IOutside Oakbridge station a little group of people stood in momentary1 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,’ bent3 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 distinguished4 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 delightful5 to get out of that stuffy6 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 originality7 Lombard asked:
‘Do you know this part of the world well?’
‘No, I’ve never been here before.’ She added quickly, conscientiously8 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 prospect10 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 wasp11 crawling up your arm. No—keep quite still.’ He made aconvincing pounce12. ‘There. It’s gone!’
‘Oh, thank you. There are a lot of wasps13 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 drawn14-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 neatly15 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 judgment16 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 plunged17 into a maze18 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 shrugged19 his shoulders disparagingly20.
‘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 zigzag21 track to Sticklehaven—amere cluster of cottages with a fishing boat or two drawn up on the beach.
Illuminated23 by the setting sun, they had their first glimpse of Soldier Is-land jutting24 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 hunched25 elderly figure of the judge, the upright form of Miss Brent,and a third man—a big bluff26 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. Natal27, South Africa’s my natalspot, ha, ha!’
He laughed breezily.
Mr Justice Wargrave looked at him with active malevolence28. 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 embark29?’ asked Mr Davis hospit-ably.
Nobody assenting30 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 constraint31 came over the othermembers of the party. It was as though the mention of their host and host-ess had a curiously32 paralysing effect upon the guests.
In response to Davis’s beckoning33 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 spoke2 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 persuasively34:
‘She’s a fine boat that, Ma’am. You could go to Plymouth in her as easyas winking35.’
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 swell36.’
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 Saga37.
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. Retired38 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 catering39 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 ascended40 the steps and came out on a terrace above, theirspirits revived. In the open doorway41 of the house a correct butler wasawaiting them, and something about his gravity reassured9 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 lank42 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 Badger43 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 exclamation44 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 monotonous45 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 flickered46.
‘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 assorted47 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 parquet48 floor—faintly tinted49 walls—a long mirrorsurrounded by lights. A mantelpiece bare of ornaments50 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 rippling51 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 mere22 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 vaguely52 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 malevolently53 on a recent interview he had hadwith a suave54 personage in that very street.
Aloud he grunted55:
‘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 eyebrows56 rose. But he only grunted.
He thought:
‘Soldier Island, eh? There’s a fly in the ointment57.’
VIII
Anthony Marston was in his bath. He luxuriated in the steaming water.
His limbs had felt cramped58 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 bungle59 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, smoothly60 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 snared61 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.
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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bent
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distinguished
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delightful
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stuffy
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originality
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conscientiously
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reassured
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prospect
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wasp
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pounce
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wasps
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neatly
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judgment
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plunged
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maze
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shrugged
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disparagingly
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zigzag
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jutting
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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natal
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| adj.出生的，先天的 | |
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malevolence
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| n.恶意，狠毒 | |
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embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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assenting
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| 同意，赞成( assent的现在分词 ) | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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saga
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| n.(尤指中世纪北欧海盗的)故事，英雄传奇 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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catering
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| n. 给养 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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parquet
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| n.镶木地板 | |
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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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malevolently
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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ointment
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| n.药膏，油膏，软膏 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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bungle
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| v.搞糟；n.拙劣的工作 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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snared
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| v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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