Previosly
Mrs Owen is expecting a lot of guests. She chose you.
Welcome to Soldier Island.
Mr Lombard.
You seem to be under the impression that I am a particular kind of woman.
I assure you that I'm not.
They're the ten little soldiers. You know, from the poem.
- 'Ladies and gentlemen!' - Who is that?
'You are charged with the following indictments!
'Philip Lombard, that you did murder 21 men.'
What the hell are they playing at?
Malicious nonsense.
Cyril, I really tried to save him.
I almost drowned.
21 men?
I am the only one telling the truth in a room full of liars.
KNOCK ON DOOR Who is it?
We are cut off.
Rats in a barrel.
Almonds.
Almonds be buggered.
Cyanide.
None of you moved them?
No. No.
Was it you, Doctor?
No.
How did Mrs Rogers die?
I have no idea.
Did you give her something?
Yes, a mild sedative.
Did you give her too much?
Miss Claythorne, I warned you against becoming hysterical.
It's the poem.
It's the poem, don't you see?
Ten little soldier boys. One choked himself,
one overslept himself and then there were eight!
There were ten of these and ten of us and now there's eight.
Oh, General. General, did you move the figures?
- What? - The figures. Did you move the figures?
No, course not.
Perhaps it was you, Miss Claythorne.
You discovered it.
Course it wasn't me. Why would I do that?
To be the centre of attention? Do you crave attention, Miss Claythorne?
- Any kind of attention? - What are you talking about?
Shall we just have breakfast?
It was dreadful news about Mrs Rogers.
She was a wonderful cook.
Such a shame.
Er, this egg is four minutes precisely, is it?
Yes, madam.
Rogers, did you take away two of these figures?
No, miss.
Condolences, Mr Rogers. When are you expecting Narracott?
Mid to late morning, sir. His timekeeping is somewhat erratic.
Will that be all?
Yes. Thank you, Rogers. Thank you very much.
Tony Marston was young and strong.
He didn't die from some stimulant.
Perhaps he was poisoned.
And Mrs Rogers, perhaps she was given too much.
What drugs do you have in your medical bag, Doctor?
Why did you even bring it?
You are a guest, it's not work.
Actually, it is work.
I was trying to maintain some sort of professional discretion.
However,
Mrs Owen suffers from female neuroses.
My speciality is women's disorders.
Mr Owen engaged me in a professional capacity
- to tend to his wife. - Gave up on the surgery, then, Doctor?
People do not just die out of nowhere for no reason!
They die because something was done to them by someone!
- I'm going to check your bag. - Don't you dare touch my possessions!
- What have you got to hide? - How about I do it?
I'm not being searched like some grubby criminal!
Then what if the General goes with him?
He's an honourable man!
Fine! But while you're at it, you might want to search
Judge Wargrave's case as well.
I know where I've seen you before.
Chap who has the clinic beneath mine in Harley Street,
he's a cancer specialist.
That's where I saw you.
If anyone has strong painkillers and sedatives in his case,
it's Judge Wargrave.
Is that true, Judge?
I have had health problems, yes.
- Then that's very cruel, Doctor. - Don't blame me. You pushed it.
General, shall we?
Just mild sedatives.
As I said.
Bog-standard. Nothing special.
My surgery was a success.
This - the house, the island -
is meant to be my recuperation.
Sea air,
peace,
and rest.
Very sorry. I'm very sorry.
- Well, there's an end to it. - Like hell it is.
Why shouldn't she be searched?
Equal rights for women.
Let's see what you've got.
Doctor Armstrong, control yourself, please.
Who the hell do you think you are?
I'm a doctor. You're a secretary.
Somebody moved them.
They did.
Someone did that.
Did you really kill all those men?
Yes, Miss Claythorne. I did kill all those men.
And more.
Why?
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
They had something I wanted. In this case, it was diamonds.
Worth more than a few lives.
What about you?
What did you want?
I nearly drowned.
I failed to save a little boy in my care.
And there isn't one minute of every day that I'm not sorry for that.
Why aren't you?
I know what I am.
I always knew it would catch up with me.
And here it is.
"I love you, I love you, I love you.
"I think about you and you kissing me, and your hands on me and in me,
"and your mouth on my body and I cannot bear
"that you are not with me now.
"I wish, I long, I crave for you, my darling,
"and I feel so cruel to poor, dear John.
"The sun rises and sets in your eyes, Henry.
"I love you. I love you.
"I am yours."
The men are all ready for the whistle, sir.
Morale, fairly good.
Here. Er, let me.
Henry.
You've been a great friend
to my wife and I.
Perhaps you could call me John?
Thank you, John.
GUNSHOT
Myself and Mrs Rogers were here for a week without seeing another soul
apart from Narracott with the delivery, sir.
Lombard.
Where are you going?
We're sat around waiting for Ulick Norman Owen.
What if he's been here all along?
Plenty of places he could be hiding.
Wait for me.
Please, please, please, just fucking stop. Stop.
Stop, stop,
stop, stop...
This is barmy!
No-one could hide down there.
Ever get the feeling you're being hunted, Tubs?
Stop calling me that. I ain't even fat.
And, no, I don't.
Really?
Cos Mr Owen, whoever he may be,
knows a lot about us.
Well, not about me.
Edward Landor was a degenerate. He was a pansy.
He fell down the steps into his cell.
You never touched him?
I wouldn't want to be near one of them dirty bastards.
Come on, Tubs, keep up.
General?
Is your suitcase ready?
She died.
Of Spanish influenza, after the war.
Who?
My wife Lesley.
After all that,
she died of the Spanish flu.
So many did.
I should've just stepped aside like a gentleman and...
just let them be happy.
Do come back to the house, General.
You haven't brought your case down yet
and we want to get away as soon as Mr Narracott arrives.
He's not coming, Narracott, you know.
No-one's coming for us.
We won't be leaving the island. This is the end.
It's a relief to come to the end, to know that it's over.
You won't understand that yet but you will...
in time.
I think you're quite mistaken.
The boat will come and we'll all be waiting for you.
GUNFIRE ECHOES
EXPLOSIONS ECHO
GUNFIRE ECHOES
Ah, Miss Claythorne.
Good.
Bring a couple of chairs, would you?
What's going on?
It's a bit early to be on the sauce.
It's been something of a morning.
Hey. Hey, sh!
Bastard's down there. I heard him.
What bastard?
Owen.
I can hear him moving about.
Marston's room.
What are you doing?
Camp bed.
We had to find somewhere to store it and...
- young men don't look under beds. - But what do you need a camp bed for?
What were you planning?
Well, I can't sleep in my room, can I?
Me wife.
Yeah, obviously. Of course.
- I've got to find somewhere else to set up. - What for? We're all leaving.
Well, you might be. This is my job.
I can't go anywhere until my employer dismisses me.
Your employer? Your employer is insane.
Be that as it may, I've got nothing else to go to.
All right, then. Carry on, Rogers.
Did you know he had a gun?
No.
Do stop. Mr Narracott seems a sensible man. He'll be here.
I must say, I understand now
why you teach in such a substandard establishment.
I'm just observing that most schools would not want to be
associated with an inquest.
I'm not accusing you. There's been quite enough of that already.
Yes, there has. More than enough.
Apart from the egregious Mr Lombard,
Rogers, who I find most dubious, and the depraved Mr Marston,
it's all nonsense.
Everyone was simply doing their duty.
As was I.
As were you?
You didn't say anything last night?
It wasn't for gentlemen's ears.
But Beatrice Taylor was my maid of all work.
Foundling girl.
An unwanted,
from the war, you know?
I believed her to be a clean, decent, modest girl.
I taught her needlework skills.
We had quite the little home.
But then she got herself into trouble.
The family way.
As her own loose mother had with her.
She begged me for help.
Naturally, and quite properly, I refused.
Miss Brent, please!
I beg you!
What happened to her?
She threw herself under a train.
She killed herself?
Even made the local paper.
And they turned it into some pot-boiling sentimental tale.
She asked you for help.
If you had helped her...
It was the weakness in her character which drove her actions.
Why should I be reproached?
Ask Rogers for some tea.
Lemon, not milk.
It's a wild goose chase, if you ask me.
Grown man hiding and sneaking about. It's ridiculous.
Marston was given cyanide, though.
- Wasn't he, Tubs? - Cyanide?
I'm pretty sure of it.
I don't know... You were convinced of it this morning.
Claythorne, for the cyanide. I'd put money on it.
She don't seem the type.
No, she's exactly the type.
What about the old boy, the general?
Dangerous men come back, you know, from over there,
their noggins all scrambled.
Oh, well, let's search everybody, then.
God-bothering Miss Brent... Let's search Wargrave.
What, the judge?
Well-known as a hanging judge. He's infamous for the black square.
The story goes that he'd watch every execution he'd ordered.
Tubs, you've been looking sideways at Armstrong all morning
and now everyone's fair game.
You suggested the judge.
I was taking the piss. Mr Owen is on the island.
And I'm going to find him.
You don't want to pay attention to what he said.
He's just stirring the shit pot.
Well, I can stir it right back.
RUMBLE OF THUNDER
SEAGULLS SCREAMING
SCREAMS ECHO
Don't look.
Someone did this?
Well, it weren't no bleedin' accident.
It's murder.
He said no-one was coming for us.
He said this was the end.
Miss Claythorne.
Eight little soldier boys travelling in Devon.
One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.
Count them, Judge.
Count them.
Cyril!
Run!
Find help!
A boat! Run!
Cyril!
Miss Claythorne!
I just want to go!
You'll drown!
Please.
Come inside.
Come, come.
I've got you.
Don't worry, it's all right.
I told you Owen was on the island.
What made you so sure?
- Instinct. - We've got to be rational. Stick with procedure.
Who is this Owen?
And Mrs Owen?
I don't think there even is a Mrs Owen.
We must all have something in common,
someone who knows us all.
Well, how can that be possible?
I can imagine crossing paths with a doctor...
a judge, but someone like Mr Lombard?
Well, we've crossed paths now. Haven't we?
Mr Lombard, Blore tells me that you have a revolver.
Oh, Tubs.
Why have you got a gun?
He's got a gun?
I carry it everywhere.
And it was implied that I might need it.
Implied by whom?
My client needs a good man who can handle situations.
Who's your client?
Mr Owen. Ulick Norman Owen.
Never heard of him.
But he has heard of you.
Audrey, the box.
It's dangerous, then.
My client believes that it could become volatile.
I see.
And how would Mr Owen wish me to proceed?
He leaves that to your discretion.
But forewarned is...
...is fore-armed.
I understand.
That's who got in touch with me about the job with Mrs Owen -
Isaac Morris in Soho.
Soho? Hmm.
I was invited here by the Owens, whom I've never heard of,
to join a mutual friend -
Mrs Culmington.
The perfect place to recover, it said.
The envelope was postmarked London, Soho.
A sink of depravity. A godless desert of vice.
What brings you here, Miss Brent?
Mrs Owen wrote to me.
She was interested in my work.
The moral education of girls of the lower orders.
They have to be taught modesty and decency
or society will be drowned in a rising tide of unwanted babies.
All squalling to be fed.
She wanted to contribute to my cause.
Blore?
I got a letter. From Ulick Norman Owen.
He was impressed by my standing in the force.
He said if I could see my way clear to spending some time,
keeping an eye out, that he'd recompense me generously.
Keeping an eye out for what?
He said that someone was here under false pretences.
He also supplied a list of guests.
All of you.
Everyone here.
What he didn't say was that Lombard would have a gun!
Is it Mr Owen's voice on the record? Does anybody recognise it?
Are we forgetting about the gun here?
There's a Fenian sat over there with a bloody gun!
- Don't blaspheme! - Hand it over.
- Come on, surrender your weapon, Mr Lombard! - Not a chance.
I could make you!
You can try.
Is Isaac Morris Mr Owen?
No!
I'd have found that sweaty bucket of lard by now.
Jews. Wherever there's a problem, there's Jews at the bottom of it.
Something struck me.
I can't think why I didn't see it before.
Ulick Norman Owen.
Una Nancy Owen.
Or..
...UN Owen...
...is UNKNOWN.
It's a riddle, perhaps.
What does it mean?
It means that Mr Lombard is right to insist
that the killer is on the island.
And he's getting very wet out there.
The killer's not out there.
The killer is in here.
It is one of us.
We've never met each other before now, why...
How could I possibly be capable?
Oh, anyone is capable, Miss Brent.
40 years on the criminal bench has taught me that.
- Rogers. - Oh, here we go again. Lining up the next suspect.
You mark my words, Rogers.
He's an oily bugger.
Slinking around.
Going back and forth during dinner,
he would have had time to put something into Mr Marston's drink.
I heard him tell Mrs Rogers to shut up.
Well, she's shut up now, isn't she?
He's the one moving the figures.
But the General, the rest of us, that record, this house, why?
Rogers has got low cunning running though him
like Brighton through a stick of rock. We need to watch him.
Any faith I ever had in the Thin Blue Line evaporated
the second I met you, Tubs.
- You call me that one more time mate, one more time... - And you'll what?
We...
are all being hunted.
There's someone else on this island
and when I find him, I'm going to make him number 22,
with a bullet right there.
Oh, God.
How can you say that... SO easily?
I just open my mouth and it comes out.
DOOR CREAKS OPEN
I'll see what can be done about supper.
There's some livers and kidneys.
Perhaps a pie with some good gravy.
That would be delicious, Rogers.
Thank you.
Thank you, Rogers.
Well, I ain't eating a mouthful of his pie.
THUNDER CRACKLES
WIND HOWLS
Oh. Well, goodnight.
THUNDER CRASHES
Trust in God.
But perhaps also...
...we should lock our doors.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,
he leadeth me besides the still waters...
RAIN POURS, THUNDER RUMBLES
THUD AND TINKLING
THUNDER CRASHES
LIGHTS HISS
HE SIGHS
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yay, though I walk through... the valley of the shadow of death...
...I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.
I will fear no evil.
I will fear no evil for thou art...
I will fear no evil, thou art with me...
Get up!
GONG CRASHES LOUDLY
Get up!
I was looking for him.
SHE RETCHES
I wanted a coffee. I looked...
and I found this.
It wasn't me.
I just wanted a damn coffee, it wasn't me...
He's been here all night.
Seven little soldiers chopping up sticks,
one chopped himself in half and then there were six.
So she's right.
It is the poem,
but he's fucked, Mr Unknown Owen,
because six little soldier boys played with a hive.
A bumble bee stung one and then there were five and there is no hive here and there are no bees,
so what are you going to do now, Mr Unknown Owen? You're fucked!
You're fu...
I will get dressed,
we will all get dressed...
...and I will make coffee.
- Miss Brent, shall we? - Yes.
Shit. Shit the bed.
We need to find something to wrap him up with
or he's going to go everywhere.
Coffee.
There's no milk, I'm afraid.
Does this person...
...mean to kill us all?
I believe so, yes.
I've lost a ball of wool.
I'm quite ridiculously distressed about it.
It's only wool...
THUNDER RUMBLES, LIGHTS CRACKLE
I'm so very tired.
Drink your coffee, Miss Brent.
I'll bring you a candle to see by.
Thank you, dear.
I'll make some more.
THUNDER RUMBLES INCESSANTLY
Judge Wargrave, I feel I...
owe you an apology for...
exposing your illness in such an unforgiveable fashion.
We're all feeling a little ragged. Understandably.
What's your opinion of the others?
I haven't really formed one.
I don't trust any of them.
Blore. That bastard Lombard. Claythorne.
Miss Brent and her religious mania.
But you and I...
...we have sharp minds.
Actual intellects.
We should stay together.
Hm.
Very well.
Oh, Go...
Here. Here.
Thank you.
Dribbling down myself like a child.
Miss Claythorne's making the coffee...
She should be watched.
BOTH PANTING
THEY GROAN
Right.
You do the stairs,
I'm going to wash the guts out of the woodstore.
THUNK
Can I?
I rather enjoy domestic tasks.
They are soothing.
Normal.
Indeed.
I'll just be a moment.
All right.
GONG CRASHES
Stung by a bee.
And then there were five.
THUNDER RUMBLES
Well, I suppose, with no Rogers, I should think about lunch.
I could eat a scabby horse.
You're actually hungry?
That was heavy work... dealing with Rogers.
And you're the one that suggested lunch.
Only because it's what one does at this time of day,
but I'm not hungry, how could you possibly be hungry?
Oi, you!
Don't go implying...
Casting aspersions... I've got not- I've got nothing to do with this.
I've got nothing to do with any of it.
Just because I said I was hungry.
I AM hungry, it doesn't prove a single thing!
I'm going to get dressed.
The whole morning,
dragging Rogers around, clearing up guts,
without so much as a cup of tea to wet me whistle, and you..
- You look at me like I... - Calm down.
You've got some front, love.
You've got some right brass neck.
Don't go downstairs on your own.
Not with those two.
- What, Wargrave and Armstrong? - Mm-hm.
You wait up here for me.
It was locked. Which means there must be a master key.
Rogers must have had a master key.
- You two dealt with the body! - And you found it!
Or did you?
You shrieking like a woman, was that a bit of amateur dramatics, was it?
I did nothing to Rogers. I didn't take any master key,
we don't even know if there IS a master key,
and we only had your word that the gun was stolen,
- you could've taken it. - Why would I steal my own gun?
I don't know why you'd do anything,
Lombard, I don't know why you killed Rogers or Miss Brent or MacArthur.
- I didn't kill them. - Well, you WOULD say that, wouldn't you?
Just like you'd say that your gun was stolen.
You really are a first-class,
five-star,
solid gold fucking moron.
Please! The lady! Hm?
Double bluff.
What, Tubs?
Why you would steal your own gun. Armstrong's got a point.
It's all riddles and games, smoke and mirrors, double bluff.
You were the last one down.
The last one.
Ages behind everyone else. What, what took you so long?
I don't care to say.
You killed Rogers.
You took the master key, you went to bed,
you made sure all of us were downstairs,
then you got in my room and took my gun.
- You have my gun, you little prick. - Lombard! For heaven's sake.
I never killed Rogers and I ain't got your key or your sodding gun!
Then what took you so long?
If you weren't in my room, stealing my gun,
then why were you last down?
I was in the bloody lavvy, if you must know!
Constipated.
ARMSTRONG LETS OUT A GIGGLE
Oh, yes.
Yeah, laugh it up.
It's not funny.
ARMSTRONG CACKLES
Bound up something rotten.
Sat there in a muck sweat.
So it weren't me.
It could have been any of us.
Any one of us could have had the key.
Any one of us could have the gun.
It is the only way to be sure.
It's not like you have been singled out.
We're all getting the same.
No key.
No gun.
HE GROANS
Now you, Miss Claythorne.
Of course.
I'm just being thorough.
You like Uncle Hugo, don't you?
I do.
I'm... in love with him.
I love him so much it hurts.
Silly. Girls are silly.
And I'm going to marry him.
I heard Mummy say he couldn't afford to get married.
Well, I'll find a way, Cyril.
- If you marry Uncle Hugo... - When I marry Hugo.
Will you be my aunt?
I will.
Aunt Vera.
And what fun we'll have.
Christmas and birthdays and summer holidays.
Picnics. Parties.
Pony rides.
Hmm! How happy we'll be when we have everything!
Cyril!
SHE SCREAMS
Why isn't Lombard doing this?
Blore and I thought it a good idea to keep you two apart.
Well, well, Miss Claythorne.
Mr Lombard.
Philip.
Vera.
DOOR CREAKS
Nothing.
We'll search the rest of the house. Every room.
THUNDER CRASHES
CLOCK TICKING
CLOCK CHIMES SLOWLY
We're in hell...
and we're being punished for what we've done.
He refused the hood.
He haunts me still.
Look at them. There is something going on between them.
Someone has to come for us soon. They have to.
I reckon we're being watched.
BLORE SNARLS
We are.