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Агата Кристи
‘We will come to that presently. At the moment all I wish to establish is that we are in agreement on the facts.’
Emily Brent, still knitting, said:
‘Your argument seems logical. I agree that one of us is possessed by a devil.’
Vera murmured:
‘I can’t believe it… I can’t…’
Wargrave said:
‘Lombard?’
‘I agree, sir, absolutely.’
The judge nodded his head in a satisfied manner. He said:
‘Now let us examine the evidence. To begin with, is there any reason for suspecting one particular person? Mr Blore, you have, I think, something to say.’
Blore was breathing hard. He said:
‘Lombard’s got a revolver. He didn’t tell the truth—last night. He admits it.’
Philip Lombard smiled scornfully.
He said:
‘I suppose I’d better explain again.’
He did so, telling the story briefly and succinctly.
Blore said sharply:
‘What’s to prove it? There’s nothing to corroborate your story.’
The judge coughed.
‘Unfortunately,’ he said, ‘we are all in that position. There is only our own word to go upon.’
He leaned forward.
‘You have none of you yet grasped what a very peculiar situation this is. To my mind there is only one course of procedure to adopt. Is there any one whom we can definitely eliminate from suspicion on the evidence which is in our possession?’
Dr Armstrong said quickly:
‘I, am a well-known professional man. The mere idea that I can be suspected of—’
Again a gesture of the judge’s hand arrested a speaker before he finished his speech. Mr Justice Wargrave said in his small clear voice:
‘I too, am a well-known person! But, my dear sir, that proves less than nothing! Doctors have gone mad before now. Judges have gone mad. So,’ he added, looking at Blore, ‘have policemen!’
Lombard said:
‘At any rate, I suppose you’ll leave the women out of it.’
The judge’s eyebrows rose. He said in the famous ‘acid’ tones that Counsel knew so well:
‘Do I understand you to assert that women are not subject to homicidal mania?’
Lombard said irritably:
‘Of course not. But all the same, it hardly seems possible—’
He stopped. Mr Justice Wargrave still in the same thin sour voice addressed Armstrong.
‘I take it, Dr Armstrong, that a woman would have been physically capable of striking the blow that killed poor Macarthur?’
The doctor said calmly:
‘Perfectly capable—given a suitable instrument, such as a rubber truncheon or cosh.’
‘It would require no undue exertion of force?’
‘Not at all.’
Mr Justice Wargrave wriggled his tortoise-like neck. He said:
‘The other two deaths have resulted from the administration of drugs. That, no one will dispute, is easily compassed by a person of the smallest physical strength.’
Vera cried angrily:
‘I think you’re mad!’
His eyes turned slowly till they rested on her. It was the dispassionate stare of a man well used to weighing humanity in the balance. She thought:
‘He’s just seeing me as a—as a specimen. And—’ the thought came to her with real surprise, ‘he doesn’t like me much!’
In a measured tone the judge was saying:
‘My dear young lady, do try and restrain your feelings. I am not accusing you.’ He bowed to Miss Brent. ‘I hope, Miss Brent, that you are not offended by my insistence that
