, Dr Armstrong.’
II
The three men started on their tour of the island.
It proved unexpectedly simple. On the north- west side, towards thecoast, the cliffs fell sheer to the sea below, their surface unbroken.
On the rest of the island there were no trees and very little cover. Thethree men worked carefully and methodically, beating up and down fromthe highest point to the water’s edge, narrowly scanning the least irregu-larity in the rock which might point to the entrance to a cave. But therewere no caves.
They came at last, skirting the water’s edge, to where General Macar-thur sat looking out to sea. It was very peaceful here with the lap of thewaves breaking over the rocks. The old man sat very upright, his eyesfixed on the horizon.
He paid no attention to the approach of the searchers. His oblivion ofthem made one at least faintly uncomfortable.
Blore thought to himself:
‘’Tisn’t natural—looks as though he’d gone into a trance or something.’
He cleared his throat and said in a would-be conversational tone:
‘Nice peaceful spot you’ve found for yourself, sir.’
The General frowned. He cast a quick look over his shoulder. He said:
‘There is so little time—so little time. I really must insist that no one dis-turbs me.’
Blore said genially:
‘We won’t disturb you. We’re just making a tour of the island so tospeak. Just wondered, you know, if someone might be hiding on it.’
The General frowned and said:
‘You don’t understand—you don’t understand at all. Please go away.’
Blore retreated. He said, as he joined the other two:
‘He’s crazy…It’s no good talking to him.’
Lombard asked with some curiosity:
‘What did he say?’
Blore shrugged his shoulders.
‘Something about there being no time and that he didn’t want to be dis-turbed.’
Dr Armstrong frowned.
He murmured:
‘I wonder now…’
III
The search of the island was practically completed. The three men stoodon the highest point looking over towards the mainland. There were noboats out. The wind was freshening.
Lombard said:
‘No fishing boats out. There’s a storm coming. Damned nuisance youcan’t see the village from here. We could signal or do something.’
Blore said:
‘We might light a bonfire tonight.’
Lombard said, frowning:
‘The devil of it is that that’s all probably been provided for.’
‘In what way, sir?’
‘How do I know? Practical joke, perhaps. We’re to be marooned here, noattention is to be paid to signals, etc. Possibly the village has been toldthere’s a wager on. Some damn’ fool story anyway.’
Blore said dubiously:
‘Think they’d swallow that?’
Lombard said dryly:
‘It’s easier of belief than the truth! If the village were told that the islandwas to be isolated until Mr Unknown Owen had quietly murdered all hisguests—do you think they’d believe that?’
Dr Armstrong said:
‘There are moments when I can’t believe it myself. And yet—’
Philip Lombard, his lips curling back from his teeth said:
‘And yet—that’s just it! You’ve said it, doctor!’
Blore was gazing down into the water.
He said:
‘Nobody could have clambered down here, I suppose?’
Armstrong shook his head.
‘I doubt it. It’s pretty sheer. And where could he hide?’
Blore said:
‘There might be a hole in the cliff. If we had a boat now, we could rowround the island.’
Lombard said:
‘If we had a boat, we’d all be halfway to the mainland by now!’
‘True enough, sir.’
Lombard said suddenly:
‘We can make sure of this cliff. There’s only one place where there couldbe a recess—just a little to the right below here. If you fellows can get holdof a rope, you can let me down to make sure.’
Blore said:
‘Might as well be sure. Though it seems absurd—on the face of it! I’ll seeif I can get hold of something.’
He started off briskly down to the house.
Lombard stared up at the sky. The clouds were beginning to mass them-selves together. The wind was increasing.
He shot a sideways look at Armstrong. He said:
‘You’re very silent, doctor. What are you thinking?’
Armstrong said slowly:
‘I was wondering exactly how mad old Macarthur was…’
IV
Vera had been restless all the morning. She had avoided Emily Brent witha kind of shuddering aversion.
Miss Brent herself had taken a chair just round the corner of the houseso as to be out of the wind. She sat there knitting.
Every time Vera thought of her she seemed to see a pale drowned facewith seaweed entangled in the hair…A face that had once been pretty—impudently pretty perhaps—and which was now beyond the reach of pityor terror.
And Emily Brent, placid and righteous, sat knitting.
On the main terrace, Mr Justice Wargrave sat huddled in a porter’schair. His head was poked down well into his neck.
When Vera looked at him, she saw a man standing in the dock—a youngman with fair hair and blue eyes and a bewildered frightened face. Ed-ward Seton. And in imagination she saw the judge’s old hands put theblack cap on his head and begin to pronounce sentence…After a while Vera strolled slowly down to the sea. She walked along to-wards the extreme end of the island where an oldman sat staring out tothe horizon.
General Macarthur stirred at her approach. His head turned—there wasa queer mixture of questioning and apprehension in his look. It startledher. He stared intently at her for a minute or two.
She thought to herself:
‘How queer. It’s almost as though he knew…’
He said:
‘Ah, it’s you! You’ve come…’
Vera sat down beside him. She said:
‘Do you like sitting here looking out to sea?’
He nodded his head gently.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s pleasant. It’s a good place, I think, to wait.’
‘To wait?’ said Vera sharply. ‘What are you waiting for?’
He said gently:
‘The end. But I think you know that, don’t you? It’s true, isn’t it? We’reall waiting for the end.’
She said unsteadily:
‘What do you mean?’
General Macarthur said gravely:
‘None of us are going to leave the island. That’s the plan. You know it, ofcourse, perfectly. What, perhaps, you can’t understand is the relief!’
Vera said wonderingly:
‘The relief?’
He said:
‘Yes. Of course, you’re very young…you haven’t got to that yet. But itdoes come! The blessed relief when you know that you’ve done with it all—that you haven’t got to carry the burden any longer. You’ll feel that too,someday…’
Vera said hoarsely:
‘I don’t understand you.’
Her fingers worked spasmodically. She felt suddenly afraid of this quietold soldier.
He said musingly:
‘You see, I loved Leslie. I loved her very much…’
Vera said questioningly:
‘Was Leslie your wife?’
‘Yes, my wife…I loved her—and I was very proud of her. She was sopretty—and so gay.’
He was silent for a minute or two, then he said:
‘Yes, I loved Leslie. That’s why I did it.’
Vera said:
‘You mean—’ and paused.
General Macarthur nodded his head gently.
‘It’s not much good denying it now—not when we’re all going to die. Isent Richmond to his death. I suppose, in a way, it was murder. Curious.
Murder—and I’ve always been such a law-abiding man! But it didn’t seemlike that at the time. I had no regrets. “Serves him damned well right!”—that’s what I thought. But afterwards—’
In a hard voice, Vera said:
‘Well, afterwards?’
He shook his head vaguely. He looked puzzled and a little distressed.
‘I don’t know. I—don’t know. It was all different, you see. I don’t know ifLeslie ever guessed…I don’t think so. But, you see, I didn’t know about herany more. She’d gone far away where I couldn’t reach her. And then shedied—and I was alone…’
Vera said:
‘Alone—alone—’ and the echo of her voice came back to her from therocks.
General Macarthur said:
‘You’ll be glad, too, when the end comes.’
Vera got up. She said sharply:
‘I don’t know what you mean!’
He said:
‘I know, my child. I know…’
‘You don’t. You don’t understand at all…’
General Macarthur looked out to sea again. He seemed unconscious ofher presence behind him.
He said very gently and softly:
‘Leslie…?’
VWhen Blore returned from the house with a rope coiled over his arm, hefound Armstrong where he had left him staring down into the depths.
Blore said breathlessly:
‘Where’s Mr Lombard?’
Armstrong said carelessly:
‘Gone to test some theory or other. He’ll be back in a minute. Look here,Blore, I’m worried.’
‘I should say we were all worried.’
The doctor waved an impatient hand.
‘Of course—of course. I don’t mean it that way. I’m thinking of old Ma-carthur.’
‘What about him, sir?’
Dr Armstrong said grimly:
‘What we’re looking for is a madman. What price Macarthur?’
Blore said incredulously:
‘You mean he’s homicidal?’
Armstrong said doubtfully:
‘I shouldn’t have said so. Not for a minute. But, of course, I’m not a spe-cialist in mental diseases. I haven’t really had any conversation with him—I haven’t studied him from that point of view.’
Blore said doubtfully:
‘Ga-ga, yes! But I wouldn’t have said—’
Armstrong cut in with a slight effort as of a man who pulls himself to-gether.
‘You’re probably right! Damn it all, there must be someone hiding on theisland! Ah! here comes Lombard.’
They fastened the rope carefully.
Lombard said:
‘I’ll help myself all I can. Keep a lookout for a sudden strain on the rope.’
After a minute or two, while they stood together watching Lombard’sprogress, Blore said:
‘Climbs like a cat, doesn’t he?’
There was something odd in his voice.
Dr Armstrong said:
‘I should think he must have done some mountaineering in his time.’
‘Maybe.’
There was a silence and the ex-Inspector said:
‘Funny sort of cove altogether. D’you know what I think?’
‘What?’
‘He’s a wrong ’un!’
Armstrong said doubtfully:
‘In what way?’
Blore grunted. Then he said:
‘I don’t know—exactly. But I wouldn’t trust him a yard.’
Dr Armstrong said:
‘I suppose he’s led an adventurous life.’
Blore said:
‘I bet some of his adventures have had to be kept pretty dark.’ Hepaused and then went on: ‘Did you happen to bring a revolver along withyou, doctor?’
Armstrong stared.
‘Me? Good Lord, no. Why should I?’
Blore said:
‘Why did Mr Lombard?’
Armstrong said doubtfully:
‘I suppose—habit.’
Blore snorted.
A sudden pull came on the rope. For some moments they had theirhands full. Presently, when the strain relaxed, Blore said:
‘There are habits and habits! Mr Lombard takes a revolver to out of theway places, right enough, and a primus and a sleeping-bag and a supply ofbug powder no doubt! But habit wouldn’t make him bring the whole outfitdown here! It’s only in books people carry revolvers around as a matter ofcourse.’
Dr Armstrong shook his head perplexedly.
They leaned over and watched Lombard’s progress. His search wasthorough and they could see at once that it was futile. Presently he cameup over the edge of the cliff. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘We’re up against it. It’s the house or nowhere.’
VI
The house was easily searched. They went through the few outbuildingsfirst and then turned their attention to the building itself. Mrs Rogers’ yardmeasure discovered in the kitchen dresser assisted them. But there wereno hidden spaces left unaccounted for. Everything was plain and straight-forward, a modern structure devoid of concealments. They went throughthe ground floor first. As they mounted to the bedroom floor, they sawthrough the landing window Rogers carrying out a tray of cocktails to theterrace.
Philip Lombard said lightly:
‘Wonderful animal, the good servant. Carries on with an impassivecountenance.’
Armstrong said appreciatively:
‘Rogers is a first-class butler, I’ll say that for him!’
Blore said:
‘His wife was a pretty good cook, too. That dinner—last night—’
They turned in to the first bedroom.
Five minutes later they faced each other on the landing. No one hiding—no possible hiding-place.
Blore said:
‘There’s a little stair here.’
Dr Armstrong said:
‘It leads up to the servants’ room.’
Blore said:
‘There must be a place under the roof—for cisterns, water tank, etc. It’sthe best chance—and the only one!’
And it was then, as they stood there, that they heard the sound fromabove. A soft furtive footfall overhead.
They all heard it. Armstrong grasped Blore’s arm. Lombard held up anadmonitory finger.
‘Quiet—listen.’
It came again—someone moving softly, furtively, overhead.
Armstrong whispered:
‘He’s actually in the bedroom itself. The room where Mrs Rogers’ bodyis.’
Blore whispered back:
‘Of course! Best hiding-place he could have chosen! Nobody likely to gothere. Now then—quiet as you can.’
They crept stealthily upstairs.
On the little landing outside the door of the bedroom they paused again.
Yes, someone was in the room. There was a faint creak from within.
Blore whispered:
‘Now.’
He flung open the door and rushed in, the other two close behind him.
Then all three stopped dead.
Rogers was in the room, his hands full of garments.
VII
Blore recovered himself first. He said:
‘Sorry—er—Rogers. Heard someone moving about in here, and thought—well—’
He stopped.
Rogers said:
‘I’m sorry, gentlemen. I was just moving my things. I take it there will beno objection if I take one of the vacant guest chambers on the floor below?
The smallest room.’
It was to Armstrong that he spoke and Armstrong replied:
‘Of course. Of course. Get on with it.’
He avoided looking at the sheeted figure lying on the bed.
Rogers said:
‘Thank you, sir.’
He went out of the room with his arm full of belongings and went downthe stairs to the floor below.
Armstrong moved over to the bed and, lifting the sheet, looked down onthe peaceful face of the dead woman. There was no fear there now. Justemptiness.
Armstrong said:
‘Wish I’d got my stuff here. I’d like to know what drug it was.’
Then he turned to the other two.
‘Let’s get finished. I feel it in my bones we’re not going to find anything.’
Blore was wrestling with the bolts of a low manhole.
He said:
‘That chap moves damned quietly. A minute or two ago we saw him inthe garden. None of us heard him come upstairs.’
Lombard said:
‘I suppose that’s why we assumed it must be a stranger moving about uphere.’
Blore disappeared into a cavernous darkness. Lombard pulled a torchfrom his pocket and followed.
Five minutes later three men stood on an upper landing and looked ateach other. They were dirty and festooned with cobwebs and their faceswere grim.
There was no one on the island but their eight selves.
第八章
第八章
1他们与布洛尔一拍即合，布洛尔立刻对他们的计划表示同意。
“既然你们提到了小士兵玩偶的事，就说明问题绝对不简单，先生们。没错，这太邪门了！不过还有一个问题。关于目前为止发生的一切，你们是不是认为这个欧文的作案手法是在幕后操纵，暗中掌控一切？”
“把话说清楚点儿，老兄。”
“听着，我的意思是这样：尤•纳•欧文昨天晚上略施小计，马斯顿先生就中了圈套，服毒自尽了；罗杰斯也被吓得魂飞魄散，杀妻灭口。”
阿姆斯特朗摇着脑袋，特意说明了一下氰化物的问题。布洛尔对这一点也表示同意。
“说实话，我把这一点给忽略了，随身带着毒药的人确实不多见。可氰化物怎么跑到他的酒里去了呢，先生？”
隆巴德说：
“我一直在琢磨这个问题。昨晚，马斯顿喝了不止一杯。他喝最后一杯的时间与之前几杯隔了一会儿，而他那只杯子就一直搁在桌上或者其他什么地方。我想想——记不清了，好像是放在靠窗户的那张桌子上。窗户是敞着的，也许有人在酒杯里偷偷加了氰化物。”
布洛尔不太相信，他说：
“那个人能躲过我们所有人的眼睛？”
隆巴德冷冷地说：
“我们当时都没注意。”
阿姆斯特朗慢条斯理地说：
“有道理。我们当时都被控告声唬住了，在屋子里吵吵嚷嚷，光顾着说自己的事，谁也没注意。我看有这个可能。”
布洛尔耸了耸肩膀。
“很明显，凶手一定是这样干的！闲话少说，各位，我们行动吧！有谁正好带着枪吗？
说不定会派上用场。”
隆巴德说：
“我带了一支。”他拍了拍口袋。
布洛尔的眼睛瞪大了，他用故作轻松的口吻说：
“你随身带着这玩意儿吗？”
隆巴德说：
“随身带着。你们也知道，我经常要去那些鸟不拉屎的倒霉地方。”
“明白了，”布洛尔又说，“不过，你从来没去过比这座岛更倒霉的地方吧？要是这岛上真藏着一个杀人狂，他完全有可能全副武装。”
阿姆斯特朗咳嗽起来。
“这一点你说得不一定对，布洛尔。杀人狂可不一定都是面目可憎、全副武装的样子。
大部分杀人狂看起来安静斯文，随和极了。”
布洛尔说：
“我觉得岛上这位可不是你说的那一种，阿姆斯特朗医生。”
2三个人在岛上展开了搜查行动。
结果，没想到小岛上这么容易就搜完了。岛的西北角，也就是面朝大陆的一侧，是直垂入海的悬崖，光秃无一物。
岛上其他地方连一棵树都没有，也很少有其他植物。他们三个人有条不紊地进行地毯式搜查，把士兵岛从山顶到海边，上上下下翻了个遍。任何一条形状怪异的岩石缝、任何一处有可能通向岩洞深处的旮旯，他们都没放过。然而一无所获，没发现一个可疑的岩洞。
他们绕着海边走，最后来到了麦克阿瑟将军独坐远眺的地方。此处只有层层叠叠的海浪拍打着礁石，溅起一片片浪花，看上去安宁惬意。将军挺直腰板，坐在椅子上，一直目不转睛地望着海平线。
他全然没有注意这几个搜查小岛的人。这种超然的态度让布洛尔感到有些奇怪。
布洛尔心里想：
“他有些不对劲儿，看上去好像着了魔。”
他清了清喉咙，凑上前打算和麦克阿瑟将军好好聊一聊，说道：
“你可真会给自己找个安逸的好地方啊，将军。”
麦克阿瑟将军皱起眉头，回头看了他们一眼说：
“没多少时间了——没时间了。你们千万别打扰我。”
布洛尔客客气气地说：
“不会打扰你的。我们在岛上转了一圈，主要是担心也许有人正躲在岛上的某个地方。”
麦克阿瑟将军皱着眉头说：
“你们不懂……你们根本就不懂。你们快走吧。”
布洛尔走开了。他走到另外两人身边，说：
“他简直有毛病，根本没法交流。”
隆巴德好奇地问：
“他说什么了？”
布洛尔耸了耸肩膀，说：
“他说没时间了，让别人不要打扰他。”
阿姆斯特朗医生皱起眉头，自言自语道：
“真奇怪……”
3搜岛行动很快便结束了。三个人站在小岛最高处望着远处的大陆。海面上没有一艘船，海风吹来，裹挟着新鲜的海水气味。
隆巴德说：
“没有船出海，说明风暴要来了。这里也望不见村子，不然还可以发个信号。”
布洛尔说：
“今天晚上我们点上篝火试一试。”
隆巴德皱着眉头说：
“怕就怕这些也许都是预先安排好的。”
“怎么安排的，先生？”
“我怎么知道？也许别人以为这是在开玩笑。把我们骗上岛的人没准儿已经和岸上的人说好了，无论我们发什么信号也不用插手，说我们其实是在打赌之类的。编瞎话还不容易吗？”
布洛尔半信半疑地说：
“村子里的人会信吗？”
隆巴德冷冷地说：
“哼，假话往往比真话更有说服力！要是有人对村里的人说，别管这座岛上的事，一个叫欧文的先生会把他的客人神不知鬼不觉地全部灭口——你认为会有人相信吗？”
阿姆斯特朗医生说：
“其实连我自己都无法相信，而现在——”
菲利普•隆巴德咬牙切齿地说：
“而现在——这就是从你嘴里说出来的话！”
布洛尔低头盯着水面说：
“我想应该不会有人藏到海里去了吧？”
阿姆斯特朗摇摇头。
“我看不会。再说岸边这么陡峭，哪儿藏得住人啊？”
布洛尔说：
“也许悬崖壁上有洞穴。如果现在有条船，我们就能划船围着岛检查一圈。”
“如果有船，我们已经在回去的路上了。”
“说得对，先生。”
隆巴德突然说：
“我们可以把这座岛上所有地方都搜个遍，悬崖这里只有一个地方可以藏身，就在右下方那里。你们谁能找根绳子来，我顺着绳子下去看一看。”
布洛尔说：
“有必要去探一探，虽然听起来似乎挺荒唐的。我去看看能不能找到根绳子。”
他直接奔回房子里。
隆巴德望了望天，大块大块的乌云正在聚集，海风愈刮愈烈。
他侧目看了阿姆斯特朗一眼，说：
“你倒是很镇定，医生，你在想些什么呢？”
阿姆斯特朗幽幽地说：
“我正在想，老麦克阿瑟究竟能有多疯狂……”
4维拉整个上午都无法安心，她躲着埃米莉•布伦特。她讨厌布伦特，那让她感到恐惧。
而布伦特小姐则端了把椅子放在房子的角落里，避开风口，坐在那里织着什么东西。
维拉只要一想到她，就仿佛看到一张溺水而亡的灰白色死人脸，头发上还缠挂着海草。这张脸曾经很美，美得不可方物。可如今，无论是怜悯或是恐吓都对这张脸不起作用了。
埃米莉•布伦特一如既往地平静，一本正经地坐在那里织毛衣。
露台上，瓦格雷夫法官蜷缩在一把门卫用的椅子里，脑袋几乎缩进了脖子里。
维拉看着他，就仿佛看到了站在被告席上的爱德华•塞顿。他有一双蓝眼睛，好看的头发和一张困惑惊恐的脸。想象之中，她似乎看到法官用苍老的双手戴上法官帽，开始宣读判决。
过了一会儿，维拉缓缓地向海边走去。她沿着海边一直走到了小岛尽头，只见一个老人正坐在那里，呆呆地望着天边。
麦克阿瑟将军见她走近，挪动了一下身子，他扭过头来，脸上露出既疑惑又惶恐的复杂神情。维拉吓了一跳。将军久久地盯着她。
她心里想：他真奇怪，仿佛已经知道了……
他说：
“啊！原来是你！你来了……”
维拉在他身边坐下，说：
“你喜欢坐在这儿看海，对吗？”
他礼貌地点点头。
“是啊，”他说，“这里让人舒心。我想，这真是一个等待的好地方。”
“等待？”维拉立刻说，“你在等什么？”
他仍旧彬彬有礼地说：
“末日。我以为你早就知道了。难道不是吗？我们都在等待自己的末日。”
维拉颤抖着说：
“这话是什么意思？”
麦克阿瑟将军严肃地说：
“我们之中没人能够活着离开这座岛。这是命运的安排。当然，其实你心里完全清楚，但也许你还不明白这是一种解脱。”
维拉还是没听懂：
“解脱？”
他说：
“是的。当然，你还太年轻，没想过这个问题。不过，命运已经落在每个人头上！解脱的那一瞬间你就会明白，从此以后再也没有负担。有一天你会感受到的——”
维拉声音沙哑地说：
“我不知道你在说什么。”
她感到手指在发抖。突然，她害怕起这个彬彬有礼的老将军了。
他微笑着说：
“告诉你吧，我是爱莱斯利的。我非常爱她——”
维拉问：
“莱斯利是你太太吗？”
“是的，她是我妻子……我爱她——拥有她这样一位妻子，我感到无比自豪，她是那么美，那么开朗。”
片刻沉静后，他接着说：
“是的，我爱莱斯利，正是因为我爱她，我才那样做。”
维拉说：
“你是说——”她停住了。
麦克阿瑟将军平静地点点头，说：
“事到如今，不承认也没有用了，一切都要结束了。我是故意把里奇蒙送上了死路。我想，这大概也算是谋杀。谋杀，听起来多可笑，像我这样守法的人，说什么也不会和谋杀联系在一起。我不后悔。‘他罪有应得！’事后我这样想。可后来——”
维拉的声音变了，她问道：
“后来？”
他摇了摇脑袋，看上去失魂落魄。
“我不知道。我……不知道。后来一切都变了，我不知道莱斯利是不是发现了……应该没有吧。可是，你知道吗，从此以后我再也无法走进她的心，我们渐行渐远。再后来，她就去世了，只剩下我一个人——”
维拉说：
“一个人……一个人……”回音在岩石间回荡。
麦克阿瑟将军说：
“末日来临时，你也会感到欣慰。”
维拉站起来，尖声说：
“我不明白你的意思。”
麦克阿瑟将军说：
“我明白，我的孩子，我明白——”
“你不明白，你什么也不明白。”
麦克阿瑟将军转过头看着大海，似乎不知道她就在他身后。
他声音轻柔地说：
“莱斯利……”
5布洛尔把绳子缠在胳膊上，从房子那边回来，正看见阿姆斯特朗盯着水面往下张望。
布洛尔上气不接下气地问：
“隆巴德去哪儿了？”
阿姆斯特朗漫不经心地回答：
“他去证实自己的设想之类的，一会儿就回来。布洛尔，我很担心。”
“要我说，我们大家都在担心。”
阿姆斯特朗不耐烦地摆摆手：
“不，我不是这个意思，我是在琢磨老麦克阿瑟。”
“他怎么了？”
阿姆斯特朗冷冰冰地说：
“我们要找的是一个疯狂的人。你说有可能是麦克阿瑟吗？”
布洛尔不敢相信自己的耳朵。他说：
“你的意思是说，他是个杀人狂？”
阿姆斯特朗怀疑地说：
“我本不该乱猜，至少现在不该这样说他。当然，我并不善于治疗精神病，也没有跟他深聊过。我的意思是，从来没有从医学角度研究过他。”
布洛尔怀疑地说：
“如果你说他是个老糊涂，我同意。但我不认为——”
阿姆斯特朗打断了他，极力想让自己再次冷静下来。
“你说得可能没错。见鬼，一定有人躲在这个岛上。隆巴德回来了。”
他们把绳子仔细拴牢。
隆巴德说：
“我会非常小心，如果绳子突然抽紧，你们就要留神拽住。”
阿姆斯特朗和布洛尔站在那儿看着隆巴德爬下去。过了一会儿，布洛尔说：
“你看，他的动作像只猫，是不是？”
他的语气有些不对劲儿。
阿姆斯特朗医生回答说：
“我觉得他以前肯定有很多爬山的经验。”
“有可能。”
两个人沉默不语。过了一会儿，布洛尔说：
“总之，这个家伙不是一般人。你明白我的意思吗？”
“什么？”
“他不是一般人。”
阿姆斯特朗疑惑地问：
“此话怎讲？”
布洛尔迟疑片刻，随后说：
“我不知道具体怎么形容，但我绝对不会信任他。”
阿姆斯特朗医生说：
“我看他是个冒险家。”
布洛尔说：
“要说他是冒险家的话，我敢打赌，准保是冒一些见不得人的风险。”他停了停，又继续说下去，“你是不是正好也带着把枪，医生？”
阿姆斯特朗瞪起眼说：
“我？天哪，我可没有！我为什么要带枪？”
布洛尔说：
“隆巴德为什么要带枪？”
阿姆斯特朗犹疑地说：
“我想……他是习惯了吧。”
布洛尔的鼻子哼了一声。
绳子忽然绷紧，他们俩双手使劲儿攥着绳子，过了一会儿，绳子又松了。
布洛尔接着说：
“人们总拿习惯来说事。要是隆巴德去鸟不拉屎的地方，带把枪无可厚非，哪怕他带上汽油炉，睡袋和臭虫粉之类的东西，也无可非议。但是，他今天到这儿来也带上这件装备，就算是用‘习惯’二字也解释不通吧？只有在小说里，人们才会把带着手枪到处跑当成习惯。”
阿姆斯特朗摇摇头，看上去很困惑。他和布洛尔靠在一起，留意着隆巴德的动作。
隆巴德的搜查很彻底。不过他们很快就发现，这么做不过是白费力气。过了一会儿，隆巴德爬到崖壁顶，伸手抹着额头上的汗水。
“好吧，”他说，“什么都没发现，这儿除了房子，就是悬崖峭壁。”
6别墅很容易搜查。他们先把几间配套的房子搜查了一遍，然后把注意力转到了主楼。
他们从厨房食品柜里翻出罗杰斯太太用过的尺子，这可派了大用场。所有的犄角旮旯都被他们地毯式搜查了一番。这幢新式建筑本来也不存在什么暗门或者空墙，室内完全是宽阔的敞开式设计。他们从楼下开始搜，一直搜到楼上的卧室。上楼时，他们从窗户里看见罗杰斯端着一盘鸡尾酒，向外面的露台走去。
菲利普•隆巴德低声说：
“这个家伙可真了不起，居然能不动声色地照常工作。”
阿姆斯特朗的语气颇为赞赏，他说：
“我必须承认，罗杰斯确实是一流的管家。”
布洛尔说：
“他太太也是位一流的厨师。昨天晚上那顿饭——”
他们走进第一间卧室。
五分钟以后，他们又回到楼道口。没人藏在里面，房间里也没有可以藏人的地方。
布洛尔说：
“这里有楼梯。”
阿姆斯特朗医生说：
“那通向下面的用人房。”
布洛尔说：
“屋子的顶棚底下一定有个地方容纳水槽、蓄水池之类的设施，这种地方最容易藏身，而且也只有这个地方了。”
就在他们站着讨论的时候，听见头顶上有声音，轻轻的、偷偷摸摸的脚步声！
三个人全都注意到了这个声音。阿姆斯特朗一把抓住布洛尔的胳膊，隆巴德伸出一根手指，让他们两人别出声，轻声说：
“安静——听。”
又出现了——有人在他们头顶正上方轻轻地、鬼鬼祟祟地走动。
阿姆斯特朗悄声说：
“这个声音应该是来自卧室，就是停放罗杰斯太太尸体的房间。”
布洛尔也小声回应道：
“没错！那个房间是最好的藏身之处！谁也不会去那儿。现在……尽量别出声。”
他们蹑手蹑脚地走上楼梯。
走到那间卧室门外的楼道，三个人停下脚步。没错，有人在房间里。透过门缝传出轻微的吱呀声。
布洛尔轻声下令：
“动手。”
他一把推开门冲进去，其他二人紧随其后。
接下来，他们三个人全都愣住了。
只见罗杰斯站在房间里，怀里抱着满满的衣服。
7布洛尔首先回过神来。他说：
“不好意思，呃——罗杰斯。刚才我们听到有人在这里走动的声音，以为……那个……有人……”
他说不下去了。
罗杰斯说：
“很抱歉，先生们。我刚刚在整理自己的东西。我打算搬到楼下去住。我选了最小的那间空房，不知道这样做合不合适。”
他是对阿姆斯特朗说的，阿姆斯特朗回答说：
“当然，没问题。你换吧。”
他的目光尽量避开床上盖着床单的尸体。
罗杰斯说：
“谢谢，先生。”
他双手抱着衣物走出房间，顺着楼梯走向楼下。
阿姆斯特朗走到床边，揭开床单，俯视已经死去的罗杰斯太太。她脸上不再有恐惧的神情，只剩下空虚和茫然。
阿姆斯特朗说：
“如果我把医学装备带来就好了，我真想搞清楚她吃下去的究竟是什么东西。”
他转过身，对另外两个人说：
“我们收手吧。我有预感，绝对找不出任何东西了。”
布洛尔使劲儿扳着墙脚边管道口的阀门。
他说：
“罗杰斯真是行踪诡秘，刚才我们还看见他在花园里，谁也没听见他上楼的声音。”
隆巴德说：
“所以我们才会以为有其他人在这间屋子里走动呢。”
打开阀门以后，布洛尔钻进黑漆漆的管道入口。隆巴德从口袋里掏出一支手电，也钻了进去。
过了五分钟，他们站在顶层的楼道口。三个人灰头土脸，面面相觑，浑身挂满了蜘蛛网。
这座岛上只剩下他们八个人，没有其他人。