Читать книгу Ten Little Niggers / Десять негритят - Агата Кристи, Agatha Christie, Detection Club The - Страница 25

General Macarthur suddenly exclaimed:

“The whole thing is absurd – just absurd! Throwing accusations about like this! Something must be done about it. This fellow Owen whoever he is —”

Emily Brent interrupted. She said sharply:

“Yes, who is he?”

The judge spoke authoritatively:

“We will go into it very carefully. Rogers, I think you should get your wife to bed first of all. Then come back here.”

Rogers and Dr. Armstrong helped Mrs. Rogers to get out of the room. When they had gone, Tony Marston said he would like to have a drink. Lombard expressed the same wish. Marston went out of the room and returned a second or two later with a tray full of various drinks.

Everyone felt the need of a stimulant. Only Emily Brent asked for a glass of water.

Dr. Armstrong re-entered the room. He said he had given Mrs. Rogers a sedative. He saw the drinks and joined the others. A moment or two later Rogers re-entered the room.

And Mr. Justice Wargrave started the investigation.

The judge said:

“Now then, Rogers, what do you know about this Mr. Owen who owns this place?”

Rogers shook his head.

“I can’t say, sir. You see, I’ve never seen him.”

General Macarthur said:

“You’ve never seen him? What d’you mean?”

“My wife and I, sir, were employed by letter, through an agency. The Regina Agency in Plymouth.”

Wargrave said:

“Have you got that letter?”

“No, sir. I didn’t keep it.”

“Go on with your story. You were employed, as you say, by letter.”

“Yes, sir. We were to arrive on a certain day. Everything was in order here. Plenty of food and everything very nice.”

“What next?”

“We got orders – by letter again – to prepare the rooms for a house-party and then yesterday I got another letter from Mr. Owen. It said he and Mrs. Owen were delayed and it gave the instructions about dinner and coffee and putting on the gramophone record.”

The judge asked sharply:

“Have you got that letter?”

“Yes, sir, I’ve got it here.”

He took it out from his pocket.

“H’m,” the judge said. “Headed Ritz Hotel and typewritten.”

Blore said:

“Let me have a look.”

He examined the letter and murmured:

“Quite new – no defects. A standard paper – the most widely used make. You won’t get anything out of that. Might be fingerprints, but I doubt it.”

Wargrave stared at him with sudden attention.

Anthony Marston looked at the letter over Blore’s shoulder. He said:

“Got some fancy Christian names, hasn’t he? Ulick Norman Owen. Quite a mouthful.”

“The old judge said:

“Thank you, Mr. Marston. You have drawn my attention to a curious point.”

He looked round at the others and said:

“We are all guests of the owner of this house. I think it would help if each one of us explained exactly how that happened.”

After a moment’s pause Emily Brent spoke. She explained that she had received a letter with an illegible signature.

“I thought it was either Ogden or Oliver. I am acquainted with a Mrs. Oliver and also with a Miss Ogden. But I am quite sure that I have never met anyone of the name of Owen.”

She showed the letter to the judge. He read it and said:

“I begin to understand.”

Then Vera Claythorne explained how she had been employed through the agency.

Anthony Marston said he had got a telegram from a friend.

“Surprised me at the time because I had an idea the old boy had gone to Norway. Told me to drive up here.”

Wargrave nodded and turned to Dr. Armstrong. The doctor explained that he had been called in professionally.

“And you have not met the family before?”

“No. A colleague of mine was mentioned in the letter.”

The judge said:

“To give credibility… Yes, and that colleague, I suppose, was temporarily out of touch with you?”

“Well – er – yes.”

The judge turned to General Macarthur.

Pulling at his moustache, the General murmured:

“Got a letter – from this fellow Owen – mentioned some old pals of mine who were to be here. Haven’t kept the letter, I’m afraid.”

Wargrave said:

“Mr. Lombard?”

Lombard thought quickly whether to say the truth, or not.

He made up his mind.[18]

“Same sort of thing,” he said. “Invitation, mention of mutual friends. I haven’t kept the letter.”

Mr. Justice Wargrave turned his attention to Mr. Blore.

He said: “Amongst the names on the record was that of William Henry Blore. The name of Davis was not mentioned. What have you to say about that, Mr. Davis?”

Blore said:

“Well, I suppose I’d better admit that my name isn’t Davis.”

“You are William Henry Blore?”

“That’s right.”

“I will add something,” said Lombard. “You say you have come from Natal, South Africa. I know South Africa and Natal and I can swear that you’ve never set foot in South Africa in your life.”

Angry suspicious eyes turned to Blore. Anthony Marston clenched his fists.

“Any explanation, you swine?” he said.

Blore said:

“You gentlemen have got me wrong,” he said. “I’m an ex-C. I. D.[19] man. I run a detective agency in Plymouth. I was put on this job.”

Mr. Justice Wargrave asked: “By whom?”

“This man Owen. I was to join the house-party as a guest.

I was given all your names. I was to watch you all.”

“What reasons?”

Blore said bitterly:

“Mrs. Owen’s jewels. Mrs. Owen! I don’t think there’s any such person.”

Again the judge stroked his upper lip, this time approvingly.

“I think you are right,” he said. “Ulick Norman Owen! In Miss Brent’s letter the Christian names are clear – Una Nancy – you notice, the same initials. Ulick Norman Owen – Una Nancy Owen – each time, that is to say, U. N. Owen. Or by a slight stretch of fancy, UNKNOWN!”

Vera cried:

“But this is mad!”

The judge nodded.

He said:

“Oh, yes. I’ve no doubt that we have been invited here by a madman – probably a dangerous homicidal lunatic.”