And Then There Were None: Chapters 1-2

The handwriting was practically illegible but words here and there stood out with unexpected clarity.

Dearest Lawrence...such years since I heard anything of you...must come to Soldier Island...the most enchanting place...so much to talk over...old days...communion with nature...bask in sunshine...

Vera Claythorne, tired by a recent strenuous term at school, thought to herself, "Being a games mistress in a third-class school isn't much of a catch."

And then, with a cold feeling round her heart, she thought: "But I'm lucky to have even this. After all, people don't like a Coroner's Inquest, even if the Coroner did acquit me of all blame!"

For an inquest it couldn't have gone better.

She opened her eyes and frowned across at the man opposite her. A tall man with a brown face, light eyes set rather close together and an arrogant, almost cruel mouth.

I am empowered to hand you one hundred guineas in return for which you will travel to Sticklehaven, Devon. The nearest station is Oakbridge, you will be met there and motored to Sticklehaven where a motor launch will convey you to Soldier Island. There you will hold yourself at the disposal of my client.

It was as though he knew very well that in Lombard's past actions legality had not always been a sine qua non.

The present generation was shamelessly lax—in their carriage, and in every other way.

Enveloped in an aura of righteousness and unyielding principles, Miss Brent sat in her crowded third-class carriage and triumphed over its discomfort and its heat.

This place, Soldier Island, was really no distance at all as the crow flies.

"—One or two of your old cronies are coming—would like to have a talk over old times."

There had been a time when he had sat in his consulting room in Harley Street, correctly apparelled, surrounded with the most up to date appliances and the most luxurious furnishings and waited—waited through the empty days for his venture to succeed or fail.

The letter he had received had been rather vague in its terms, but there was nothing vague about the accompanying cheque.

There was only one other person in his carriage, an elderly seafaring gentleman with a bleary eye.

He went over things carefully and conscientiously in his mind.

He stood up and scrutinized himself anxiously in the glass.

But millionaires were full of whims!

The old man hiccupped twice and said plaintively: "There's a squall coming."

From a recumbent position he looked up at Mr. Blore and said with immense dignity: "I'm talking to you, young man."

Subsiding on to his seat Mr Blore thought to himself: He's nearer the day of judgment than I am!

Four voices gave assent—and then immediately afterwards gave quick surreptitious glances at each other.

A very distinguished old gentleman, she thought to herself.

"I do hope it lasts—the weather, I mean. Our English summers are so treacherous."

Just imperceptibly his manner changed.

The faded blue eyes, shrewd in spite of their age, sized up Lombard.

Lombard shrugged his shoulders disparagingly.

There was something sinister about it.

Mr. Justice Wargrave looked at him with active malevolence.

He might have noticed that a curious constraint came over the other members of the party.

He had a weather-beaten face and dark eyes with a slightly evasive expression.

There was as yet no fraternizing among the party.

He summed them up dispassionately.

Over it, in a gleaming chromium frame, was a big square of parchment—a poem.

Four little soldier boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were Three.

And his mind dwelt malevolently on a recent interview he had had with a suave personage in that very street.

Mr. Justice Wargrave closed his eyes again, looking decidedly reptilian, and said: "You can't do that."

He luxuriated in the steaming water.

Nobody had been exactly cordial to him.

He didn't mean to bungle his job.