For a mystery novel, And Then There Were None has pretty much everything a reader could want. From limiting the setting to an isolated, dreary island with only one means of egress to including a colorful cast of characters each with equal motive to kill, And Then There Were None has all the suspense and intrigue it needs to remain a staple of the mystery genre to this day. In addition to Agatha Christie’s well-crafted narrative, And Then There Were None wouldn’t be complete without its potent exploration and critique of justice—both the kind found within our judicial system and the kind achieved through extrajudicial means. Not only is And Then There Were None thrilling, but it also provides sumptuous philosophical food for thought for the most detail-obsessed of readers, which, as luck would have it, are often avid fans of the mystery genre.
The Culprit
Hindsight truly is 20/20. Only with knowledge of the ending—and his entire written confession—does Wargrave become the obvious killer. Combined with the knowledge that he has a self-confessed “definite sadistic delight in seeing or causing death” (285) and learning that he had formed an alliance with Dr. Armstrong outside of the reader’s perception, Wargrave swiftly acquires the motive and the means necessary to become the killer.
There are other clues that, in retrospect, point to Wargrave being the elusive mastermind. For example, the fact that Wargrave has a lesser, if not the least, amount of intimate perspective exhibited in And Then There Were None can be cited as potential evidence. This is a more meta indication rooted in Christie’s story-crafting methods and techniques. There is a case to be made that Marston has the least amount of intimate perspective; however, he is unceremoniously disposed of first and has the least amount of time to impact the narrative beyond being his adrenaline junkie self. The remaining cast are given far more time to expound upon their guilty consciences and their building paranoia, both internally and externally. Compared to them, Wargrave is subtly neglected.
Another meta detail of note is the fact that Christie intentionally describes Wargrave as “reptilian” towards the beginning of the novel: “The hooded reptilian eyes met [Dr. Armstrong’s]” (66). She repeats this descriptor sporadically to describe Wargrave and using turtle-like behaviors to further push his inhuman attributes. While innocuous at first, this early descriptor becomes more significant when paired with Christie’s intentional use of animalian descriptions to portray the mental deterioration of the surviving characters later in the novel:
And all of them, suddenly, looked less like human beings. They were reverting to more bestial types. Like a wary old tortoise, Mr. Judge Wargrave sat hunched up…Ex-inspector Blore looked coarser and clumsier in build. His walk was that of a slow padding animal…He was like a beast at bay ready to charge its pursuers. (212)
All of these details are subtle and could be regarded as throw-away elements. Other small details abound, such as the fact that Wargrave is the one to lead the discussion concerning the assertion that Mr. Owen must be one of their party. How much significance these details warrant remains up to the reader’s discretion.
Additionally, Christie does play somewhat unfairly to obscure Wargrave’s truth. By “killing” Wargrave, she removes him from the survivors’ and the reader’s suspicion, seemingly following her own pre-established rule: once a person has died and the murders continue, they are acquitted of being the killer. Any reader theorizing that Wargrave was the killer is forced to discard their theories in order to observe this rule that has stood for the past murders, which, in light of the ending, could be construed as “unfair” because the reader didn’t have access to the knowledge that Wargrave and Armstrong were in cahoots. However, unfairness is rather subjective. It could be further argued that Christie only breaks a rule of her own invention for the purposes of the narrative. Arguably, obscuring some knowledge is a necessity of the mystery genre in order to achieve a satisfying experience for the reader.
Justice and its Zealots
Wargrave certainly portrays himself as a reasonable man that is only doing as he should: condemning the guilty. On the surface, this could be an honorable creed that mirrors those of many other fictional characters. A figure like Batman certainly comes to mind. However, unlike Batman, Wargrave is also a man claiming to have a preternatural ability to discern the innocent from the guilty—an ability that he feels so confidently in he can dismiss the evidence gathered by the police and Edward Seton’s to secure the guilty verdict. Despite the fact that evidence was found later that proved Seton was guilty of his crimes, it cannot stand that a man like Wargrave should retain his position as an arbiter of justice—and Christie makes no secret of this sentiment.
Our justice system is not perfect. There are a multitude of reasons to justify this statement with varying degrees of complexity and nuance. However, one of the potential complications Christie explores in her novel is actually a particularly celebrated feature of the English judicial system (and many, many others): the presumption of innocence. The burden of proof remains with the prosecution, and it must withstand the scrutiny of the defense, presiding judge, and/or the jury. There is a unique tension between the presumption of innocence and the pursuit of justice. It is the same tension that exists between the concept of free will and the idea of living under a nation-state—as any SOSC class exploring Locke, Hobbes, and Rousseau will tirelessly discuss. When every suspect is assumed to be innocent, the chance that a truly guilty person will escape punishment is never zero, which is illustrated by select occupants of Soldier Island. However, the alternative of presumption of guilt is punitive and holds the potential to do far more harm than good. It also still does not address the quandary of what to do with cases where no legal wrong has be explicitly committed but a certain social infraction is suspected to have taken place.
Wargrave is the kind of madman found only in fiction. Despite the fact that he was right—everyone on Soldier Island was guilty in one way or another—this could never realistically occur using the same methods Wargrave employed to create his guest list to Soldier Island: listening to gossip and hearsay and relying on his sixth sense honed to sniff out the guilty. Nevermind that this sixth sense could merely be something every living person has: bias. Therefore, it cannot be assumed that Christie means to only criticize the legal system. Naturally, there is still critique. However, Christie is not saying that extrajudicial justice is the correct course of action once the legal system has fallen short. Wargrave’s mission can be more accurately described as not the pursuit of justice but the pursuit of punishment.
And Then There Were None certainly contends that a society’s laws are fallible, and our legal system is not the only determiner of wrong or sin. However, Christie assuredly does not support the total abandonment of the established judicial system, nor does she throw her support behind the acts of people like Wargrave. Justice is complicated, and And Then There Were None provides a potent exploration of its many facets, strengths, and weak points.
– Carrie
Intermittent Mechanism 