spirits revived. In the open doorway of the house a correct butler was awaiting them, and something about his gravity reassured them. And then the house itself was really most attractive, the view from the terrace magnificent…
The butler came forward bowing slightly. He was a tall lank man: grey–haired and very respectable. He said:
“Will you come this way, please.”
In the wide hall drinks stood, ready. Rows of bottles. Anthony Marston’s spirits cheered up a little. He’d just been thinking this was a rum kind of show. None of his lot! What could old Badger have been thinking about to let him in for this? However, the drinks were all right. Plenty of ice, too.
What was it the butler chap was saying?
Mr. Owen – unfortunately delayed – unable to get here till tomorrow. Instructions – everything they wanted – if they would like to go to their rooms?… dinner would be at eight o’clock…
V
Vera had followed Mrs. Rogers upstairs. The woman had thrown open a door at the end of a passage and Vera had walked into a delightful bedroom with a big window that opened wide upon the sea and another looking east. She uttered a quick exclamation of pleasure.
Mrs. Rogers was saying:
“I hope you’ve got everything you want, Miss?”
Vera looked round. Her luggage had been brought up and had been unpacked. At one side of the room a door stood open into a pale blue–tiled bathroom.
She said quickly:
“Yes, everything, I think.”
“You’ll ring the bell if you want anything. Miss?”
Mrs. Rogers had a flat, monotonous voice. Vera looked at her curiously. What a white, bloodless ghost of a woman! Very respectable–looking, with her hair dragged back from her face and her black dress. Queer light eyes that shifted the whole time from place to place.
Vera thought:
“She looks frightened of her own shadow.”
Yes, that was it – frightened!
She looked like a woman who walked in mortal fear…
A little shiver passed down Vera’s back. What on earth was the woman afraid of?
She said pleasantly:
“I’m Mrs. Owen’s new secretary. I expect you know that.”
Mrs. Rogers said:
“No, Miss, I don’t know anything. Just a list of the ladies and gentlemen and what rooms they were to have.”
Vera said:
“Mrs. Owen didn’t mention me?” Mrs. Rogers’ eyelashes flickered.
“I haven’t seen Mrs. Owen – not yet.We only came here two days ago.”
Extraordinary people, these Owens, thought Vera. Aloud she said:
“What staff is there here?”
“Just me and Rogers, Miss.”
Vera frowned. Eight people in the house – ten with the host and hostess – and only one married couple to do for them.
Mrs. Rogers said:
“I’m a good cook and Rogers is handy about the house. I didn’t know, of course, that there was to be such a large party.”
Vera said: “But you can manage?”
“Oh yes, Miss, I can manage. If there’s to be large parties often perhaps Mrs. Owen could get extra help in.”
Vera said, “I expect so.”
Mrs. Rogers turned to go. Her feet moved noiselessly over the ground. She drifted from the room like a shadow.
Vera went over to the window and sat down on the window seat. She was faintly disturbed. Everything – somehow – was a little queer. The absence of the Owens, the pale, ghostlike Mrs. Rogers. And the guests! Yes, the guests were queer, too. An oddly assorted party.
Vera thought:
“I wish I’d seen the Owens… I wish I knew what they were like.”
She got up and walked restlessly about the room.
A perfect bedroom decorated throughout in the modern style. Off–white rugs on the gleaming parquet floor – faintly tinged walls – a long mirror surrounded by lights. A mantelpiece bare of ornaments save for an enormous block of white marble shaped like a bear, a piece of modern sculpture in which was inset a clock. Over it, in a gleaming chromium frame, was a big square of parchment – a poem.
She stood in front of the fireplace and read it. It was the old nursery rhyme that she remembered from her childhood days.
Ten little nigger boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were Nine.
Nine little nigger boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were Eight.
Eight little nigger boys travelling in Devon;
One said he’d stay there and then there were Seven.
Seven little nigger boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves and then there were Six.
Six little nigger boys playing with a hive;
A bumble bee stung one and then there were Five.
Five little nigger boys going in for law;
One got into Chancery and then there were Four.
Four little nigger boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were Three.
Three little nigger boys walking in the Zoo;
A big bear hugged one and then there were Two.
Two little nigger boys sitting in the sun;
One got frizzled up and then there was One.
One little nigger boy left all alone;
He went and hanged himself and then there were None.
Vera smiled. Of course! This was Nigger Island!
She went and sat again by the window looking out to sea.
How big the sea was! From here there was no land to be seen anywhere – just a vast expanse of blue water rippling in the evening sun. The sea … so peaceful to–day – sometimes so cruel…
The sea that dragged you down to its depths. Drowned … found drowned … drowned at sea … drowned – drowned – drowned…
No, she wouldn’t remember … she would not think of it!
All that was over…
VI
