And Then There Were None

What a quiet place!

Indeed yes, very quiet. Very quiet.

There's your bathroom, Miss.

I see we have the same bathroom.

I think I had better introduce myself.

I'm Vera Claythorne, Mrs. Owen's secretary.

Oh. My name is Emily Brent.

Is there anything you want, Miss?

Well, I'd like to see Mrs. Owen.

I'm Mrs. Owen's new secretary. I expect you know that.

No Miss, I don't know anything.

Just the list of the ladies and gentlemen

who are invited for the weekend.

Didn't Mrs. Owen mention me?

I haven't seen Mrs. Owen yet.

We only came here a few days ago.

This is a large house. What staff have you here?

Just me and Rogers, Miss.

Does Mr. Owen know we've arrived?

- He's not here yet, sir. - Where is Mrs. Owen?

They were delayed in London, sir.

I got a letter. They'll be here for dinner.

Eight o'clock, sir.

We tell the story in Ireland, about the two Englishmen...

who were cast away on a desert island for 3 years...

and never spoke to each other,

because they hadn't been introduced.

I'm not English!

My name is Prince Nikita Starloff.

Call me Nicky.

Well, that breaks the ice, gentlemen.

I am Judge Quinncannon.

How do you do, sir. I'm Dr. Armstrong.

My name is Lombard. Philip Lombard.

I'm General Mandrake.

Sir John Mandrake, isn't it General?

Some years ago, I was called in consultation.

Your wife was ill.

My wife is dead, sir!

If you gentlemen will be good enough to follow me,

I will show you to your rooms.

I'm afraid I didn't catch your name.

- Blore. - Blore?

- William Henry Blore. - Oh, Philip Lombard.

I'm afraid you've got the wrong bag!

You're very observing, Mr. Blore.

C.M., Charles Morley. An old friend of mine.

I like his taste. I even borrow his clothes.

Oh excuse me, Doctor. I thought that this was a closet.

It seems we are sharing a bathroom.

Oh, I didn't know.

The only time I regret being a bachelor

is when I have to dress for dinner.

- Ah, let me help you. - Thank you.

Do you know this part of the English coast?

No. I can't say I do.

Something magical about an island.

Yes, they're like a world of its own.

How would you like to spend your last days here?

Oh no thanks, I think a weekend will be enough.

We all build islands of imagination.

Represents escape.

Half of my patients are sick

because they're trying to escape reality.

- Well, and what's your answer? - Oh, I tell them fairytales.

I build them islands of imagined security.

Don't you believe in medicine, Doctor?

Do you believe in justice, Judge?

- Mr. Blore? - Yes?

The bathroom's yours.

- Do you think they're done? - Done enough for them.

Ethel.

Don't stand there gawking. Get 'em up.

Did you wash the floor this morning?

Do you suppose I have time for everything?

It's not right to go inviting a house full of guests.

I'll talk to Mr. Owen when he comes.

You tell him, we're quitting.

The agency didn't tell us the house was so big and so lonely.

- You knew it was an island. - Hmph! With only one house.

Makes me nervous. Here!

What they don't know won't hurt 'em.

Everyone has to eat a speck of dirt before they die.

Ladies and Gentlemen, May I propose a toast...

to our gracious hostess, Mrs. Owen.

Uh oh, Doctor! I saw you. You drank water.

- That's bad luck. - Water never hurt anyone, sir.

Especially in my profession.

Don't forget the old proverb, doctor.

Never trust a man who doesn't drink.

Sounds like the Bible. Great book.

And now I give you our charming host, Mr. Owen.

Jolly good fellow!

And I hope, sir, that will conclude all possible toasts.

Tell me, Miss Claythorne,

why do they call this place Indian Island?

I don't know.

Excuse me, sir, the boatman

told me it's because it's shaped like the head of an Indian.

Oh, that accounts for the little Indians!

Indians!

We must have a toast, sir. I drink to the Indians.

Each little Indian, individually.

6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Ten little Indians!

Ten little Indians! It's like the nursery rhyme.

Ten little Indian boys went out to dine...

one choked his little self and then there were nine.

Oh poor little fellow.

Here's to him. And what happened to the others?

Nine little Indian boys sat up very late...

one overslept himself and then there were eight.

Then what happened?

You will find the rhymes on the piano.

Mr. Owen seems to be fond of little Indians.

Eight little Indian boys traveling in Devon.

One said he'd stay right there and then there were seven.

Seven little Indian boys chopping up some sticks.

Till one chopped himself in half and then there were six.

Six little Indian boys playing with a hive.

A bumblebee stung one of them and then there were five.

Five little Indian boys going in for law.

Now one got in Chancery and then there were four.

Four little Indian boys going out to sea.

A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.

Three little Indian boys walking in the zoo.

A big bear hugged one and then there were two.

The place for nursery rhymes is in the nursery.

Don't worry judge, he's down to the last Indian.

Two Little Indian boys sitting in the sun.

One got all frizzled up and then there was one.

One little Indian boy left all alone.

So he went and hanged himself

and then...

there...

were none.

Silence please, Ladies and Gentlemen.

This is your host Mr. Owen speaking.

You are charged with the following crimes.

General Sir John Mandrake:

That you did deliberately send your wife's lover,

Lieutenant Arthur Masefield to his death.

Emily Brent:

That you did cause and bring about the death

of your young nephew, Peter Brent.

Dr. Edward G Armstrong:

That through uncontrolled drunkenness

you did kill Mrs. Mary Cleese.

Prince Nikita Starloff:

That you are guilty of the murder

of Fred and Lucy Marlowe.

Vera Claythorne:

That you did murder your sister's fiancé,

Richard Barclay.

Judge Francis J. Quinncannon:

That you were responsible for the death

by hanging of one Edward Seaton.

Philip Lombard:

That you are guilty of the deaths of 21 men,

members of an East African tribe.

William H Blore:

That by perjuring your testimony

you did bring about the death of James Landor.

Thomas and Ethel Rogers:

That you brought about the death

of your invalid employer, Mrs. Jennifer Brady.

Prisoners at the bar of justice

have you anything to say in your defense?

Silence please, Ladies and Gentlemen.

This is your host, Mr. Owen.

What's going on here?

What kind of a practical joke is this?

It's on the record.

An outrageous lie.

It's called Swan Song.

May I ask who put it on the gramophone?

- I did, sir. - Why?

I didn't know what it was. On my oath I didn't know! I...

I was just obeying orders, sir. That's all.

- Who's orders? - Mr. Owen's.

Now let's get this quite clear.

Mr. Owen's orders were what exactly?

To put the record on at 9 o'clock. It was sealed up.

I... I thought it was just a piece of music.

It's the truth, sir!

I haven't seen Mr. Owen. I was telling my wife.

I told you we shouldn't have come here! I want to get away!

- I won't touch that money! - Shut up!

First thing to do, Rogers, is to get your wife to bed.

May I have your attention please.

This letter to Rogers is signed by Mr. U N Owen.

I must confess I don't know Mr. Owen personally.

What kind of a man is he?

Who knows him?

Ha ha. You all came to a house and you don't know the host!

What about yourself, Your Highness?

Oh, with me, it's different. I am a professional guest.

I knew we shouldn't have come here!

Quiet, Ethel!

I knew somebody would find out about it some day!

- I told you! - Shut up, I tell you!