Christian names, hasn’t he? Ulick Norman Owen. Quite a mouthful.”
The old judge said with a slight start:
“I am obliged to you, Mr. Marston. You have drawn my attention to a curious and suggestive point.”
He looked round at the others and thrusting his neck forward like an angry tortoise, he said:
“I think the time has come for us all to pool our information. It would be well, I think, for everybody to come forward with all the information they have regarding the owner of this house.” He paused and then went on: “We are all his guests. I think it would be profitable if each of us were to explain exactly how that came about.”
There was a moment’s pause and then Emily Brent spoke with decision.
“There’s something very peculiar about all this,” she said. “I received a letter with a signature that was not very easy to read. 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, anyone of the name of Owen.”
Mr. Justice Wargrave said:
“You have that letter. Miss Brent?”
“Yes, I will fetch it for you.”
She went away and returned a minute later with the letter.
The judge read it. He said:
“I begin to understand… Miss Claythorne?”
Vera explained the circumstances of her secretarial engagement.
The judge said:
“Marston?”
Anthony said:
“Got a wire. 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[24] here.”
Again Wargrave nodded. He said:
“Dr. Armstrong?”
“I was called in professionally.”
“I see. You had no previous acquaintanceship with the family?”
“No. A colleague of mine was mentioned in the letter.”
The judge said:
“To give verisimilitude … yes, and that colleague, I presume, was momentarily out of touch with you?”
“Well – er – yes.”
Lombard, who had been staring at Blore, said suddenly: “Look here, I’ve just thought of something – ”
The judge lifted a hand.
“In a minute – ”
“But I – ”
“We will take one thing at a time, Mr. Lombard. We are at present inquiring into the causes which have resulted in our being assembled here to–night. General Macarthur?”
Pulling at his moustache, the General muttered:
“Got a letter – from this fellow Owen – mentioned some old pals of mine who were to be here – hoped I’d excuse informal invitation. Haven’t kept the letter, I’m afraid.”
Wargrave said: “Mr. Lombard?”
Lombard’s brain had been active. Was he to come out in the open or not? He made up his mind.
“Same sort of thing,” he said. “Invitation, mention of mutual friends – I fell for it all right. I’ve torn up the letter.”
Mr. Justice Wargrave turned his attention to Mr. Blore. His forefinger stroked his upper lip and his voice was dangerously polite.
He said:
“Just now we had a somewhat disturbing experience. 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?” Blore said sulkily:
“Cat’s out of the bag, it seems.[25] 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. “Not only are you here under a false name, Mr. Blore, but in addition I’ve noticed this evening that you’re a first–class liar. You claim to have come from Natal, South Africa. I know South Africa and Natal and I’m prepared to swear that you’ve never set foot in South Africa in your life.”
All eyes were turned on Blore. Angry suspicious eyes. Anthony Marston moved a step nearer to him. His fists clenched themselves.
“Now then, you swine,” he said. “Any explanation?”
Blore flung back his head and set his square jaw.
“You gentlemen have got me wrong,” he said. “I’ve got my credentials and you can see them. I’m an ex–C. I. D.[26] man. I run a detective agency in Plymouth. I was put on this job.”
Mr. Justice Wargrave asked:
“By whom?”
“This man Owen. 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.”
“Any reason given?”
Blore said bitterly.
“Mrs. Owen’s jewels. Mrs. Owen my foot![27] I don’t believe there’s any such person.”
Again the forefinger of the judge stroked his lip, this time appre – ciatively.
“Your conclusions are, I think, justified,” he said. “Ulick Norman Owen! In Miss Brent’s letter, though the signature of the surname is a mere scrawl the Christian names are reasonably clear – Una Nancy – in either case 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 fantastic–mad!”
The judge nodded gently.
He said:
“Oh, yes. I’ve no doubt in my mind that we have been invited here by a madman – probably a dangerous homicidal lunatic.”
