Ten Little Indians
Cluedo:
Hey thanks! I'm glad to hear you are in suspense...it's only going to get better!:-P
Cluedo:
It was now half past eight. The guests all sat in the Dining Room anxiously awaiting breakfast. All except Dr. Armstrong and of course the late Anthony Marston.
"General MacArthur and I were just outside," Announced the Judge.
"Oh?" Asked Lombard, "What were you two gents discussing?"
"Oh not much," Replied Wargrave tired, "Just a little on the political situation these days, isn't that so, General?"
General MacArthur looked up, gave a muffled reply and nod to the Judge.
"Most distressing what I've come to see these days," Marked General MacArthur, "War will break out, you will all see. I can't feel it."
"Well if there's one thing for sure, Hitler is not a man to be trus.."
Suddenly he was interrupted by Emily Brent who's cheeks were turning a shade of white.
"Most improper subject to discuss at the table," She voiced, "If you don't mind, Your Honour."
Judge Wargrave gave a smile and nodded to Miss Brent.
"My apologies Miss Brent," He apologized charmingly, "You are most likely right. I forgot some do not enjoy the subject of politics in the morning. I'm pleased to see that there had been a newspaper left by Narracott yesterday. Speaking of which, no sign of the boat, yet."
"Devon's a sleepy county," Reminded Vera, "They probably run things late around here."
"No boat shall ever come I don't think," Said the General, almost in a trance like voice, "I am starting to think none of us will leave the island."
"Oh come General," Said Lombard chuckling at the slightly dotty old man, "No need to talk like that. Just because the boat is missing now doesn't mean it won't be here in the afternoon."
"Speaking of things missing," Declared Blore, hungrily "Where's breakfast?"
That's when Dr. Armstrong entered the room. He hated to be the bearer of bad news, but of course in his profession, he was used to it.
"I'm afraid you will all have to do without breakfast," He announced wearily, "Mrs. Rogers has been....unable to carry on."
"What's the matter with the woman!?" Complained Emily Brent sharply, "I was promised some homemade honey yesterday!"
Emily loved honey. Armstrong ignored her and continued...
"I'm afraid I have a piece of sad news....Mrs. Rogers has died in her sleep."
Several gasps were exchanged around the room. They couldn't believe their ears!
"How horrible!" Cried Vera sympathetically, "Two deaths since we arrived on the island!"
"Hmmmm, how extraordinary," Said the Judge in a precise voice, "What was the cause of death?"
"Impossible to say off hand," Replied Armstrong, "I certainly couldn't give a certificate. Rogers has barely any knowledge on her state of health. That's what I'm wondering about. What exactly caused Mrs. Rogers to die..."
The single voice of Emily Brent burst out.
"Concience!"
All eyes turned to her.
"Just what exactly are you implying Miss Brent?" Asked the quiet voice of the Judge as he stroked his chin.
"You all saw her last night! She fainted dead away after the record accused her and her husband of murdering an elderly woman, their own employer. The shock of her wickedness was too much to bear!"
"How did you know Miss Brady was their employer?" Asked Lombard, "They never had a chance to explain who she was..."
"Jennifer Brady was a friend of my friend, Mrs. Oliver." Explained Emily, "Clearly she employed the Rogers. At any rate, it's clear those guilty two have done away with poor Miss Brady, and the missus has been struck down through over-bearing guilt. Call it, if you prefer...and Act of God!"
"My dear woman!" Declared Armstrong turning red faced, "I think that's taking things a bit too far!"
"You regard it impossible for God to strike down a filthy sinner," Spoke Miss Brent in defence of herself, "I don't! I think it's the most likely reason of all!"
"At any rate," Spoke Blore trying to calm things down, "Did she have anything to take last night?"
"Well, she had a bit of brandy," Replied Armstrong a little numb, "And a mild sedative. A mild dose mind you, given by me. Certainly not enough to kill her!"
"Well then see here!" Said Blore wildly, "Perhaps Rogers may have gave her a little extra! You see, to quiet her up!"
"Oh!" Declared MacArthur belligerently, "I should hardly think a man would do that to his wife!"
Just then Rogers entered.
"I'm sorry," He mumbled in apology, "I'm sorry, I did the best I could with breakfast, you see my wif...."
Everybody hushed down his protests...
"It's alright Rogers, we understand."
Then the simple breakfast was served...
Astral Faery:
Emily Brent sure is a piece of work, isn't she? So sad that they all seem to be more concerned about breakfast than the death of poor Mrs. Rogers. And now fingers are starting to be pointed at her husband. I wonder what, or who, will be next?
Cluedo:
Well, perhaps you have suspicions of your own? My advice would be to not look up the story at risk of spoiling it. You will be hopefully suprised by the conclusion. :D
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Breakfast was a modest meal. Clearly, Rogers lacked the cooking skills that tragically would be missed by Mrs. Rogers. Of course, perhaps he will have more time to make a decent lunch as breakfast was on short notice for him. In the meantime however, the remaining guests were off on their own plans. Afterall, it was a beautiful day, despite a bit wet from the drizzle during the night...
Philip Lombard, William Blore, and Dr. Armstrong decided to form their own little group. There was an theory that had started to dawn on them....perhaps Mr. Owen did in fact exist!
"Assuming this Mr. Owen does indeed exist," Theorized Blore, "There is no doubt that he may indeed be on this island!"
"It's quite likely," Dr. Armstrong agreed, "In which case, we certainly must find him. I'm have reason to believe that if Mr. Owen exists, he is probably a homicidal lunatic. He may be dangerous."
"Well then," Lombard smiled, flashing his pointed white teeth, "Perhaps the bloke is hidden away in a secret cave or something! Ha! Ha!"
"It's quite possible," Replied Blore, stroking his chin, "Then again, I didn't see any grottoes or caves on the map."
"Map?" Asked Lombard, narrowing his eyes a little, "What map are you talking about?"
"It's all in the Library," Blore answered back, as he wiped a bit of sweat off his forehead, "The island's history, the map....all sorts of rubbish. I could barely make through of it."
"If I were examining that sort of stuff Blore, I would pay closer attention," Lombard reprimanded, "There may have been a thing or two on Owen in there!"
"Not my cup of tea, Unfortunately," Blore shrugged, "I'm more of a practical sort of man."
Dr. Armstrong took a little bit of a step away from his little group. Being a little left out of conservation left him open for attention to Rogers who was beckoning him once again.
"Doctor," Quickly whispered Rogers, sounding imperative, "If I could have a word with you, inside please."
They both re-entered the house.
"What the Devil is the matter?" Inquired Armstrong confused.
"I don't quite understand, it don't make sense, but perhaps you could tell," Answered Rogers, leading Armstrong into Parlor.
They stopped at the fireplace.
"Well?" Asked Armstrong, sounding a little impatient.
"Well look sir!" Rogers replied, pointing the Indian statuettes, "When I was clearing away last night, I stopped in here and saw that there was only nine of those figures, and now look sir! It doesn't make any sense! There are only eight!"
Cluedo:
Vera Claythorne and Emily Brent resided on the terrace. The afternoon was approaching. Emily appeared not to be mindful of Vera, and yet she was acting rather strange as she sat. Now and then she would pull out a pair of binoculars and observe the sea. Vera nearly jumped when Emily finally did speak.
"It's odd that man has yet to arrive to pick us up yet." Emily said, "He seemed rather dependable yesterday."
"I really wish he would come," Vera replied softly, "I really do want to leave."
"I've no doubt we all do," Emily agreed.
Suddenly her mood changed to one of annoyance,
"I'm really disappointed in myself for being so easily being taken in! If one examined the letter closely, it really does appear to be quite absurd,"
Vera shuddered a little...
"Well I suppose I must say what's been on my mind, did you really mean what you said at breakfast?"
"I'm afraid you must be a little more precise my dear," Emily replied.
"Do you really think Rogers and his wife did away with that old lady?" Vera asked almost in a whisper.
"Personally I'm quite sure of it!" Declared Emily Brent stiffly, "Everything points in that direction. His wife even fainted if I remember, and he shouted at her most uncontrollably to keep her quiet. Oh yes, I'm afraid they did it."
"Well if they did do it," Vera wondered, "What about the others?"
"Ah, now I understand what you mean," Emily replied, "Well Mr. Lombard doesn't seem like the remorseful type. I'm sure if you asked him, he would straight away admit to abandoning 21 natives."
"But they were only natives," Vera replied.
"Black or white, they are still our brothers,"
"Our black brothers-our black brothers...oh I must be going hysterical..." Vera thought.
"Of course some of the other accusations were quite ridiculous," Emily continued, "Against the Judge for instance, he was only doing his duty within legal incapacitation, as was that ex-Scotland Yard man. My own case too...."
Vera looked up, curious.
"Beatrice Taylor was in service with me. Not a nice girl as I soon found out. She was a good worker, had decent manners...oh and was rather nice cook as well. I am saddened to say that I was terribly deceived in her. She was actually a loose girl with no morals! Disgusting! It some time before I discovered that was suddenly...in "trouble."
Emily paused and wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"It was a great shock to me too. Her parents were decent folk who brought her up strictly. I was glad to say that they did not condone her behavior."
"So what happened to her?" Vera asked wide-eyed.
"Oh naturally I wasn't going to keep her one minute under my roof. No one should ever say that Emily Brent ever condoned immorality!"
There was no remorse in Emily's eyes, no reproachfulness...she stood on the terrace encased in her own virtue.
"Weren't you sorry?" Vera asked, "I mean, for that sort of harshness?"
"I have nothing to reproach myself with." Emily replied self-satisfied.
"But Beatrice is dead now," Vera reminded, "Didn't you have anything to do with that?"
"Absolutely not," Emily replied, turning a shade of white, "Not content with one sin on her mind, the girl committed a graver one..."
"What was that!?" Asked Vera.
"She chucked herself in a river and drowned."
Vera stared at Emily Brent in disbelief. No longer was she an odd uptight old lady. Suddenly, she was terrible!
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