无人生还43
时间：2026-03-19 03:08:46
（单词翻译:单击）
Chapter 9
I
Lombard said slowly:
‘So we’ve been wrong—wrong all along! Built up a nightmare of super-
stition and fantasy all because of the coincidence of two deaths!’
Armstrong said gravely:
‘And yet, you know, the argument holds. Hang it all, I’m a doctor, I know
something about suicides. Anthony Marston wasn’t a suicidal type.’
Lombard said doubtfully:
‘It couldn’t, I suppose, have been an accident?’
Blore snorted, unconvinced.
‘Damned queer sort of accident,’ he grunted.
There was a pause, then Blore said:
‘About the woman—’ and stopped.
‘Mrs Rogers?’
‘Yes. It’s possible, isn’t it, that that might have been an accident?’
Philip Lombard said:
‘An accident? In what way?’
Blore looked slightly embarrassed. His red- brick face grew a little
deeper in hue. He said, almost blurting out the words:
‘Look here, doctor, you did give her some dope, you know.’
Armstrong stared at him.
‘Dope? What do you mean?’
‘Last night. You said yourself you’d given her something to make her
sleep.’
‘Oh that, yes. A harmless sedative.’
‘What was it exactly?’
‘I gave her a mild dose of trional. A perfectly harmless preparation.’
Blore grew redder still. He said:
‘Look here—not to mince matters—you didn’t give her an overdose, did
you?’
Dr Armstrong said angrily:
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Blore said:
‘It’s possible, isn’t it, that you may have made a mistake? These things do
happen once in a while.’
Armstrong said sharply:
‘I did nothing of the sort. The suggestion is ridiculous.’ He stopped and
added in a cold biting tone: ‘Or do you suggest that I gave her an overdose
on purpose?’
Philip Lombard said quickly:
‘Look here, you two, got to keep our heads. Don’t let’s start slinging ac-
cusations about.’
Blore said sullenly:
‘I only suggested the doctor had made a mistake.’
Dr Armstrong smiled with an effort. He said, showing his teeth in a
somewhat mirthless smile:
‘Doctors can’t afford to make mistakes of that kind, my friend.’
Blore said deliberately:
‘It wouldn’t be the first you’ve made—if that gramophone record is to be
believed!’
Armstrong went white. Philip Lombard said quickly and angrily to
Blore:
‘What’s the sense of making yourself offensive? We’re all in the same
boat. We’ve got to pull together. What about your own pretty little spot of
perjury?’
Blore took a step forward, his hands clenched. He said in a thick voice:
‘Perjury, be damned! That’s a foul lie! You may try and shut me up, Mr
Lombard, but there’s things I want to know—and one of them is about
you!’
Lombard’s eyebrows rose.
‘About me?’
‘Yes. I want to know why you brought a revolver down here on a pleas-
ant social visit?’
Lombard said:
‘You do, do you?’
‘Yes, I do, Mr Lombard.’
Lombard said unexpectedly:
‘You know, Blore, you’re not nearly such a fool as you look.’
‘That’s as may be. What about that revolver?’
Lombard smiled.
‘I brought it because I expected to run into a spot of trouble.’
Blore said suspiciously:
‘You didn’t tell us that last night.’
Lombard shook his head.
‘You were holding out on us?’ Blore persisted.
‘In a way, yes,’ said Lombard.
‘Well, come on, out with it.’
Lombard said slowly:
‘I allowed you all to think that I was asked here in the same way as most
of the others. That’s not quite true. As a matter of fact I was approached
by a little Jew- boy — Morris his name was. He offered me a hundred
guineas to come down here and keep my eyes open—said I’d got a reputa-
tion for being a good man in a tight place.’
‘Well?’ Blore prompted impatiently.
Lombard said with a grin:
‘That’s all.’
Dr Armstrong said:
‘But surely he told you more than that?’
‘Oh no, he didn’t. Just shut up like a clam. I could take it or leave it—
those were his words. I was hard up. I took it.’
Blore looked unconvinced. He said:
‘Why didn’t you tell us all this last night?’
‘My dear man—’ Lombard shrugged eloquent shoulders. ‘How was I to
know that last night wasn’t exactly the eventuality I was here to cope
with? I lay low and told a non-committal story.’
Dr Armstrong said shrewdly:
‘But now—you think differently?’
Lombard’s face changed. It darkened and hardened. He said:
‘Yes. I believe now that I’m in the same boat as the rest of you. That hun-
dred guineas was just Mr Owen’s little bit of cheese to get me into the trap
along with the rest of you.’
He said slowly:
‘For we are in a trap—I’ll take my oath on that! Mrs Rogers’ death! Tony
Marston’s! The disappearing soldier boys on the dinner-table! Oh yes, Mr
Owen’s hand is plainly seen—but where the devil is Mr Owen himself?’
Downstairs the gong pealed a solemn call to lunch.
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