Читать книгу Ten Little Niggers / Десять негритят - Агата Кристи, Agatha Christie, Detection Club The - Страница 24

The shocked silence was broken by a loud crash: Rogers had dropped the coffee tray!

And there came a scream and the sound of a falling body from outside the room. Lombard sprang to the door and quickly opened it. Outside, Mrs. Rogers was lying on the floor.

Lombard called Marston and between them they lifted up the woman and carried her into the drawing-room.

Dr. Armstrong helped them to lift her onto the sofa and bent over her. He said quickly:

“It’s nothing. She’s fainted, that’s all. She’ll come round in a minute.”

Lombard told Rogers to bring some brandy. Rogers slipped quickly out of the room. His face was white, his hands were shaking.

Vera cried out:

“Who was that speaking? Where was he?”

General Macarthur looked suddenly ten years older.

“What’s going on here? What kind of a practical joke was that?”

Blore was wiping his face with a handkerchief.

Only Mr. Justice Wargrave and Miss Brent seemed comparatively unemotional. Emily Brent, sitting very erect, held her head high. There were spots of dark colour in both her cheeks. The judge sat in his usual hunched-up pose. Only his eyes were active, moving round and round the room, puzzled, watching with lively intelligence.

Again Lombard took the initiative.

He said:

“That voice? It sounded as though it were in the room.”

Vera cried again:

“Who was it? It wasn’t one of us!”

Lombard looked slowly round the room. Suddenly his eyes stopped on the door near the fireplace. That door led into an adjacent room.

He entered that room and, at once, his satisfied exclamation was heard: “Ah, here we are.”

The others followed him. Only Miss Brent remained alone sitting erect in her chair.

Inside the adjacent room a table stood close to the wall of the drawing-room. On the table was an old-fashioned gramophone with a large trumpet. The mouth of the trumpet was against the wall. Lombard pushed the trumpet aside and they saw some small holes in the wall.

Lombard replaced the needle on the record and at once they heard again: “You are charged with the following indictments —”

Vera cried:

“Turn it off! Turn it off! It’s horrible!”

Lombard obeyed.

Dr. Armstrong said, with a sigh of relief:

“An outrageous and heartless practical joke, I suppose.”

Mr. Justice Wargrave murmured:

“So you think it’s a joke, do you?”

The doctor stared at him.

“What else could it be?”

The judge gently stroked his upper lip and said he wasn’tyet prepared to give an opinion.

Anthony Marston said:

“Look here, you’ve forgotten one thing: who the devil turned the gramophone on?”

Wargrave murmured:

“Yes, I think we must investigate that.”

He led the way back into the drawing-room. The others followed.

Rogers had just returned with a glass of brandy. Miss Brent was bending over Mrs. Rogers.

Rogers slipped between the two women.

“Allow me, Madam, I’ll speak to her. Ethel, it’s all right.

All right, do you hear? Pull yourself together.”

Mrs. Rogers’ frightened eyes went round and round the ring of faces. Rogers repeated:

“Pull yourself together, Ethel.”

Dr. Armstrong spoke to her gently.

“You’ll be all right now, Mrs. Rogers.”

She said:

“Did I faint, sir?”

“Yes.”

“It was The Voice – that awful voice – like a judgement —”

Her face turned green again.

Dr. Armstrong said sharply:

“Where’s that brandy?”

Rogers had put it down on a little table. Someone handed it to the doctor and offered it to Mrs. Rogers.

She drank it, choking a little and gasping. The spirit did her good. The colour returned to her face. She said:

“I’m all right now. It just – upset me.”

Rogers said quickly:

“Of course it did. It upset me too. Made me drop that tray.

Wicked lies, it was! I’d like to know —”

A dry little cough stopped him. He stared at Mr. Justice Wargrave and the latter coughed again. Then he asked:

“Who put that record on the gramophone? Was it you, Rogers?”

Rogers cried:

“Before God, sir, I didn’t know what it was. If I had, I’d never have done it.”

The judge said drily:

“That is probably true. But I think you’d better explain, Rogers.”

The butler wiped his face with a handkerchief. He said earnestly:

“I was just obeying Mr. Owen’s orders, sir, that’s all.”

Mr. Justice Wargrave asked the butler to tell them exactly what those orders had been.

Rogers said:

“I was to take the record from the drawer and put it on the gramophone. My wife was to start the gramophone when I’d gone into the drawing-room with the coffee tray. The record had a name on it – I thought it was just a piece of music.”

Wargrave looked at Lombard.

“Was there a title on it?”

Lombard nodded. He grinned suddenly, showing his white pointed teeth.

He said:

“Quite right, sir. The title was Swan Song…”