Chapter 3 third chapter

Dinner is almost over. Great food and wine, very attentive by Rogers. Everyone seated was in high spirits.The conversation between each other began to be more comfortable and more intimate. Mr. Judge Wargrave, as soon as the taste of wine rose on his countenance after several glasses of fine wine, began to speak ironically, with a mixture of wit and amusement.Dr Armstrong and Anthony Marston were listening to him.Miss Brent chatted with General MacArthur about some friends they both knew well.Vera Claythorne asked Mr. Davies about the situation in South Africa, and she asked questions well and answered them fluently and to the point.Lombard listened.Once or twice, he squinted his eyes and raised his head to glance at them, and from time to time he looked around the table to observe the others.

Anthony Marston said suddenly: "Isn't this thing interesting?" It turned out that there were several small china figurines in the glass round tray in the center of the round table. "Indians," said Anthony, "Indian Island! That's what I guess." Vera leaned forward. "I see—how many? Ten?" "That's right—ten of them." Vera cried out: "How interesting! These are the ten little Indian boys in the nursery rhyme, I think they are. There is this nursery rhyme in the picture frame on the mantelpiece in my bedroom." Lombard said:

"I have them in my room too." "I have it too." "I have it too." Everyone said yes in unison.Vera said: "Isn't that interesting?" Mr Justice Wargrave murmured again: "It's just childish." Then he was drinking his wine again. Emily Brent looks at Vera Claythorne.Vera Claythorne also looked at Miss Brent.The two women got up and went out. In the lounge, the French-style floor-to-ceiling windows were opened to the outside of the platform, and the sound of waves beating could be heard whispering to them from time to time. Emily Brent said, "That sounds good."

Vera said very stiffly: "I hate it." Miss Brent looked at her with wonder.Vera blushed, but immediately calmed down, and said, "I don't think it's a pleasant place when it's windy." Emily Brent agrees. "When winter comes, no one in this house can go out. I think that's for sure," she said. "Also, the servants can't be kept for long." Vera murmured: "Yes! Hiring people is difficult anyway." Emily Brent says: "Mrs. Oliver has had good luck in employing these two. She's a really good cook." Vera thought:

"As people get older, they always remember people's names wrong. How interesting!" She said: "Yes, I also said that Mrs. Owen's luck is indeed good." Emily Brent took out a small piece of embroidery work from her handbag, and was about to start embroidery, when she heard Vera's words, she stopped suddenly, and asked abruptly: "Owen? You said Owen?" "yes." Emily Brent went on to say: "I've never seen a man named Owen or anything in my life." Vera was dumbfounded. "However, obviously—" Before she could finish her sentence, the door opened.The men are all in.Rogers followed into the hall, coffee tray in hand.

The judge walked over and sat down next to Emily Brent.Dr. Armstrong came up to Vera, and Anthony Marston staggered toward the open window.Blore was fascinated by a small bronze statuette, and dazedly studied the strange line of drapes in the statue, wondering if they were meant to show the female figure.General MacArthur stood with his back to the mantel, twirling his short white beard.What a great dinner!His spirit came.Lombard was flipping through a copy of Punch from among the piles of newspapers on the table by the wall. Rogers was carrying a tray and delivering coffee to everyone in circles.Good coffee, strong and hot, really exciting.

All these people ate very comfortably.They are satisfied and feel that they have performed well and lived well for most of the day.The hands of the clock pointed to twenty-nine, and there was a sudden silence—a kind of quiet that made people feel both comfortable and satisfied. At this quiet moment, a "voice" suddenly came, the tone was ruthless and piercing... "Ladies and gentlemen, please be quiet!" Everyone was taken aback, looked back and forth, left and right, and looked at each other.Who is talking?The loud and clear "voice" continued: "You are charged with the following offences:

"Edward George Armstrong, you caused the death of Louisa Marie Cleary on March 14, 1925. "Emily Caroline Blunt, you are solely responsible for the death of Beatrice Taylor on November 5, 1931. "William Henry Blore, October 10, 1928, you brought about the death of James Stephen Landau. "Vera Immom Sabeth Claythorne, on August 11, 1935, you murdered Cyril Ogilvie Hamilton. "Philip Lombard, on a certain date in February 1932, you were guilty of causing the death of twenty-one men from an East African tribe. "John Gordon MacArthur, on January 4, 1917, you willfully murdered your wife's lover, Arthur Richmond.

"Anthony James Marston, you killed John and Lucy Coombs last November 14th. "Thomas Rogers and Ethel Rogers, on May 6, 1929, you killed Jennifer Brady. "Lawrence John Wargrave, on June 10, 1930, you murdered Edward Seton. "You criminals standing in front of the court, what else do you have to defend yourself?" The "voice" paused.In an instant, there was a deathly silence in the room.Suddenly, there was a sound, and the echo oscillated.It turned out that Rogers' coffee tray had dropped!At the same time, outside the hall, there was a scream from nowhere, followed by a "plop".

Lombard was the first to respond. He ran to the door and flung it open.Outside the door, Mrs. Rogers fell to the ground. Lombard exclaimed: "Marston." Anthony jumped up and ran to help him.The two of them carried Mrs. Rogers into the drawing room. Dr. Armstrong came up at once, and helping them to settle Mrs. Rogers on the sofa, stooped over her and said: "It's nothing, I fainted. It doesn't matter, I will wake up." Lombard said to Rogers: "Bring some brandy!" Rogers, with a pale face and trembling hands, replied humbly: "Yes, sir." With that, he slipped out of the room immediately.

Vera cried out. "Who's that talking? Where's he? Sounds like—sounds like—" General MacArthur said angrily: "What trick is this? Are you kidding me?" His hands were trembling, his shoulders were drooping, and he suddenly seemed ten years older. Blore patronized and wiped his face with a handkerchief. Only Mr. Justice Wargrave and Miss Brent seemed unimpressed by their comparison.Emily Brent sat upright, her head held high, her cheeks flushed.And the judge was still the same, sitting there casually, with his head almost retracted into his neck, scratching his ear with one hand, and only his eyes were busy, looking at this, looking at that, Walking around the room, confused and alert, with a hint of wit. Lombard has been busy.Armstrong was only concerned with the slumped Mrs. Rogers.Lombard took advantage of this to get out of the way, and said: "That voice? It sounds like it's in this room." Vera cried out: "Who? Who is it? It won't be us, neither of them." Lombard's eyes wandered about the room as slowly as the judge did, staring at the open window for a moment, then shaking his head affirmatively.Suddenly, with bright eyes and quick hands, he made his way to the door that led into the adjoining room by the mantelpiece.With a swift movement he seized the doorknob, flung it open, and entered with an instant uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. he shouted: "Ah, here it is." The rest swarmed on.Miss Brent alone sat upright in her chair, motionless. In the next room, a table had been moved to the wall next to the lounge.On the table was a gramophone—an old-fashioned kind with a big horn pointed at the wall.Lombard pushed the horn away sharply and pointed to the small holes drilled through the wall.At first glance, it is not conspicuous at all. He adjusted the gramophone, put the cartridge on the record, and at once they heard the "voice" again: "You are charged with the following crimes—" Vera cried out: "Shut it! Shut it! Terrible!" Lombard obediently complied. Dr. Armstrong breathed a sigh of relief, and said with a sigh: "I think this joke is too disrespectful and heartless." Mr. Judge Wargrave said in a soft and precise voice: "So you think it's just a joke?" The doctor stared at him. "Otherwise, what else could it be?" The judge tapped his upper lip with his hand and said: "I'm not going to comment at this point." Anthony Marston interrupted: "Listen, there's one thing you're forgetting. Who the hell put a record on and make it spin?" Still Wargrave said softly: "By the way, I think we'll have to look into that." He led the way back to the lounge, and everyone followed him. Rogers came in with a glass of brandy.At this moment, Miss Brent was bending over to check on Mrs. Rogers, who was still moaning. Rogers squeezed lightly between the two women. "Excuse me, ma'am, let me talk to her. Ethel--Ethel--it's all right, all right! Do you hear that? Come on, cheer up!" Mrs. Rogers gasped for breath, and her eyes, eyes wide open and frightened, looked over and over again at the faces of the large circle around her.Rogers' voice urged her again: "Cheer up, Ethel." Dr. Armstrong comforted her and said to her: "You're all right now, Mrs. Rogers. But it's been a while." she asked: "Did I faint, sir?" "yes." "It was that voice. That terrible voice, like a judgment—" Her face was blue again, and her eyelids quivered. Dr. Armstrong asked hastily: "And the glass of brandy?" It turned out that Rogers had placed it on a small table.Someone handed it over immediately.The doctor held the wine glass and bent down to the choking Mrs. Rogers: "Drink it, Mrs. Rogers." she drank.He choked a little, gasping for breath.The alcohol had an effect, and blood suddenly appeared on his face.She said: "I'm all right now. It's just—I fainted." Rogers immediately said: "It's dizzy, it made me dizzy a bit too, and dropped the plate pretty well. Damn slander, it's just too damned! I'd like to find out—" He stopped suddenly.That's because a cough—a soft dry cough had the effect of choking him down loudly.He looked dully at Mr Justice Wargrave.Mr. Judge coughed again, and asked: "Who put the picture on the phonograph? Is it you, Rogers?" "I don't know what's on the record! God knows, I don't know what it's on, sir. If I'd known, I wouldn't have done it." The judge said dryly: "That may be true. But I think you'd better make it clear, Rogers." The butler wiped the sweat off his face with a handkerchief.He said seriously: "I'm just doing what I'm told, sir, and that's all." "At whose order?" "Mr. Owen's." Mr Justice Wargrave said: "Let me make that perfectly clear. Mr. Owen ordered--how exactly?" Rogers replied: "He told me to put the records on the gramophone. The records were in the drawer. Tell my wife to turn on the gramophone when I went around the house to deliver the coffee." The judge said softly again: "Pretty decent story." Rogers cried out: "It's real, sir. I swear to God it's true. I didn't know what the record was going to say in advance—none at all. There was a name on the record—I thought it was just a verse music." Wargrave looked at Lombard: "Is there a title on it?" Lombard nodded.Suddenly he grinned, showing his sharp white teeth, and said: "Exactly, Sang. The title of the record is 'Swan Lake'..." General MacArthur couldn't bear it anymore, he suddenly shouted: "This thing is absurd--absurd! Mis-hatted to it! Got to give him some color. This Owen, whoever he is--" Emily Brent interrupted him.She said sharply: "That's the question. Which one is he?" The judge broke in again.His whole life as a judge has trained him to speak with air: "This is indeed something we have to get to the bottom of. Rogers, I suggest you take your wife back to her room and put her to bed before you come back here." "Yes, sir." Dr. Armstrong said: "Let me help you." Mrs. Rogers staggered out of the room, leaning on the two men.After they were gone, Anthony Marston proposed: "How are you, guys? I need something to drink." Lombard replied: "I agree." Anthony said: "I'm going to Zhang Luo." He walked out of the room. He came back in a second or two and said: "It's sitting on a plate by the door, waiting to be brought in." He put the things down carefully, and then poured and poured.General MacArthur picked out a glass of strong brandy, and the judge poured the same.Everyone wants to cheer up.Only Emily Brent asked for a glass of water. Dr. Armstrong returned to the drawing room. "She's all right," he said. "I've left some sedatives for her. What's this? Ah, wine! I'll have a drink!" The men had another drink each.After a while, Rogers came back. Mr Justice Wargrave presided over the next arrangement. This hall became a makeshift court. The judge asked: "Well, Rogers, we've got to get things straight. Who do you say Mr. Irwin is?" Rogers' eyes widened. "The house is his, sir." "I know that. I want you to tell me what you know about this man." Rogers shook his head. "I can't tell, sir. I've never seen him, you know." There was a slight commotion in the whole room. General MacArthur said: "Never seen him? What do you mean?" "We haven't been here a week, sir, I mean my wife and I. They've hired us through an agency. The Queen's Agency in Plymouth." Blore nodded to show he knew. "It's an old company." He explained automatically. Wargrave said: "Is the letter still there?" "A letter from the agency? No, sir. I didn't keep it." "Go on. They hired you, by letter, as you say." "Yes, sir. We came on the day we were asked to come. And here everything is arranged. There is a lot of food in store. Everything is first-class, and it only needs to be tidy and tidy." "and after?" "No, sir. We have followed the instructions of the letter. Let us pack up the room and prepare for a visit. Mr. Owen wrote yesterday afternoon to say that he and his wife were delayed and could not come. Let us try to entertain the guests as best we can. Instructions were given about dinner, coffee and all, and we were told to play records." The judge said sharply: "The letter is still there, of course?" "Still, sir. I brought it." As he spoke, he took out a letter from his pocket.The judge took it. "Well," he said, "the address is the Ritz Hotel. The letter was typed." In a second Blore was standing beside him and said: "Please let me see." He pulled out the letter paper, scanned it, and said softly: "Corona typewriter, fairly new--no fault. Heraldry paper--buggy. Don't expect to find anything wrong with it. Maybe fingerprints. But I doubt it." Wargrave was watching him suddenly with attention. Anthony Marston was poking his head out beside Blore to read the letter.He said: "Fancy name. Ulic Norman Owen. Loud enough." The old judge was slightly shocked and said: "Thank you very much, Mr. Marston. You have brought to my attention something both interesting and intriguing." He looked around at everyone and stretched his neck like an angry bastard.He said: "I think it's time for all of us to gather together the situation. Let's talk about everything we know about the owner of this house." He paused, and then continued. "We're all his guests. I think it's good for each of us to explain exactly how we came here as guests." After speaking, there was a silence for a while.Then Emily Brent made up her mind and spoke. "There's something queer about the whole thing," she said. "I got a letter with a dubious signature. It was probably from a woman I met at some summer house two or three years ago. I guess she Either Alton or Oliver. I know a Mrs. Oliver, and a Miss Alton, but I am quite sure that I have never met or made friends with either Owen. .” Judge Wargrave said: "Do you have the letter, Miss Brent?" "Here it is. I'll get it for you." The letter was brought within a minute of her going out. The judge read the letter.said: "I kind of get it... Miss Claythorne?" Vera also told the story of her appointment as secretary. Judge said: "Marston?" Anthony replied: "I got a telegram. It was from a very good friend of mine, Badger Barclay. It was a surprise to me, because all I knew was that the old fool had gone to Norway. , and he invites me here." Wargrave nodded again and said: "Where's Dr. Armstrong?" "I'm here by invitation." "Understood. Have you ever known this family before?" "I don't know. The letter mentioned a colleague of mine." The judge said: "Singing for a more realistic performance? ...Of course, according to my estimation, this colleague of yours must have had no contact with you for a while, right?" "It's—er—no." Lombard, who had been staring at Blore, suddenly said to him: "Look, I just remembered—" The judge raised a hand. "etc!" "but I--" "Mr. Lombard, we're going one by one. We're trying to figure out how we got here tonight. Tell me, General MacArthur?" While twirling his beard, the general said in a low voice: "Here's a letter - from this fellow Owen, too - mentioning some old acquaintances of mine, saying they're coming here - a mere invitation, not grand, hope I don't mind. Letter, I'm afraid Didn't keep it." Wargrave said: "Mr. Lombard?" Lombard's mind was churning all the time.Shake it out, make it public?Or not?He made up his mind. "It's the same thing," he said, "it's an invitation, and friends who are familiar with each other are mentioned—it's not a big deal, I fell for it. I tore up the letter." Mr Justice Wargrave turned his attention to Mr Blore, tapping his upper lip with two fingers, and his words were disturbingly polite. He said: "Right now, we've just had a somewhat disturbing experience. A voice, apparently ethereal and elusive, has addressed us by name and suggested something specific to us. accusations, and we're going to clear them up. Now, though, there's one detail I'd love to make clear: Among the names mentioned was a William Henry Blore. But as far as we all know We know there is no Blore among us, and Davies's name is not mentioned. What can you tell me, Mr. Davies, on that point?" Blore lowered his face and said: "Giving it up. I reckon I'll have to admit my name isn't Davis to get by!" "Then you are William Henry Blore?" "Not bad." "I would like to add a few points," said Lombard, "that not only have you come here under a false name, but I have discovered tonight that you are a top liar. You claim to be from the port of Natal, South Africa. I happen to be most familiar with the South Africa and Natal. I swear you've never seen South Africa in your life." All eyes turned to Blore at once, suspicious, angry; and Anthony Marston took a step forward, approaching Blore, hands clenched into fists of their own accord. "Well then, pig," he said, "is there anything else to say?" Blore looked up and gritted his teeth. "Gentlemen, you have misunderstood," he said. "I have my papers, please check. I used to be a member of the Criminal Investigation Service. Now I have a detective agency in Plymouth. Here comes the mission." Mr. Wargrave Court asked: "Whose commission?" "This Owen sent me a large sum of money to pay for some official business I had directed. He asked me to pretend to be a guest and attend the banquet. He copied all your names to me. Asked me to Every single one of you is being watched." "Did you say why?" Blore said with a sad face: "It's for Mrs. Owen's jewelry! Mrs. Owen is a fart! Now I don't believe there is such a person!" The judge's two fingers went to tap his upper lip again, but this time with a relaxed expression. "I think your conclusion is justified," he said, "Ulic Norman Owen! On Miss Brent's letter, the name is quite clear, though the surname is vaguely signed--Yona Nancy - have you noticed that every invitation, it uses the same prefix: Ulic Norman Owen - Una Nancy Owen - that is, UN Owen every time .Maybe you can think about it a little bit, it is UNKNOWN, it is Anonymous!" Vera cried out: "Isn't that the absurdity of the extreme—crazy!" The judge slowly nodded his head and said: "Ah! yes, my idea is that there is no doubt that we have all been invited here by a madman, perhaps by a murderous man of the utmost danger."