Читать книгу Ten Little Niggers / Десять негритят - Агата Кристи, Agatha Christie, Detection Club The - Страница 12

They came to Sticklehaven – a mere group of cottages with a fishing boat or two on the beach.

In the rays of the setting sun they saw Nigger Island rising out of the sea to the south.

Vera said, surprised:

“It’s a long way out.”

She had pictured it differently, close to shore, crowned with a beautiful white house. But they could see no house, only the rock with its faint resemblance to a giant Negro’s head. There was something sinister about it. She shivered.

There were three people sitting outside a little inn: the elderly judge, Miss Brent, and a third man – a big bluff man who came forward and introduced himself.

“Decided to wait for you,” he said. “Allow me to introduce myself. Name’s Davis. Natal, South Africa’s my natal place, ha-ha!”

He laughed.

Mr. Justice Wargrave looked at him with active dislike. He looked as if he wished that he could order to clear the court. Miss Emily Brent was clearly not sure if she liked colonials.

Mr. Davis turned and held up a finger. In response to Davis’ gesture, a man came up to them and said:

“Are you ready to start for the island, ladies and gentlemen? The boat’s waiting. There’s two gentlemen coming by car, but Mr. Owen’s order was not to wait for them as they might arrive at any time.”

The party got up. Their guide led them to his motor boat.

Just as they all got into the boat and their guide was going to start the motor, they saw a car that was coming into the village down the steep country lane.

The car was so fantastically powerful and beautiful that it had all the nature of an apparition. In the radiance of the evening light a young man at the wheel looked not a man, but a young god, a hero god out of some Northern Saga.

He touched the horn and a great roar of sound echoed from the rocks of the bay.

It was a fantastic moment. It seemed that Anthony Marston was something more than mortal.