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VIII
Mr. Blore was in the slow train from Plymouth. There was only one other person in his
carriage, an elderly seafaring gentleman with a bleary eye. At the present moment he had
dropped off to sleep.
Mr. Blore was writing carefully in a little notebook.
“That’s the lot,” he muttered to himself. “Emily Brent, Vera Claythorne, Dr. Armstrong,
Anthony Marston, old Justice Wargrave, Philip Lombard, General Macarthur, C.M.G., D.S.O.
Manservant and wife: Mr. and Mrs. Rogers.”
He closed the notebook and put it back in his pocket. He glanced over at the corner and the
slumbering1 man.
“Had one over the eight,” diagnosed Mr. Blore accurately2.
He went over things carefully and conscientiously3 in his mind.
look all right.”
He stood up and scrutinized5 himself anxiously in the glass. The face reflected there was of
a slightly military cast with a moustache. There was very little expression in it. The eyes were
grey and set rather close together.
“Might be a Major,” said Mr. Blore. “No, I forgot. There’s that old military gent. He’d spot
me at once.”
“South Africa,” said Mr. Blore, “that’s my line! None of these people have anything to do
with South Africa, and I’ve just been reading that travel folder6 so I can talk about it all right.”
Fortunately there were all sorts and types of colonials. As a man of means from South
Africa, Mr. Blore felt that he could enter into any society unchallenged.
Soldier Island. He remembered Soldier Island as a boy … Smelly sort of rock covered with
gulls—stood about a mile from the coast.
Funny idea to go and build a house on it! Awful in bad weather! But millionaires were full
The old man in the corner woke up and said:
“You can’t never tell at sea—never!”
Mr. Blore said soothingly8, “That’s right. You can’t.”
The old man hiccupped twice and said plaintively9:
“There’s a squall coming.”
Mr. Blore said:
“No, no, mate, it’s a lovely day.”
The old man said angrily:
“There’s a squall ahead. I can smell it.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said Mr. Blore pacifically.
The train stopped at a station and the old fellow rose unsteadily.
looked up at Mr. Blore and said with immense dignity:
“I’m talking to you, young man. The day of judgment is very close at hand.”
than I am!
But there, as it happens, he was wrong….
8
布洛尔先生乘坐的是从普利茅斯出发的慢车。车厢里除了他，只有一位乘客，是一位
视力模糊的老海员，已经低着头睡着了。
布洛尔先生在一个小本子上一笔一画地写着。
“这群人包括，”他自言自语道，“埃米莉·布伦特，维拉·克莱索恩，阿姆斯特朗医生，
安东尼·马斯顿，瓦格雷夫老法官，菲利普·隆巴德，麦克阿瑟将军，男管家和他妻子——罗
杰斯先生和罗杰斯太太。”
他合上小本子，放回口袋，望了望角落里酣睡的老人。
“比八个人多了一位。”布洛尔先生仔细计算了一番。
他把每件事都仔细想了一遍。
“这次的行程还挺轻松，”他琢磨着，“应该不会有人找麻烦。希望我外表看起来没什么
问题。”
他赶忙站起身来，仔细端详镜中的自己：一撮小胡子让他看起来颇有军人气概。他面
无表情。两只灰色的眼睛挨得很近。
“看起来应该像个少校吧，”布洛尔先生想，“不对，我忘了这群人里有个老兵，他一眼
就能看穿我。”
“南非。”布洛尔先生又想，“南非我可太熟了。这些人似乎都不了解南非，而我正好一
直在看南非旅行资料，聊起来可以装作对那儿很熟悉。”
幸亏有各种各样的殖民地。布洛尔先生自认为对南非了如指掌，应该能就这个话题和
别人聊上好一会儿，也不会露马脚。
士兵岛！他从小就知道。这座岛离岸约有一英里远，海鸥在发臭的岩石上歇脚，这座
岛因为形状像士兵头部的轮廓而得名。
到这座岛上来盖别墅，真是个奇怪的想法！一变天就让人傻眼！要不说嘛，百万富翁
就是爱瞎胡闹！
坐在角落里的老人醒过来了，说：
“你永远也摸不准大海的脾气，永远！”
布洛尔先生随声附和：“说得没错。永远也摸不准。”
老人打了两个嗝，叹口气说：
“风暴就要来了！”
布洛尔先生说：
“不，不，我看天气挺好的。”
老人生气地说：
“风暴就在眼前，我能感觉出来。”
“也许是吧。”布洛尔先生从善如流。
火车到站了。老人颤颤巍巍地站了起来。
“我得下车了。”他摸着窗户说。布洛尔先生帮了他一把。
站在车厢门口，老人眨着昏花的双眼，郑重其事地举起一只手。
“边走边祈祷吧，”他说，“边走边祈祷。审判的日子就在眼前。”
老人走下火车，跌跌撞撞地走上站台。他斜着身子，望着车上的布洛尔先生，表情严
肃地说：
“我跟你说，年轻人，审判的日子就在眼前！”
布洛尔先生回到座位上，心想：“上帝的审判对于他而言，确实比我近得多，就在眼
前。”
但是，后来发生的一切都证明，他错了……
[1]本书于一九三九年在英国首次出版时，此处原文为Nigger Island，意为“黑人岛”；在一九六四年再
版的英国版中，将Nigger Island替换为Indian Island，意为“印第安岛”；在二〇〇三年出版的英国
版中，此处改称Soldier Island，本版据此译为“士兵岛”，下同。
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