All language subtitles for And.Then.There.1945

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.

(Ten 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!

She's quite out of
her head, Doctor.

Hysteria induced by shock.
Give her this sedative.

10 drops in half
a glass of water.

Yes, sir.

If she doesn't sleep, repeat
the dose in 2 hours.

Oh, I hope she'll sleep, Doctor.

Dr. Armstrong, we've taken all
the evidence except your own.

What's your reason
for being here?

Quite frankly, I came
here professionally.

I received a letter from
Mr. Owen, asking me to come here

and spend the weekend
and pretend to be a guest

so that I might examine his wife
who had refused to see a doctor.

I'll summarize our findings.

We've all received letters
from old trusted friends.

Inviting us to spend
the weekend here.

As guests of their
friends, the Owens.

Miss Claythorne was
employed through an agency

and told to report to Mrs. Owen.

This letter to Mr. Lombard
is the only one directly

from Mr. Owen. Very peculiar.

I might even
call it threatening.

What do you say?

I say that the only person
whose presence here

hasn't been explained
is that gentleman.

Well Your Honor, I see no
reason to conceal it any longer.

I'm here to do a job.

- I was hired.
- By whom?

This man, Owen.

You saw him?

No. He enclosed a fat
money order with that

and someone to
join the house party

and to pose as
one of the guests.

I run a detective agency in
Plymouth! I got me credentials!

Look here, Judge.

All of these letters refer to
our host as U N Owen. U N Owen!

Unknown

Yes, Mr. Unknown has not only

enticed us here under false
pretences but he's taken the

trouble to find out a
great deal about us all.

- That's a lie!
- It's a fantastical idea!

Listen, my friends.
The accusation is true!

Now I remember.
A year ago...

two people in the road...

I was driving fast, fast, fast!

- What happened?
- They took my license away.

- What about the two people?
- I ran over them.

Beastly bad luck.

I'm still not clear as to the
purpose of our unknown host

in getting us to assemble here.
In my opinion,

this person whoever he
may be is not of normal mind.

He may be dangerous.

I think it would be wise

for us all to leave this
island immediately.

I quite agree, sir.

Rogers, how soon can we get
the boat from the mainland?

I can't, sir.
There's no telephone.

The boat only comes
twice a week, sir.

It won't come again
until Monday.

And this is only Friday.

- There's no boats here?
- No, sir.

Why do you want to leave,
my friends?

Why don't we get to the
bottom of this mystery?

It's wonderful! Really!

At our time of life, sir,

we have no desire for
thrills as you call them.

Your legal mind has lost
its taste for adventure.

I am all for crime, Your Honor.

May I propose a toast:
Here is to crime!

How perfectly disgusting!
Drinks like an animal.

- Huh? What did you say?
- He's not moving.

Just plain drunk.

Just plain dead.

- What did the doctor say?
- Dead.

What?

What are you looking at, Rogers?

It's broken, sir.

You'll have more than that

to report to the owner
of this house.

But Mr. Owen isn't
the owner, sir.

He's only leased
it for the weekend.

Ah, then you know
more than you told us.

Come, come, Rogers,

are you quite sure that there
is no one else on this island?

- I'd swear to it, sir.
- I believe you Rogers.

But I'm afraid your story will
be questioned by the police.

Don't touch!

I thought you'd gone
to bed, Mr. Blore.

In our profession,

Doctor, we don't always
do what we appear to do.

Perhaps it the same in yours.

Why don't you want me
To touch that glass?

I thought it would
be inadvisable

for you to have your
fingerprints on it.

Smell it.

- Lethal solution.
- Suicide?

That, I believe comes under
your profession, sir.

Doctor!

Doctor Armstrong!

- Doctor Armstrong!
- What is it, Rogers?

It's the wife, sir.
She doesn't look right to me.

Go ahead I'll follow you.

Good morning, Miss Brent.

I hope you slept
better than I did.

I slept very well, thank you.

I have nothing on my conscience.

Good morning, General.

Good morning.

General Mandrake!

Yes, Juliet?
Oh! Forgive me, young lady.

I was thinking of my wife.

Good morning, Miss Claythorne.
What about breakfast?

Do you mind if I
sit down like this?

Morning, Judge.
Morning, Miss Brent.

Good morning.

What? Is something worrying you?

I don't understand it.

There are a lot of things,
I don't understand, sir!

These little figures.

How many were
there last night? Ten?

- Ten.
- Yes, ten.

Rogers found one broken
after... after what happened.

- And now, how many do you see?
- Eight.

- Only eight.
- That's what I counted.

Oh, let Mr. Owen worry about it.
They're his Indians.

- What about breakfast?
- I afraid

you'll have to go
without breakfast.

Mrs. Rogers died in her sleep.

- What?
- What?

- How?
- Heart failure?

Her heart certainly
failed to beat.

What caused it to fail,
I cannot say.

Conscience?

Oh conscience, my eye.
What about her husband?

He was scared to death,
for fear his wife would talk.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry there's
no breakfast prepared.

But you see, my wife...

- It's all right, Rogers.
- We understand.

But I thought you told us,
he was dead.

- His wife.
- Eh?

- His wife!
- Wife?

No, no, no. I don't think a man
would ever kill his wife.

No matter how guilty she was.

The wicked flee when
no man pursueth.

Two accidental deaths in
12 hours? I don't believe it!

Nor I! What do you say, Judge?

How does the rhyme go,
Miss Claythorne?

Ten Little Indians?

One choked his little self
and then were nine.

- Go on...
- One overslept himself.

And then there were eight.

We are eight people
on this island now.

- Lombard!
- I'll be ready in a minute!

Take your time!

- You know I got it?
- Got what?

There's one thing this
fellow Owen forgot.

This island is just a bare rock.

We'll catch that raving maniac.

He would have to be a fool
to stay on the island.

You mean Rogers is lying?

Why not? The man's scared,

scared out of his senses,
that's obvious.

That's why I think that
he is telling the truth.

A lunatic like Owen could
have found a hiding place

before Rogers arrived here.

It doesn't matter if
Rogers is lying or not.

You agree that Mr. Owen
Esquire is hiding, don't' you.

He'll certainly be dangerous.
We ought to be armed.

Yes, too bad we're not allowed
to carry firearms in England.

It puts the normal citizen
at a great disadvantage.

You mean you
haven't any weapon?

You know Blore, it's strange,

but I came to the same
conclusion you did.

Mr. Owen is hiding,
maybe inside this house.

He appears to have an
accomplice, hasn't he?

If you ask me, Rogers...

I have a feeling I'm
being watched. Secretly.

What do you see?

I... I thought heard
a strange voice.

Gentlemen, I have come
to the conclusion that

the invisible Mr. Owen is hiding
somewhere on this island.

Extraordinary. I was looking for
you to tell you the same thing.

- That's what I think, sir.
- Me too.

We've all come to
the same opinion.

We must find his
place of concealment.

Immediately. So long as
there's a lunatic at large,

we are in mortal danger.

Do you hear that?

Hello, puss. Looking
for a mouse? So are we.

What I'd like to know is whether
we're the cat or the mouse.

Nobody in the General's room,
not even the General.

I wonder where the old boy is.

I don't know. I don't think he
even knows where he is himself.

Nothing in there
but the Russian.

I keep hearing that song

he was singing last night
just before he popped off.

- Ten Little Indians?
- Yes.

It certainly was his swan song.

One thing is certain.
He isn't inside.

Therefore, he must be outside.

- Brilliant thinking, Blore!
- Eh?

I'm afraid it's no use
watching for the boat.

It won't come till Monday.

No boat will ever come, Juliet.

We're here forever.
What made you love him, Juliet?

Sir John!

Oh. Forgive me, my child.
You don't understand.

- Nobody!
- Not a living thing.

Not even a hiding place.

Not even a seagull
could hide down there.

- I don't understand it.
- Maybe we've been wrong.

Building a nightmare
out of imagination.

Two people dead
isn't imagination.

The Russian may have
committed suicide.

And Mrs. Rogers?

Well, you didn't give an
overdose last night, did you?

Doctors can't afford to
make mistakes of that kind.

We cannot blunder as
detectives sometimes do.

It wouldn't be
your first mistake

if that gramophone
record is to be believed.

Gentlemen, gentlemen this
is no time for quarrelling.

- Let's face it we're in a trap.
- You shouldn't forget

the ten little Indians
on the dinner table.

That's right. Mr. Owen's
hand is plain to see.

Yes, but where the devil
is Mr. Owen himself?

If Mr. Owen is on this island,
he'll catch his death of cold.

If that's supposed to be a joke,
I don't see the point.

All we have to do is to keep
quiet and we'll hear him sneeze.

Oh.

I'm sorry it's only
cold meat and salad.

I did the best I could.

- Okay, Rogers.
- Oh we understand.

- Rogers we're only seven today.
- I'm sorry miss.

You called General Mandrake?

I looked in his room, Miss,
but he's not there.

- Didn't he come in the house?
- I didn't see him, Doctor.

Last time I saw, he was
mooning around on the beach.

- He seemed quite abnormal.
- I know where he is.

You stay here, Miss Claythorne.

You say the General was
behaving very strangely?

- Like a man out of his mind.
- In other words, a lunatic.

Right ho, the old boy's barmy.

Whom the Gods destroy,
they first make mad.

Well? Aren't we
looking for a lunatic?

He said no boat will ever come.

Then he knows something.

Maybe he's not as crazy
as we think he is.

Doctor, you better come with me.

Don't wait for us.

And don't wait for the
General any longer.

Poisoned glass could
mean suicide.

An overdose of sedative might
have been an accident.

But this instrument,

which you saw me remove from
the back of the third victim

means only one thing: Murder.

Or an act of God.

My dear lady, in my
experience of ill doing,

Providence means the work of
punishment to us mortals.

Evidently, Mr. Owen believes
we are guilty of certain crimes,

which the law cannot touch

and he's appointed himself
to execute justice.

That is why he has
enticed us to this island.

There's no one on this island.
I tell you. No one.

- Doctor. Doctor Armstrong!
- What is it, man?

There's another little
Indian figure missing.

- That accounts for the General.
- I was expecting that.

You just said there's
no one on this island.

In a sense you may know.

Nevertheless, I am now
certain that Mr. Owen is here.

How can he be here?

I don't believe in
the invisible man.

He's not invisible.

Mr. Owen could only come
to this island in one way.

It's perfectly clear.

Mr. Owen is one of us.

Do you have to do that?

I'm just studying
Mr. Owen's little scheme.

Maybe you know how
the General was killed.

My dear Blore, can't you read?

Eight little Indians boys
traveling in Devon,

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

The old soldier
stayed here, didn't he?

Am I disturbing
your little game?

Not at all, Blore.

Nothing clears the mind
like a game of precision.

What game are
you playing, judge?

We've come to the conclusion,
the doctor and I,

that this whole story is
a game of the mind.

There we are. Eight of us
came to this island.

The Rogers were waiting for us.

Don't forget, waiting for us.

One of the ten is Mr. Owen.

We agree on that.

Out of all of us, three persons
are definitely cleared.

- Who?
- The dead ones.

Our Russian friend,
Mrs. Rogers and the General.

- Seven little Indians left.
- Six. One is bogus.

Correct, sir.
One of us is Mr. Owen.

Which one?

Where's your alibi?

I'm not like you Mr. Blore. I am
a well known professional man.

My dear doctor, that
proves less than nothing.

I too am a well known person.

But doctors have
gone mad before now.

Judges have gone mad
and so have policemen.

And, may I say, explorers,
Mr. Lombard?

You may. You may.

Why do you leave
Miss Claythorne out of it?

- We don't.
- Nor you, my dear lady.

Well, I quite appreciate
that nobody can be

- exonerated without proof.
- What about Rogers?

- That's what I was thinking.
- What do we know about him?

He put that record on the
gramophone, didn't he.

That's a fact.

How do we know Rogers
didn't lease this house

and pretend to be the butler?

Oh, no, no, no.
Bad psychology!

You can rule
Rogers out definitely.

- I don't see why.
- Look at the shape of his head.

He hasn't the brains for it.

And don't forget there's
something else, sir.

My wife was one of the victims.

In my time, Rogers,
I've had several husbands

before me guilty of the
murder of their wives.

Well, if you put it
that way, sir, they...

they do sometimes
drive a man crazy.

We must suspect each
and everyone among us.

Now, I warn everybody to
be on his guard. If not...

We shall all go the same way.

And Mr. Owen will very soon
be alone on this island.

E flat, Miss Claythorne.

Aren't you afraid the others

will think your
playing inappropriate.

I can't stand the silence.
I have to do something.

Go on playing.

If it's any comfort to you,

there's one person who
doesn't suspect you.

Thank you.

Aren't you going to
return the compliment?

I haven't made up my mind
about you, Mr. Lombard.

Whom do you suspect?

The one nearest the fire.

- I think you're wrong.
- Well, who then?

A man who believes
in punishing crimes.

His brain might snap and
he'd want to be executioner.

After having been a judge.

Rogers, I'd like to ask
you a few questions.

Did you...

- prepare a nice dinner?
- Just cold meat, sir.

I see. I'm sure you
do your best, Rogers.

Is there plenty of food
for the weekend?

Oh, yes, sir. Everything
was provided for.

Oh, Mr. Blore, may I
ask you a question?

Of course, of course,
my dear fellow.

How many will you be
for dinner tonight?

But... Oh, I see what
you mean. Yes.

Don't forget your vote, Rogers.

In a case like this, a secret
vote is the only way

to bring out into the open
how we are all thinking.

No, no, no. Never touch it. No.
But under the circumstances.

Now, whom do we suspect
of being Mr. Owen?

Mr. Lombard, one vote.

Mr. Blore, one vote.

Dr. Armstrong, one vote.

Rogers, one vote.

Miss Brent, one vote.

I see I haven't been neglected.
One vote.

Another vote for you.
Rogers. You win.

You mean, sir, that
I am being accused?

Well, it's not
precisely a majority,

but you have the most votes.

They're saying its me,
because I'm only a butler.

You said I didn't have
the brains to do it.

- I didn't vote for you, Rogers.
- Well, who did then?

Who didn't drink the cocktail
you just served?

You think I poisoned
those cocktails?

I'll show you, sir.

Picking on an innocent man!

I can't touch even
a drop of alcohol.

And if that's what
you think of me,

I'm not going to
serve any dinner.

Oh, Rogers, come back here!

You can't do that!

Don't look so offended, Rogers.

If it had been
anybody but you, sir.

I'm sorry, Rogers.

But, how do I know that
you didn't vote for me?

I didn't, Your Honor.
I voted for... well...

Time will tell.

After all, Rogers, nobody in
this house is above suspicion.

Never in my life, have I been
accused of any crime, sir.

What about that
gramophone record?

What about it?

That woman you worked for,

she left you some
money, didn't she?

Let's not stand on
our dignity, Rogers.

After all, she was sick.

Didn't you shorten her
suffering in this world?

With the complicity, of course,
of poor Mrs. Rogers?

I'm not going to
argue with you, sir.

But what makes you think
I would kill anybody

who wasn't going to
leave me any money?

No, thank you.

Pardon me.

Obviously, we can't
sit up all night, like this.

I'm going to retire. Good night.

If you don't mind,
I'll say good night too.

If you don't mind,
Miss Claythorne,

I would rather
go upstairs alone.

May I remind you, Miss Brent,
that I am the only one

whose name wasn't
mentioned in the voting.

That's what I mean.
I find that fact most peculiar.

I know Miss Brent won't mind
if there's a third person.

Not so fast, Mr. Lombard.
I'll go with you.

- The more the merrier.
- And safer.

- Warm in here, isn't it?
- Yes, quite warm, quite warm.

And lonely.

Yes, quite lonely,
quite... quite lonely.

- Rogers!
- Yes, sir?

Oh, would you mind keeping us
company for a while?

Anything you wish, sir.

- Don't put any water in it.
- I shan't, sir.

Good night, Miss Claythorne.

Don't forget to lock your door.

You cannot lock out the devil.

I think there's another
one who's barmy.

It's going to end with the
whole lot going that way.

I don't fancy you will, Blore.

No. It takes a lot to
send me off my head.

I don't think you'll be
going that way, either.

I feel quite sane at the moment.
Thank you.

- Have you told him?
- Yes, sir.

I know the jury's decision.

You'll feel safer if I didn't
stay inside the house tonight.

Well then, I shall sleep
in the woodshed.

And now, if you'll excuse me.
Good night.

- I'll lock it behind him.
- That's not enough, Mr. Blore.

Still seven.
Lock that door, please.

Put the key there.

We'll have no more
Indian tricks tonight.

Lock it, Mr. Blore.

No wait! Now no one can
get in there but you.

Oh, I see.
But, who's going to keep it?

- Rogers! Open up, Rogers!
- Keep away from that door.

It's me, Lombard! Open up!

Do you take me for a fool,
Mr. Lombard?

- Don't be silly, Rogers!
- Don't be silly yourself, sir.

- This is Judge Quinncannon,
- You know my voice, Rogers!

- Doctor Armstrong!
- This is Blore, Rogers.

Open the door!

At a time like this,
I wouldn't open the door

even if it was Santa Claus.

We just want to give you a key.

- What for?
- Never mind, you idiot!

Hurry up! It's raining!

Shove it...
under the door, sir.

Good night, Rogers.
Keep your door locked.

Don't worry about me, sir.

- Ohhh, be careful, Judge.
- Oh, I shall.

You know, the common cold
kills more people than...

Never mind.

I need hardly advise
you to lock you doors.

And put a chair
under the handle.

There are ways of turning
locks from the outside.

And if it should turn out that
one of you is Mr. Owen,

just remember I'm
a very light sleeper.

- Good night.
- Good night, gentlemen.

May we all meet
safely in the morning.

- Good night.
- Good night, sir.

Miss Brent! Miss Brent!

She doesn't answer!

- Is her door locked?
- Of course, try it!

She's not here!

You grasp the fact
very quickly, Blore.

What's wrong, Mr. Blore?

- Miss Brent's missing.
- I knocked on all your doors,

she was the only one
that didn't answer.

What's wrong with that?
It's late.

We all overslept.

I heard her get up.
She must gone downstairs.

- I locked that door last night.
- Who opened it?

Look.

Good morning.
It's such a pretty pattern.

I thought I'd like to copy
it for a new shawl.

Was that door locked
when you went out?

- Oh, yes, I opened it.
- Good morning, Miss Brent.

I too like to walk
before breakfast.

But I wouldn't have
gone out alone.

I feel perfectly safe when
I'm alone. Thank you.

I share your feeling.

But didn't you know you that
Rogers was outside?

Poor man.
I hope he didn't catch cold.

What's that?

- Someone's knocking.
- Kitchen door.

Rogers, of course.
He wants to get in.

That's it. We forgot
all about breakfast.

- Where is he?
- Somebody was knocking.

Rogers!

- He's not there.
- Rogers!

Know what I think?
We got our man. It's Rogers!

It fits the
psychological pattern.

His behavior last night
was distinctly abnormal.

Psychological pattern, my eye.
I go by facts.

He was officially accused,
Fact!

He got drunk.

He wouldn't open the door
to the woodshed. Fact!

Realizing this morning,

that he'd gone to the end
of his rope. He disappears.

Fact!

There's another fact you
haven't mentioned about Rogers.

He's dead.

The murderer was fastidious.

He cleaned this blade
after striking down his victim.

Obviously he crept up behind,
swung this chopper

and brought it down,
splitting the cranium.

Seven little Indian boys
chopping up sticks.

One chopped himself in half
and then there were six.

Would it have needed much
strength to strike the blow?

Well, a woman
could have done it.

If that's what you mean.

Miss Claythorne was locked
in her room, Doctor,

if that's what you mean.

We were all in our rooms.

Except...

- No breakfast yet?
- No.

If I had a butler like Rogers.
I'd soon get rid of him.

Wait! We we've
forgotten something.

- What?
- The dining room!

It's still locked.
Where's the key?

We found it in Rogers's pocket.

One. Two. Three.
Four. Five. Six.

- Another one missing?
- But the door was locked.

I get it!

No I don't.

Did you ever hear of a
bee sting being fatal?

No, why?

Six little Indian boys
playing with a hive.

A bumblebee stung one
and then there were five.

Very stupid to kill the
only servant in the house.

Now we don't even know
where to find the marmalade.

Watch out for a bee.

I'd be careful with
that young man.

I mean to, Miss Brent.
I'm careful of everyone.

A clear conscience
is the best armor.

This island is in
the image of life.

The innocent has to be
surrounded by criminals.

That sounds like
Mr. Owen talking.

I see nothing wrong with his
idea of punishing the guilty.

What about his
accusations against you?

I wonder if these
eggs are fresh.

What about it, Miss Brent.

Your young nephew, aren't
you to blame for his death?

Family gossip, Miss Claythorne.

My sister's boy had bad blood.

From the father's side,
of course.

But he was no good, naturally.

I had to have him
placed in a reformatory.

I do hope these
eggs aren't overcooked.

What happened to the boy?

Oh, I never saw him again.

He added to his many sins
by hanging himself.

I got it! I know who
took the last Indian.

- Who?
- Rogers.

He had the key to
this room. Fact.

He sneaks in and
takes a little Indian.

Locks the door again.

Goes back to the woodshed where
he chops some sticks. Fact.

- And then...
- And then...

He takes the chopper and
splits his own cranium,

as the Doctor would say. Fact.

I'd like to see you do
that to yourself, Blore.

It would take practice.

Anyone inside the house could
leave without being noticed.

- True, Miss Brent?
- Perfectly true.

The murderer meets Rogers
outside and kills him.

He then takes the key
from his victim's pocket,

and you know the rest.

Yes, but the key was still
in Rogers' pocket!

Of course.

The murderer puts the
key back in Rogers' pocket

and goes to bed again.

Or goes for an innocent
walk before breakfast.

Sorry, Miss Brent.

Anyone have more tea?

Lombard!

- Lombard!
- Yes, Blore?

- What you doing here?
- You called me, didn't you?

Yes. Oh, yes, yes.

I ain't saying,

but don't you think the
old judge knows too much?

Describing every move...

You'd think he had been
at the scene of the crime.

My dear Blore, in my opinion
you haven't a chance.

- Why is that?
- Lack of imagination.

A criminal with a
brain like U N Owen...

can think rings around you,
anytime he wants to.

No man ever got the
better of me... yet.

How about a woman?

Yes, yes, one should
never trust a woman.

She's clearly a
manic-depressive.

I don't know why I
didn't see it before.

She was very strange in
the kitchen this morning.

We all behaved strangely,

but I find no evidence.
She left no clue.

But she did.

What about this, eh?

No sane person would
think about using seaweed

as a pattern for a shawl.

She tried to throw
us off the track.

It's her!
I'll stake my life, it's her.

Wait, Blore.

Let Miss Claythorne call her.

She'll be less suspicious.

Miss Brent!

Miss Brent! Miss Brent!

It's no use, Miss Claythorne.
She'll not answer.

Look at the bee!
Look at the bee!

Just an ordinary bee,
Miss Claythorne.

Nothing, but a small
mark on the neck.

Here's your bee, Doctor.

Somebody must have taken it.
It's not here. See for yourself.

- What poison was injected?
- I can only guess.

It was very potent.
She must have died immediately.

But the bee.
That bee in her room.

That's our murderer's
artistic touch

He likes to stick to his
blasted nursery jingle.

He's mad. We're all mad.

I'm not, Mr. Lombard. I still
have my reasoning powers.

There are five of us left.
One of us is a murderer.

- The rest of us are defenseless.
- Defenseless?

How do we know one of us
hasn't have a revolver?

A good point, Blore!
How do we know?

Well, I know I haven't got one.
Dear me, it's against the law.

How about you, Doctor?

Of course not. You may search
me, gentlemen, search me.

- Miss Claythorne?
- I wish I had.

Quite right, Miss Claythorne,
it's an unfortunate oversight.

One should never
be careless, when

visiting a place
one doesn't know.

Why didn't you tell us that
you had a revolver?

Nobody asked me.

I've got him!
Search his pockets.

Aren't you wasting your time?

I know where it is.

Judge, you said just now that
one of us was the murderer.

If I were you, I wouldn't
let Blore get at that gun.

It's not here!

Look again, Blore.
It's got to be there.

Look in his pockets!

Don't. Get him off. Get him off.

It's not here.

- What did you do with it?
- What did you do with it?

Good heavens, where is it?

The one who can answer
that question,

is obviously not going to speak.

At a time like this.

A game of the mind, Blore,
a game of the mind.

You know the safest
thing for you to do

is stay in your room,
with the door locked.

What about yourself?

Oh, I wouldn't stay out here
alone with any of the others.

Why not?

Don't you think it strange
that there's never

a third person present when
anything unpleasant occurs?

Mr. Owen always manages
to be alone with his victim.

When a third person is
present, nothing happens.

Doesn't that make you nervous,
out here with me, alone?

But, we're not alone.

I asked Mr. Blore to keep an
eye on us. He's my third person.

Blore!

Look, another misfortune.

Something wrong
with the machinery.

Batteries must be running down.

We've got to keep every light
in the house burning tonight.

I'll go to the woodshed
and see to it.

Leave it on, Doctor,
leave it on.

Put you off your game,
wouldn't it, this flickering?

You went away from the
window and left me alone.

I've got to go to the woodshed.
You better go

to your room and lock your door.

I shall.

- Where's Miss Claythorne?
- I don't know.

- Where's Blore?
- Went out to the woodshed.

Woodshed?

What's wrong, Doctor?

Oh, I see. You and I, well,
we are alone in the house.

- Lombard!
- Lombard!

- Come here!
- Don't leave us!

- Where's Vera?
- Vera?

- Miss Claythorne! Answer me!
- Don't come any closer!

- Where is she?
- Keep back!

Blore, if I you don't tell me,
I swear I'll kill you.

If you make another move,
I'll brain you.

You know, Doctor, please
give me a chance.

If you are Mr. Owen,
friend tell me.

I... I won't say a
word to the others.

Don't torment me this way.

If you want to kill the
others, I won't interfere.

I won't say a word.

I'll even help you if
you spare my life.

Look, I trust you.
Don't you trust me?

- Um... yes.
- That's more reasonable.

Don't come any closer!

- Isn't your arm getting tired?
- Don't worry about me.

Listen, if Miss Claythorne is
safe in her room as you say,

we are both behaving
like idiots.

Can't get round me that way.
I prefer being a living idiot.

- Hang on, someone's coming.
- What?

Miss Claythorne! I told you
to stay locked in your room.

I'm looking for... oh.

He's right, Vera.
You shouldn't be so careless!

- Come on!
- Stay here, both of you.

Now I can do what
I came out to do.

Do not know anything
about electricity?

Don't bother me. I get it!

- Stay where you are!
- I shan't move an inch.

Neither will I
till the light comes on.

- Do you think it will?
- Why not?

This is no accident.

Someone wants this
house to be dark at night.

- Who?
- The one we fear.

My dear, Doctor,
we've made a mistake.

This trick of putting
out the lights,

clears two people, you and me.

Now we can trust each other.

I see! The idea was keep
us in fear of each other.

But now we can form
an alliance, you and I.

And find the murderer.

We no longer have anything to
conceal from each other have we.

Just what I was thinking.

Oh ho, I needed that.

Now?

Now we can tell
each other the truth.

The entire truth.

Who's going to speak first?

Very well, I shall begin.

As you know, Mr. Owen's
saying that I was responsible

for the death of one
Edward Seaton.

It's perfectly true.

He was an innocent man
on trial for his life.

I'd nothing against him.

I wanted to ruin the reputation
of his defending counsel,

who lost the case,
while his client lost his life.

Doctor? Tell us the truth.

Your fate depends on it.
I'm convinced of that.

The gramophone
record did not lie.

I operated on Mrs. Cleese while
under the influence of uh...

Guilty, I was, but of
drinking not of killing.

I don't see where
this is getting us.

Sit down, Mr. Blore.

This is getting us to a
very important conclusion.

Isn't that right, Doctor?

If I were you,
I would speak, Mr. Blore.

- I didn't kill anybody!
- We're listening, Mr. Blore.

This Landor chap
was innocent all right,

but I was mixed up with the
gang that was out to get him.

On my testimony,
he got sent up for life.

That's all.

But he died in prison,
didn't he?

Course he did!

How could I know
that would happen?

What about yourself Mr. Lombard?

What about those 21 poor
natives in South Africa?

Don't get excited, Blore.

Mr. Lombard is unable
to deny a thing.

Ah ha! That's the first
thing you said I believe.

Are you leaving us,
Miss Claythorne?

My dear child, you're trembling.

I... I'm so cold.

Would you like us to
postpone this inquiry,

while we build a fire?

That would mean going outside
to get wood, as Rogers did.

No. We wait while
you get your coat.

Thank you.

Stay here, Mr. Lombard.

Nothing can happen to her
if we all remain in this room.

Aah!

- Vera!
- Claythorne!

- Get a light!
- Haven't got one!

- Who is it?
- It's me, Blore!

- Guy Lombard!

- Where's Blore?
- How do I know in the dark.

Where have you
been all this time?

I went to my room
to get this candle.

Where have you been?

I've been looking
for my flashlight.

Where is Blore?

Blore! What the devil are
you doing in my room?

Your room? No wonder
I couldn't find anything.

- What happened to you?
- Somebody bumped into me.

- Did you hear anything?
- Yes, sounded like a shot.

Sounded like
something fell to me.

You're jumpy,
both of you. Nerves.

It's Vera's.

Vera!

Vera! What happened?

Don't be frightened, Vera.
What happened?

- He was in my room.
- Who?

I felt. Oh, I don't know...

- Something like a hand.
- Who was it?

I don't know.
My candles went out.

We'll soon find out.

Help! Lights! Lights!

Seaweed.

It felt like a cold hand.

That's what Miss Claythorne
walked into.

Who brought it in here?

Who brought it into the house?

- Miss Brent.
- Are you sure, Miss Brent is...

- Dead as a doornail.
- Where's the judge?

That's funny, I thought
he came up with us.

So did I.

He was right behind
me on the staircase.

Yes, I thought I bumped into
him when I heard that shot.

- Shot? What did I tell you?
- What?

Why, the old bloke
knew too much.

- You say you heard a shot?
- Yes.

Well, don't you see? He took
a shot at us in the dark.

He'll pot us like clay pigeons,
when we go downstairs.

There's one way to find out!

It's my own.

No. It looks too easy.

Alright, Judge, come outside.

Don't think I can't see you.

He has been shot
through the head.

Only one shot fired.

Who will be next?

Another one proved innocent.
Too late.

He'd found the solution. That's
why he had to be silenced.

- Silenced by who?
- By whom? Don't you remember?

One moment, Miss Claythorne!

Just when the judge was
about to question you...

you came up here,
presumably to get your coat.

True?

Yes.

You opened that door.

Wind blows out your candles,
seaweed touches your face...

You scream. Perfect, perfect.

But, considerable time elapses,

and then we find
you way down there.

What made you run the wrong way?

She didn't know where she
was going. She was hysterical.

Agreed.

But if Miss Claythorne
had not screamed,

we would still be
in the dining room,

and the judge would be alive.

Now wait a minute.
Don't confuse things.

One of you two
pulled this trigger

and you're trying to pin
it on Miss Claythorne.

Now you wait a minute,
Mr. Lombard.

We know very well that the judge

was on the point of an
important discovery.

How do we know what was
in the judge's mind?

I do know.
He took me into his confidence.

Truth. The entire truth.

Miss Claythorne,
did you or did you not,

commit the crime, of which the
gramophone accused you?

I'd rather not talk about it.

Ah, but you must. We've all
confessed our little errors.

All except you.
Come now, my girl.

You didn't really kill this
Barclay chap did you?

Will you take my word,
if I tell you I didn't?

I'm afraid, I will.

Then you have my word for it.

And don't ask me
any more questions.

Can't you see
she's telling the truth?

That is precisely her mistake.

- I don't see why.
- You will. You will.

The judge reasoned it out.

Owen enticed us to this island

to be punished for
our past crimes.

Right.

We three have admitted,
shall I say, our guilt.

Right.

Therefore, we cannot
be interested in

- the punishment of crime.
- Right.

Conclusion: Owen is the one

who has not committed
any past crimes.

I get it!
What a wonderful brain.

To think he couldn't
save his own life.

Yes, but he saved ours.

Yes of course,
that's the important thing.

Do you understand now,
Mr. Lombard?

Oh, it's great. Convincing.
Mathematical deduction.

Oh, wait a minute.

- Oh, no!
- Not you either, Blore.

Now nobody has it.

That's an excellent arrangement.

- Now we can all sleep.
- Let's turn in, gentlemen.

Good night, gentlemen.

Doctor, I find one
flaw in your theory.

I could destroy
it in four words.

Do you want to hear them?

Suppose I said: I am Mr. Owen.

It would be most interesting.
But quite unlikely.

Trouble with you, Lombard,
is nobody could believe you.

Too bad.
I was just trying to be helpful.

Good night. Sleep well.

I hope I will.

I'm sure I will.

How long have you
been out there?

Shh. Not so loud.

But how long have
you been out there?

Ever since you
put out your light.

Why?

I wanted to be here to
welcome Mr. Owen.

Locking you in this room and
leaving the key outside

is a little too obvious,
isn't it?

It's the doctor or Blore.

And unless I am mistaken,

one of them is going to come
through that door at any minute.

How do I know he's
not here already? You.

If you believe that you wouldn't
have opened your window.

- What about me?
- Hmm. You're not smart enough.

A quick thinking girl would have
confessed to any old crime,

in order to clear herself of
what's happened in this house.

Are you sure, you didn't
kill this fellow, Barclay?

Maybe you forgot about it.

Or maybe he never existed.

- Yes, he did.
- Or maybe, he was never killed.

Yes, he was.

By someone who was close to you?
And you were suspected?

What happened to that someone,
who was close to you?

She was my sister.

I took care of her
to the very last.

Oh, now I see that Mr. Owen
isn't infallible.

You don't belong in this house.

You haven't killed
your way into it.

Aren't you ashamed

of taking this ever so lightly,
Mr. Lombard?

Don't call me Mister.
And don't call me Lombard.

I'll tell you something
about Mr. Lombard.

Something else that Mr. Owen
doesn't know...

Listen!

Give me a chance to grab him
when he comes in.

Don't shoot unless you have to.

- He's going away.
- Down the stairs.

I'm going to find out.

I forgot. It's locked.

- I'll go around the other way.
- Take the gun.

Oh you keep it,
in case I can't get back.

But he might kill you.

If he does, he's going to
make a serious mistake.

The other thing he doesn't
know is I am not Mr. Lombard.

Now, we'll find out.
It's either Blore or the doctor.

The one, who's not in his room.

Blore!

Blore! Get up. Open the door.

Who let that girl
out of her room?

Never mind about her.
Come on, Blore!

He's not here.
Now we know who it is.

I heard him go downstairs.
Come on, Blore. We'll catch him!

How do I know you
heard the doctor?

Don't be a fool, Blore.

- We've no time to waste.
- Ah, life is short, isn't it?

- But I heard him too Mr. Blore.
- Oh, you did, did you?

That's a nice present,
you've got there.

Mr. Lombard's getting generous.

- You go first!
- Come on, Vera!

Might be a trick.

Right, Blore.
Maybe, he's in the house.

One. Two. Three.
Three Indians only.

He wants to make
us think, he's dead.

That's to throw
us off the track.

You don't fool us this time,
Dr. Armstrong!

Who's there?

Lombard!

Blore. What are you doing
down there alone?

I think I know where
the doctor is.

Where?

I'm not sure yet.
I'll wait for you.

Alright. We shan't be long.

I get it!

Aren't you being careless,
unlocking your door

when you don't know
who's out here?

But I thought it was you.

- You heard it too, eh?
- I heard you pass my door.

Not me. I thought I heard you.

Are you sure you haven't
been outside of your room?

I wanted to ask
you the same thing.

Maybe, Mr. Blore came
back to his room.

No, no-no.
I knocked on his door.

I heard a noise
while I was dressing.

- Like a door slamming?
- Exactly.

You heard it too, huh?

- What is it?
- Oh, I don't know.

I feel all the time that
there's someone...

someone waiting and watching?

Yes, I know what you mean.

- Oh, it's just nerves.
- Then you have felt it.

Keep a grip on
yourself, darling.

There's nothing supernatural
about this business.

It's definitely human.

- You mean, it's the doctor?
- The mad doctor.

- Hiding here?
- We'll soon find out.

Aaah!

He must have been
looking that way.

And while he was looking,
Dr. Armstrong...

That was Armstrong
we both heard.

But what was Blore looking at?

What do you see?
What is it?

- It's impossible!
- Let me see!

You're going to see.
Come with me.

What is it? What is it? Tell me.

Look!

Armstrong.
He's been dead for hours.

- For hours?
- Since the last tide.

No footprints around the body.

But if he was...
Who killed Blore?

Yes, there are only two people
alive on this island.

- You.
- And you.

So this is how it ends, Vera.

This is how it ends.
We come to the truth now.

Yes, the truth.
The entire truth.

Don't come any closer!

Oh, I see.
That's not quite right, my dear.

It doesn't fit in your
nursery rhyme.

Don't try to talk your way out.

You made one mistake,
giving me this revolver.

Look, I don't mind being killed.

But I hate like the devil to
be killed for someone else.

Didn't I tell you I
wasn't Lombard?

- What is your name?
- Charles Morley.

You're not a very
good detective.

Mr. Blore spotted the
initials on my luggage,

the moment I arrived here.

Why did you come here
under another name?

I knew Lombard very well.
He committed suicide.

I wanted to find out
if Mr. Owen's letter

had anything to do with it.

Do you expect me
to believe that?

Why not?

There's something much more
difficult to believe.

That one of us is Mr. Owen.

I know I'm not, and I simply
can't believe that you are.

Don't try to fool me.
I know I'm not.

It's got to be you.
There's no other explanation.

If you're so sure, go
ahead and shoot me.

You see? You have a doubt.

Don't come any closer.
I'll shoot.

No you won't. You can't shoot.

You still trust me,
and I still trust you.

There's got to
be an explanation.

Yes, that's it!
You've got to shoot me!

- Now shoot!
- But it won't hit you.

That's what I mean! Shoot, and
don't be frightened if I fall.

A game of the mind,
Miss Claythorne.

You came just in time
for my last shot.

And now the game is over.

One little Indian
boy left all alone.

He went and hanged himself.

And then there were none.

That's for you, Miss Claythorne.

What if I don't agree
to hang myself?

Oh, that's been taken care of.

Do you mind if I sit down?

Every artist has a certain
amount of vanity.

We all like the
approbation of the public.

And you are my last public.

I had two great ideas.

The first was a search for
perfect human justice.

And you've seen the result.

To perfect this scheme,
my second idea

was to find an
unwitting accomplice

among the criminals
invited here for punishment.

I needed a respectable fool.

And naturally I selected

a man whose fear of death

might make him
extremely cooperative.

I proposed a scheme to confuse

the imaginary Mr. Owen.

It was simply this:

I must appear to
be the next victim.

Remember the seaweed?

Armstrong and I
placed it in your room.

Your scream was perfect.

We pretended to rush out, but
according to our plan,

we came back.

Now, I was assumed to be dead.

Killed by that gun,
I had borrowed from Mr. Lombard.

And which he found
later on the steps.

I counted on everyone's
confusion in the dark.

And I counted on Armstrong
to play his part to the hilt.

I knew no one would challenge
the doctor's authority.

When he would say: He has
been shot through the head.

After that, I had
to play my part.

And what a part it was!

No one would suspect me,
least of all the dear doctor,

who thought I was about to
discover the unknown murderer,

and was waiting for
me on the beach.

And worrying about
the success of our plan.

A few minutes later, he had
nothing more to worry about.

Justice had triumphed
once again.

Too late, he had
learned that drinking,

when it gets out of hand,
can be fatal.

So you see, the whole thing
has been as inevitable

as the nursery rhyme.

When the boat arrives
from the mainland,

there will be ten dead
bodies and a riddle,

no one can solve
on Indian Island.

Ten?

My dear child,
I'm an old and sick man.

I received my death
sentence a year ago.

Rather than go
painfully and slowly

I choose to leave
this wicked world

with a proud record
of good deeds.

But how can you force me
to hang myself?

The only living
person found here

with nine corpses,
will certainly be hanged.

As the last little Indian,
has to be.

Public hanging isn't pretty.

If you'll allow me to give
you a piece of friendly advice,

do it now, privately.

It's more dignified.

And now my work is done.

Never should trust a woman.

Thanks for the advice, Mr. Owen.

But if I hadn't
trusted you, darling,

and you hadn't trusted me...

By the way,
why did you trust me?

Why did you?

On account of one thing,
Mr. Owen couldn't foresee.

Aaah! Somebody!
Somebody's still alive!

Good morning.

- Ready to leave now?
- Ho, ho, are we!

Are the others ready too?