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Chapter 1
I
In the corner of a first-class smoking carriage, Mr Justice Wargrave, lately
through the political news in The Times.
He laid the paper down and glanced out of the window. They were run-
ning now through Somerset. He glanced at his watch—another two hours
to go.
He went over in his mind all that had appeared in the papers about Sol-
dier Island. There had been its original purchase by an American million-
ern house he had built on this little island off the Devon coast. The unfor-
tunate fact that the new third wife of the American millionaire was a bad
sailor had led to the subsequent putting up of the house and island for
sale. Various glowing advertisements of it had appeared in the papers.
Then came the first bald statement that it had been bought — by a Mr
land had really been bought by Miss Gabrielle Turl, the Hollywood film
Merryweather had had it whispered to him that it had been bought for a
knew for a fact that it had been purchased by the Admiralty with a view to
carrying out some very hush-hush experiments!
Definitely, Soldier Island was news!
From his pocket Mr Justice Wargrave drew out a letter. The handwriting
must come to Soldier Island…the most enchanting11 place…so much to talk
Paddington…meet you at Oakbridge…and his correspondent signed herself
with a flourish his ever Constance Culmington.
Mr Justice Wargrave cast back in his mind to remember when exactly
he had last seen Lady Constance Culmington. It must be seven—no, eight
years ago. She had then been going to Italy to bask in the sun and be at
one with Nature and the contadini. Later, he had heard, she had pro-
ceeded to Syria where she proposed to bask in a yet stronger sun and live
at one with Nature and the bedouin.
Constance Culmington, he reflected to himself, was exactly the sort of
woman who would buy an island and surround herself with mystery! Nod-
ding his head in gentle approval of his logic, Mr Justice Wargrave allowed
his head to nod…
He slept…
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