And Then There Were None. Agatha Christie

being connected with a death in any way. The thing’s a complete mystery to me. Of course, it’s a long time ago. It might possibly be one of my operation cases in hospital. They come too late, so many of these people. Then, when the patient dies, they always consider it’s the surgeon’s fault.’

      He sighed, shaking his head.

      He thought:

      Drunk—that’s what it was—drunk… And I operated! Nerves all to pieces—hands shaking. I killed her all right. Poor devil—elderly woman—simple job if I’d been sober. Lucky for me there’s loyalty in our profession. The Sister knew, of course—but she held her tongue. God, it gave me a shock! Pulled me up. But who could have known about it—after all these years?

      IV

      There was a silence in the room. Everybody was looking, covertly or openly, at Emily Brent. It was a minute or two before she became aware of the expectation. Her eyebrows rose on her narrow forehead. She said:

      ‘Are you waiting for me to say something? I have nothing to say.’

      The judge said: ‘Nothing, Miss Brent?’

      ‘Nothing.’

      Her lips closed tightly.

      The judge stroked his face. He said mildly:

      ‘You reserve your defence?’

      Miss Brent said coldly:

      ‘There is no question of defence. I have always acted in accordance with the dictates of my conscience. I have nothing with which to reproach myself.’

      There was an unsatisfied feeling in the air. But Emily Brent was not one to be swayed by public opinion. She sat unyielding.

      The judge cleared his throat once or twice. Then he said: ‘Our inquiry rests there. Now Rogers, who else is there on this island besides ourselves and you and your wife?’

      ‘Nobody, sir. Nobody at all.’

      ‘You’re sure of that?’

      ‘Quite sure, sir.’

      Wargrave said:

      ‘I am not yet clear as to the purpose of our Unknown host in getting us to assemble here. But in my opinion this person, whoever he may be, is not sane in the accepted sense of the word.

      ‘He may be dangerous. In my opinion it would be well for us to leave this place as soon as possible. I suggest that we leave 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, he 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 as soon as Narracott’s boat arrives.’

      There was a chorus of agreement with only one dissentient voice. It was Anthony Marston who disagreed with the majority.

      ‘A bit unsporting, what?’ he said. ‘Ought to ferret out the mystery before we go. Whole thing’s like a detective story. Positively thrilling.’

      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. His face contorted, turned purple. He gasped for breath—then slid down off his chair, the glass falling from his hand.