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Агата Кристи
Mr Justice Wargrave asked:
‘Would it have needed great force, doctor?’
Armstrong said gravely:
‘A woman could have done it if that’s what you mean.’ He gave a quick glance round. Vera Claythorne and Emily Brent had retired to the kitchen. ‘The girl could have done it easily—she’s an athletic type. In appearance Miss Brent is fragile-looking, but that type of woman has often a lot of wiry strength. And you must remember that anyone who’s mentally unhinged has a good deal of unsuspected strength.’
The judge nodded thoughtfully.
Blore rose to his knees with a sigh. He said:
‘No fingerprints. Handle was wiped afterwards.’
A sound of laughter was heard—they turned sharply. Vera Claythorne was standing in the yard. She cried out in a high shrill voice, shaken with wild bursts of laughter:
‘Do they keep bees on this island? Tell me that. Where do we go for honey? Ha! ha!’
They stared at her uncomprehendingly. It was as though the sane well-balanced girl had gone mad before their eyes. She went on in that high unnatural voice:
‘Don’t stare like that! As though you thought I was mad. It’s sane enough what I’m asking. Bees, hives, bees! Oh, don’t you understand? Haven’t you read that idiotic rhyme? It’s up in all your bedrooms—put there for you to study! We might have come here straightaway if we’d had sense.
She began laughing wildly again. Dr Armstrong strode forward. He raised his hand and struck her a flat blow on the cheek.
She gasped, hiccupped—and swallowed. She stood motionless a minute, then she said:
‘Thank you… I’m all right now.’
Her voice was once more calm and controlled—the voice of the efficient games mistress.
She turned and went across the yard into the kitchen saying: ‘Miss Brent and I are getting you breakfast. Can you—bring some sticks to light the fire?’
The marks of the doctor’s hand stood out red on her cheek.
As she went into the kitchen Blore said:
‘Well, you dealt with that all right, doctor.’
Armstrong said apologetically:
‘Had to! We can’t cope with hysteria on the top of everything else.’
Philip Lombard said:
‘She’s not a hysterical type.’
Armstrong agreed.
‘Oh no. Good healthy sensible girl. Just the sudden shock. It might happen to anybody.’
Rogers had chopped a certain amount of firewood before he had been killed. They gathered it up and took it into the kitchen. Vera and Emily Brent were busy, Miss Brent was raking out the stove. Vera was cutting the rind off the bacon.
Emily Brent said:
‘Thank you. We’ll be as quick as we can—say half an hour to three-quarters. The kettle’s got to boil.’
IV
Ex-Inspector Blore said in a low hoarse voice to Philip Lombard:
‘Know what I’m thinking?’
Philip Lombard said:
‘As you’re just about to tell me, it’s not worth the trouble of guessing.’
