Агата Кристи – Ten Little Niggers / Десять негритят (страница 5)
Vera smiled. Of course! This was Nigger Island!
She returned to the window and sat again looking out to sea.
How big the sea was! No land could be seen from here – just blue water around everywhere.
The sea… So peaceful today – sometimes so cruel… The sea that dragged you down to its depths. Drowned. Found drowned. Drowned at sea. Drowned – drowned – drowned.
No, she wouldn’t think of it!
All that was over.
VII
Dr. Armstrong came to Nigger Island just as the sun was setting. On the way across he had chatted to the boatman – a local man. He wanted to find out a little about these people who owned Nigger Island, but the man Narracott knew curiously little, or perhaps did not wish to talk.
So Dr. Armstrong chatted instead of the weather and of fishing.
He was tired after his long motor drive. Yes, he was very tired. The sea and perfect peace – that was what he needed. He would like, really, to take a long holiday. But he couldn’t leave his practice for long: you were soon forgotten nowadays.
He thought:
“But this evening, I’ll imagine to myself that I’m not going back.”
There was something magical about an island. You lost touch with the world[15] – an island was a world of its own. A world, perhaps, from which you might never return.
He thought:
“I’m leaving my ordinary life behind me.”
He smiled to himself and began to make plans, fantastic plans for the future.
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 of him was vaguely familiar to Dr. Armstrong. Where had he seen that frog-like face, that tortoise-like neck, that hunched-up figure – yes, and those pale shrewd little eyes? Of course – old Wargrave. He’d given evidence once before him. Had great power with a jury – it was said he could make their minds up for them any day of the week. He’d got one or two unlikely convictions out of them. A hanging judge, some people said.
Strange to meet him… here – out of the world.
VIII
Mr. Justice Wargrave thought to himself:
“Armstrong? Remember him in the witness box. Very correct and cautious. All doctors are damned fools. Harley Street ones are the worst of them.” And in his mind he returned to a recent interview he had had with a suave personage in that very street.
Aloud he grunted:
“Drinks are in the hall.”
Dr. Armstrong said he wanted first to pay his respects to the host and hostess.
The judge said:
“No host and hostess. Very curious state of affairs. Don’t understand this place.”
Dr. Armstrong stared at him for a minute. When he thought the old gentleman had actually gone to sleep, Wargrave said suddenly:
“D’you know Constance Culmington?”
“Er – no, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“It’s not important,” said the judge. “Very vague woman – and practically unreadable handwriting. I was just wondering if I’d come to the wrong house.”
Dr. Armstrong shook his head and went on up to the house.
In his mind, Mr. Justice Wargrave turned to the two women in the house, the tight-lipped spinster and the girl. He didn’t care for the girl, heartless young hussy. No, three women, if you counted the Rogers woman. Queer creature, she looked frightened to death. Respectable pair and knew their job…
At that moment, Rogers came out on the terrace and 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:
“Nigger Island, eh? There’s a nigger in the woodpile[16].”
IX
Anthony Marston was enjoying his bath. Very few thoughts passed through 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 everything from his mind.
Pleasantly hot water – presently a shave – a cocktail – dinner.
And after —?
X
Mr. Blore was tying his tie. He wasn’t very good at this sort of thing.
It worried him whether he looked all right. He hoped he did.
Nobody had been exactly pleasant to him… Funny the way they all looked at each other – as though they knew.
Well, he didn’t mean to fail in his job.
He glanced up at the framed nursery rhyme over the mantelpiece.
Neat touch, having that there!
XI
General Macarthur was frowning to himself. Damn it all, the whole thing was so strange! Not at all what he had expected…
He would like to make an excuse and get away. Throw up the whole business.
But the motor boat had gone back to the mainland.
He’d have to stay.