BLORE. How do you think Armstrong got hold of your revolver?
LOMBARD. Haven’t the slightest idea.
VERA. Tell me exactly what happened in the night?
LOMBARD. Well, after you threw a fit of hysterics and locked yourself in your room, we all thought we’d better go to bed.
BLORE. So we all went to bed—and locked ourselves in our rooms.
LOMBARD. About an hour later, I heard someone pass my door. I came out and tapped on Blore’s door. He was there all right. Then I went to Armstrong’s room. It was empty. That’s when I tapped on your door and told you to sit tight—whatever happened. Then I came down here. The window on the balcony was open—and my revolver was lying just beside it.
BLORE. But why the devil should Armstrong chuck that revolver away?
LOMBARD. Don’t ask me—either an accident or he’s crazy.
VERA. Where do you think he is?
LOMBARD. Lurking somewhere, waiting to have a crack at one of us.
VERA. We ought to search the house.
BLORE. What—and walk into an ambush?
VERA. (Rises) Oh—I never thought of that.
LOMBARD. Are you quite sure you heard no one moving about after we went out?
VERA. (Above Right sofa) Oh, I imagined all sorts of things—but nothing short of setting the house on fire would have got me to unlock my door.
LOMBARD. I see—just thoroughly suspicious.
BLORE. (Rises to Right) What’s the use of talking? What are we going to do?
LOMBARD. If you ask me—do nothing. Sit tight and take no risks.
BLORE. Look here, I want to go after that fellow.
LOMBARD. What a dog of the bulldog breed you are, Blore. By the way, between friends and without prejudice, you did go in for that little spot of perjury, didn’t you?
(VERA sits Left end Right sofa.)
BLORE. (Sits Right Centre. Hesitating) Well, I don’t suppose it makes any odds now. Landor was innocent, all right. The gang squared me and between us we put him away for a stretch. Mind you, I wouldn’t admit it now if it wasn’t that—
LOMBARD. You think we’re all in the same boat?
BLORE. Well, I couldn’t admit it in front of Mr. Justice Wargrave, could I?
LOMBARD. No, hardly.
BLORE. (Rises) I say, that fellow Seton, do you think he was innocent?
LOMBARD. I’m quite sure of it. Wargrave had a reason for wanting him out of the way. Well, Blore, I’m delighted you’ve come off your virtuous perch. I hope you made a tidy bit out of it?
BLORE. (Injured) Nothing like what I ought to have done. They’re a mean lot, that Benny gang. I got my promotion, though.
LOMBARD. And Landor got penal servitude and died in gaol.
BLORE. I couldn’t tell he was going to die, could I?
LOMBARD. No, that was your bad luck.
BLORE. His, you mean.
LOMBARD. Yours, too. Because as a result of that fact you may get your life cut short unpleasantly soon.
BLORE. What? Me? By Armstrong? I’ll watch it.
LOMBARD. You’ll have to. Remember there are only three Indians there.
BLORE. Well, what about you?
LOMBARD. I shall be quite all right, thank you. I’ve been in tight places before and I’ve got out of them. And I mean to get out of this one. (Pause) Besides, I’ve got a revolver.
BLORE. (Right end Right sofa) Yes—that revolver. Now listen. You said you found it lying down there. What’s to prove you haven’t had it all the time?
LOMBARD. Same old gramophone record! No room in your head for more than one idea at a time, is there?
BLORE. No, but it’s a good idea.
LOMBARD. And you’re sticking to it.
BLORE. And I would have thought up a better story than that, if I were you.
LOMBARD. I only wanted something simple that a policeman could understand.
BLORE. What’s wrong with the police?
LOMBARD. Nothing—now that you’ve left the Force.
BLORE. (Above Right sofa) Now look here, Captain Lombard, if you’re an honest man, as you pretend—
LOMBARD. Oh, come, Blore, we’re neither of us honest.
BLORE. If you’re telling the truth for once, you ought to do the square thing and chuck that revolver down there.
LOMBARD. Don’t be an ass.
BLORE. I’ve said I’ll go through the house looking for Armstrong, haven’t I? If I’m willing to do that, will you lend me that revolver?
LOMBARD. (Rises to down Centre) No, I won’t. That revolver’s mine. It’s my revolver and I’m sticking to it.
BLORE. (Angrily) Then do you know what I’m beginning to think?
LOMBARD. You’re not beginning to think it, you square-headed flattie. You thought it last night, and now you’ve gone back to your original idea. I’m the one and only U.N. Unknown Owen. Is that it?
BLORE. I won’t contradict you.
LOMBARD. Well, think what you damned well please. But I warn you—
VERA. (Incisively) I think you are both behaving like a pair of children.
(They BOTH look at her rather sheepishly.)
LOMBARD. Sorry, Teacher.
VERA. (To BLORE; scornfully) Of course, Captain Lombard isn’t the unknown. The Unknown Owen is Armstrong—and I’ll tell you one very good proof of it.
BLORE. Oh, what?
VERA. Think of the rhyme. “Four little Indian boys—going out to sea. A red herring swallowed one, and then there were three.” Don’t you see the subtlety of it? A red herring? That’s Armstrong’s pretended suicide, but it’s only a red herring—so really he isn’t dead!
BLORE. That’s very ingenious.
VERA. To my mind, it’s absolute proof. You see, it’s all mad because he’s mad. He takes a queer, childish, crazy pleasure in sticking to the rhyme and making everything happen in that way. Dressing up the Judge, killing Rogers when he was chopping sticks; using a hypodermic on Miss Brent, when he might just as well have drugged her. He’s got to make it all fit in.
BLORE. And that might give us a pointer. Where do we go from here? (Goes up to mantelpiece and reads)
“Three little Indian boys walking in the Zoo.
A big bear hugged one and then there were two.”
(He laughs) He’ll have a job with that one. There’s no Zoo on this island! (His laughter is cut short as he sees the big bear rug on which he is standing. He edges off the rug and turns to LOMBARD.)
BLORE. I say, Captain Lombard, what about a nice bottle of beer?
LOMBARD. Do stop thinking about your stomach, Blore. This craving for food and drink will be your undoing.
BLORE. But there’s plenty of beer in the kitchen.
LOMBARD. Yes, and if anyone wanted to get rid of you, the first place they’d think of putting a lethal dose would be in a nice bottle of beer.
(From outside comes the sound of a motorboat hooter.)
BLORE. What’s that? A boat! A boat!
(ALL rush to balcony to Left. BLORE rushes out into balcony. There is a scream, then a crash and thud.)
VERA. Oh, God! (Puts hands over eyes.)
(LOMBARD, revolver in hand, rushes to window, looks out, then returns slowly to room. VERA sits down Left.)
LOMBARD. Blore’s got his.
VERA. How?
LOMBARD. A booby trap—all set—a wire across the door attached to something above.
VERA. Is he . . . ?
LOMBARD. Yes. Crushed. Head stove in. That great bronze bear holding a clock, from the landing.
VERA. A bear? Oh, how ghastly! It’s this awful childishness!
LOMBARD. I know. God, what a fool Blore was!
VERA. And now there are two.
LOMBARD. (To down Left) Yes, and we’ll have to be very careful of ourselves.
VERA. We shan’t do it. He’ll get us. We’ll never get away from this island!
LOMBARD. Oh, yes, we will. I’ve never been beaten yet.
VER
A. Don’t you feel—that there’s someone—now—in this room—watching us, watching and waiting?
LOMBARD. That’s just nerves.
VERA. Then you do feel it?
LOMBARD. (Fiercely) No, I don’t.
VERA. (Rises, to Centre) Please, Philip, let’s get out of this house—anywhere. Perhaps if that was a boat, they’ll see us.
LOMBARD. All right. We’ll go to the top of the island and wait for relief to come. It’s sheer cliff on the far side and we can see if anyone approaches from the house.
VERA. Anything is better than staying here.
LOMBARD. Won’t you be rather cold in that dress?
VERA. I’d be colder if I were dead.
LOMBARD. Perhaps you’re right. (Goes to window) A quick reconnaissance.
VERA. Be careful, Philip—please! (Follows him to window.)
LOMBARD. I’m not Blore. There’s no window directly above. (He goes out on balcony and looks down. He is arrested by what he sees.) Hullo, there’s something washed up on the rocks.
VERA. What? (She joins him) It looks like a body.
LOMBARD. (In a strange new voice) You’d better wait in there. I’m going to have a look.
(He exits to Left on balcony. VERA back into room. Her face is full of conflicting emotions.)
VERA. Armstrong—Armstrong’s body—
LOMBARD. (Comes in very slowly) It’s Armstrong drowned—Washed up at high-water mark.
VERA. So there’s no one on the island—no one at all, except us two.
LOMBARD. Yes, Vera. Now we know where we are.
VERA. Now we know where we are?
LOMBARD. A very pretty trick of yours, with that wire. Quite neat. Old Wargrave always knew you were dangerous.
VERA. You—
LOMBARD. So you did drown that kid after all.
VERA. I didn’t! That’s where you’re wrong. Please believe me. Please listen to me!
LOMBARD. (Crossing down Left) I’m listening. You’d better make it a good story.
VERA. (Above Right sofa) It isn’t a story. It’s the truth. I didn’t kill that child. It was someone else.
LOMBARD. Who?
VERA. A man. Peter’s uncle. I was in love with him.
LOMBARD. This is getting quite interesting.
VERA. Don’t sneer. It was hell. Absolute hell. Peter was born after his father’s death. If he’d been a girl, Hugh would have got everything.
LOMBARD. Well-known tale of the wicked uncle.
VERA. Yes—he was wicked—and I didn’t know. He said he loved me, but that he was too poor to marry. There was a rock far out that Peter was always wanting to swim to. Of course, I wouldn’t let him. It was dangerous. One day we were on the beach and I had to go back to the house for something I’d forgotten. When I got back to the rock, I looked down and saw Peter swimming out to the rock. I knew he hadn’t a chance, the current had got him already. I flew towards the beach and Hugh tried to stop me. “Don’t be a fool,” he said. “I told the little ass he could do it.”
LOMBARD. Go on. This is interesting.
VERA. I pushed past him—he tried to stop me, but I got away and rushed down. I plunged into the sea and swam after Peter. He’d gone before I could get to him.
LOMBARD. And everything went off well at the inquest. They called you a plucky girl, and you kept discreetly quiet about Hugh’s part in the business.
VERA. Do you think anyone would have believed me? Besides, I couldn’t! I really was in love with him.
LOMBARD. Well, it’s a pretty story. And then I suppose Hugh let you down?
VERA. Do you think I ever wanted to see him again?
LOMBARD. You certainly are an accomplished liar, Vera.
VERA. Can’t you believe the truth when you hear it?
LOMBARD. Who set the trap that killed Blore? I didn’t—and Armstrong’s dead. I’ve broken most of the Commandments in my time—and I’m no saint. But there’s one thing I won’t stand for and that’s murder.
VERA. You won’t stand for murder. What about those natives you left to die in Africa?
LOMBARD. That’s what’s so damn funny—I didn’t.
VERA. What do you mean?
LOMBARD. For once—just once, mark you—I played the hero. Risked my life to save the lives of my men. Left them my rifle and ammunition and all the food there was—and took a chance through the bush. By the most incredible luck it came off—but it wasn’t in time to save them. And the rumour got around that I’d deliberately abandoned my men. There’s life for you!
VERA. Do you expect me to believe that? Why, you actually admitted the whole thing.
LOMBARD. I know. I got such a kick out of watching their faces.
VERA. You can’t fool me with a stupid lie like that.
LOMBARD. (Completely losing his temper) Blast you!
VERA. (To Right window) Why didn’t I see it before? It’s there in your face—the face of a killer—
LOMBARD. You can’t fool me any longer.
VERA. Oh—(VERA sways forward as if fainting. LOMBARD runs to catch her. She wrests the revolver from him.) Now!
LOMBARD. (Backing away down Left) You cunning little devil!
VERA. If you come on one step nearer, I’ll shoot.
LOMBARD. You—young, lovely, and quite, quite mad.
(LOMBARD makes a movement to VERA. She shoots. He falls down Left. She goes over to him, her eyes full of horror, as she realizes what she has done. The revolver falls from her hand. Suddenly she hears a low laugh coming from the study door. She turns her head slowly in that direction. The laughter grows louder, the Right door slowly opens and WARGRAVE enters. He carries a rope in his hand.)
WARGRAVE. It’s all come true. My Ten Little Indian plan—My rhyme—my rhyme—
VERA. Ah! (Stifted scream.)
WARGRAVE. (Angrily) Silence in Court! (Looks around suspiciously) If there is any more noise, I shall have the Court cleared. (Down Right Centre) It’s all right, my dear. It’s all right. Don’t be frightened. This is a Court of Justice. You’ll get justice here. (Crosses Left; locks doors Left 2 and Left 1. VERA to Right. Confidentially) You thought I was a ghost. You thought I was dead. (Above Right sofa) Armstrong said I was dead. That was the clever part of my plan. Said we’d trap the murderer. We’d fix up my supposed death so I should be free to spy upon the guilty one. He thought it an excellent plan—came out that night to meet me by the cliff without suspicion. I sent him over with a push—so easily. He swallowed my red herring all right. (VERA is petrified with horror. In a confidential manner) You know, Vera Claythorne, all my life I’ve wanted to take life—yes, to take life. I’ve had to get what enjoyment I could out of sentencing the guilty to death. (VERA moves to revolver) I always enjoyed that—but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more—I wanted to do it myself with my own hands—(WARGRAVE follows VERA to Left. VERA leans against Left 1 door. Suddenly curbs excitement and speaks with severe dignity) But I’m a Judge of the High Court. I’ve got a sense of justice. (As if listening to an echo) As between our Sovereign Lord the King and the prisoner at the Bar—will true deliverance make—Guilty, my Lord. Yes. (Nods head) Guilty. You were all guilty, you know, but the Law couldn’t touch you, so I had to take the Law into my own hands. (Holds up hands in a frenzy of delight) Into my own hands! Silence in the Court! (VERA hammers on Left 1 door. WARGRAVE takes her arm and drags her to Right above Left sofa.) Anthony Marston first. Then Mrs. Rogers. Barbitone in the brandy. MacKenzie—stabbed. Got Rogers with an axe when he was chopping sticks. Doped Emily Brent’s coffee so she couldn’t feel the hypodermic. Booby trap for Blore. (Confidentially) Blore was a fool. I always knew it would be easy to get Blore. Returning that revolver was a clever touch. Made the end interesting. I knew you two would suspect each other in the end. The question was, who’d win out? I banked on you, my dear. The female of the species. Besides, it’s always more exciting to have a girl at the end. (He steps on to sofa, and VERA falls to the ground.) Prisoner at the Bar, have you anyth
ing to say why sentence should not be passed on you? Vera Elizabeth Claythorne, I sentence you to death—
(WARN Curtain.)
VERA. (With a sudden outcry) Stop! Stop! I’m not guilty! I’m not guilty!
WARGRAVE. Ah, they all say that. Must plead not guilty. Unless, of course, you’re going all out for a verdict of insanity. But you’re not mad. (Very reasonably) I’m mad, but you’re not.
VERA. But I am innocent! I swear it! I never killed that child. I never wanted to kill him. You’re a judge. You know when a person is guilty and when they’re innocent. I swear I’m telling the truth.
WARGRAVE. So you didn’t drown that boy after all? Very interesting. But it doesn’t matter much now, does it?
VERA. What—(Makes inarticulate sounds as the rope swings in front of her.)
WARGRAVE. I can’t spoil my lovely rhyme. My ten little Indian boys. You’re the last one. One little Indian boy left all alone. He went and hanged himself. I must have my hanging—my hanging—
(LOMBARD comes slowly to, picks up revolver and shoots. WARGRAVE falls back off the sofa.)
VERA. Philip—Philip—
(BOTH sit on floor in front of sofa.)
LOMBARD. It’s all right, darling. It’s all right.
VERA. I thought you were dead. I thought I’d killed you.
LOMBARD. Thank God, women can’t shoot straight. At least, not straight enough.
VERA. I shall never forget this.
LOMBARD. Oh, yes, you will. You know there’s another ending to that Ten Little Indian rhyme:
“One little Indian boy left all alone,
We got married—and then there were none!”
(Takes rope and puts his head in noose too. He kisses her.)
(There is the sound of a motor hooter.)
CURTAIN
Appointment with Death
Produced at the Piccadilly Theatre, London, on 31st March 1945, with the following cast of characters:
(in the order of their appearance)
MRS. BOYNTON
Mary Clare
GINEVRA BOYNTON, her stepdaughter
Deryn Kerbey
LENNOX BOYNTON, her elder stepson
Ian Lubbock
NADINE BOYNTON, Lennox’s wife
Beryl Machin