IIn the corner of a first-class smoking carriage, Mr Justice Wargrave, latelyretired from the bench, puffed1 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 luxurious2 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 rumours4 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 publicity5! BusyBee had hinted delicately that it was to be an abode6 for Royalty7??! 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 illegible8 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 enchanting9 place…so much to talkover… old days… communion with nature… bask10 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 atone11 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 logic12, 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 swarm13 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 strenuous14 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 acquit15 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 mere16 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 literally17 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 positively18.
‘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 abruptly19:
‘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 darted20 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 brute21, 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…
Enveloped22 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-aged23 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 dividends24 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 Spoof25 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 rumour3!
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 skilful26 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 diagnosis27, 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 whacking28 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 eyebrows29 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 boredom30, but they wouldn’tthank you for telling them so! And one could usually find something.
‘A slightly uncommon31 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 devastating32 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 frightful33. 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 ginger34 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 stinking35, 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 slumbering36 man.
‘Had one over the eight,’ diagnosed Mr Blore accurately37.
He went over things carefully and conscientiously38 in his mind.
‘Job ought to be easy enough,’ he ruminated39. ‘Don’t see how I can slip upon it. Hope I look all right.’
He stood up and scrutinized40 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 whims41!
The old man in the corner woke up and said:
‘You can’t never tell at sea—never!’
Mr Blore said soothingly42, ‘That’s right. You can’t.’
The old man hiccupped twice and said plaintively43:
‘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 fumbled44 with the window. Mr Blore helpedhim.
The old man stood in the doorway45. He raised a solemn hand andblinked his bleary eyes.
‘Watch and pray,’ he said. ‘Watch and pray. The day of judgment46 is athand.’
He collapsed47 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.’
Subsiding48 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…
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1
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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3
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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8
illegible
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| adj.难以辨认的，字迹模糊的 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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bask
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| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
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atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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15
acquit
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| vt.宣判无罪；(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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middle-aged
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dividends
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| 红利( dividend的名词复数 )； 股息； 被除数； （足球彩票的）彩金 | |
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spoof
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| n.诳骗，愚弄，戏弄 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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whacking
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| adj.（用于强调）巨大的v.重击，使劲打( whack的现在分词 ) | |
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29
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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34
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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35
stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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39
ruminated
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| v.沉思( ruminate的过去式和过去分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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40
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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42
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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44
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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45
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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46
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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47
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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48
subsiding
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的现在分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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