And Then There Were None

coarser and clumsier in build. His walk was that of a slow padding animal. His eyes were bloodshot. There was a look of mingled ferocity and stupidity about him. He was like a beast at bay ready to charge its pursuers. Philip Lombard's senses seemed heightened, rather than diminished. His ears reacted to the slightest sound. His step was lighter and quicker, his body was lithe and graceful. And he smiled often, his lips curling back from his long white teeth.

Vera Claythorne was very quiet. She sat most of the time huddled in a chair. Her eyes stared ahead of her into space. She looked dazed. She was like a bird that has dashed its head against glass and that has been picked up by a human hand. It crouches there, terrified, unable to move, hoping to save itself by its immobility.

Armstrong was in a pitiable condition of nerves. He twitched and his hands shook. He lighted cigarette after cigarette and stubbed them out almost immediately. The forced inaction of their position seemed to gall him more than the others. Every now and then he broke out into a torrent of nervous speech.

"We ­ we shouldn't just sit here doing nothing! There must be something ­ surely, surely, there is something that we can do? If we lit a bonfire ­"

Blore said heavily:

"In this weather?"

The rain was pouring down again. The wind came in fitful gusts. The depressing sound of the pattering rain nearly drove them mad.

By tacit consent, they had adopted a plan of campaign. They all sat in the big drawing­room. Only one person left the room at a time. The other four waited till the fifth returned.

Lombard said:

"It's only a question of time. The weather will clear. Then we can do something ­ signal­light fires ­ make a raft ­ something!"

Armstrong said with a sudden cackle of laughter:

"A question of time ­ time? We can't afford time! We shall all be dead..."

Mr. Justice Wargrave said, and his small clear voice was heavy with passionate determination:

"Not if we are careful. We must be very careful..."

The mid­day meal had been duly eaten ­ but there had been no conventional formality about it. All five of them had gone to the kitchen. In the larder they had found a great store of tinned foods. They had opened a tin of tongue and two tins of fruit. They had eaten standing round the kitchen table. Then, herding close together, they had returned to the drawing­room ­ to sit there ­ sit ­ watching each other...

And by now the thoughts that ran through their brains were abnormal, feverish,

diseased...

"It's Armstrong... I saw him looking at me sideways just then... his eyes are mad... quite mad... Perhaps he isn't a doctor at all... That's it, of course!... He's a lunatic, escaped from some doctor's house ­ pretending to be a doctor... It's true...

shall I tell them?... Shall I scream out?... No, it won't do to put him on his guard...

Besides he can seem so sane... What time is it?... Only a quarter past three!... Oh, God, I shall go mad myself... Yes, it's Armstrong... He's watching me now..."

"I'd like a cup."

Vera rose. She said:

"I'll go and make it. You can all stay here."

Mr. Justice Wargrave said gently:

"I think, my dear young lady, we would all prefer to come and watch you make it."

Vera stared, then gave a short rather hysterical laugh.

She said:

"Of course! You would!"

Five people went into the kitchen. Tea was made and drunk by Vera and Blore. The other three had whiskey ­ opening a fresh bottle and using a siphon from a nailed up case.

The judge murmured with a reptilian smile:

"We must be very careful..."

They went back again to the drawing­room. Although it was summer the room was dark. Lombard switched on the lights but they did not come on. He said:

"Of course! The engine's not been run today since Rogers hasn't been there to see to it."

The sea... The smell of the sea at St. Tredennick...

That was it. She could not be mistaken. Of course one smelt the sea on an island anyway, but this was different. It was the smell there had been on the beach that day ­ with the tide out and the rocks covered with seaweed drying in the sun.

"Can I swim out to the island, Miss Claythorne?"

"Why can't I swim out to the island?..."

Horrid whiny spoilt little brat! If it weren't for him, Hugo would be rich... able to

marry the girl he loved...

Hugo...

Surely ­ surely ­ Hugo was beside her? No, waiting for her in the room...

She made a step forward. The draught from the window caught the flame of the

candle. It flickered and went out...

Tn the dark she was suddenly afraid...

"Don't be a fool," Vera Claythorne urged herself. "It's all right. The others are downstairs. All four of them. There's no one in the room. There can't be. You're imagining things, my girl."

But that smell ­ that smell of the beach at St. Tredennick... That wasn't

imagined. It was true...

And there was some one in the room... She had heard something ­ surely she had

heard something...

And then, as she stood there, listening ­ a cold, clammy hand touched her throat ­

a wet hand, smelling of the sea...

III

Vera screamed. She screamed and screamed ­ screams of the utmost terror ­ wild desperate cries for help.

She did not hear the sounds from below, of a chair being overturned, of a door opening, of men's feet running up the stairs. She was conscious only of supreme terror.

Then, restoring her sanity, lights flickered in the doorway ­ candles ­ men hurrying into the room.

"What the devil?" "What's happened?" "Good God, what is it?"

She shuddered, took a step forward, collapsed on the floor.

She was only half aware of some one bending over her, of some one forcing her head down between her knees.

Then a sudden exclamation, a quick "My God, look at that!" her senses returned. She opened her eyes and raised her head. She saw what it was the men with the candles were looking at.