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And Then There Were None
Agatha Christie
Agatha Christie’s world-famous mystery thriller, reissued with a striking cover designed to appeal to the latest generation of Agatha Christie fans and book lovers.Ten strangers, apparently with little in common, are lured to an island mansion off the coast of Devon by the mysterious U.N.Owen. Over dinner, a record begins to play, and the voice of an unseen host accuses each person of hiding a guilty secret. That evening, former reckless driver Tony Marston is found murdered by a deadly dose of cyanide.The tension escalates as the survivors realise the killer is not only among them but is preparing to strike again… and again…
And Then There Were None
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by
William Collins Sons & Co Ltd 1939
Agatha Christie® And Then There Were None™
copyright © Agatha Christie Limited 1939. All rights reserved.
www.agathachristie.com (http://www.agathachristie.com)
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover photographs by Robert Viglasky © Agatha Christie Productions 2015
From the major BBC series And Then There Were None starring
Douglas Booth, Charles Dance, Maeve Dermody, Burn Gorman, Anna Maxwell Martin,
Sam Neill, Miranda Richardson, Toby Stephenson, Noah Taylor and Aidan Turner
Agatha Christie asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008123208
Ebook Edition © December 2015 ISBN: 9780007422135
Version: 2018-11-20
To
CARLO AND MARY
This is their book,
Dedicated to them with much affection.
Contents
Cover (#uf7c9ae65-a039-55d3-8738-8966a8264612)
Title Page (#u5abb1e9d-7e38-52b5-a9aa-5fe4a8c3811e)
Copyright (#u46f38728-2f17-5b26-8312-f98624c1eed0)
Dedication (#u46b16d0e-ba40-5d3e-a30d-bcf252952e77)
AUTHOR’S NOTE (#uc6086f6f-b522-5c56-81b9-5e5e21f4b764)
CHAPTER 1 (#u3298b2f7-2376-57a5-a2ea-48f24aad383b)
CHAPTER 2 (#u10464e4b-5df2-52e3-bf00-5b2a6b860471)
CHAPTER 3 (#u45fcf506-942f-59b7-98a1-7faf179be43a)
CHAPTER 4 (#u03912c20-e4bb-524d-8d26-00f90a1e5c51)
CHAPTER 5 (#u3b354eac-e9d2-5e67-a468-5cb34e5176b2)
CHAPTER 6 (#u8d5b2387-2500-5f37-81f2-28bfbc7fc2bc)
CHAPTER 7 (#u7caf5476-1f5c-5e11-b27b-7b33dac54cc5)
CHAPTER 8 (#u38261b36-2107-5e3b-9aab-a30ece76ee2f)
CHAPTER 9 (#u8faf8923-9caf-55e2-b866-753293bc48e8)
CHAPTER 10 (#uc38e4b2d-bc4b-5076-b292-ed3b43d8c574)
CHAPTER 11 (#u0a32927e-2811-5aa9-9362-fd8ded70de84)
CHAPTER 12 (#u5b159aae-a915-5f88-a3de-54ce23fa31c5)
CHAPTER 13 (#uc8411b9c-d74c-59db-a47e-1049917b23dc)
CHAPTER 14 (#ua75d926b-045b-577d-ad3a-30d2e73cf8cf)
CHAPTER 15 (#ue10e601d-d485-5764-928e-70bc38c9ac60)
CHAPTER 16 (#u54edb210-3eaa-51c2-93f2-90c55a78d90e)
EPILOGUE (#u0e04d211-e5eb-50c2-8700-89f8f7013313)
A MANUSCRIPT DOCUMENT SENT TO SCOTLAND YARD BY THE MASTER OF THE ‘EMMA JANE’ FISHING TRAWLER (#u584e957b-6765-5d2a-9160-199d6b59d5f6)
Also by Agatha Christie (#u7a0c25a4-c341-59b6-9c66-296af78126e4)
About the Publisher (#u6077029d-38c1-521c-957a-2d0d440b7da4)
AUTHOR’S NOTE (#u7607f455-e0da-5b1a-a5fb-a9159ad53780)
I had written this book because it was so difficult to do that the idea had fascinated me. Ten people had to die without it becoming ridiculous or the murderer being obvious. I wrote the book after a tremendous amount of planning, and I was pleased with what I had made of it. It was clear, straightforward, baffling, and yet had a perfectly reasonable explanation; in fact it had to have an epilogue in order to explain it. It was well received and reviewed, but the person who was really pleased with it was myself, for I knew better than any critic how difficult it had been.
CHAPTER 1 (#u7607f455-e0da-5b1a-a5fb-a9159ad53780)
I
In the corner of a first-class smoking carriage, Mr Justice Wargrave, lately retired from the bench, puffed at a cigar and ran an interested eye through the political news in The Times.
He laid the paper down and glanced out of the window. They were running now through Somerset. He glanced at his watch—another two hours to go.
He went over in his mind all that had appeared in the papers about Soldier Island. There had been its original purchase by an American millionaire who was crazy about yachting—and an account of the luxurious modern house he had built on this little island off the Devon coast. The unfortunate fact that the new third wife of the American millionaire was a bad sailor had led to the subsequent putting up of the house and island for sale. Various glowing advertisements of it had appeared in the papers. Then came the first bald statement that it had been bought—by a Mr Owen. After that the rumours of the gossip writers had started. Soldier Island had really been bought by Miss Gabrielle Turl, the Hollywood film star! She wanted to spend some months there free from all publicity! Busy Bee had hinted delicately that it was to be an abode for Royalty??! Mr Merryweather had had it whispered to him that it had been bought for a honeymoon—Young Lord L— had surrendered to Cupid at last! Jonas knew for a fact that it had been purchased by the Admiralty with a view to carrying out some very hush-hush experiments!
Definitely, Soldier Island was news!
From his pocket Mr Justice Wargrave drew out a letter. The handwriting was practically illegible but words here and there stood out with unexpected clarity. Dearest Lawrence…such years since I heard anything of you…must come to Soldier Island…the most enchanting place…so much to talk over…old days…communion with nature…bask in sunshine…12.40 fromPaddington…meet you at Oakbridge… and his correspondent signed herself with a flourish his ever Constance Culmington.
Mr Justice Wargrave cast back in his mind to remember when exactly he had last seen Lady Constance Culmington. It must be seven—no, eight years ago. She had then been going to Italy to bask in the sun and be at one with Nature and the contadini. Later, he had heard, she had proceeded to Syria where she proposed to bask in a yet stronger sun and live at one with Nature and the bedouin.
Constance Culmington, he reflected to himself, was exactly the sort of woman who would buy an island and surround herself with mystery! Nodding his head in gentle approval of his logic, Mr Justice Wargrave allowed his head to nod…
He slept…
II
Vera Claythorne, in a third-class carriage with five other travellers in it, leaned her head back and shut her eyes. How hot it was travelling by train today! It would be nice to get to the sea! Really a great piece of luck getting this job. When you wanted a holiday post it nearly always meant looking after a swarm of children—secretarial holiday posts were much more difficult to get. Even the agency hadn’t held out much hope.
And then the letter had come.
‘I have received your name from the Skilled Women’s Agency together with their recommendation. I understand they know you personally. I shall be glad to pay you the salary you ask and shall expect you to take up your duties on August 8th. The train is the 12.40 from Paddington and you will be met at Oakbridge station. I enclose five £1 notes for expenses.
Yours truly,
Una Nancy Owen.’
And at the top was the stamped address, Soldier Island, Sticklehaven, Devon…
Soldier Island! Why, there had been nothing else in the papers lately! All sorts of hints and interesting rumours. Though probably they were mostly untrue. But the house had certainly been built by a millionaire and was said to be absolutely the last word in luxury.
Vera Claythorne, tired by a recent strenuous term at school, thought to herself, ‘Being a games mistress in a third-class school isn’t much of a catch… If only I could get a job at some decent school.’
And then, with a cold feeling round her heart, she thought: ‘But I’m lucky to have even this. After all, people don’t like a Coroner’s Inquest, even if the Coroner did acquit me of all blame!’
He had even complimented her on her presence of mind and courage, she remembered. For an inquest it couldn’t have gone better. And Mrs Hamilton had been kindness itself to her—only Hugo—but she wouldn’t think of Hugo!
Suddenly, in spite of the heat in the carriage she shivered and wished she wasn’t going to the sea. A picture rose clearly before her mind. Cyril’s head, bobbing up and down, swimming to the rock… Up and down—up and down… And herself, swimming in easy practised strokes after him—cleaving her way through the water but knowing, only too surely, that she wouldn’t be in time…
The sea—its deep warm blue—mornings spent lying out on the sands—Hugo—Hugo who had said he loved her…
She must not think of Hugo…
She opened her eyes and frowned across at the man opposite her. A tall man with a brown face, light eyes set rather close together and an arrogant, almost cruel mouth.
She thought to herself:
I bet he’s been to some interesting parts of the world and seen some interesting things…
III
Philip Lombard, summing up the girl opposite in a mere flash of his quick moving eyes thought to himself:
‘Quite attractive—a bit schoolmistressy perhaps.’
A cool customer, he should imagine—and one who could hold her own—in love or war. He’d rather like to take her on…
He frowned. No, cut out all that kind of stuff. This was business. He’d got to keep his mind on the job.
What exactly was up, he wondered? That little man had been damned mysterious.
‘Take it or leave it, Captain Lombard.’
He had said thoughtfully:
‘A hundred guineas, eh?’
He had said it in a casual way as though a hundred guineas was nothing to him. A hundred guineas when he was literally down to his last square meal! He had fancied, though, that the little man had not been deceived—that was the damnable part, you couldn’t deceive men like that about money—they knew!
He said in the same casual tone:
‘And you can’t give me any further information?’
Mr Isaac Morris had shaken his little bald head very positively.
‘No, Captain Lombard, the matter rests there. It is understood by my client that your reputation is that of a good man in a tight place. I am empowered to hand you one hundred guineas in return for which you will travel to Sticklehaven, Devon. The nearest station is Oakbridge, you will be met there and motored to Sticklehaven where a motor launch will convey you to Soldier Island. There you will hold yourself at the disposal of my client.’
Lombard had said abruptly:
‘For how long?’
