Читать «И никого не стало» онлайн - страница 2

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.