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Агата Кристи
She was alone on the island…
Alone with nine dead bodies…
But what did that matter?
She sat there—exquisitely happy—exquisitely at peace…
No more fear…
IV
The sun was setting when Vera moved at last. Sheer reaction had kept her immobile. There had been no room in her for anything but the glorious sense of safety.
She realised now that she was hungry and sleepy. Principally sleepy. She wanted to throw herself on her bed and sleep and sleep and sleep…
Tomorrow, perhaps, they would come and rescue her— but she didn’t really mind. She didn’t mind staying here. Not now that she was alone…
Oh! blessed, blessed peace…
She got to her feet and glanced up at the house.
Nothing to be afraid of any longer! No terrors waiting for her! Just an ordinary well-built modern house. And yet, a little earlier in the day, she had not been able to look at it without shivering…
Fear—what a strange thing fear was…
Well, it was over now. She had conquered—had triumphed over the most deadly peril. By her own quick-wittedness and adroitness she had turned the tables on her would-be destroyer.
She began to walk up towards the house.
The sun was setting, the sky to the west was streaked with red and orange. It was beautiful and peaceful…
Vera thought:
‘The whole thing might be a dream…’
How tired she was—terribly tired. Her limbs ached, her eyelids were dropping. Not to be afraid any more… To sleep… Sleep… sleep… sleep…
To sleep safely since she was alone on the island. One little soldier boy left all alone.
She smiled to herself.
She went in at the front door. The house, too, felt strangely peaceful.
Vera thought:
‘Ordinarily one wouldn’t care to sleep where there’s a dead body in practically every bedroom!’
Should she go to the kitchen and get herself something to eat?
She hesitated a moment, then decided against it. She was really too tired…
She paused by the dining-room door. There were still three little china figures in the middle of the table.
Vera laughed.
She said:
‘You’re behind the times, my dears.’
She picked up two of them and tossed them out through the window. She heard them crash on the stone of the terrace.
The third little figure she picked up and held in her hand. She said:
‘You can come with me. We’ve won, my dear! We’ve won!’
The hall was dim in the dying light.
Vera, the little soldier clasped in her hand, began to mount the stairs. Slowly, because her legs were suddenly very tired.
Married… Funny, how she suddenly got the feeling again that Hugo was in the house…
Very strong. Yes, Hugo was upstairs waiting for her.
Vera said to herself:
‘Don’t be a fool. You’re so tired that you’re imagining the most fantastic things…’
Slowly up the stairs…
At the top of them something fell from her hand making hardly any noise on the soft pile carpet. She did not notice that she had dropped the revolver. She was only conscious of clasping a little china figure.
How very quiet the house was. And yet—it didn’t seem like an empty house…
