Агата Кристи – Ten Little Niggers / Десять негритят (страница 11)

“He may be dangerous. I think we should leave this place 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 comes over every morning, sir. He brings the bread and 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 in Narracott’s boat.”

They all agreed except Anthony Marston.

“A bit unsporting, that.” he said. “The whole thing’s like a detective story. Really thrilling.”

Ought to disclose the mystery before we go. 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. He gasped for breath – then fell down from his chair.

Chapter 5

I

It was so shocking that they couldn’t move and sat still staring at the body on the floor.

Then Dr. Armstrong jumped up and crossed the room, kneeling beside him. Then he looked at them with bewildered eyes and whispered:

“My God! he’s dead!”

They didn’t understand it. Not at once.

That young god in the prime of his health and strength – dead? Healthy young men didn’t die like that, choking over a whiskey and soda…

Dr. Armstrong was peering into the dead man’s face. He sniffed at the blue twisted lips. Then he picked up the glass from which Anthony Marston had been drinking and sniffed at it. His expression changed.

General Macarthur said:

“Dead? D’you mean the fellow just choked and – and died?”

Emily Brent said in a clear voice:

“In the midst of life we are in death.”

The physician stood up. He said sharply:

“No, Marston’s death wasn’t what we call a natural death.”

Vera almost whispered:

“Was there – something – in the whiskey?”

Armstrong nodded.

“Yes. Everything points to one of the cyanides, probably potassium cyanide. It acts pretty instantaneously.”

The judge said sharply:

“It was in his glass?”

The doctor nodded again. Then he went to the table with the drinks. He smelt and tasted the whiskey in the decanter. Then he tasted the soda water. He shook his head.

“They’re both all right.”

Lombard said:

“You mean – he put the stuff in his glass himself!”

Armstrong nodded with a strangely dissatisfied expression.

“Seems like it.”

Blore said:

“Suicide, eh? That’s queer.”

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 evening he looked – oh, I can’t explain!”

But they knew what she meant. Anthony Marston, in the prime of his youth, had seemed like a being that was immortal. And now he lay broken on the floor.

Dr. Armstrong said:

“Is there any possibility other than suicide?”

But they could not find any other explanation. They had all seen how Anthony Marston had filled his glass himself.

And yet – why should Anthony Marston commit suicide?

Blore said thoughtfully:

“You know, I wouldn’t have said Mr. Marston was a suicidal type of gentleman.”

Armstrong agreed.

II

Armstrong and Lombard had carried the body of Anthony Marston to his bedroom, had laid him on the bed and covered over with a sheet.

When they came downstairs, the others were standing in the hall, shivering a little, though the night was not cold.

It was past twelve o’clock.

Emily Brent said:

“We’d better go to bed. It’s late.”

But still, they stood together as though they needed each other’s company for reassurance.

Then the judge said:

“Yes, we must get some sleep.”

Rogers said:

“I haven’t cleared yet – in the dining-room.”