II
Vera Claythorne spoke in a trembling voice.
She said:
"I'd like to tell you. About that child Cyril Hamilton. I was nursery governess to him. He was forbidden to swim out far. One day, when my attention was distracted, he started off. I swam after him... I couldn't get there in time... It was awful... But it wasn't my fault. At the inquest the Coroner exonerated me. And
his mother she was so kind. If even she didn't blame me, why should why
should this awful thing be said? It's not fair not fair..."
She broke down, weeping bitterly.
General Macarthur patted her shoulder.
He said:
"There, there, my dear. Of course it's not true. Fellow's a madman. A madman! Got a bee in his bonnet! Got hold of the wrong end of the stick all round."
He stood erect, squaring his shoulders. He barked out:
"Best really to leave this sort of thing unanswered. However, feel I ought to say
no truth no truth whatsoever in what he said about er young Arthur Richmond. Richmond was one of my officers. I sent him on a reconnaissance. He
was killed. Natural course of events in war time. Wish to say resent very much
slur on my wife. Best woman in the world. Absolutely Caesar's wife!"
General Macarthur sat down. His shaking hand pulled at his moustache. The
effort to speak had cost him a good deal.
Lombard spoke. His eyes were amused. He said:
"About those natives "
Marston said:
"What about them?"
Philip Lombard grinned.
"Story's quite true! I left 'em! Matter of selfpreservation. We were lost in the bush. I and a couple of other fellows took what food there was and cleared out."
General Macarthur said sternly:
"You abandoned your men left them to starve?"
Lombard said:
"Not quite the act of a pukka sahib, I'm afraid. But selfpreservation's a man's first duty. And natives don't mind dying, you know. They don't feel about it as
Europeans do."
Vera lifted her face from her hands. She said, staring at him:
"You left them to die?"
Lombard answered:
"I left them to die."
His amused eyes looked into her horrified ones.
Anthony Marston said in a slow puzzled voice:
"I've just been thinking John and Lucy Combes. Must have been a couple of kids I ran over near Cambridge. Beastly bad luck."
Mr. Justice Wargrave said acidly:
"Lor them, or for you?"
Anthony said:
"Well, I was thinking for me but of course, you're right, sir, it was damned bad luck on them. Of course it was a pure accident. They rushed out of some cottage
or other. I had my licence endorsed for a year. Beastly nuisance."
Dr. Armstrong said warmly:
"This speeding's all wrong all wrong! Young men like you are a danger to the community."
Anthony shrugged his shoulders.
He said:
"Speed's come to stay. English roads are hopeless, of course. Can't get up a
decent pace on them."
He looked round vaguely for his glass, picked it up off a table and went over to the side table and helped himself to another whiskey and soda. He said over his shoulder:
"Well, anyway, it wasn't my fault. Just an accident!"
Ill
The manservant, Rogers, had been moistening his lips and twisting his hands.
He said now in a low deferential voice:
"If I might just say a word, sir."
Lombard said:
"Go ahead, Rogers."
Rogers cleared his throat and passed his tongue once more over his dry lips.
"There was a mention, sir, of me and Mrs. Rogers. And of Miss Brady. There isn't a word of truth in it, sir. My wife and I were with Miss Brady till she died. She
was always in poor health, sir, always from the time we came to her. There was a
storm, sir, that night the night she was taken bad. The telephone was out of
order. We couldn't get the doctor to her. I went for him, sir, on foot. But he got there too late. We'd done everything possible for her, sir. Devoted to her, we
were. Any one will tell you the same. There was never a word said against us.
Not a word."
Lombard looked thoughtfully at the man's twitching face, his dry lips, the fright
in his eyes. He remembered the crash of the falling coffee tray. He thought, but did not say, "Oh, yea?"
Blore spoke spoke in his hearty bullying official manner.
He said:
"Came into a little something at her death, though? Eh?"
Rogers drew himself up. He said stiffly:
"Miss Brady left us a legacy in recognition of our faithful services. And why not, I'd like to know?"
Lombard said:
"What about yourself, Mr. Blore?"
"What about me?"
"Your name was included in the list."
Blore went purple.
"Landor, you mean? That was the bank robbery London and Commercial."
Mr. Justice Wargrave stirred. He said:
"I remember. It didn't come before me, but I remember the case. Landor was convicted on your evidence. You were the police officer in charge of the case?" Blore said:
"I was."
"Landor got penal servitude for life and died in Dartmoor a year later. He was a delicate man."
Blore said:
"He was a crook. It was he who knocked out the night watchman. The case was quite clear against him."
Wargrave said slowly:
"You were complimented, I think, on your able handling of the case."
Blore said sulkily:
"I got my promotion."
He added in a thick voice:
"I was only doing my duty."
Lombard laughed a sudden ringing laugh. He said:
"What a dutyloving, lawabiding lot we all seem to be! Myself excepted. What about you, doctor and your little professional mistake? Illegal operation, was
it?"
Emily Brent glanced at him in sharp distaste and drew herself away a little.
Dr. Armstrong, very much master of himself, shook his head goodhumouredly.
"I'm at a loss to understand the matter," he said. "The name meant nothing to me when it was spoken. What was it Clees? Close? I really can't remember having a
patient of that name, or being connected with a death in any way. The thing's a
complete mystery to me. Of course, it's a long time ago. It might possibly be one
of my operation cases in hospital. They come too late, so many of these people.
Then, when the patient dies, they always consider it's the surgeon's fault."
He sighed, shaking his head.
He thought:
"Drunk that's what it was drunk... And I operated! Nerves all to pieces hands shaking. I killed her, all right. Poor devil elderly woman simple job if I'd been
sober. Lucky for me there's loyalty in our profession. The Sister knew, of course
but she held her tongue, God, it gave me a shock! Pulled me up. But who could
have known about it after all these years?"
IV
There was a silence in the room. Everybody was looking, covertly or openly, at Emily Brent. It was a minute or two before she became aware of the expectation. Her eyebrows rose on her narrow forehead. She said:
"Are you waiting for me to say something? I have nothing to say."
The judge said:
"Nothing, Miss Brent?"
"Nothing."
Her lips closed tightly.
The judge stroked his face. He said mildly:
"You reserve your defence?"
Miss Brent said coldly:
"There is no question of defence. I have always acted in accordance with the
dictates of my conscience. I have nothing with which to reproach myself."
There was an unsatisfied feeling in the air. But Emily Brent was not one to be swayed by public opinion. She sat unyielding.
The judge cleared his throat once or twice. Then he said:
"Our inquiry rests there. Now, Rogers, who else is there on this island besides ourselves and you and your wife?"
"Nobody, sir. Nobody at all."
"You're sure of that?"
"Quite sure, sir."
Wargrave said:
"I am not yet clear as to the purpose of our Unknown host in getting us to assemble here. But in my opinion this person, whoever he may be, is not sane in the accepted sense of the word.
"He may be dangerous. In my opinion it would be well for us to leave this place as soon as possible. I suggest that we leave tonight."
Rogers said:
"I beg your pardon, sir, but there's no boat on the island."
"No boat at all?"
"No, sir."
"How do you communicate with the mainland?"
"Fred Narracott, he comes over every morning, sir. He brings the bread and the milk and the post, and takes the orders."
Mr. Justice Wargrave said:
"Then in my opinion it would be well if we all left tomorrow morning as soon as Narracott's boat arrives."
There was a chorus of agreement with only one dissentient voice. It was Anthony
Marston who disagreed with the majority.
"A bit unsporting, what?" he said. "Ought to ferret out the mystery before we go. Whole thing's like a detective story. Positively thrilling."
The judge said acidly:
"At my time of life, I have no desire for 'thrills,' as you call them."
Anthony said with a grin:
"The legal life's narrowing! I'm all for crime! Here's to it."
He picked up his drink and drank it off at a gulp.
Too quickly, perhaps. He choked choked badly. His face contorted, turned purple. He gasped for breath then slid down off his chair, the glass falling from his hand.
Chapter 5
It was so sudden and so unexpected that it took every one's breath away. They remained stupidly staring at the crumpled figure on the ground.
Then Dr. Armstrong jumped up and went over to him, kneeling beside him. When he raised his head his eyes were bewildered.
He said in a low awestruck whisper:
"My God! he's dead!"
They didn't take it in. Not at once.
Dead? Dead? That young Norse God in the prime of his health and strength. Struck down all in a moment. Healthy young men didn't die like that, choking over a whiskey and soda...
No, they couldn't take it in.
Dr. Armstrong was peering into the dead man's face. He sniffed at the blue twisted lips. Then he picked up the glass from which Anthony Marston had been drinking.
General Macarthur said:
"Dead: D'you mean the fellow just choked and and died?"
The physician said:
"You can call it choking if you like. He died of asphyxiation right enough."
He was sniffing now at the glass. He dipped a finger into the dregs and very cautiously just touched the finger with the tip of his tongue.
His expression altered.
General Macarthur said:
"Never knew a man could die like that just of a choking fit!"
Emily Brent said in a clear voice:
"In the midst of life we are in death."
Dr. Armstrong stood up. He said brusquely:
"No, a man doesn't die of a mere choking fit. Marston's death wasn't what we call a natural death."
Vera said almost in a whisper:
"Was there something in the whiskey?"
Armstrong nodded.
"Yes. Can't say exactly. Everything points to one of the cyanides. No distinctive smell of Prussic Acid, probably Potassium Cyanide. It acts pretty well instantaneously."
The judge said sharply:
"It was in his glass?"
"Yes."
The doctor strode to the table where the drinks were. He removed the stopper from the whiskey and smelt and tasted it. Then he tasted the soda water. He shook his head.
"They're both all right."
Lombard said:
"You mean he must have put the stuff in his glass himself!"
Armstrong nodded with a curiously dissatisfied expression. He said:
"Seems like it."
Blore said:
"Suicide, eh? That's a queer go."
Vera said slowly:
"You'd never think that he would kill himself. He was so alive. He was oh enjoying himself! When he came down the hill in his car this evening he looked he looked oh, I can't explain!"
But they knew what she meant. Anthony Marston, in the height of his youth and manhood, had seemed like a being who was immortal. And now, crumpled and
broken, he lay on the floor.
Dr. Armstrong said:
"Is there any possibility other than suicide?"
Slowly every one shook his head. There could be no other explanation. The drinks
themselves were untampered with. They had all seen Anthony Marston go across and help himself. It followed therefore that any Cyanide in the drink must have been put there by Anthony Marston himself.
And yet why should Anthony Marston commit suicide?
Blore said thoughtfully:
"You know, doctor, it doesn't seem right to me. I shouldn't have said Mr. Marston was a suicidal type of gentleman."
Armstrong answered:
"I agree."
II
They had left it like that. What else was there to say?
Together Armstrong and Lombard had carried the inert body of Anthony Marston to his bedroom and had laid him there covered over with a sheet.
When they came downstairs again, the others were standing in a group, shivering a little, though the night was not cold.
Emily Brent said:
"We'd better go to bed. It's late."
It was past twelve o'clock. The suggestion was a wise one yet every one
hesitated. It was as though they clung to each other's company for reassurance. The judge said:
"Yes, we must get some sleep."
Rogers said:
"I haven't cleared yet in the diningroom."
Lombard said curtly:
"Do it in the morning."
Armstrong said to him:
"Is your wife all right?"
"I'll go and see, sir."
He returned a minute or two later.
"Sleeping beautiful, she is."
"Good," said the doctor. "Don't disturb her."
"No, sir. I'll just put things straight in the diningroom and make sure everything' locked up right, and then I'll turn in."
He went across the hall into the diningroom.
The others went upstairs, a slow unwilling procession.
If this had been an old house, with creaking wood, and dark shadows, and heavily panelled walls, there might have been an eerie feeling. But this house
was the essence of modernity. There were no dark corners no possible sliding
panels it was flooded with electric light everything was new and bright and
shining. There was nothing hidden in this house, nothing concealed. It had no
atmosphere about it.
Somehow, that was the most frightening thing of all...
They exchanged goodnights on the upper landing. Each of them went into his or
her own room, and each of them automatically, almost without conscious thought, locked the door...
Ill
In his pleasant softly tinted room, Mr. Justice Wargrave removed his garments and prepared himself for bed.
He was thinking about Edward Seton.
He remembered Seton very well. His fair hair, his blue eyes, his habit of looking you straight in the face with a pleasant air of straightforwardness. That was
what had made so good an impression on the jury.
Llewellyn, for the Crown, had bungled it a bit. He had been overvehement, had tried to prove too much.
Matthews, on the other hand, for the Defence, had been good. His points had told. His crossexaminations had been deadly. His handling of his client in the witness box had been masterly.
And Seton had come through the ordeal of crossexamination well. He had not got excited or overvehement. The jury had been impressed. It had seemed to Matthews, perhaps, as though everything had been over bar the shouting.
The judge wound up his watch carefully and placed it by the bed.
He remembered exactly how he had felt sitting there listening, making notes,
appreciating everything, tabulating every scrap of evidence that told against the prisoner.
He'd enjoyed that case! Matthews' final speech had been firstclass. Llewellyn, coming after it, had failed to remove the good impression that the defending counsel had made.
And then had come his own summing up...
Carefully, Mr. Justice Wargrave removed his false teeth and dropped them into a glass of water. The shrunken lips fell in. It was a cruel mouth now, cruel and predatory.
Hooding his eyes, the judge smiled to himself.
He'd cooked Seton's goose all right!
With a slightly rheumatic grunt, he climbed into bed and turned out the electric light.
IV
Downstairs in the diningroom, Rogers stood puzzled.
He was staring at the china figures in the centre of the table.
He muttered to himself:
"That's a rum go! I could have sworn there were ten of them."
V
General Macarthur tossed from side to side.
Sleep would not come to him.
In the darkness he kept seeing Arthur Richmond's face.
He'd liked Arthur he'd been damned fond of Arthur. He'd been pleased that Leslie liked him too.
Leslie was so capricious. Lots of good fellows that Leslie would turn up her nose at and pronounce dull. "Dull!" Just like that.
But she hadn't found Arthur Richmond dull. They'd got on well together from the
beginning. They'd talked of plays and music and pictures together. She'd teased him, made fun of him, ragged him. And he, Macarthur, had been delighted at the thought that Leslie took quite a motherly interest in the boy.
Motherly indeed! Damn fool not to remember that Richmond was twentyeight to Leslie's twentynine.
He'd loved Leslie. He could see her now. Her heartshaped face, and her dancing deep grey eyes, and the brown curling mass of her hair. He'd loved Leslie and he'd believed in her absolutely.
Out there in France, in the middle of all the hell of it, he'd sat thinking of her, taken her picture out of the breast pocket of his tunic.
And then he'd found out!
It had come about exactly in the way things happened in books. The letter in the wrong envelope. She'd been writing to them both and she'd put her letter to Richmond in the envelope addressed to her husband. Even now, all these years later, he could feel the shock of it the pain...
God, it had hurt!
And the business had been going on some time. The letter made that clear. Weekends! Richmond's last leave...
Leslie Leslie and Arthur!
God damn the fellow! Damn his smiling face, his brisk "Yes, sir." Liar and hypocrite! Stealer of another man's wife!
It had gathered slowly that cold murderous rage.
He'd managed to carry on as usual to show nothing. He'd tried to make his manner to Richmond just the same.
Had he succeeded? He thought so. Richmond hadn't suspected. Inequalities of temper were easily accounted for out there, where men's nerves were continually snapping under the strain.
Only young Armitage had looked at him curiously once or twice. Quite a young chap, but he'd had perceptions, that boy.
Armitage, perhaps, had guessed when the time came.
He'd sent Richmond deliberately to death. Only a miracle could have brought him
through unhurt. That miracle didn't happen. Yes, he'd sent Richmond to his death and he wasn't sorry. It had been easy enough. Mistakes were being made all the time, officers being sent to death needlessly. All was confusion, panic. People might say afterwards, "Old Macarthur lost his nerve a bit, made some colossal blunders, sacrificed some of his best men." They couldn't say more.
But young Armitage was different. He'd looked at his commanding officer very
oddly. He'd known, perhaps, that Richmond was being deliberately sent to death.
(And after the War was over had Armitage talked?)
Leslie hadn't known. Leslie had wept for her lover (he supposed) but her weeping was over by the time he'd come back to England. He'd never told her that he'd
found her out. They'd gone on together only, somehow, she hadn't seemed very real any more. And then, three or four years later, she'd got double pneumonia and died.
That had been a long time ago. Fifteen years sixteen years?
And he'd left the Army and come to live in Devon bought the sort of little place he'd always meant to have. Nice neighbours pleasant part of the world. There
was a bit of shooting and fishing. He'd gone to church on Sundays. (But not the
day that the lesson was read about David putting Uriah in the forefront of the
battle. Somehow he couldn't face that. Gave him an uncomfortable feeling.)
Everybody had been very friendly. At first, that is. Later, he'd had an uneasy
feeling that people were talking about him behind his back. They eyed him differently, somehow. As though they'd heard something some lying rumour...
(Armitage? Supposing Armitage had talked?)
He'd avoided people after that withdrawn into himself. Unpleasant to feel that people were discussing you.
And all so long ago. So so purposeless now. Leslie had faded into the distance and Arthur Richmond, too. Nothing of what had happened seemed to matter any
more.
It made life lonely, though. He'd taken to shunning his old Army friends.
(If Armitage had talked, they'd know about it.)
And now this evening a hidden voice had blared out that old hidden story.
Had he dealt with it all right? Kept a stiff upper lip? Betrayed the right amount
of feeling indignation, disgust but no guilt, no discomfiture? Difficult to tell.
Surely nobody could have taken the accusation seriously. There had been a pack
of other nonsense, just as farfetched. That charming girl the voice had accused her of drowning a child! Idiotic! Some madman throwing crazy accusations about!
Emily Brent, too actually a niece of old Tom Brent of the Regiment. It had
accused her of murder! Any one could see with half an eye that the woman was
as pious as could be the kind that was hand and glove with parsons.
Damned curious business the whole thing! Crazy, nothing less.
Ever since they had got there when was that? Why, damn it, it was only this
afternoon! Seemed a good bit longer than that.
He thought: "I wonder when we shall get away again."
Tomorrow, of course, when the motor boat came from the mainland.
Funny, just this minute he didn't want much to get away from the island... To go
back to the mainland, back to his little house, back to all the troubles and worries. Through the open window he could hear the waves breaking on the rocks
a little louder now than earlier in the evening. Wind was getting up, too.
He thought: "Peaceful sound. Peaceful place..."
He thought: "Best of an island is once you get there you can't go any further... you've come to the end of things..."
He knew, suddenly, that he didn't want to leave the island.
VI
Vera Claythorne lay in bed, wide awake, staring up at the ceiling.
The light beside her was on. She was frightened of the dark.
She was thinking:
"Hugo... Hugo... Why do I feel you're so near to me tonight?... Somewhere quite close...
"Where is he really? I don't know. I never shall know. He just went away right away out of my life!"
It was no good trying not to think of Hugo. He was close to her. She had to think of him to remember...
Cornwall...
The black rocks, the smooth yellow sand. Mrs. Hamilton, stout, goodhumoured. Cyril, whining a little always, pulling at her hand.
"I want to swim out to the rock. Miss Claythorne. Why can't I swim out to the rock?"
Looking up meeting Hugo's eyes watching her.
The evenings after Cyril was in bed...
"Come out for a stroll, Miss Claythorne."
"I think perhaps I will."
The decorous stroll down to the beach. The moonlight the soft Atlantic air.
And then, Hugo's arm round her.
"I love you, I love you. You know I love you, Vera?"
Yes, she knew.
(Or thought she knew.)
"I can't ask you to marry me. I've not got a penny. Its all I can do to keep myself. Queer, you know, once, for three months I had the chance of being a rich man to look forward to. Cyril wasn't born until three months after Maurice died. If he'd been a girl..."
If the child has been a girl, Hugo would have come into everything. He'd been disappointed, he admitted.
"I hadn't built on it, of course. But it was a bit of a knock. Oh, well, luck's luck! Cyril's a nice kid. I'm awfully fond of him."
And he was fond of him, too. Always ready to play games or amuse his small nephew. No rancour in Hugo's nature.
Cyril wasn't really strong. A puny child no stamina. The kind of child, perhaps, who wouldn't live to grow up...
And then ?
"Miss Claythorne, why can't I swim to the rock?"
Irritating whiney repetition.
"It s too far, Cyril."
"But, Miss Claythorne..."
Vera got up. She went to the dressingtable and swallowed three aspirins.
She thought:
"I wish I had some proper sleeping stuff."
She thought:
"If I were doing away with myself I'd take an overdose of veronal something like that not cyanide!"
She shuddered as she remembered Anthony Marston's convulsed purple face.
As she passed the mantelpiece, she looked up at the framed doggerel.
Ten little Indian boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were nine.
She thought to herself:
"It's horrible just like us this evening..."
Why had Anthony Marston wanted to die?
She didn't want to die.
She couldn't imagine wanting to die...
Death was for the other people...
Chapter 6
Dr. Armstrong was dreaming...
It was very hot in the operating room...
Surely they'd got the temperature too high? The sweat was rolling down his face. His hands were clammy. Difficult to hold the scalpel firmly...
How beautifully sharp it was...
Easy to do a murder with a knife like that. And of course he was doing a murder...
The woman's body looked different. It had been a large unwieldy body. This was a spare meagre body. And the face was hidden.
Who was it that he had to kill?
He couldn't remember. But he must know! Should he ask Sister?
Sister was watching him. No, he couldn't ask her. She was suspicious, he could see that.
But who was it on the operating table?
They shouldn't have covered up the face like that...
If he could only see the face...
Ah! that was better. A young probationer was pulling off the handkerchief.
Emily Brent, of course. It was Emily Brent that he had to kill.
How malicious her eyes were! Her lips were moving. What was she saying?
"In the midst of life we are in death..."
She was laughing now. No, nurse, don't put the handkerchief back. I've got to see. I've got to give the anaesthetic. Where's the ether? I must have brought the ether with me. What have you done with the ether, Sister? ChBteau Neuf du Pape? Yes, that will do quite as well.
Take the handkerchief away, nurse.
Of course! I knew it all the time! It's Anthony Marston! His face is purple and convulsed. But he's not dead he's laughing. I tell you he's laughing! He's shaking the operating table.
Look out, man, look out. Nurse, steady it steady it
With a start Dr. Armstrong woke up. It was morning. Sunlight was pouring into the room.
And some one was leaning over him shaking him. It was Rogers. Rogers, with a white face, saying: "Doctor doctor!"
Dr. Armstrong woke up completely.
He sat up in bed. He said sharply:
"What is it?"
"It's the wife, doctor. I can't get her to wake. My God! I can't get her to wake. And
and she don't look right to me."
Dr. Armstrong was quick and efficient. He wrapped himself in his dressinggown and followed Rogers.
He bent over the bed where the woman was lying peacefully on her side. He lifted
the cold hand, raised the eyelid. It was some few minutes before he straightened himself and turned from the bed.
Rogers whispered:
"Is she is she ?"
He passed a tongue over dry lips.
Armstrong nodded.
"Yes, she's gone."
His eyes rested thoughtfully on the man before him. Then they went to the table by the bed, to the washstand, then back to the sleeping woman.
Rogers said:
"Was it was it 'er 'eart, doctor?"
Dr. Armstrong was a minute or two before replying. Then he said:
"What was her health like normally?"
Rogers said:
"She was a bit rheumaticky."
"Any doctor been attending her recently?"
"Doctor?" Rogers stared. "Not been to a doctor for years neither of us."
"You'd no reason to believe she suffered from heart trouble?"
"No, doctor. I never knew of anything."
Armstrong said:
"Did she sleep well?"
Now Rogers' eyes evaded his. The man's hands came together and turned and twisted uneasily. He muttered.
"She didn't sleep extra well no."
The doctor said sharply:
"Did she take things to make her sleep?"
Rogers stared at him, surprised.
"Take things? To make her sleep? Not that I knew of. I'm sure she didn't." Armstrong went over to the washstand.
There were a certain number of bottles on it. Hair lotion, lavender water, cascara, glycerine of cucumber for the hands, a mouthwash, toothpaste and some
Elliman's.
Rogers helped by pulling out the drawers of the dressingtable. From there they moved on to the chest of drawers. But there was no sign of sleeping draughts or tablets.
Rogers said:
"She didn't have nothing last night, sir, except what you gave her..."
II
When the gong sounded for breakfast at nine o'clock it found every one up and awaiting the summons.
General Macarthur and the judge had been pacing the terrace outside, exchanging desultory comments on the political situation.
Vera Claythorne and Philip Lombard had been up to the summit of the island
behind the house. There they had discovered William Henry Blore, standing staring at the mainland.
He said:
"No sign of that motor boat yet. I've been watching for it."
Vera said, smiling:
"Devon's a sleepy county. Things are usually late."
Philip Lombard was looking the other way, out to sea.
He said abruptly:
"What d'you think of the weather?"
Glancing up at the sky, Blore remarked:
"Looks all right to me."
Lombard pursed up his mouth into a whistle.
He said:
"It will come on to blow before the day's out."
Blore said:
"Squally eh?"
From below them came the boom of a gong.
Philip Lombard said:
"Breakfast? Well, I could do with some."
As they went down the steep slope Blore said to Lombard in a ruminating voice:
"You know, it beats me why that young fellow wanted to do himself in! I've been worrying about it all night."
Vera was a little ahead. Lombard hung back slightly. He said:
"Got any alternative theory?"
"I'd want some proof. Motive, to begin with. Welloff I should say he was." Emily Brent came out of the drawingroom window to meet them.
She said sharply:
"Is the boat coming?"
"Not yet," said Vera.
They went in to breakfast. There was a vast dish of eggs and bacon on the sideboard and tea and coffee.
Rogers held the door open for them to pass in, then shut it from the outside. Emily Brent said:
"That man looks ill this morning."
Dr. Armstrong, who was standing by the window, cleared his throat. He said:
"You must excuse any er shortcomings this morning. Rogers has had to do the best he can for breakfast singlehanded. Mrs. Rogers has er not been able to
carry on this morning."
Emily Brent said sharply:
"What's the matter with the woman?"
Dr. Armstrong said easily:
"Let us start our breakfast. The eggs will be cold. Afterwards, there are several matters I want to discuss with you all."
They took the hint. Plates were filled, coffee and tea was poured. The meal
began.
Discussion of the island was, by mutual consent, tabooed. They spoke instead in a desultory fashion of current events. The news from abroad, events in the world
of sport, the latest reappearance of the Loch Ness monster.
Then, when plates were cleared, Dr. Armstrong moved back his chair a little,
cleared his throat importantly and spoke.
He said:
"I thought it better to wait until you had had your breakfast before telling you of a sad piece of news. Mrs. Rogers died in her sleep."
There were startled and shocked ejaculations.
Vera exclaimed:
"How awful! Two deaths on this island since we arrived!"
Mr. Justice Wargrave, his eyes narrowed, said in his small precise clear voice: "H'm very remarkable what was the cause of death?"
Armstrong shrugged his shoulders.
"Impossible to say offhand."
"There must be an autopsy?"
"I certainly couldn't give a certificate. I have no knowledge whatsoever of the woman's state of health."
Vera said:
"She was a very nervouslooking creature. And she had a shock last night. It might have been heart failure, I suppose?"
Dr. Armstrong said drily:
"Her heart certainly failed to beat but what caused it to fail is the question."
One word fell from Emily Brent. It fell hard and clear into the listening group. "Conscience!" she said.
Armstrong turned to her.
"What exactly do you mean by that, Miss Brent?"
Emily Brent, her lips tight and hard, said:
"You all heard. She was accused, together with her husband, of having deliberately murdered her former employer an old lady."
"And you think?"
Emily Brent said:
"I think that that accusation was true. You all saw her last night. She broke down completely and fainted. The shock of having her wickedness brought home
to her was too much for her. She literally died of fear."
Dr. Armstrong shook his head doubtfully.
"It is a possible theory," he said. "One cannot adopt it without more exact knowledge of her state of health. If there was cardiac weakness "
Emily Brent said quietly.
"Call it, if you prefer, an Act of God."
Every one looked shocked. Mr. Blore said uneasily:
"That's carrying things a bit far, Miss Brent."
She looked at them with shining eyes. Her chin went up. She said:
"You regard it as impossible that a sinner should be struck down by the wrath of God! I do not!"
The judge stroked his chin. He murmured in a slightly ironic voice:
"My dear lady, in my experience of illdoing, Providence leaves the work of conviction and chastisement to us mortals and the process is often fraught with
difficulties. There are no short cuts."
Emily Brent shrugged her shoulders.
Blore said sharply:
"What did she have to eat and drink last night after she went up to bed?" Armstrong said:
"Nothing."
"She didn't take anything? A cup of tea? A drink of water? I'll bet you she had a cup of tea. That sort always does."
"Rogers assures me she had nothing whatsoever."
"Ah," said Blore. "But he might say so!"
His tone was so significant that the doctor looked at him sharply.
Philip Lombard said:
"So that's your idea?"
Blore said aggressively:
"Well, why not? We all heard that accusation last night. May be sheer moonshine
just plain lunacy! On the other hand, it may not. Allow for the moment that it's true. Rogers and his missus polished off that old lady. Well, where does that get
you? They've been feeling quite safe and happy about it "
Vera interrupted. In a low voice she said:
"No, I don't think Mrs. Rogers ever felt safe."
Blore looked slightly annoyed at the interruption. "Just like a woman," his glance said.
He resumed:
"That's as may be. Anyway there's no active danger to them as far as they know.
Then, last night, some unknown lunatic spills the beans. What happens? The
woman cracks she goes to pieces. Notice how her husband hung over her as she
was coming round. Not all husbandly solicitude! Not on your life! He was like a
cat on hot bricks. Scared out of his life as to what she might say.
"And there's the position for you! They've done a murder and got away with it.
But if the whole thing's going to be raked up, what's going to happen? Ten to one, the woman will give the show away. She hasn't got the nerve to stand up and
brazen it out. She's a living danger to her husband, that's what she is. He's all
right. He'll lie with a straight face till kingdom comes but he can't be sure of her! And if she goes to pieces, his neck's in danger! So he slips something into a cup of tea and makes sure that her mouth is shut permanently."
Armstrong said slowly:
"There was no empty cup by her bedside there was nothing there at all. I looked."
Blore snorted.
"Of course there wouldn't be! First thing he'd do when she'd drunk it would be to take that cup and saucer away and wash it up carefully."
There was a pause. Then General Macarthur said doubtfully:
"It may be so. But I should hardly think it possible that a man would do that to his wife."
Blore gave a short laugh.
He said:
"When a man's neck's in danger, he doesn't stop to think too much about sentiment."
There was a pause. Before any one could speak, the door opened and Rogers came
in.
He said, looking from one to the other:
"Is there anything more I can get you? I'm sorry there was so little toast, but we've run right out of bread. The new bread hasn't come over from the mainland
yet."
Mr. Justice Wargrave stirred a little in his chair. He asked:
"What time does the motor boat usually come over?"
"Between seven and eight, sir. Sometimes it's a bit after eight. Don't know what Fred Narracott can be doing this morning. If he's ill he'd send his brother."
Philip Lombard said:
"What's the time now?"
"Ten minutes to ten, sir."
Lombard's eyebrows rose. He nodded slowly to himself.
Rogers waited a minute or two.
General Macarthur spoke suddenly and explosively.
"Sorry to hear about your wife, Rogers. Doctor's just been telling us."
Rogers inclined his head.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
He took up the empty bacon dish and went out.
Again there was silence.
Ill
On the terrace outside Philip Lombard said:
"About this motor boat "
Blore looked at him.
Blore nodded his head.
He said:
"I know what you're thinking, Mr. Lombard. I've asked myself the same question.
Motor boat ought to have been here nigh on two hours ago. It hasn't come? Why?"
"Found the answer?" asked Lombard.
"It's not an accident that's what I say. It's part and parcel of the whole business. It's all bound up together."
Philip Lombard said:
"It won't come, you think?"
A voice spoke behind him a testy impatient voice.
"The motor boat's not coming," he said.
Blore turned his square shoulder slightly and viewed the last speaker thoughtfully.
"You think not too, General?"
General Macarthur said sharply:
"Of course it won't come. We're counting on the motor boat to take us off the island. That's the meaning of the whole business. We're not going to leave the
island... None of us will ever leave... Il's the end, you see the end of everything..."
He hesitated, then he said in a low strange voice:
"That's peace real peace. To come to the end not to have to go on... Yes, peace..." He turned abruptly and walked away. Along the terrace, then down the slope towards the sea obliquely to the end of the island where loose rocks went out into the water.
He walked a little unsteadily, like a man who was only half awake.
Blore said:
"There goes another one who's balmy! Looks as though it'll end with the whole lot going that way."
Philip Lombard said:
"I don't fancy you will, Blore."
The exinspector laughed.
"It would take a lot to send me off my head." He added drily: "And I don't think you'll be going that way either, Mr. Lombard."
Philip Lombard said:
"I feel quite sane at the minute, thank you."
IV
Dr. Armstrong came out onto the terrace. He stood there hesitating. To his left
were Blore and Lombard. To his right was Wargrave, slowly pacing up and down,
his head bent down.
Armstrong, after a moment of indecision, turned towards the latter.
But at that moment Rogers came quickly out of the house.
"Could I have a word with you, sir, please?"
Armstrong turned.
He was startled at what he saw.
Rogers' face was working. Its colour was greyish green. His hands shook.
It was such a contrast to his restraint of a few minutes ago that Armstrong was quite taken aback.
"Please, sir, if I could have a word with you. Inside, sir."
The doctor turned back and reentered the house with the frenzied butler. He said:
"What's the matter, man? Pull yourself together."
"In here, sir, come in here."
He opened the diningroom door. The doctor passed in. Rogers followed him and
shut the door behind him.
"Well," said Armstrong, "what is it?"
The muscles of Rogers' throat were working. He was swallowing. He jerked out
"There's things going on, sir, that I don't understand."
Armstrong said sharply: "Things? What things?"
"You'll think I'm crazy, sir. You'll say it isn't anything. But it's got to be explained, sir. It's got to be explained. Because it doesn't make any sense."
"Well, man, tell me what it is? Don't go on talking in riddles."
Rogers swallowed again.
He said:
"It's those little figures, sir. In the middle of the table. The little china figures. Ten of them, there were. I'll swear to that, ten of them."
Armstrong said:
"Yes, ten. We counted them last night at dinner."
Rogers came nearer.
"That's just it, sir. Last night, when I was clearing up, there wasn't but nine, sir.
I noticed it and thought it queer. But that's all I thought. And now, sir, this
morning. I didn't notice when I laid the breakfast. I was upset and all that.
"But now, sir, when I came to clear away. See for yourself if you don't believe me.
"There's only eight, sir! Only eight! It doesn't make sense, does it? Only eight..."
Chapter 7
After breakfast, Emily Brent had suggested to Vera Claythorne that they should walk up to the summit again and watch for the boat. Vera had acquiesced.
The wind had freshened. Small white crests were appearing on the sea. There
were no fishing boats out and no sign of the motor boat.
The actual village of Sticklehaven could not be seen, only the hill above it, a
juttingout cliff of red rock concealed the actual little bay.
Emily Brent said:
"The man who brought us out yesterday seemed a dependable sort of person. It is really very odd that he should be so late this morning."
Vera did not answer. She was fighting down a rising feeling of panic.
She said to herself angrily:
"You must keep cool. This isn't like you. You've always had excellent nerves." Aloud she said after a minute or two:
"I wish he would come. 11 want to get away."
Emily Brent said drily:
"I've no doubt we all do."
Vera said:
"It's all so extraordinary... There seems no no meaning in it all."
The elderly woman beside her said briskly:
"I'm very annoyed with myself for being so easily taken in. Really that letter is
absurd when one comes to examine it. But I had no doubts at the time none at
all."
Vera murmured mechanically:
"I suppose not."
"One takes things for granted too much," said Emily Brent.
Vera drew a deep shuddering breath.
She said:
"Do you really think what you said at breakfast?"
"Be a little more precise, my dear. To what in particular are you referring?"
Vera said in a low voice:
"Do you really think that Rogers and his wife did away with that old lady?" Emily Brent gazed thoughtfully out to sea. Then she said:
"Personally, I am quite sure of it. What do you think?"
"I don't know what to think."
Emily Brent said:
"Everything goes to support the idea. The way the woman fainted. And the man
dropped the coffee tray, remember. Then the way he spoke about it it didn't ring true. Oh, yes, I'm afraid they did it."
Vera said:
"The way she looked scared of her own shadow! I've never seen a woman look so frightened... She must have been always haunted by it..."
Miss Brent murmured:
"I remember a text that hung in my nursery as a child. 'Be sure thy sin will find thee out.' It's very true, that. 'Be sure thy sin will find thee out.'"
Vera scrambled to her feet. She said:
"But, Miss Brent Miss Brent in that case "
"Yes, my dear?"
"The others? What about the others?"
"I don't quite understand you."
"All the other accusations they they weren't true? But if it's true about the Rogerses " She stopped, unable to make her chaotic thought clear.
Emily Brent's brow, which had been frowning perplexedly, cleared.
She said:
"Ah, I understand you now. Well, there is that Mr. Lombard. He admits to having abandoned twenty men to their deaths."
Vera said:
"They were only natives..."
Emily Brent said sharply:
"Black or white, they are our brothers."
Vera thought:
"Our black brothers our black brothers. Oh, I'm going to laugh. I'm hysterical.
I'm not myself..."
Emily Brent continued thoughtfully:
"Of course, some of the other accusations were very farfetched and ridiculous.
Against the judge, for instance, who was only doing his duty in his public capacity, And the exScotland Yard man. My own case, too."
She paused and then went on:
"Naturally, considering the circumstances, I was not going to say anything last night. It was not a fit subject to discuss before gentlemen."
"No?"
Vera listened with interest. Miss Brent continued serenely:
"Beatrice Taylor was in service with me. Not a nice girl as I found out too late. I was very much deceived in her. She had nice manners and was very clean and
willing. I was very pleased with her. Of course all that was the sheerest hypocrisy! She was a loose girl with no morals. Disgusting! It was some time
before I found out that she was what they call 'in trouble.'" She paused, her delicate nose wrinkling itself in distaste. "It was a great shock to me. Her parents were decent folk, too, who had brought her up very strictly. I'm glad to say they
did not condone her behaviour."
Vera said, staring at Miss Brent:
"What happened?"
"Naturally I did not keep her an hour under my roof. No one shall ever say that I condoned immorality."
Vera said in a lower voice:
"What happened to her?"
Miss Brent said:
"The abandoned creature, not content with having one sin on her conscience, committed a still graver sin. She took her own life."
Vera whispered, horrorstruck:
"She killed herself?"
"Yes, she threw herself into the river."
Vera shivered.
She stared at the calm delicate profile of Miss Brent. She said:
"What did you feel like when you knew she'd done that? Weren't you sorry? Didn't you blame yourself?"
Emily Brent drew herself up.
"I? I had nothing with which to reproach myself."
Vera said:
"But if your hardness drove her to it"
Emily Brent said sharply:
"Her own action her own sin that was what drove her to it. If she had behaved like a decent modest young woman none of this would have happened."
She turned her face to Vera. There was no selfreproach, no uneasiness in those
eyes. They were hard and selfrighteous. Emily Brent sat on the summit of Indian Island, encased in her own armour of virtue.
The little elderly spinster was no longer slightly ridiculous to Vera.
Suddenly she was terrible.
II
Dr. Armstrong came out of the diningroom and once more came out on the
terrace.
The judge was sitting in a chair now, gazing placidly out to sea.
Lombard and Blore were over to the left, smoking but not talking.
As before, the doctor hesitated for a moment His eye rested speculatively on Mr. Justice Wargrave. He wanted to consult with some one. He was conscious of the judge's acute logical brain. But nevertheless he wavered. Mr. Justice Wargrave might have a good brain but he was an elderly man. At this juncture, Armstrong felt what was needed was a man of action.
He made up his mind.
"Lombard, can I speak to you for a minute?"
Philip started.
"Of course."
The two men left the terrace. They strolled down the slope towards the water. When they were out of earshot, Armstrong said:
"I want a consultation."
Lombard's eyebrows went up. He said:
"My dear fellow, I've no medical knowledge."
"No, no, I mean as to the general situation."
"Oh, that's different."
Armstrong said:
"Frankly, what do you think of the position?"
Lombard reflected a minute. Then he said:
"It's rather suggestive, isn't it?"
"What are your ideas on the subject of that woman? Do you accept Blore's theory?"
Philip puffed smoke into the air. He said:
"It's perfectly feasible taken alone."
"Exactly."
Armstrong's tone sounded relieved. Philip Lombard was no fool.
The latter went on:
"That is, accepting the premise that Mr. and Mrs. Rogers have successfully got away with murder in their time. And I don't see why they shouldn't. What do you
think they did exactly? Poisoned the old lady?"
Armstrong said slowly:
"It might be simpler than that. I asked Rogers this morning what this Miss Brady had suffered from. His answer was enlightening. I don't need to go into medical details, but in a certain form of cardiac trouble, amyl nitrite is used. When an attack comes on an ampoule of amyl nitrite is broken and it is inhaled. If amyl nitrite were withheld well, the consequences might easily be fatal."
Philip Lombard said thoughtfully:
"As simple as that. It must have been rather tempting."
The doctor nodded.
"Yes, no positive action. No arsenic to obtain and administer nothing definite just negation! And Rogers hurried through the night to fetch a doctor and they
both felt confident that no one could ever know."
"And, even if any one knew, nothing could ever be proved against them," added Philip Lombard.
He frowned suddenly.
"Of course that explains a good deal."
Armstrong said, puzzled:
"I beg your pardon."
Lombard said:
"I mean it explains Indian Island. There are crimes that cannot be brought home to their perpetrators. Instance, the Rogerses'. Another instance, old Wargrave, who committed his murder strictly within the law."
Armstrong said sharply:
"You believe that story?"
Philip Lombard smiled.
"Oh, yes, I believe it. Wargrave murdered Edward Seton all right, murdered him as surely as if he'd stuck a stiletto through him! But he was clever enough to do it from the judge's seat in wig and gown. So in the ordinary way you can't bring his
little crime home to him."
A sudden flash passed like lightning through Armstrong's mind.
"Murder in Hospital. Murder on the Operating Table. Safe yes, safe as houses!" Philip Lombard was saying:
"Hence Mr. Owen hence Indian Island!"
Armstrong drew a deep breath.
"Now we're getting down to it. What's the real purpose of getting us all here?" Philip Lombard said:
"What do you think?"
Armstrong said abruptly:
"Let's go back a minute to this woman's death. What are the possible theories? Rogers killed her because he was afraid she would give the show away. Second possibility: She lost her nerve and took an easy way out herself."
Philip Lombard said:
"Suicide, eh?"
"What do you say to that?"
Lombard said:
"It could have been yes if it hadn't been for Marston's death. Two suicides within twelve hours is a little too much to swallow! And if you tell me that
Anthony Marston, a young bull with no nerves and precious little brains, got the
wind up over having mowed down a couple of kids and deliberately put himself
out of the way well, the idea's laughable! And anyway, how did he get hold of
the stuff? From all I've ever heard, Potassium Cyanide isn't the kind of stuff you take about with you in your waistcoat pocket. But that's your line of country."
Armstrong said:
"Nobody in their senses carries Potassium Cyanide. It might be done by some one who was going to take a wasps' nest."
"The ardent gardener or landowner, in fact? Again, not Anthony Marston. It
strikes me that Cyanide is going to need a bit of explaining. Either Anthony Marston meant to do away with himself before he came here, and therefore came prepared or else "
Armstrong prompted him.
"Or else?"
Philip Lombard grinned.
"Why make me say it? When it's on the tip of your own tongue. Anthony Marston was murdered, of course."
Ill
Dr. Armstrong drew a deep breath.
"And Mrs. Rogers?"
Lombard said slowly:
"I could believe in Anthony's suicide (with difficulty) if it weren't for Mrs. Rogers.
I could believe in Mrs. Rogers' suicide (easily) if it weren't for Anthony Marston. I can believe that Rogers put his wife out of the way if it were not for the
unexplained death of Anthony Marston. But what we need is a theory to explain
two deaths following rapidly on each other."
Armstrong said:
"I can perhaps give you some help towards that theory."
And he repeated the facts that Rogers had given him about the disappearance of the two little china figures.
Lombard said:
"Yes, litde china Indian figures... There were certainly ten last night at dinner. And now there are eight, you say?"
Dr. Armstrong recited:
"Ten little Indian boys going out to dine;
One went and choked himself and then there were nine.
"Nine little Indian boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were eight."
The two men looked at each other. Philip Lombard grinned and flung away his cigarette.
"Fits too damned well to be a coincidence! Anthony Marston dies of asphyxiation or choking last night after dinner, and Mother Rogers oversleeps herself with a
vengeance."
"And therefore?" said Armstrong.
Lombard took him up.
"And therefore another kind of puzzle. The Nigger in the Woodpile! X! Mr. Owen!
U.N. Owen. One Unknown Lunatic at Large!"
"Ah!" Armstrong breathed a sigh of relief. "You agree. But you see what it involves? Rogers swore that there was no one but ourselves and he and his wife
on the island."
"Rogers is wrong! Or possibly Rogers is lying!"
Armstrong shook his head.
"I don't think he's lying. The man's scared. He's scared nearly out of his senses." Philip Lombard nodded.
He said:
"No motor boat this morning. That fits in. Mr. Owen's little arrangements again to the fore. Indian Island is to be isolated until Mr. Owen has finished his job."
Armstrong had gone pale. He said:
"You realize the man must be a raving maniac!"
Philip Lombard said, and there was a new ring in his voice:
"There's one thing Mr. Owen didn't realize."
"What's that?"
"This island's more or less a bare rock. We shall make short work of searching it. We'll soon ferret out U.N. Owen, Esq."
Dr. Armstrong said warningly:
"He'll be dangerous."
Philip Lombard laughed.
"Dangerous? Who's afraid of the big bad wolf? I'll be dangerous when I get hold of him!"
He paused and said:
"We'd better rope in Blore to help us. He'll be a good man in a pinch. Better not tell the women. As for the others, the General's ga ga, I think, and old Wargrave's forte is masterly inactivity. The three of us can attend to this job."
Chapter 8
Blore was easily roped in. He expressed immediate agreement with their arguments.
"What you've said about those china figures, sir, makes all the difference. That's crazy, that is! There's only one thing. You don't think this Owen's idea might be
to do the job by proxy, as it were?"
"Explain yourself, man."
"Well, I mean like this. After the racket last night this young Mr. Marston gets the wind up and poisons himself. And Rogers, he gets the wind up too and bumps
off his wife! All according to U.N.O.'s plan."
Armstrong shook his head. He stressed the point about the Cyanide. Blore agreed.
"Yes, I'd forgotten that. Not a natural thing to be carrying about with you. But how did it get into his drink, sir?"
Lombard said:
"I've been thinking about that. Marston had several drinks that night. Between the time he had his last one and the time he finished the one before it, there was quite a gap. During that time his glass was lying about on some table or other. I
think though I can't be sure, it was on the little table near the window. The
window was open. Somebody could have slipped a dose of the Cyanide into the
glass."
Blore said unbelievingly:
"Without our all seeing him, sir?"
Lombard said drily:
"We were all rather concerned elsewhere."
Armstrong said slowly:
"That's true. We'd all been attacked. We were walking about, moving about the room. Arguing, indignant, intent on our own business. I think it could have been
done..."
Blore shrugged his shoulders.
"Fact is, it must have been done! Now then, gentlemen, let's make a start. Nobody's got a revolver, by any chance? I suppose that's too much to hope for." Lombard said:
"I've got one." He patted his pocket.
Blore's eyes opened very wide. He said in an overcasual tone:
"Always carry that about with you, sir?"
Lombard said:
"Usually. I've been in some tight places, you know."
"Oh," said Blore and added: "Well, you've probably never been in a tighter place than you are today! If there's a lunatic hiding on this island, he's probably got a young arsenal on him to say nothing of a knife or dagger or two."
Armstrong coughed.
"You may be wrong there, Blore. Many homicidal lunatics are very quiet, unassuming people. Delightful fellows."
Blore said:
"I don't feel this one is going to be of that kind, Dr. Armstrong."
II
The three men started on their tour of the island. It proved unexpectedly simple. On the northwest side, towards the coast, the cliffs fell sheer to the sea below, their surface unbroken.
On the rest of the island there were no trees and very little cover. The three men worked carefully and methodically, beating up and down from the highest point
to the water's edge, narrowly scanning the least irregularity in the rock which
might point to the entrance to a cave. But there were no caves.
They came at last, skirting the water's edge, to where General Macarthur sat
looking out to sea. It was very peaceful here with the lap of the waves breaking
over the rocks. The old man sat very upright, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
He paid no attention to the approach of the searchers. His oblivion of them made
one at least faintly uncomfortable.
Blore thought to himself:
"'Tisn't natural looks as though he'd gone into a trance or something."
He cleared his throat and said in a wouldbe conversational tone:
"Nice peaceful spot you've found for yourself, sir."
The General frowned. He cast a quick look over his shoulder. He said:
"There is so little time so little time. I really must insist that no one disturbs me." Blore said genially:
"We won't disturb you. We're just making a tour of the island, so to speak. Just wondered, you know, if some one might be hiding on it."
The General frowned and said:
"You don't understand you don't understand at all. Please go away."
Blore retreated. He said, as he joined the other two:
"He's crazy... It's no good talking to him."
Lombard asked with some curiosity:
"What did he say?"
Blore shrugged his shoulders.
"Something about there being no time and that he didn't want to be disturbed." Dr. Armstrong frowned.
He murmured:
"I wonder now..."
Ill
The search of the island was practically completed. The three men stood on the highest point looking over towards the mainland. There were no boats out. The wind was freshening.
Lombard said:
"No fishing boats out. There's a storm coming. Damned nuisance you can't see the village from here. We could signal or do something."
Blore said:
"We might light a bonfire tonight."
Lombard said, frowning:
"The devil of it is that that's all probably been provided for."
"In what way, sir?"
"How do I know? Practical joke, perhaps. We're to be marooned here, no attention is to be paid to signals, etc. Possibly the village has been told there's a wager on.
Some damn fool story anyway."
Blore said dubiously:
"Think they'd swallow that?"
Lombard said drily:
"It's easier of belief than the truth! If the village were told that the island was to be isolated until Mr. Unknown Owen had quietly murdered all his guests do you
think they'd believe that?"
Dr. Armstrong said:
"There are moments when I can't believe it myself. And yet "
Philip Lombard, his lips curling back from his teeth, said:
"And yet that's just it! You've said it, doctor!"
Blore was gazing down into the water.
He said:
"Nobody could have clambered down here, I suppose?"
Armstrong shook his head.
"I doubt it. It's pretty sheer. And where could he hide?"
Blore said:
"There might be a hole in the cliff. If we had a boat now, we could row round the island."
Lombard said:
"If we had a boat, we'd all be halfway to the mainland by now!"
"True enough, sir."
Lombard said suddenly:
"We can make sure of this cliff. There's only one place where there could be a recess just a little to the right below here. If you fellows can get hold of a rope, you can let me down to make sure."
Blore said:
"Might as well be sure. Though it seems absurd on the face of it! I'll see if I can get hold of something."
He started off briskly down to the house.
Lombard stared up at the sky. The clouds were beginning to mass themselves together. The wind was increasing.
He shot a sideways look at Armstrong. He said:
"You're very silent, doctor. What are you thinking?"
Armstrong said slowly:
"I was wondering exactly how mad old Macarthur was..."
IV
Vera had been restless all the morning. She had avoided Emily Brent with a kind of shuddering aversion.
Miss Brent herself had taken a chair just round the corner of the house so as to
be out of the wind. She sat there knitting.
Every time Vera thought of her she seemed to see a pale drowned face with seaweed entangled in the hair... A face that had once been pretty impudently pretty perhaps and which was now beyond the reach of pity or terror.
And Emily Brent, placid and righteous, sat knitting.
On the main terrace, Mr. Justice Wargrave sat huddled in a porter's chair. His head was poked down well into his neck.
When Vera looked at him, she saw a man standing in the dock a young man with fair hair and blue eyes and a bewildered, frightened face. Edward Seton. And in imagination she saw the judge's old hands put the black cap on his head and begin to pronounce sentence...
After a while Vera strolled slowly down to the sea. She walked along towards the
extreme end of the island where an old man sat staring out to the horizon. General Macarthur stirred at her approach. His head turned there was a queer mixture of questioning and apprehension in his look. It startled her. He stared intently at her for a minute or two.
She thought to herself:
"How queer. It's almost as though he knew..."
He said:
"Ah! it's you! You've come..."
Vera sat down beside him. She said:
"Do you like sitting here looking out to sea?"
He nodded his head gently.
"Yes," he said. "It's pleasant. It's a good place, I think, to wait."
"To wait?" said Vera sharply. "What are you waiting for?"
He said gently:
"The end. But I think you know that, don't you? It's true, isn't it? We're all waiting for the end."
She said unsteadily:
"What do you mean?"
General Macarthur said gravely:
"None of us are going to leave the island. That's the plan. You know it, of course, perfectly. What, perhaps, you can't understand is the relief!"
Vera said wonderingly:
"The relief?"
He said:
"Yes. Of course, you're very young... you haven't got to that yet. But it does come!
The blessed relief when you know that you've done with it all that you haven't got to carry the burden any longer. You'll feel that too some day..."
Vera said hoarsely:
"I don't understand you."
Her fingers worked spasmodically. She felt suddenly afraid of this quiet old soldier.
He said musingly:
"You see, I loved Leslie. I loved her very much..."
Vera said questioningly:
"Was Leslie your wife?"
"Yes, my wife... I loved her and I was very proud of her. She was so pretty and so gay."
He was silent for a minute or two, then he said:
"Yes, I loved Leslie. That's why I did it."
Vera said:
"You mean " and paused.
General Macarthur nodded his head gently.
"It's not much good denying it now not when we're all going to die. I sent Richmond to his death. I suppose, in a way, it was murder. Curious. Murder and I've always been such a lawabiding man! But it didn't seem like that at the time. I had no regrets. 'Serves him damned well right!' that's what I thought. But afterwards "
In a hard voice, Vera said:
"Well, afterwards?"
He shook his head vaguely. He looked puzzled and a little distressed.
"I don't know. I don't know. It was all different, you see. I don't know if Leslie
ever guessed... I don't think so. But you see, I didn't know about her any more. She'd gone far away where I couldn't reach her. And then she died and I was alone..."
Vera said:
"Alone alone " and the echo of her voice came back to her from the rocks. General Macarthur said:
"You'll be glad, too, when the end comes."
Vera got up. She said sharply:
"I don't know what you mean!"
He said:
"I know, my child, I know..."
"You don't. You don't understand at all..."
General Macarthur looked out to sea again. He seemed unconscious of her presence behind him.
He said very gently and softly:
"Leslie...?"
V
When Blore returned from the house with a rope coiled over his arm, he found Armstrong where he had left him staring down into the depths.
Blore said breathlessly:
"Where's Mr. Lombard?"
Armstrong said carelessly:
"Gone to test some theory or other. He'll be back in a minute. Look here, Blore, I'm worried."
"I should say we were all worried."
The doctor waved an impatient hand.
"Of course of course. I don't mean it that way. I'm thinking of old Macarthur." "What about him, sir?"
Dr. Armstrong said grimly:
"What we're looking for is a madman. What price Macarthur?"
Blore said incredulously:
"You mean he's homicidal?"
Armstrong said doubtfully:
"I shouldn't have said so. Not for a minute. But of course I'm not a specialist in mental diseases. I haven't really had any conversation with him I haven't studied him from that point of view."
Blore said doubtfully:
"Ga ga, yes! But I wouldn't have said "
Armstrong cut in with a slight effort as of a man who pulls himself together. "You're probably right! Damn it all, there must be some one hiding on the island! Ah! here comes Lombard."
They fastened the rope carefully.
Lombard said:
"I'll help myself all I can. Keep a lookout for a sudden strain on the rope," After a minute or two, while they stood together watching Lombard's progress, Blore said:
"Climbs like a cat, doesn't he?"
There was something odd in his voice.
Dr. Armstrong said:
"I should think he must have done some mountaineering in his time."
"Maybe."
There was a silence and the exinspector said:
"Funny sort of cove altogether. D'you know what I think?"
"What?"
"He's a wrong ’un!"
Armstrong said doubtfully:
"In what way?"
Blore grunted. Then he said:
"I don't know exactly. But I wouldn't trust him a yard."
Dr. Armstrong said;
"I suppose he's led an adventurous life."
Blore said:
"I bet some of his adventures have had to be kept pretty dark." He paused and then went on: "Did you happen to bring a revolver along with you, doctor?"
Armstrong stared.
"Me? Good Lord, no. Why should I?"
Blore said:
"Why did Mr. Lombard?"
Armstrong said doubtfully:
"I suppose habit."
Blore snorted.
A sudden pull came on the rope. For some moments they had their hands full. Presently, when the strain relaxed, Blore said:
"There are habits and habits! Mr. Lombard takes a revolver to outoftheway
places, right enough, and a primus and a sleeping bag and a supply of bug
powder, no doubt! But habit wouldn't make him bring the whole outfit down here! It's only in books people carry revolvers around as a matter of course,"
Dr. Armstrong shook his head perplexedly.
They leaned over and watched Lombard's progress. His search was thorough and they could see at once that it was futile. Presently he came up over the edge of the cliff. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
"Well," he said. "We're up against it. It's the house or nowhere."
VI
