Richard Allen Beevor
And Then There Were Seven (Because Sleeping Alone Brings Certain Death) - Poem by Richard Allen Beevor
Ten of us made the journey
across the channel on a boat,
to the island of one home
a house of death afloat.
Ten strangers like in a book,
come together to die,
a murderer lurks among them
killer with an agenda but why?
On the first night all were accused
and one died of the demon drink,
was it suicide we had to decide
our opinion was difficult to think.
Next day brought us more alarm,
the cook had passed on in the night,
statues began to disappear
and the mystery turned to fright.
When the General turned up dead
with a bludgeon in his brain,
we knew the worst at last,
a killer lurked out there in the rain.
That day saw us divide to search
with weapons we could loot,
from kitchen knives and spades,
the island was scoured to its root.
That evening with all uncovered,
no assassins on the roof,
we sat in the mansion living room
as dawned realisation of the truth.
This murderer was among us,
we scrutinised each other with dread,
the evening passed and time grew late,
the Judge said we should retire to bed.
'Hold up' said I, 'If we split
our killer will surely see us dead.'
'What to do, ' they chorused,
'Spend the night right here, ' I said.
And so for the next six days
we kept our company as one,
until the boat from the mainland came
and we sailed off into the sun.
I love Agatha Christie and this is my favorite story of hers despite this apparent folly of my making but why do they always split up in murder mysteries, of course if they did not.........no story!
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