p q □ B L A N K P A G E 10 □ 10 p q And Then There Were None 5 To Carlo and Mary This is their book, dedicated Author: Agatha Christie. And then there were none: Agatha Christie and Class Dr Dawn Mannay School of Social Sciences Cardiff University [email protected] Millennium Stadium . By the step leading up into the sleeping-car stood a young French lieutenant To which Murder on the Orient Express Crooked House By Agatha Christie.
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And Then There Were None by AGATHA CHRISTIE. Pages·· MB· 12, Downloads. CHAPTER 1 IN THE CORNER of a first-class smoking. None of these people have anything to do with South Africa, and I've just been reading that travel folder so I can talk about it all right." Fortunately there were all . Hilary Strong, Executive Producer/CEO of Agatha Christie Ltd Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None is the best selling crime novel of all time, with.
November 14, Anthony Marston runs over two children, John and Lucy Combes, with his car while speeding. This last crime occurred within a year of the trip to Indian Island.
The year is not specified in the book, but it is presumed to be at the end of the s. Arriving on Indian Island Each of the guests is invited to the island under false pretenses.
Rogers, Vera Claythorne, Dr. Armstrong, Philip Lombard, and William Blore are offered jobs in their respective fields. Anthony Marston and Emily Brent are invited for a holiday.
Judge Wargrave and General Macarthur are invited to meet old friends. August 6, Mr. Rogers arrive on the island expecting to meet their employer, but instead are provided with a set of written notes that include the guest list, which room each guest will stay in, and instructions to play the gramophone record after dinner on the first day the guests arrive.
Four Days on a Secluded Island On August 8, the game begins when Morris, the man secretly hired by Judge Wargrave to make arrangements to bring the guests to the island, is murdered.
Did you know?
The guests begin to arrive on the island. August 8: Isaac Morris dies of an overdose of barbiturates. Judge Wargrave gave him the pill claiming it would help with his indigestion. All guests arrive on the island. He grinned suddenly, showed his white pointed teeth.
It was entitled Swan Song. He exclaimed: Slinging accusations about like this! Something must be done about it. He spoke with the authority that a lifetime in the courts had given him.
Then come back here. When they had gone Tony Marston said: He returned a second or two later. The next minute or two was spent in dispensing drinks. General Macarthur had a stiff whisky and so did the judge. Every one felt the need of a stimulant. Only Emily Brent demanded and obtained a glass of water. Dr Armstrong re-entered the room.
I could do with one. A moment or two later Rogers re-entered the room.
Mr Justice Wargrave took charge of the proceedings. The room became an impromptu court of law. The judge said: Who is this Mr Owen? What I want you to tell me is what you yourself know about the man. We were engaged by letter, through an agency. The Regina Agency in Plymouth. Wargrave said: No, sir. You were engaged, as you say, by letter.
We were to arrive on a certain day. We did. Everything was in order here. Plenty of food in stock and everything very nice. Just needed dusting and that. We got orders — by letter again — to prepare the rooms for a house-party, and then yesterday by the afternoon post I got another letter from Mr Owen.
It said he and Mrs Owen were detained and to do the best we could, and it gave the instructions about dinner and coffee and putting on the gramophone record. The judge took it. He murmured: Quite new — no defects. Ensign paper — the most widely used make. Anthony Marston was standing beside Blore looking over his shoulder. Ulick Norman Owen.
Quite a mouthful.
You have drawn my attention to a curious and suggestive point. It would be well, I think, for everybody to come forward with all the information they have regarding the owner of this house. It purported to be from a woman I had met at a certain summer resort two or three years ago. I took the name to be either Ogden or Oliver. I am acquainted with a Mrs Oliver and also with a Miss Ogden. I am quite certain that I have never met, or become friendly with any one of the name of Owen.
The judge read it. Miss Claythorne? From a pal of mine. Badger Berkeley. Surprised me at the time because I had an idea the old horse had gone to Norway. Told me to roll up here. You had no previous acquaintanceship with the family? A colleague of mine was mentioned in the letter. Yes, and that colleague, I presume, was momentarily out of touch with you? We are at present inquiring into the causes which have resulted in our being assembled here tonight. General Macarthur? Was he to come out in the open, or not?
He made up his mind. An apparently disembodied voice spoke to us all by name, uttering certain precise accusations against us.
We will deal with those accusations presently. At the moment I am interested in a minor point. Amongst the names recited was that of William Henry Blore. But as far as we know there is no one named Blore amongst us. The name of Davis was not mentioned. What have you to say about that, Mr Davis? You claim to have come from Natal, South Africa. Angry suspicious eyes.
Anthony Marston moved a step nearer to him. I run a detective agency in Plymouth. I was put on this job. Enclosed a handsome money order for expenses and instructed me as to what he wanted done.
I was to join the house-party, posing as a guest. I was given all your names. I was to watch you all. Mrs Owen my foot! A silence of dismay and bewilderment. First however, I will just add my own credentials to the list. I have not seen her for some years. She went to the East. It is exactly the kind of vague incoherent letter she would write, urging me to join her here and referring to her host and hostess in the vaguest of terms. The same technique, you will observe.
I only mention it because it agrees with the other evidence — from all of which emerges one interesting point. He, whoever he may be, is aware of my friendship for Lady Constance — and is familiar with her epistolary style.
And Then There Were None.pdf
He knows exactly where Miss Brent was two years ago for her holiday and the kind of people she met there. General Macarthur shouted: He said, picking his words with care: Our unknown friend accuses me of the murder of one Edward Seton. I remember Seton perfectly well. He came up before me for trial in June of the year He was charged with the murder of an elderly woman.
He was very ably defended and made a good impression on the jury in the witness-box. Nevertheless, on the evidence, he was certainly guilty. I summed up accordingly, and the jury brought in a verdict of Guilty.
In passing sentence of death I concurred with the verdict. An appeal was lodged on the grounds of misdirection. The appeal was rejected and the man was duly executed.
has been shot in the head.
I wish to say before you all that my conscience is perfectly clear on the matter. I did my duty and nothing more. I passed sentence on a rightly convicted murderer. The Seton case! The verdict had come as a great surprise. He had met Matthews, KC on one of the days of the trial dining at a restaurant. Acquittal practically certain. Turned the jury right round and they brought him in guilty.
Quite legal, though. Old Wargrave knows his law. It was almost as though he had a private down on the fellow. Before he could consider the wisdom of the 75 q p question he had asked impulsively: I mean previous to the case.
In a clear cold voice the judge said: About that child — Cyril Hamilton. I was nursery governess to him. He was forbidden to swim out far. One day, when my attention was distracted, he started off. I swam after him. It was awful. At the inquest the Coroner exonerated me. And his mother — she was so kind. General Macarthur patted her shoulder.
A madman! Got a bee in his bonnet! Got hold of the wrong end of the stick all round. He barked out: However, feel I ought to say — no truth — no truth whatever in what he said about — er — young Arthur Richmond. I sent him on a reconnaissance. He was killed. Natural course of events in wartime. Wish to say resent very much — slur on my wife. Best woman in the world.
His shaking hand pulled at his moustache. The effort to speak had cost him a good deal. Lombard spoke. His eyes were amused. Matter of selfpreservation. We were lost in the bush. I and a couple of other fellows took what food there was and cleared out.
She said, staring at him: Anthony Marston said in a slow puzzled voice: Must have been a couple of kids I ran over near Cambridge. Beastly bad luck. Of course it was a pure accident. They rushed out of some cottage or other. I had my licence suspended for a year. Beastly nuisance. Young men like you are a danger to the community. English roads are hopeless, of course. He said over his shoulder: Just an accident! He said now in a low deferential voice: And of Miss Brady. My wife and I were with Miss Brady till she died.
She was always in poor health, sir, always from the time we came to her. There was a storm, sir, that night — the night she was taken bad. The telephone was out of order. I went for him, sir, on foot. But he got there too late.
Devoted to her, we were. Anyone will tell you the same. There was never a word said against us. Not a word. He remembered the crash of the falling coffee tray. He thought, but did not say: That was the bank robbery — London and Commercial.
Landor was convicted on your evidence. He was a delicate man. It was he who knocked out the night watchman. The case was quite clear against him. Myself excepted. What about you, doctor — and your little professional mistake? Illegal operation, was it?
Dr Armstrong, very much master of himself, shook his head good-humouredly. What was it — Clees? It might possibly be one of my operation cases in hospital.
They come too late, so many of these people. And I operated! Nerves all to pieces — hands shaking. I killed her all right. 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. I have nothing to say. He said mildly: I have always acted in accordance with the dictates of my conscience. I have nothing with which to reproach myself. But Emily Brent was not one to be swayed by public opinion. She sat unyielding. The judge cleared his throat once or twice. Now Rogers, who else is there on this island besides ourselves and you and your wife?
Nobody at all. But in my opinion this person, whoever he may be, is not sane in the accepted sense of the word. In my opinion it would be well for us to leave this place as soon as possible. I suggest that we leave tonight. He brings the bread and the milk and the post, and takes the orders. It was Anthony Marston who disagreed with the majority. Positively thrilling. 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. Then Dr Armstrong jumped up and went over to him, kneeling beside him. When he raised his head his eyes were bewildered.
He said in a low awe-struck whisper: Not at once. That young Norse God in the prime of his health and strength. Struck down all in a moment. He sniffed at the blue twisted lips. Then he picked up the glass from which Anthony Marston had been drinking. He died of asphyxiation right enough. His expression altered. He said brusquely: Everything points to one of the cyanides.
No distinctive smell of Prussic Acid, probably Potassium Cyanide. It acts pretty well instantaneously. He removed the stopper from the whisky and smelt and tasted it. Then he tasted the soda water. He shook his head. He was so alive. He was — oh — enjoying himself! Anthony Marston, in the height of his youth and manhood, had seemed like a being who was immortal. Dr Armstrong said: There could be no other explanation. The drinks themselves were 87 q p untampered with.
They had all seen Anthony Marston go across and help himself. It followed therefore that any cyanide in the drink must have been put there by Anthony Marston himself. And yet — why should Anthony Marston commit suicide?
Blore said thoughtfully: What else was there to say? Together Armstrong and Lombard had carried the inert body of Anthony Marston to his bedroom and had laid him there covered over with a sheet.
When they came downstairs again, the others were standing in a group, shivering a little, though the night was not cold. The suggestion was a wise one — yet every one hesitated. The others went upstairs, a slow unwilling procession. If this had been an old house, with creaking wood, and dark shadows, and heavily panelled walls, there might have been an eerie feeling.
But this house was the essence of modernity. There was nothing hidden in this house, nothing concealed. It had no atmosphere about it.
They exchanged good-nights on the upper landing. Each of them went into his or her own room, and each of them automatically, almost without conscious thought, locked the door. He was thinking about Edward Seton. He remembered Seton very well. His fair hair, his blue eyes, his habit of looking you straight in the face with a pleasant air of straightforwardness.
That was what had made so good an impression on the jury. Llewellyn, for the Crown, had bungled it a bit. He had been over-vehement, had tried to prove too much. Matthews, on the other hand, for the Defence, had been good. His points had told. His cross-examinations had been deadly. His handling of his client in the witness-box had been masterly. And Seton had come through the ordeal of crossexamination well. He had not got excited or overvehement. The jury had been impressed. The judge wound up his watch carefully and placed it by the bed.
He remembered exactly how he had felt sitting there — listening, making notes, appreciating everything, tabulating every scrap of evidence that told against the prisoner. Llewellyn, coming after it, had failed to remove the good impression that the defending counsel had made. And then had come his own summing up. Carefully, Mr Justice Wargrave removed his false teeth and dropped them into a glass of water.
The shrunken lips fell in. It was a cruel mouth now, cruel and predatory. Hooding his eyes, the judge smiled to himself.
With a slightly rheumatic grunt, he climbed into bed and turned out the electric light. He muttered to himself: I could have sworn there were ten of them.
Sleep would not come to him. Leslie was so capricious. Lots of good fellows that Leslie would turn up her nose at and pronounce dull. And he, Macarthur, had been delighted at the thought that 92 And Then There Were None Leslie took quite a motherly interest in the boy.
Motherly indeed! He could see her now. Her heartshaped face, and her dancing deep grey eyes, and the brown curling mass of her hair. It had come about exactly in the way things happened in books. The letter in the wrong envelope. Even now, all these years after, he could feel the shock of it — the pain. God, it had hurt! And the business had been going on some time. The letter made that clear.
Leslie — Leslie and Arthur! God damn the fellow! It had gathered slowly — that cold murderous rage. Had he succeeded? He thought so. Only young Armitage had looked at him curiously once or twice. Armitage, perhaps, had guessed — when the time came. Only a miracle could have brought him through unhurt. It had been easy enough. All was confusion, panic. But young Armitage was different. After the War was over — had Armitage talked? That had been a long time ago. Fifteen years — sixteen years?
Nice neighbours — pleasant part of the world. But not the day that the lesson was read about David putting Uriah in the forefront of the battle. Gave him an uncomfortable feeling. Everybody had been very friendly. They eyed him differently, somehow. Supposing Armitage had talked. Unpleasant to feel that people were discussing you. And all so long ago.
So — so purposeless now. Leslie had faded into the distance and Arthur Richmond too. Nothing of what had happened seemed to matter any more. And now — this evening — a hidden voice had blared out that old hidden story. Had he dealt with it all right? Kept a stiff upper lip? Surely nobody could have taken the accusation seriously. There had been a pack of other nonsense, just as far-fetched.
That charming girl — the voice had accused her of drowning a child! Some madman throwing crazy accusations about! Emily Brent, too — actually a niece of old Tom Brent of the Regiment. It had accused her of murder! Any one could see with half an eye that the woman was as pious as could be — the kind that was hand and glove with parsons.
Damned curious business the whole thing! Crazy, nothing less. Ever since they had got here — when was that? Why, damn it, it was only this afternoon! Seemed a good bit longer than that. To go back to the mainland, back to his little house, back to all the troubles and worries. Through the open window he could hear the waves breaking on the rocks — a little louder now than earlier in the evening. Wind was getting up, too.
Peaceful sound. Peaceful place. VI Vera Claythorne lay in bed, wide awake, staring up at the ceiling. The light beside her was on. She was frightened of the dark. She was thinking: Somewhere quite close. I never shall know.
and then there were none
He just went away — right away — out of my life. He was close to her. Marston finishes his drink and immediately dies from cyanide poisoning. Armstrong confirms that there is no cyanide in the drinks Marston was served from, indicating he committed suicide.
The next morning, Mrs. Rogers' corpse is found in her bed; she died in her sleep. The cause is unknown, but some of the guests suspect her husband of poisoning her for fear that she would confess to the crime they are charged with in the recording. By lunchtime, General MacArthur is found dead, from a heavy blow to his head.
Three of the figurines are found to be broken, and again the deaths parallel the rhyme. The guests begin to suspect that U. Owen is systematically murdering them. A search for Owen turns up no results.
The island is a "bare rock" with no hiding places, and no one could have arrived or left; thus, they conclude that one of the seven remaining persons is the killer. Wargrave leads the group in determining that so far, none of them can definitively be ruled out as the murderer. The next morning, Rogers is found dead while chopping wood. After breakfast, Emily Brent is found dead in the kitchen, where she had been left alone after complaining of feeling unwell; she had been injected with potassium cyanide via a hypodermic needle.
Wargrave suggests searching all the rooms, and any potentially dangerous items are locked up. Lombard's gun is missing from his room. When Vera goes upstairs to take a bath, she is shocked by the touch and smell of seaweed left hanging from the ceiling of her room and screams; the remaining guests rush upstairs to her room.
Wargrave, however, is still downstairs. The others find him seated, immobile and crudely dressed up in the attire of a judge. Wargrave is examined by Armstrong and pronounced dead from a gunshot to the forehead. That night, Lombard finds his gun returned to his room. Henry Blore catches a glimpse of someone leaving the house but loses the trail. Only Armstrong is absent from his room. Vera, Blore, and Lombard decide to stay together at all times. In the morning, they signal SOS to the mainland from outside by using a mirror and sunlight , but receive no reply.
Blore returns to the house for food by himself and is killed by a heavy bear-shaped clock statue that is pushed from Vera's window sill, crushing his skull. Since neither of them were near the house when the death occurred, Vera and Lombard conclude that Armstrong is the killer. Vera and Lombard come upon Armstrong's body washed up on the beach.
Each concludes the other must be the killer. Vera suggests moving the doctor's body past the shore as a gesture of respect for the dead, but this is a pretext.
While they move the body, she lifts Lombard's gun. When Lombard lunges at her to get it back, she shoots him dead. She returns to the house in a shaken dreamlike state, relieved to be alive. She finds a noose and chair arranged in her room, and a strong smell of the sea.
Pressed by guilt over the crime she is accused of causing the drowning of a boy in her charge because he held priority over her lover for his inheritance , she hangs herself in accordance with the last verse of the rhyme. Scotland Yard officials are puzzled at who could have killed the ten. They reconstruct the deaths from Marston to Wargrave with the help of the victims' diaries and a coroner 's report, and systematically determine that none of the last four victims Armstrong, Blore, Lombard, or Claythorne can be the killer, since there was some form of cleanup following all their deaths except Blore's for example, the chair on which Vera stood to hang herself had been set back upright , and a suicide by falling clock seems beyond the realm of probability.
Isaac Morris, a sleazy lawyer and drug trafficker, downloadd the island, arranged the invitations, ordered the production of the gramophone record, and told the inhabitants of nearby Sticklehaven to ignore any signals for help, citing a bet about living on a "desert island" for a week. However, Morris died of an overdose of barbiturates on the night of 8 August.
A fishing ship picks up a bottle inside its trawling nets; the bottle contains a written confession of the killings, which is then sent to Scotland Yard. In the confession, Justice Wargrave writes that all his life he has had two contradictory impulses: a sadistic love for causing the death of others, and a strong sense of justice.When he thought the old gentleman had actually gone to sleep, Wargrave said suddenly: Philip Lombard said: We can already see this suspicion developing during their search of the island, when Blore asks Armstrong why Lombard happens to be carrying a revolver.
And the face was hidden. The guests fall back on their usual defenses to explain what is going on.
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