Chapter 10
"Do you believe it?" Vera asked.
She and Philip Lombard sat on the windowsill of the living-room. Outside the
rain poured down and the wind howled in great shuddering gusts against the
window-panes.
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 level-headed 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.
Ex-Inspector 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 smoking-room window. He
played with the cord of his eye-glasses. 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
twenty-four 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 self-preservation.
Mr. Justice Wargrave was thinking:
"Murdered in our beds! These doctors are all the same - they think in clichiis. 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."
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