Intermittent Mechanism

By Elle Thompson

Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None has been praised as a masterful mass murder and a testament to successful suspension of mystery across multiple points of view, including the killers. However, to maintain dispersed suspicion across the ten suspects and provide their candid interiority, Christie breaks one of the fundamental rules of fair play: no red herrings. 

A red herring within investigative fiction can be defined as a clue or detail that is intended to misdirect or distract the reader. It is a betrayal of trust to further obscure the mystery and suspend its resolution. However, it is important to note that not all red herrings are necessarily a violation of the reader’s trust, nor directly in violation of fair play. Red herrings between characters within a story, for example, are necessary and natural. A murderer may try to misdirect suspicion by throwing in false evidence, or as in And Then There Were None, faking their death.

Justice Wargrave’s staged murder is as flamboyant as red herrings come, almost comical in its theatricality, with a scarlet oil slick curtain for a robe and yarn for a judge’s wig. The readers learn later that the judge was alive in this scene, and had faked his own murder through an allegiance with a too-trusting doctor and a dollop of red clay. However, that moment of revelation isn’t a betrayal of the reader’s trust but the characters. The readers know something is amiss, that the characters are constantly trying to deceive each other, even if they do not know how or when that deception is taking place. Therefore when Wargrave takes action to deceive his fellow murderers, it is perceived as a part of the mystery, contributing to it instead of distracting from it. Furthermore, the sheer dramatics are a clue to the reader, either in the moment or in retrospect, that an active attempt at distraction is taking place.

Characters in a mystery story inherently have something to hide, but so does the author. Agatha Christie’s red herrings are more subtle than the red herrings exchanged between her characters, but just as retrospectively incriminating.

Justice Wargrave is sometimes described as “reptilian” and smiling at in opportune moments. A detail that would seem damningly villainous if it were not for the “wolf-like smile,” used to describe Phillip Lombard throughout the story. Lombard’s wolfish persona is used as a distractor and equalizer to Wargrave’s unnerving presence, effectively allowing the reader to recognize the ‘snake in sheep’s clothing’ in retrospect but not in advance of when Christie wants them to. Furthermore, these animalistic characterizations, while dramatic, are used sparingly to not draw attention to the clue or the red herring until the opportune moment. This artful manipulation of the red herring still airs on the side of fair play and trust because it does not obscure details from the reader. Instead, it provides fertile ground for hindsight bias without giving away Justice Wargrave’s identity. 

While red herrings between characters or from the author can be excused as mechanics of genre, allowing the mystery to unfold at a measured pace, red herrings between the characters and the reader are another matter. To have a character actively lie or obscure information breaks the fourth wall and casts doubt upon all information presented whether it be a red herring or true evidence. In the middle of a mystery, this disruption can prove fatal to the credibility of the author and the narrator, rendering the mystery unsolvable using the evidence presented. Perhaps this is why Agatha Christie only dared to include it as a bookend revelation.

The first paragraph of the novel begins with the perspective of the Soldier Island Murderer, Justice Wargrave, seemingly thinking about everything except anticipating the murder of ten people. His voice is distant and aloof, providing only the details that he would provide later in his cover story. This is necessary for the plot to progress, and otherwise benign considering the reader has only been introduced to the character moments ago.

The epilogue, however, changes things. Justice Wargrave is revealed not only to be the Murderer of 10 on Soldier Island, but a raving, passionate, justiciar with a voice so unlike the first paragraph it seems a different character altogether. This confession letter and the voice it contains cast doubt on the sincerity of Wargrave’s point of view in the first scene. If Wargrave is thinking to himself in a carriage car, who is he acting for? The omission of his true motivation and plans is intentional, but on who’s behalf? Wargrave could indeed be role-playing or getting himself into the role he is about to play, but the grey area between character omission and authorial voice makes or breaks the rules of fair play. 

That being said, the grey area between right and wrong, fair and unfair play, is the perfect playing field for And Then There Were None theoretically and thematically. The multiple POVs, the thin line between detective and murderer, and the uncharacteristically unfit cast of characters dance on the line between genre writing and forbidden territory. Blurriness between murderer and victim, between justice and tyranny, and between red herrings and clues, further the sense of paranoia, suspense, and prophetic danger that drive the novel. The question then becomes not if Agatha Christie breaks the rules of fair play, but how she bends them and if the boundaries of investigative fiction are truly rigid enough to collapse when crossed.