The house was easily searched. They went through the few outbuildings first and then turned their attention to the building itself. Mrs. Rogers' yard measure
discovered in the kitchen dresser assisted them. But there were no hidden spaces
left unaccounted for. Everything was plain and straightforward, a modern structure devoid of concealments. They went through the ground floor first. As
they mounted to the bedroom floor, they saw through the landing window Rogers
carrying out a tray of cocktails to the terrace.
Philip Lombard said lightly:
"Wonderful animal, the good servant. Carries on with an impassive countenance."
Armstrong said appreciatively:
"Rogers is a firstclass butler, I'll say that for him!"
Blore said:
"His wife was a pretty good cook, too. That dinner last night "
They turned in to the first bedroom.
Five minutes later they faced each other on the landing. No one hiding no possible hidingplace.
Blore said:
"There's a little stair here."
Dr. Armstrong said:
"It leads up to the servants' room."
Blore said:
"There must be a place under the roof for cisterns, water tank, etc. It's the best chance and the only one!"
And it was then, as they stood there, that they heard the sound from above. A soft furtive footfall overhead.
They all heard it. Armstrong grasped Blore's arm. Lombard held up an admonitory finger.
"Quiet listen."
It came again some one moving softly, furtively, overhead.
Armstrong whispered:
"He's actually in the bedroom itself. The room where Mrs. Rogers' body is." Blore whispered back:
"Of course! Best hidingplace he could have chosen! Nobody likely to go there. Now then quiet as you can."
They crept stealthily upstairs.
On the little landing outside the door of the bedroom they paused again. Yes, some one was in the room. There was a faint creak from within.
Blore whispered:
"Now."
He flung open the door and rushed in, the other two close behind him.
Then all three stopped dead.
Rogers was in the room, his hands full of garments.
VII
Blore recovered himself first. He said:
"Sorry er Rogers. Heard some one moving about in here, and thought well "
He stopped.
Rogers said:
"I'm sorry, gentlemen. I was just moving my things. I take it there will be no objection if I take one of the vacant guest chambers on the floor below? The
smallest room."
It was to Armstrong that he spoke, and Armstrong replied:
"Of course. Of course. Get on with it."
He avoided looking at the sheeted figure lying on the bed.
Rogers said:
"Thank you, sir."
He went out of the room with his arm full of belongings and went down the stairs
to the floor below.
Armstrong moved over to the bed and, lifting the sheet, looked down on the peaceful face of the dead woman. There was no fear there now. Just emptiness. Armstrong said:
"Wish I'd got my stuff here. I'd like to know what drug it was."
Then he turned to the other two.
"Let's get finished. I feel it in my bones we're not going to find anything." Blore was wrestling with the bolts of a low manhole.
He said:
"That chap moves damned quietly. A minute or two ago we saw him in the garden. None of us heard him come upstairs."
Lombard said:
"I suppose that's why we assumed it must be a stranger moving about up here." Blore disappeared into a cavernous darkness. Lombard pulled a torch from his pocket and followed.
Five minutes later three men stood on an upper landing and looked at each other. They were dirty and festooned with cobwebs and their faces were grim. There was no one on the island but their eight selves.
Chapter 9
Lombard said slowly:
"So we've been wrong wrong all along! Built up a nightmare of superstition and fantasy all because of the coincidence of two deaths!"
Armstrong said gravely:
"And yet, you know, the argument holds. Hang it all, I'm a doctor, I know something about suicides. Anthony Marston wasn't a suicidal type."
Lombard said doubtfully:
"It couldn't, I suppose, have been an accident?"
Blore snorted, unconvinced.
"Damned queer sort of accident," he grunted.
There was a pause, then Blore said:
"About the woman " and stopped.
"Mrs. Rogers?"
"Yes. It's possible, isn't it, that that might have been an accident?"
Philip Lombard said:
"An accident? In what way?"
Blore looked slightly embarrassed. His redbrick face grew a little deeper in hue. He said, almost blurting out the words:
"Look here, doctor, you did give her some dope, you know."
Armstrong stared at him.
"Dope? What do you mean?"
"Last night. You said yourself you'd give her something to make her sleep."
"Oh, that, yes. A harmless sedative."
"What was it exactly?"
"I gave her a mild dose of trional. A perfectly harmless preparation."
Blore grew redder still. He said:
"Look here not to mince matters you didn't give her an overdose, did you?"
Dr. Armstrong said angrily:
"I don't know what you mean."
Blore said:
"It's possible, isn't it, that you may have made a mistake? These things do happen once in awhile."
Armstrong said sharply:
"I did nothing of the sort. The suggestion is ridiculous," He stopped and added in a cold biting tone: "Or do you suggest that I gave her an overdose on purpose?"
Philip Lombard said quickly:
"Look here, you two, got to keep our heads. Don't let's start slinging accusations about."
Blore said sullenly:
"I only suggested the doctor had made a mistake."
Dr. Armstrong smiled with an effort. He said, showing his teeth in a somewhat
mirthless smile:
"Doctors can't afford to make mistakes of that kind, my friend."
Blore said deliberately:
"It wouldn't be the first you've made if that gramophone record is to be believed!"
Armstrong went white. Philip Lombard said quickly and angrily to Blore:
"What's the sense of making yourself offensive? We're all in the same boat. We've got to pull together. What about your own pretty little spot of perjury?"
Blore took a step forward, his hands clenched. He said in a thick voice:
"Perjury be damned! That's a foul lie! You may try and shut me up, Mr. Lombard, but there's things I want to know and one of them is about you!"
Lombard's eyebrows rose.
"About me?"
"Yes. I want to know why you brought a revolver down here on a pleasant social visit?"
Lombard said:
"You do, do you?"
"Yes, I do, Mr. Lombard."
Lombard said unexpectedly:
"You know, Blore, you're not nearly such a fool as you look."
"That's as may be. What about that revolver?"
Lombard smiled.
"I brought it because I expected to run into a spot of trouble."
Blore said suspiciously:
"You didn't tell us that last night."
Lombard shook his head.
"You were holding out on us?" Blore persisted.
"In a way, yes," said Lombard.
"Well, come on, out with it."
Lombard said slowly:
"I allowed you all to think that I was asked here in the same way as most of the others, That's not quite true. As a matter of fact I was approached by a little
Jewboy Morris his name was. He offered me a hundred guineas to come down
here and keep my eyes open said I'd got a reputation for being a good man in a
tight place."
"Well?" Blore prompted impatiently.
Lombard said with a grin:
"That's all."
Dr. Armstrong said:
"But surely he told you more than that?"
"Oh, no, he didn't. Just shut up like a clam. I could take it or leave it those were his words. I was hard up. I took it." Blore looked unconvinced. He said:
"Why didn't you tell us all this last night?"
"My dear man " Lombard shrugged eloquent shoulders. "How was I to know that last night wasn't exactly the eventuality I was here to cope with? I lay low and
told a noncommittal story."
Dr. Armstrong said shrewdly:
"But now you think differently?"
Lombard's face changed. It darkened and hardened. He said:
"Yes, I believe now that I'm in the same boat as the rest of you. That hundred guineas was just Mr. Owen's little bit of cheese to get me into the trap along with the rest of you."
He said slowly:
"For we are in a trap I'll take my oath on that! Mrs. Rogers' death! Tony Marston's! The disappearing Indian boys on the dinnertable! Oh, yes, Mr.
Owen's hand is plainly to be seen but where the devil is Mr. Owen himself?" Downstairs the gong pealed a solemn call to lunch.
II
Rogers was standing by the diningroom door. As the three men descended the
stairs he moved a step or two forward. He said in a low anxious voice:
"I hope lunch will be satisfactory. There is cold ham and cold tongue, and I've boiled some potatoes. And there's cheese and biscuits and some tinned fruits."
Lombard said:
"Sounds all right. Stores are holding out, then?"
"There is plenty of food, sir of a tinned variety. The larder is very well stocked.
A necessity, that, I should say, sir, on an island where one may be cut off from the mainland for a considerable period."
Lombard nodded.
Rogers murmured as he followed the three men into the diningroom:
"It wormes me that Fred Narracott hasn't been over today. It's peculiarly unfortunate, as you might say,"
"Yes," said Lombard, "peculiarly unfortunate describes it very well."
Miss Brent came into the room. She had just dropped a ball of wool and was carefully rewinding the end of it.
As she took her seat at table she remarked:
"The weather is changing. The wind is quite strong and there are white horses on the sea."
Mr. Justice Wargrave came in. He walked with a slow measured tread. He darted
quick looks from under his bushy eyebrows at the other occupants of the diningroom. He said:
"You have had an active morning."
There was a faint malicious pleasure in his voice.
Vera Claythorne hurried in. She was a little out of breath.
She said quickly:
"I hope you didn't wait for me. Am I late?"
Emily Brent said:
"You're not the last. The General isn't here yet."
They sat round the table.
Rogers addressed Miss Brent:
"Will you begin, Madam, or will you wait?"
Vera said:
"General Macarthur is sitting right down by the sea. I don't expect he would hear the gong there and anyway" she hesitated "he's a little vague today, I think."
Rogers said quickly:
"I will go down and inform him luncheon is ready."
Dr. Armstrong jumped up.
"I'll go," he said. "You others start lunch."
He left the room. Behind him he heard Rogers' voice.
"Will you take cold tongue or cold ham, Madam?"
Ill
The five people sitting round the table seemed to find conversation difficult. Outside sudden gusts of wind came up and died away.
Vera shivered a little and said:
"There is a storm coming."
Blore made a contribution to the discourse. He said conversationally:
"There was an old fellow in the train from Plymouth yesterday. He kept saying a storm was coming. Wonderful how they know weather, these old salts."
Rogers went round the table collecting the meat plates.
Suddenly, with the plates held in his hands, he stopped. He said in an odd scared voice:
"There's somebody running..."
They could all hear it running feet along the terrace.
In that minute, they knew knew without being told...
As by common accord, they all rose to their feet. They stood looking towards the door.
Dr. Armstrong appeared, his breath coming fast.
He said:
"General Macarthur "
"Dead!" The voice burst from Vera explosively.
Armstrong said:
"Yes, he's dead..."
There was a pause a long pause.
Seven people looked at each other and could find no words to say.
IV
The storm broke just as the old man's body was borne in through the door.
The others were standing in the hall.
There was a sudden hiss and roar as the rain came down.
As Blore and Armstrong passed up the stairs with their burden, Vera Claythorne
turned suddenly and went into the deserted diningroom.
It was as they had left it. The sweet course stood ready on the sideboard untasted,
Vera went up to the table. She was there a minute or two later when Rogers came softly into the room.
He started when he saw her. Then his eyes asked a question.
He said:
"Oh, Miss, 11 just came to see..."
In a loud harsh voice that surprised herself Vera said:
"You're quite right, Rogers. Look for yourself. There are only seven..."
V
General Macarthur had been laid on his bed.
After making a last examination Armstrong left the room and came downstairs. He found the others assembled in the drawingroom.
Miss Brent was knitting. Vera Claythorne was standing by the window looking out at the hissing rain, Blore was sitting squarely in a chair, his hands on his knees. Lombard was walking restlessly up and down. At the far end of the room Mr. Justice Wargrave was sitting in a grandfather chair. His eyes were half closed.
They opened as the doctor came into the room. He said in a clear penetrating voice:
"Well, doctor?"
Armstrong was very pale. He said:
"No question of heart failure or anything like that. Macarthur was hit with a life preserver or some such thing on the back of the head."
A little murmur went round, but the clear voice of the judge was raised once more.
"Did you find the actual weapon used?"
"No."
"Nevertheless you are sure of your facts?"
"Iam quite sure."
Mr. Justice Wargrave said quietly:
"We know now exactly where we are."
There was no doubt now who was in charge of the situation. This morning Wargrave had sat huddled in his chair on the terrace refraining from any overt
activity. Now he assumed command with the ease born of a long habit of authority. He definitely presided over the court.
Clearing his throat, he once more spoke.
"This morning, gentlemen, whilst I was sitting on the terrace. I was an observer of your activities. There could be little doubt of your purpose. You were searching the island for an unknown murderer?"
"Quite right, sir," said Philip Lombard.
The judge went on.
"You had come, doubtless, to the same conclusion that I had namely that the deaths of Anthony Marston and Mrs. Rogers were neither accidental nor were
they suicides. No doubt you also reached a certain conclusion as to the purpose of Mr. Owen in enticing us to this island?"
Blore said hoarsely:
"He's a madman! A loony."
The judge coughed.
"That almost certainly. But it hardly affects the issue. Our main preoccupation is
this to save our lives."
Armstrong said in a trembling voice:
"There's no one on the island, I tell you. No one!"
The judge stroked his jaw.
He said gently:
"In the sense you mean, no. I came to that conclusion early this morning. I could have told you that your search would be fruitless. Nevertheless I am strongly of
the opinion that 'Mr. Owen' (to give him the name he himself has adopted) is on
the island. Very much so. Given the scheme in question which is neither more
nor less than the execution of justice upon certain individuals for offences which the law cannot touch, there is only one way in which that scheme could be
accomplished. Mr. Owen could only come to the island in one way.
"It is perfectly clear. Mr. Owen is one of us..."
VI
"Oh, no, no, no..."
It was Vera who burst out almost in a moan. The judge turned a keen eye on her.
He said:
"My dear young lady, this is no time for refusing to look facts in the face. We are all in grave danger. One of us is U.N. Owen. And we do not know which of us. Of
the ten people who came to this island three are definitely cleared. Anthony Marston, Mrs. Rogers, and General Macarthur have gone beyond suspicion.
There are seven of us left. Of those seven, one is, if I may so express myself, a bogus little Indian boy."
He paused and looked round.
"Do I take it that you all agree?"
Armstrong said:
"It's fantastic but I suppose you're right."
Blore said:
"Not a doubt of it. And if you ask me, I've a very good idea "
A quick gesture of Mr. Justice Wargrave's hand stopped him. The judge said quietly:
"We will come to that presently. At the moment all I wish to establish is that we are in agreement on the facts."
Emily Brent, still knitting, said:
"Your argument seems logical. I agree that one of us is possessed by a devil." Vera murmured:
"I can't believe it... I can't..."
Wargrave said:
"Lombard?"
"I agree, sir, absolutely."
The judge nodded his head in a satisfied manner. He said:
"Now let us examine the evidence. To begin with, is there any reason for suspecting one particular person? Mr. Blore, you have, I think, something to say."
Blore was breathing hard. He said:
"Lombard's got a revolver. He didn't tell the truth last night. He admits it."
Philip Lombard smiled scornfully.
He said:
"I suppose I'd better explain again."
He did so, telling the story briefly and succinctly.
Blore said sharply:
"What's to prove it? There's nothing to corroborate your story."
The judge coughed.
"Unfortunately," he said, "we are all in that position. There is only our own word to go upon."
He leaned forward.
"You have none of you yet grasped what a very peculiar situation this is. To my mind there is only one course of procedure to adopt. Is there any one whom we
can definitely eliminate from suspicion on the evidence which is in our possession?"
Dr. Armstrong said quickly:
"I am a wellknown professional man. The mere idea that I can be suspected of "
Again a gesture of the judge's hand arrested a speaker before he finished his
speech. Mr. Justice Wargrave said in his small clear voice:
"I, too, am a wellknown person! But, my dear sir, that proves less than nothing!
Doctors have gone mad before now. Judges have gone mad. So," he added, looking at Blore, "have policemen!"
Lombard said:
"At any rate, I suppose you'll leave the women out of it."
The judge's eyebrows rose. He said in the famous "acid" tone that Counsel knew so well:
"Do I understand you to assert that women are not subject to homicidal mania?" Lombard said irritably:
"Of course not. But all the same, it hardly seems possible "
He stopped. Mr. Justice Wargrave still in the same thin sour voice addressed Armstrong.
"I take it, Dr. Armstrong, that a woman would have been physically capable of striking the blow that killed poor Macarthur?"
The doctor said calmly:
"Perfectly capable given a suitable instrument, such as a rubber truncheon or cosh."
"It would require no undue exertion of force?"
"Not at all."
Mr. Justice Wargrave wriggled his tortoiselike neck. He said:
"The other two deaths have resulted from the administration of drugs. That, no one will dispute, is easily compassed by a person of the smallest physical strength."
Vera cried angrily:
"I think you're mad!"
His eyes turned slowly till they rested on her. It was the dispassionate stare of a man well used to weighing humanity in the balance. She thought:
"He's just seeing me as a as a specimen. And" the thought came to her with real surprise "he doesn't like me much!"
In measured tones the judge was saying:
"My dear young lady, do try and restrain your feelings. I am not accusing you."
He bowed to Miss Brent. "I hope, Miss Brent, that you are not offended by my
insistence that all of us are equally under suspicion?"
Emily Brent was knitting. She did not look up. In a cold voice she said:
"The idea that I should be accused of taking a fellow creature's life not to speak of the lives of three fellow creatures is, of course, quite absurd to any one who knows anything of my character. But I quite appreciate the fact that we are all
strangers to one another and that in those circumstances, nobody can be exonerated without the fullest proof. There is, as I have said, a devil amongst us."
The judge said:
"Then we are agreed. There can be no elimination on the ground of character or position alone."
Lombard said:
"What about Rogers?"
The judge looked at him unthinkingly.
"What about him?"
Lombard said:
"Well, to my mind, Rogers seems pretty well ruled out."
Mr. Justice Wargrave said:
"Indeed, and on what grounds?"
Lombard said:
"He hasn't got the brains for one thing. And for another his wife was one of the victims."
The judge's heavy eyebrows rose once more. He said:
"In my time, young man, several people have come before me accused of the murders of their wives and have been found guilty."
"Oh! I agree. Wife murder is perfectly possible almost natural, let's say! But not this particular kind! I can believe in Rogers killing his wife because he was
scared of her breaking down and giving him away, or because he'd taken a dislike
to her, or because he wanted to link up with some nice little bit rather less long in the tooth. But I can't see him as the lunatic Mr. Owen dealing out crazy justice and starting on his own wife for a crime they both committed."
Mr. Justice Wargrave said:
"You are assuming hearsay to be evidence. We do not know that Rogers and his wife conspired to murder their employer. That may have been a false statement, made so that Rogers should appear to be in the same position as ourselves. Mrs. Rogers' terror last night may have been due to the fact that she realized her husband was mentally unhinged."
Lombard said:
"Well, have it your own way, U.N. Owen is one of us. No exceptions allowed.
We all qualify."
Mr. Justice Wargrave said:
"My point is that there can be no exceptions allowed on the score of character,
position, or probability. What we must now examine is the possibility of eliminating one or more persons on the facts. To put it simply, is there among us
one or more persons who could not possibly have administered either Cyanide to
Anthony Marston, or an overdose of sleeping draught to Mrs. Rogers, and who
had no opportunity of striking the blow that killed General Macarthur?"
Blore's rather heavy face lit up. He leant forward.
"Now you're talking, sir!" he said. "That's the stuff! Let's go into it. As regards young Marston I don't think there's anything to be done. It's already been suggested that some one from outside slipped something into the dregs of his
glass before he refilled it for the last time. A person actually in the room could have done that even more easily. I can't remember if Rogers was in the room, but
any of the rest of us could certainly have done it."
He paused, then went on.
"Now take the woman Rogers. The people who stand out there are her husband and the doctor. Either of them could have done it as easy as winking "
Armstrong sprang to his feet. He was trembling.
"I protest This is absolutely uncalled for! I swear that the dose I gave the woman was perfectly "
"Dr. Armstrong."
The small sour voice was compelling. The doctor stopped with a jerk in the
middle of his sentence. The small cold voice went on.
"Your indignation is very natural. Nevertheless you must admit that the facts have got to be faced. Either you or Rogers could have administered a fatal dose
with the greatest ease. Let us now consider the position of the other people
present. What chance had I, had Inspector Blore, had Miss Brent, had Miss Claythorne, had Mr. Lombard of administering poison? Can any one of us be completely and entirely eliminated?" He paused. "I think not."
Vera said angrily:
"I was nowhere near the woman! All of you can swear to that."
Mr. Justice Wargrave waited a minute, then he said:
"As far as my memory serves me the facts were these will any one please correct me if I make a misstatement? Mrs. Rogers was lifted onto the sofa by Anthony
Marston and Mr. Lombard and Dr. Armstrong went to her. He sent Rogers for
brandy. There was then a question raised as to where the voice we had just heard
had come from. We all went into the next room with the exception of Miss Brent
who remained in this room alone with the unconscious woman."
A spot of colour came into Emily Brent's cheeks. She stopped knitting. She said:
"This is outrageous!"
The remorseless small voice went on.
"When we returned to this room, you, Miss Brent, were bending over the woman on the sofa."
Emily Brent said:
"Is common humanity a criminal offence?"
Mr. Justice Wargrave said:
"I am only establishing facts. Rogers then entered the room with the brandy
which, of course, he could quite well have doctored before entering the room. The
brandy was administered to the woman and shortly afterwards her husband and Dr. Armstrong assisted her up to bed where Dr. Armstrong gave her a sedative." Blore said:
"That's what happened. Absolutely. And that lets out the judge, Mr. Lombard, myself and Miss Claythorne."
His voice was loud and jubilant. Mr. Justice Wargrave, bringing a cold eye to bear upon him, murmured:
"Ah, but does it? We must take into account every possible eventuality."
Blore stared. He said:
"I don't get you."
Mr. Justice Wargrave said:
"Upstairs in her room, Mrs. Rogers is lying in bed. The sedative that the doctor has given her begins to take effect. She is vaguely sleepy and acquiescent.
Supposing that at that moment there is a tap on the door and some one enters
bringing her, shall we say, a tablet, or a draught, with the message that 'the
doctor says you're to take this.' Do you imagine for one minute that she would not have swallowed it obediently without thinking twice about it?"
There was a silence. Blore shifted his feet and frowned. Philip Lombard said:
"I don't believe in that story for a minute. Besides none of us left this room for hours afterwards. There was Marston's death and all the rest of it."
The judge said:
"Some one could have left his or her bedroom later."
Lombard objected:
"But then Rogers would have been up there."
Dr. Armstrong stirred.
"No," he said. "Rogers went downstairs to clear up in the diningroom and pantry. Any one could have gone up to the woman's bedroom then without being seen." Emily Brent said:
"Surely, doctor, the woman would have been fast asleep by then under the influence of the drug you had administered?"
"In all likelihood, yes. But it is not a certainty. Until you have prescribed for a patient more than once you cannot tell their reaction to different drugs. There is, sometimes, a considerable period before a sedative takes effect. It depends on the personal idiosyncrasy of the patient towards that particular drug."
Lombard said:
"Of course you would say that, doctor. Suits your book eh?"
Again Armstrong's face darkened with anger.
But again that passionless cold little voice stopped the words on his lips.
"No good result can come from recrimination. Facts are what we have to deal
with. It is established, I think, that there is a possibility of such a thing as I have outlined occurring. I agree that its probability value is not high; though there
again, it depends on who that person might have been. The appearance of Miss Brent or of Miss Claythorne on such an errand would have occasioned no surprise in the patient's mind. I agree that the appearance of myself, or of Mr.
Blore, or of Mr. Lombard could have been, to say the least of it, unusual, but I
still think the visit would have been received without the awakening of any real suspicion."
Blore said:
"And that gets us where?"
VII
Mr. Justice Wargrave, stroking his lip and looking quite passionless and inhuman, said:
"We have now dealt with the second killing, and have established the fact that no one of us can be completely exonerated from suspicion."
He paused and went on.
"We come now to the death of General Macarthur. That took place this morning.
I will ask any one who considers that he or she has an alibi to state it in so many words. I myself will state at once that I have no valid alibi. I spent the morning sitting on the terrace and meditating on the singular position in which we all find ourselves.
"I sat on that chair on the terrace for the whole morning until the gong went, but there were, I should imagine, several periods during the morning when I was
quite unobserved and during which it would have been possible for me to walk
down to the sea, kill the General, and return to my chair. There is only my word for the fact that I never left the terrace. In the circumstances that is not enough.
There must be proof."
Blore said:
"I was with Mr. Lombard and Dr. Armstrong all the morning. They'll bear me out."
Dr. Armstrong said:
"You went to the house for a rope."
Blore said:
"Of course, I did. Went straight there and straight back. You know I did." Armstrong said:
"You were a long time..."
Blore turned crimson.
He said:
"What the hell do you mean by that, Dr. Armstrong?"
Armstrong repeated:
"I only said you were a long time."
"Had to find it, didn't I? Can't lay your hands on a coil of rope all in a minute." Mr. Justice Wargrave said:
"During Inspector Blore's absence, were you two gentlemen together?" Armstrong said hotly:
"Certainly. That is, Lombard went off for a few minutes. I remained where I was."
Lombard said with a smile:
"I wanted to test the possibilities of heliographing to the mainland. Wanted to find the best spot. I was only absent a minute or two."
Armstrong nodded. He said:
"That's right. Not long enough to do a murder, I assure you."
The judge said:
"Did either of you two glance at your watches?"
"Well, no."
Philip Lombard said:
"I wasn't wearing one."
The judge said evenly:
"A minute or two is a vague expression."
He turned his head to the upright figure with the knitting lying on her lap.
"Miss Brent?"
Emily Brent said:
"I took a walk with Miss Claythorne up to the top of the island. Afterwards I sat on the terrace in the sun."
The judge said:
"I don't think I noticed you there."
"No, I was round the corner of the house to the east. It was out of the wind there."
"And you sat there till lunch time?"
"Yes."
"Miss Claythorne?"
Vera answered readily and clearly.
"I was with Miss Brent early this morning. After that I wandered about a bit. Then I went down and talked to General Macarthur."
Mr. Justice Wargrave interrupted. He said:
"What time was that?"
Vera for the first time was vague. She said;
"I don't know. About an hour before lunch, I think or it might have been less." Blore asked:
"Was it after we'd spoken to him or before?"
Vera said:
"I don't know. He he was very queer."
She shivered.
"In what way was he queer?" the judge wanted to know.
Vera said in a low voice:
"He said we were all going to die he said he was waiting for the end. He he frightened me..."
The judge nodded. He said:
"What did you do next?"
"I went back to the house. Then, just before lunch, I went out again and up behind the house. I've been terribly restless all day."
Mr. Justice Wargrave stroked his chin. He said:
"There remains Rogers. Though I doubt if his evidence will add anything to our sum of knowledge."
Rogers, summoned before the court, had very little to tell. He had been busy all the morning about household duties and with the preparation of lunch. He had taken cocktails onto the terrace before lunch and had then gone up to remove his things from the attic to another room. He had not looked out of the window during the morning and had seen nothing that could have any bearing upon the death of General Macarthur. He would swear definitely that there had been eight china figures upon the diningtable when he laid the table for lunch.
At the conclusion of Rogers' evidence there was a pause. Mr. Justice Wargrave cleared his throat.
Lombard murmured to Vera Claythorne:
"The summing up will now take place!"
The judge said:
"We have inquired into the circumstances of these three deaths to the best of our ability. Whilst probability in some cases is against certain people being implicated, yet we cannot say definitely that any one person can be considered as
cleared of all complicity. I reiterate my positive belief that of the seven persons assembled in this room one is a dangerous and probably insane criminal. There is
no evidence before us as to who that person is. All we can do at the present
juncture is to consider what measures we can take for communicating with the
mainland for help, and in the event of help being delayed (as is only too possible
given the state of the weather) what measures we must adopt to ensure our safety.
"I would ask you all to consider this carefully and to give me any suggestions that may occur to you. In the meantime I warn everybody to be upon his or her guard.
So far the murderer has had an easy task, since his victims have been unsuspicious. From now on, it is our task to suspect each and every one amongst
us. Forewarned is forearmed. Take no risks and be alert to danger. That is all."
Philip Lombard murmured beneath his breath:
"The court will now adjourn..."
Chapter 10
"Do you believe it?" Vera asked.
She and Philip Lombard sat on the windowsill of the livingroom. Outside the rain poured down and the wind howled in great shuddering gusts against the windowpanes.
Philip Lombard cocked his head slightly on one side before answering. Then he said:
"You mean, do I believe that old Wargrave is right when he says it's one of us?" "Yes."
Philip Lombard said slowly:
"It's difficult to say. Logically, you know, he's right, and yet "
Vera took the words out of his mouth.
"And yet it seems so incredible!"
Philip Lombard made a grimace.
"The whole thing's incredible! But after Macarthur's death there's no more doubt as to one thing. There's no question now of accidents or suicides. It's definitely murder. Three murders up to date."
Vera shivered. She said:
"It's like some awful dream. I keep feeling that things like this can't happen!"
He said with understanding:
"I know. Presently a tap will come on the door, and early morning tea will be
brought in."
Vera said:
"Oh, how I wish that could happen!"
Philip Lombard said gravely:
"Yes, but it won't! We're all in the dream! And we've got to be pretty much upon our guard from now on."
Vera said, lowering her voice:
"If if it is one of them which do you think it is?"
Philip Lombard grinned suddenly. He said:
"I take it you are excepting our two selves? Well, that's all right. I know very well that I'm not the murderer, and I don't fancy that there's anything insane about
you, Vera. You strike me as being one of the sanest and most levelheaded girls I've come across. I'd stake my reputation on your sanity."
With a slightly wry smile, Vera said:
"Thank you."
He said:
"Come now, Miss Vera Claythorne, aren't you going to return the compliment?" Vera hesitated a minute, then she said:
"You've admitted, you know, that you don't hold human life particularly sacred, but all the same I can't see you as as the man who dictated that gramophone
record."
Lombard said:
"Quite right. If I were to commit one or more murders it would be solely for what I could get out of them. This mass clearance isn't my line of country. Good, then
we'll eliminate ourselves and concentrate on our five fellow prisoners. Which of
them is U.N. Owen? Well, at a guess, and with absolutely nothing to go upon, I'd plump for Wargrave!"
"Oh!" Vera sounded surprised. She thought a minute or two and then said, "Why?"
"Hard to say exactly. But to begin with, he's an old man and he's been presiding over courts of law for years. That is to say, he's played God Almighty for a good
many months every year. That must go to a man's head eventually. He gets to
see himself as all powerful, as holding the power of life and death and it's
possible that his brain might snap and he might want to go one step farther and
be Executioner and Judge Extraordinary."
Vera said slowly:
"Yes, I suppose that's possible..."
Lombard said:
"Who do you plump for?"
Without any hesitation Vera answered:
"Dr. Armstrong."
Lombard gave a low whistle.
"The doctor, eh? You know, I should have put him last of all."
Vera shook her head.
"Oh, no! Two of the deaths have been poison. That rather points to a doctor. And then you can't get over the fact that the only thing we are absolutely certain Mrs.
Rogers had was the sleeping draught that he gave her."
Lombard admitted:
"Yes, that's true."
Vera persisted:
"If a doctor went mad, it would be a long time before any one suspected. And doctors overwork and have a lot of strain."
Philip Lombard said:
"Yes but I doubt if he could have killed Macarthur. He wouldn't have had time during that brief interval when I left him not, that is, unless he fairly hared
down there and back again, and I doubt if he's in good enough training to do that
and show no signs of it."
Vera said:
"He didn't do it then. He had an opportunity later."
"When?"
"When he went down to call the General to lunch."
Philip whistled again very softly. He said:
"So you think he did it then? Pretty cool thing to do."
Vera said impatiently:
"What risk was there? He's the only person here with medical knowledge. He can swear the body's been dead at least an hour and who's to contradict him?"
Philip looked at her thoughtfully.
"You know," he said, "that's a clever idea of yours. I wonder "
II
"Who is it, Mr. Blore? That's what I want to know. Who is it?"
Rogers' face was working. His hands were clenched round the polishing leather that he held in his hand.
Exinspector Blore said:
"Eh, my lad, that's the question!"
"One of us, 'is lordship said. Which one? That's what I want to know. Who's the fiend in 'uman form?"
"That," said Blore, "is what we all would like to know."
Rogers said shrewdly:
"But you've got an idea, Mr. Blore. You've got an idea, 'aven't you?"
"I may have an idea," said Blore slowly. "But that's a long way from being sure.
I may be wrong. All I can say is that if I'm right the person in question is a very
cool customer a very cool customer indeed."
Rogers wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He said hoarsely:
"It's like a bad dream, that's what it is."
Blore said, looking at him curiously:
"Got any ideas yourself, Rogers?"
The butler shook his head. He said hoarsely:
"I don't know. I don't know at all. And that's what's frightening the life out of me.
To have no idea..."
Ill
Dr. Armstrong said violently:
"We must get out of here we must we must! At all costs!"
Mr. Justice Wargrave looked thoughtfully out of the smokingroom window. He played with the cord of his eyeglasses. He said:
"I do not, of course, profess to be a weather prophet. But I should say that it is very unlikely that a boat could reach us even if they knew of our plight under twentyfour hours and even then only if the wind drops."
Dr. Armstrong dropped his head in his hands and groaned.
He said:
"And in the meantime we may all be murdered in our beds?"
"I hope not," said Mr. Justice Wargrave. "I intend to take every possible precaution against such a thing happening."
It flashed across Dr. Armstrong's mind that an old man like the judge, was far more tenacious of life than a younger man would be. He had often marvelled at that fact in his professional career. Here was he, junior to the judge by perhaps twenty years, and yet with a vastly inferior sense of selfpreservation.
Mr. Justice Wargrave was thinking:
"Murdered in our beds! These doctors are all the same they think in clichns. A thoroughly commonplace mind."
The doctor said:
"There have been three victims already, remember."
"Certainly. But you must remember that they were unprepared for the attack. We are forewarned."
Dr. Armstrong said bitterly:
"What can we do? Sooner or later "
"I think," said Mr. Justice Wargrave, "that there are several things we can do." Armstrong said:
"We've no idea, even, who it can be "
The judge stroked his chin and murmured:
"Oh, you know, I wouldn't quite say that."
Armstrong stared at him.
"Do you mean you know?"
Mr. Justice Wargrave said cautiously:
"As regards actual evidence, such as is necessary in court, I admit that I have none. But it appears to me, reviewing the whole business, that one particular
person is sufficiently clearly indicated. Yes, I think so."
Armstrong stared at him.
He said:
"I don't understand."
IV
Miss Brent was upstairs in her bedroom.
She took up her Bible and went to sit by the window.
She opened it. Then, after a minute's hesitation, she set it aside and went over to the dressingtable. From a drawer in it she took out a small blackcovered notebook.
She opened it and began writing.
"A terrible thing has happened. General Macarthur is dead. (His cousin married Elsie MacPherson.) There is no doubt but that he was murdered. After luncheon
the judge made us a most interesting speech. He is convinced that the murderer
is one of us. That means that one of us is possessed by a devil. I had already
suspected that. Which of us is it? They are all asking themselves that. I alone
know..."
She sat for some time without moving. Her eyes grew vague and filmy. The pencil
straggled drunkenly in her fingers. In shaking loose capitals she wrote:
THE MURDERER'S NAME IS BEATRICE TAYLOR...
Her eyes closed.
Suddenly, with a start, she awoke. She looked down at the notebook. With an angry exclamation she scored through the vague unevenly scrawled characters of the last sentence.
She said in a low voice:
"Did I write that? Did I? I must be going mad..."
V
The storm increased. The wind howled against the side of the house.
Every one was in the livingroom. They sat listlessly huddled together. And,
surreptitiously, they watched each other.
When Rogers brought in the teatray, they all jumped.
He said:
"Shall I draw the curtains? It would make it more cheerful like."
Receiving an assent to this, the curtains were drawn and the lamps turned on.
The room grew more cheerful. A little of the shadow lifted. Surely, by tomorrow, the storm would be over and some one would come a boat would arrive...Vera Claythorne said:
"Will you pour out tea, Miss Brent?"
The elder woman replied:
"No, you do it, dear. That teapot is so heavy. And I have lost two skeins of my grey knittingwool. So annoying."
Vera moved to the teatable. There was a cheerful rattle and clink of china. Normality returned.
Tea! Blessed ordinary everyday afternoon tea! Philip Lombard made a cheery
remark. Blore responded. Dr. Armstrong told a humorous story. Mr. Justice Wargrave, who ordinarily hated tea, sipped approvingly.
Into this relaxed atmosphere came Rogers.
And Rogers was upset. He said nervously and at random:
"Excuse me, sir, but does any one know what's become of the bathroom curtain?"
Lombard's head went up with a jerk.
"The bathroom curtain? What the devil do you mean, Rogers?"
"It's gone, sir, clean vanished. I was going round drawing all the curtains and the one in the lav bathroom wasn't there any longer."
Mr. Justice Wargrave asked:
"Was it there this morning?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
Blore said:
"What kind of a curtain was it?"
"Scarlet oilsilk, sir. It went with the scarlet tiles."
Lombard said:
"And it's gone?"
"Gone, sir."
They stared at each other.
Blore said heavily:
"Well after all what of it? It's mad but so's everything else. Anyway, it doesn't matter. You can't kill anybody with an oilsilk curtain. Forget about it."
Rogers said:
"Yes, sir, thank you, sir."
He went out, shutting the door behind him.
Inside the room, the pall of fear had fallen anew.
Again, surreptitiously, they watched each other.
VI
Dinner came, was eaten, and cleared away. A simple meal, mostly out of tins. Afterwards, in the livingroom, the strain was almost too great to be borne.
At nine o'clock, Emily Brent rose to her feet.
She said:
"I'm going to bed."
Vera said:
"I'll go to bed too."
The two women went up the stairs and Lombard and Blore went with them. Standing at the top of the stairs, the two men watched the women go into their respective rooms and shut the doors. They heard the sound of two bolts being shot and the turning of two keys.
Blore said with a grin:
"No need to tell 'em to lock their doors!"
Lombard said:
"Well, they're all right for the night, at any rate!" He went down again and the other followed him.
VII
The four men went to bed an hour later. They went up together. Rogers, from the diningroom where he was setting the table for breakfast, saw them go up. He heard them pause on the landing above.
Then the judge's voice spoke:
"I need hardly advise you, gentlemen, to lock your doors."
Blore said:
"And, what's more, put a chair under the handle. There are ways of turning locks from the outside."
Lombard murmured:
"My dear Blore, the trouble with you is you know too much!"
The judge said gravely:
"Goodnight, gentlemen. May we all meet safely in the morning!"
Rogers came out of the diningroom and slipped halfway up the stairs. He saw four figures pass through four doors and heard the turning of four locks and the shooting of four bolts.
He nodded his head.
"That's all right," he muttered.
He went back into the diningroom. Yes, everything was ready for the morning. His eye lingered on the centre plaque of lookingglass and the seven little china figures.
A sudden grin transformed his face.
He murmured:
"I'll see no one plays tricks tonight, at any rate."
Crossing the room he locked the door to the pantry. Then going through the other door to the hall he pulled the door to, locked it and slipped the key into his
pocket.
Then, extinguishing the lights, he hurried up the stairs and into his new bedroom. There was only one possible hidingplace in it, the tall wardrobe, and he looked into that immediately. Then, locking and bolting the door, he prepared for bed.
He said to himself:
"No more Indian tricks tonight I've seen to that..."
Chapter 11
Philip Lombard had the habit of waking at daybreak. He did so on this particular
morning. He raised himself on an elbow and listened. The wind had somewhat
abated but was still blowing. He could hear no sound of rain...
At eight o'clock the wind was blowing more strongly, but Lombard did not hear it.
He was asleep again.
At ninethirty he was sitting on the edge of his bed looking at his watch. He put it to his ear. Then his lips drew back from his teeth in that curious wolflike smile characteristic of the man.
He said very softly:
"I think the time has come to do something about this."
At twentyfive minutes to ten he was tapping on the closed door of Blore's room. The latter opened it cautiously. His hair was tousled and his eyes were still dim with sleep.
Philip Lombard said affably:
"Sleeping the clock round? Well, shows you've got an easy conscience."
Blore said shortly:
"What's the matter?"
Lombard answered:
"Anybody called you or brought you any tea? Do you know what time it is?" Blore looked over his shoulder at a small travelling clock by his bedside.
He said:
"Twentyfive to ten. Wouldn't have believed I could have slept like that. Where's Rogers?"
Philip Lombard said:
"It's a case of echo answers where?"
"What d'you mean?" asked the other sharply.
Lombard said:
"I mean that Rogers is missing. He isn't in his room or anywhere else. And there's no kettle on and the kitchen fire isn't even lit."
Blore swore under his breath. He said:
"Where the devil can he be? Out on the island somewhere? Wait till I get some clothes on. See if the others know anything."
Philip Lombard nodded. He moved along the line of closed doors.
He found Armstrong up and nearly dressed. Mr. Justice Wargrave, like Blore,
had to be roused from sleep. Vera Claythorne was dressed. Emily Brent's room
was empty.
The little party moved through the house. Rogers' room, as Philip Lombard had already ascertained, was untenanted. The bed had been slept in, and his razor and sponge and soap were wet.
Lombard said:
"He got up all right."
Vera said in a low voice which she tried to make firm and assured:
"You don't think he's hiding somewhere waiting for us?"
Lombard said:
"My dear girl, I'm prepared to think anything of any one! My advice is that we keep together until we find him."
Armstrong said:
"He must be out on the island somewhere."
Blore who had joined them, dressed, but still unshaved, said:
"Where's Miss Brent got to that's another mystery?"
But as they arrived in the hall, Emily Brent came in through the front door. She had on a mackintosh. She said:
"The sea is as high as ever. I shouldn't think any boat could put out today."
Blore said:
"Have you been wandering about the island alone, Miss Brent? Don't you realize that that's an exceedingly foolish thing to do?"
Emily Brent said:
"I assure you, Mr. Blore, that I kept an extremely sharp lookout."
Blore grunted. He said:
"Seen anything of Rogers?"
Miss Brent's eyebrows rose.
"Rogers? No, I haven't seen him this morning. Why?"
Mr. Justice Wargrave, shaved, dressed and with his false teeth in position, came down the stairs. He moved to the open diningroom door. He said:
"He laid the table for breakfast, I see."
Lombard said:
"He might have done that last night."
They all moved inside the room, looking at the neatly set plates and cutlery. At
the row of cups on the sideboard. At the felt mats placed ready for the coffee urn.
It was Vera who saw it first. She caught the judge's arm and the grip of her athletic fingers made the old gentleman wince.
She cried out:
"The Indians! Look!"
There were only six china figures in the middle of the table.
II
They found him shortly afterwards.
He was in the little washhouse across the yard. He had been chopping sticks in
preparation for lighting the kitchen fire. The small chopper was still in his hand.
A bigger chopper, a heavy affair, was leaning against the door the metal of it stained a dull brown. It corresponded only too well with the deep wound in the
back of Rogers' head...
III
"Perfectly clear," said Armstrong. "The murderer must have crept up behind him,
swung the chopper once and brought it down on his head as he was bending over."
Blore was busy on the handle of the chopper and the flour sifter from the kitchen.
Mr. Justice Wargrave asked:
"Would it have needed great force, doctor?"
Armstrong said gravely:
"A woman could have done it if that's what you mean." He gave a quick glance round. Vera Claythorne and Emily Brent had retired to the kitchen. "The girl
could have done it easily she's an athletic type. In appearance Miss Brent is
fragile looking, but that type of woman has often a lot of wiry strength. And you
must remember that any one who's mentally unhinged has a good deal of unsuspected strength."
The judge nodded thoughtfully.
Blore rose from his knees with a sigh. He said:
"No fingerprints. Handle was wiped afterwards."
A sound of laughter was heard they turned sharply. Vera Claythorne was standing in the yard. She cried out in a high shrill voice, shaken with wild bursts of laughter:
"Do they keep bees on this island? Tell me that. Where do we go for honey? Ha! ha!"
They stared at her uncomprehendingly. It was as though the sane wellbalanced girl had gone mad before their eyes. She went on in that high unnatural voice:
"Don't stare like that! As though you thought I was mad. It's sane enough what I'm asking. Bees, hives, bees! Oh, don't you understand? Haven't you read that
idiotic rhyme? It's up in all your bedrooms put there for you to study! We might have come here straightaway if we'd had sense. Seven little Indian boys chopping
up sticks. And the next verse. I know the whole thing by heart, I tell you! Six little Indian boys playing with a hive. And that's why I'm asking do they keep bees on this island? isn't it funny? isn't it damned funny...?"
She began laughing wildly again. Dr. Armstrong strode forward. He raised his hand and struck her a flat blow on the cheek.
She gasped, hiccuped and swallowed. She stood motionless a minute, then she said:
"Thank you... I'm all right now."
Her voice was once more calm and controlled the voice of the efficient games mistress.
She turned and went across the yard into the kitchen saying: "Miss Brent and I are getting you breakfast. Can you bring some sticks to light the fire?"
The marks of the doctor's hand stood out red on her cheek.
As she went into the kitchen Blore said:
"Well, you dealt with that all right, doctor."
Armstrong said apologetically:
"Had to! We can't cope with hysteria on the top of everything else."
Philip Lombard said:
"She's not a hysterical type."
Armstrong agreed.
"Oh, no. Good healthy sensible girl. Just the sudden shock. It might happen to anybody."
Rogers had chopped a certain amount of firewood before he had been killed. They
gathered it up and took it into the kitchen. Vera and Emily Brent were busy.
Miss Brent was raking out the stove. Vera was cutting the rind off the bacon. Emily Brent said:
"Thank you. We'll be as quick as we can say half an hour to three quarters. The kettle's got to boil."
IV
Exinspector Blore said in a low hoarse voice to Philip Lombard:
"Know what I'm thinking?"
Philip Lombard said:
"As you're just about to tell me, it's not worth the trouble of guessing." Exinspector Blore was an earnest man. A light touch was incomprehensible to him. He went on heavily:
"There was a case in America. Old gentleman and his wife both killed with an axe. Middle of the morning. Nobody in the house but the daughter and the maid.
Maid, it was proved, couldn't have done it. Daughter was a respectable middleaged spinster. Seemed incredible. So incredible that they acquitted her. But they never found any other explanation." He paused. "I thought of that when I saw the axe and then when I went into the kitchen and saw her there so neat and calm.
Hadn't turned a hair! That girl, coming all over hysterical well, that's natural the sort of thing you'd expect don't you think so?"
Philip Lombard said laconically:
"It might be."
Blore went on.
"But the other! So neat and prim wrapped up in that apron Mrs. Rogers'
apron, I suppose saying: 'Breakfast will be ready in half an hour or so.' If you
ask me that woman's as mad as a hatter! Lots of elderly spinsters go that way I don't mean go in for homicide on the grand scale, but go queer in their heads.
Unfortunately it's taken her this way. Religious mania thinks she's God's instrument, something of that kind! She sits in her room, you know, reading her
Bible."
Philip Lombard sighed and said:
"That's hardly proof positive of an unbalanced mentality, Blore."
But Blore went on, ploddingly, perseveringly:
"And then she was out in her mackintosh, said she'd been down to look at the sea."
The other shook his head.
He said:
"Rogers was killed as he was chopping firewood that is to say first thing when he got up. The Brent woman wouldn't have needed to wander about outside for
hours afterwards. If you ask me, the murderer of Rogers would take jolly good
care to be rolled up in bed snoring."
Blore said:
"You're missing the point, Mr. Lombard. If the woman was innocent she'd be too dead scared to go wandering about by herself. She'd only do that if she knew that
she had nothing to fear. That's to say if she herself is the criminal."
Philip Lombard said:
"That's a good point... Yes, I hadn't thought of that."
He added with a faint grin:
"Glad you don't still suspect me."
Blore said rather shamefacedly:
"I did start by thinking of you that revolver and the queer story you told or didn't tell. But I've realized now that that was really a bit too obvious," He paused and said: "Hope you feel the same about me."
Philip said thoughtfully:
"I may be wrong, of course, but I can't feel that you've got enough imagination for this job. All I can say is, if you're the criminal, you're a damned fine actor and I take my hat off to you." He lowered his voice. "Just between ourselves, Blore, and taking into account that we'll probably both be a couple of stiffs before another
day is out, you did indulge in that spot of perjury, I suppose?"
Blore shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. He said at last:
"Doesn't seem to make much odds now. Oh, well, here goes. Landor was innocent right enough. The gang had got me squared and between us we got him put away
for a stretch. Mind you, I wouldn't admit this "
"If there were any witnesses," finished Lombard with a grin. "It's just between you and me. Well, I hope you made a tidy bit out of it."
"Didn't make what I should have done. Mean crowd, the Purcell gang. I got my promotion, though."
"And Landor got penal servitude and died in prison."
"I couldn't know he was going to die, could I?" demanded Blore.
"No, that was your bad luck."
"Mine? His, you mean."
"Yours, too. Because, as a result of it, it looks as though your own life is going to be cut unpleasantly short."
"Me?" Blore stared at him. "Do you think I'm going to go the way of Rogers and the rest of them? Not me! I'm watching out for myself pretty carefully, I can tell you."
Lombard said:
"Oh, well I'm not a betting man. And anyway if you were dead I wouldn't get paid."
"Look here, Mr. Lombard, what do you mean?"
Philip Lombard showed his teeth. He said:
"I mean, my dear Blore, that in my opinion you haven't got a chance!"
"What?"
"Your lack of imagination is going to make you absolutely a sitting target. A criminal of the imagination of U.N. Owen can make rings round you any time he
or she wants to."
Blore's face went crimson. He demanded angrily:
"And what about you?"
Philip Lombard's face went hard and dangerous.
He said:
"I've a pretty good imagination of my own. I've been in tight places before now and got out of them! I think I won't say more than that but I think I'll get out of this one."
