Ten Little Indians
Cluedo:
The thick air of the confusion had permeated the room. By now, everybody was yammering away that Judge Wargrave had to step in to take order.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Silence please!" He bellowed, "We shall discuss this matter calmly."
Mrs. Rogers was laid on the bed. The colour was starting to return to her, however, she still had a sickly look on her face.
"Will...will she be alright Doctor?" Inquired Rogers nervously.
"Some brandy would do her some good." Suggested Dr. Armstrong, "Here, I got an open bottle from the parlor. I will also give her some pills to help her sleep."
Mrs. Rogers took the bottle, sniffed it, and made a face. Despite this she took a good swig of it. In her mind, however, she only had one thing on her mind.
"That voice....that terrible voice....."
Back in the parlor, everybody has seemed to settle down to on the Judge's advice as Dr. Armstrong entered the room with some news....
"Mrs. Rogers has been taken to bed. I gave her a mild sedative to help her rest."
"Poor woman," Voiced Blore, "Nervous as a rat. Fainted dead away when that record was played."
"Yes Mr. Davis, about that record," Said Wargrave turning the conversation back to their present matter.
"A pack of lies is what it is!" Grumbled MacArthur.
"Or a practical joke." Suggested Miss Brent.
"You think it was a joke?" Asked Wargrave sternly.
Emily Brent shrugged.
"What else could it be?"
"What I would like to know is who the devil put that thing on!" Growled Lombard.
All attention in the room turned to Rogers who just entered.
"Why...I put it on." He replied meekly, "But...but..I didn't know what it was! I swear!!"
"Then why did you play it?" Asked Wargrave calmly.
"I thought it was music!" Rogers replied, "It was titled "Swan Song"
"That as may well be," Said Blore, thinking, "But what I would like to know is how Mr. Owen was able to come up with the material to say such rubbish about us."
"Us?" Asked Lombard sneering, "I didn't hear Mr. Davis get called in the accusation."
"Yes, Mr. Lombard is right." Agreed Wargrave, "I did hear a Mr. William Henry Blore get called. Nobody here has that name. What can you say about that Mr. Davis?"
"Alright you swine!" Growled Marston, putting up his fists, "What trick are you playing here?"
"No..no..men please....!"
"Men you have me all wrong!" Blore stuttered, trying to explain, "It's true! I am indeed Mr. Blore, not Mr. Davis!"
"And I would like to further point out that you have never set foot in Natal, South Africa!" Added on Lombard, "I've been to Natal several times and you hardly sound or look like a true local of the area!"
"Of course I haven't," Replied Blore, "You see, I am a detective! I was hired by Mr. Owen to protect his wife's jewels. Mrs. Owen my foot! I hardly believe such a person exists!"
"Well that accounts for Blore, " Said Wargrave, sitting down, "Now we know why he's here. I also know why I'm here. I was invited by an good friend of mine who doesn't happen to be here. I would be curious to know why everybody else is here however..."
Cluedo:
After a little discussion and fuss over the invitation letters, almost everybody was able to head to their rooms and fetch their letters. Each one handed theirs to the Judge, who scanned his eyes over them carefully with a squint. Then he cleared his throat....
"Ah yes," He said, "I'm now beginning to see what's going on here. oh Miss Claythorne? Don't you have your letter, my dear?"
"Oh no," Vera replied, "I threw it out before I came here."
She then explained her secretarial engagement to the Judge. He then turned to Emily Brent who sat perfectly unmoved by the whole thing.
"Miss Brent," Said the quiet voice of Wargrave, "I find this letter very hard to read."
"I'm pleased to see you think likewise," Replied Miss Brent, "I find is rather annoying that people write their names so illegibly these days. I was thinking an dear friend, Mrs. Oliver had invited me for promise of a free vacation. Free from all these scantly young women with their bodies laid all over the beach."
The Judge nodded.
"I see," He cleared his throat, "I would like the dwell on this, but I think most of us would like to retire soon, so I shall move on.... Doctor Armstrong, is this true that you were hired to provide medical aid for Mrs. Owen?"
"Yes," Replied Dr. Armstrong a little red-faced, "They said she was prone to heart attacks, and of course, I would never turn down a patient. Especially since they mentioned a old colleague of mine."
"Forget Mrs. Owen!" Grumbled the General, "Damned record nearly gave me a heart attack!"
"Ah yes, General MacArthur," Said Wargrave clinical, "My good sir, I was just about to get to you. So who are these "old cronies" in your letter, sir?"
"Just some old army friends," Said General MacArthur a little too quickly, looking ten years older, "I figured they wanted to talk about the old times!"
"Perfectly reasonable," Replied Wargrave nodding, "On to you Mr. Marston, in my hands is a crumpled telegram. Care to explain, young man?"
"Got a wire from a pal of mine," Answered Tony, "Badger Berkeley, I figured the old horse had gone to Norway, told me to roll up here."
"Well it's starting to become clear," Replied Wargrave, flipping through the letters, "It is clear Mr. Owen has taken the time to find out a great deal about us all. He has clearly adapted Constance's writing style which fooled me. He also also found out about the friend of Marston's nickname as well his his telegram style. He discovered about Dr. Armstrong's colleague as well as where Miss Brent has been to two years ago for vacation. He even found out about the General's "old cronies". Mr. Lombard, I don't believe I received a letter from you."
"I'm sorry friends," Lombard tried to give an explanation, "I was never given a letter! I met a man named Morris. He gave me a job, or something like that that Mr. Owen was going to fill me in on."
He stared around the room with that cruel look on his face.
"Hey Judge!" Said Dr. Armstrong suddenly, "Look at these letters! They are labeled each U.N. Owen. By a slight stretch, that sounds almost like Unknown to me!"
"By Jove!" Cried Blore, "He's right!"
"This is fantastic...mad!" Cried Vera.
"Which is why," Interrupted Wargrave, "That I would like to turn our attentions over to the record."
"Wait!" Declared Anthony Marston so suddenly, as retrieved his glass of whiskey, "I feel I ought to explain that! I remember now, since it happened months ago. It was a beautiful day. I was driving fast. Rather fast in fact. Two kids ran out in the middle of the road. I couldn't stop in time!"
His face then turned a little sour...
"Were you not charged!?" Asked Blore.
"Well," Replied Marston, "They took my license away. Beastly bad luck!"
"For them? Or for you?" Asked Wargrave gravely.
"Well, I would like to say for me, but of course it was damned bad luck on their part!" Replied Marston shrugging, "Anyway, I for one would like to get to the bottom of this mystery!"
"I for one would like to leave!" Blustered General MacArthur.
"So would I!" Cried Vera.
Everybody else voiced in agreement.
"Why do you want to leave, friends!?" Disagree Anthony Marston, sounding surprised, "This whole thing is thrilling! It's a mystery! And I for one would like to solve it!"
"Young man," Replied Judge Wargrave acidly, "At my time in life, I have no desire for "thrills" as you call them."
"The legal life is narrowing Judge!" Laughed Marston, "I'm all for adventure! Here is to crime!"
He raised his glass and took a quick gulp...
Cluedo:
He probably drank too fast for then he swayed a little. For once, Marston didn't look right. Slowly, he lurched far forward and slammed his glass down on the sideboard, holding his hand up to his throat. He was emitting strange heavy breathing noises.....
Suddenly he swung up and gasped....
"ULP!!" He spluttered, "ACK!! URK!!!"
He couldn't breathe!! His hands clutched his throat as he violent gasped for air...
It was the most horrible sight, and he staggered drunkenly forward; his face turning purple....
"Somebody help him!" Cried Vera desperately!
It was no use however, as Marston dropped to his knees. His choking was more increasingly violent.
"ULK! URK!! ACK!! ULP! [size=18]URK! URK! URK! URK![/size]"
Then finally, he dropped to the floor. Not a sound coming from the once great Anthony Marston; now only a broken figure on the carpet...
"Is he alright!?" Asked Blore, alarmed, "Just playing drunk is he!?"
The Doctor bent down to examine Marston. Then he looked up. His face said it all.
"Just playing dead..." He weakly replied.
"You mean the fellow just choked and died!?" Spluttered the exasperated General.
"You can call it choking if you like." Replied Dr. Armstrong, "He died of asphyxiation alright."
He stood up and went over the glass on the sideboard. He sniffed the glass, then tasted it.
"Lethal solution!" Replied Dr. Armstrong making a face, "Cyanide probably..."
"Suicide?" Asked Blore.
"That I believe comes under your line of work, Mr. Blore." Responded Armstrong.
"You...you wouldn't think he would kill himself," Whimpered Vera shuddering, "When he came down in his car, he was so....oh I can't explain it!"
They knew what she meant. They all recalled that glorious sight of the young warrior and his flashy vehicle. That same warrior was now crumpled, broken and purple-faced on the floor.
"In the mist of life, we are in death." Said Emily Brent, ever so coldly.
Just what was she talking about?
Baby_Cat:
its good so far! :p
Cluedo:
Thanks so much Baby-cat!
-----------------------------------------
Hardly a word was said after Marston's abrupt death. The shock was still too great on everyone's minds. Lombard, Blore and Armstrong assisted in carrying the body of Marston up to his room where he was laid on the bed. They then left quickly and quietly, turning off the lights and shutting the door behind them. Better to let the dead rest in peace.....
Downstairs in the Games Room, Justice Wargrave sat quietly. He certainly wasn't going to retire down here, but for some reason, he was more exhausted than usual.
"The young amoral Anthony Marston is dead," He thought, "What was it the detective said? Suicide? Ha! I figured he would have come up with something better than that. Ah but I must be careful for now on this weekend. I must be very careful...."
Upstairs, General MacArthur entered his room to get ready for bed. He felt incredibly weak. The shock of everything was what did him in. The record accusation, and of course....that young man. Stuck down in his prime. Choked over whiskey and soda. Damned odd it was! More than odd! However at his age, he could sleep through anything. He probably was going to have a long sleep tonight. He looked up at a painting of a schooner at sea. Just above his bed. It made him think...about his wife.
"Ah..Leslie," General MacArthur thought to himself, "We used to sail in the earlier days....I remember. Down along the English channel. You loved all the albatrosses at port."
Oh how he loved Leslie. Her long curly brown hair that bounced in the breeze. Her dancing deep-grey eyes. Her hear-shaped face. Yes she was beautiful! And how it hurt! When he found out, that she was seeing Arthur! He liked Arthur Richmond quite alright, and he was glad Leslie liked him. Liar and hypocrite! Leslie and Arthur? And then... then his mind turned towards what was bothering him the most. That record.
"Damned this whole thing!" He thought in a cranky manner suddenly, "Damned the island! Damned the accusation! Accusations of murder!? Preposterous! Who might have spoke? Armitage may have spoke. Damned young pup! What did he know? Arthur never questioned me! Simple measures in wartime. We lose our nerve a bit. It would have taken a miracle if Richmond made it out alive. And what about Emily Brent!? A good righteous woman she is! Cousin of Tom Brent of the Regiment."
He looked back at the painting. A lump began to form in his throat. The boat reminded him of the boat that was suppose come pick them up.
"I do wonder when the boat would come to pick us up?"
Tomorrow he figured. Though, suddenly he felt as though he didn't want to leave. Back to his little house, back to his worries, back to the loneliness. He could here the waves splashing outside his window.
"Peaceful sound..."
Best thing he liked about an island is that you could go no further. You've come to the end of things. That's when General MacArthur suddenly realized....he didn't want to leave the island!
Downstairs, Rogers stood completely baffled. He didn't understand it. Not one bit. It was strange, how there appeared to be something off about the Indians on the mantle.
"That's a rum go," Said Rogers quietly to himself, "I could have sworn there were ten of them..."
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