Ten Little Indians
PegasusDiana:
I'm not going to give it away, just wanted to say I think your doing a nice job on the story. :)
Cluedo:
Dr. Armstrong and Judge Wargrave were of all things, playing billiards in the Game Room. Of course, despite all that was going on, they weren't going to let precaution give into boredom. At any rate, Wargrave's old mind was working....something formulating within...
"Your shot Judge," Reminded Dr. Armstrong, sounding a little monotone.
"I confess, you haven't let me open to any suitable move," Replied the Judge, though sounding a little vague as his voice grew quieter.
"I'm sure I must have left you something to go for," Reassured Armstrong.
"Perhaps," Replied Wargrave, "But at any rate my mind is more or less deep in thought, which makes it harder to concentrate."
"Oh?" Perked up Armstrong, interested, "Have you got an idea then?"
"I may," Answered Wargrave, "You...and the others. You didn't find anybody else on the island, did you?"
"Apparently not," Replied Dr. Armstrong, "It's very odd indeed, for I swear there must be someone..."
"Well, on the other hand..." Wargrave began to say, before being interrupted as Vera Claythorne entered the room.
"Billiards!?" She declared, "A rather odd thing to be doing as with what has been going on here."
"On the other hand, my dear, " The Judge said back, "I find that it is a game of the mind, if you will. "
"I suppose," Agreed Vera, "But it sounds like you gentlemen have been having a deep discussion of some sort."
"If that's what you would like to call it," Answered Wargrave, "However, I feel that perhaps I shall hold back my findings until the others are present."
Almost as though on cue, Philip Lombard and William Blore entered to join in on the conversation.
"Well, were here at any rate," Assured Blore to the rest, "I can't quite answer for the rest however."
"I saw Miss Brent knitting in the Parlor," Reported Lombard, "Do we need her as well?"
"Eventually yes," Replied Wargrave, "But for now, I would like to ask you both that you are absolutely certain that there is nobody else on the island but the seven of us?"
"Not a soul," Answered Lombard, "It really is fly in the ointment it is! There's a murderer on the loose and there is not a trace of him!"
"He's invisible I tell you!" Declared Blore.
"In the sense that you mean, no there isn't anybody on the island," Replied Wargrave, "And...ah Miss Brent, good of you to join us."
"Yes thank you," Replied Emily Brent as she entered the Game Room, "I must say that Rogers is certainly a first class butler. Despite all the horridness that's been occurring, he still performs his duties."
"I concur," Agreed Lombard, "Be a shame to know if he and his wife really did off that old lady."
Rogers was standing by the doorway, tense and nervous. His head perked up at Lombard's comment which petrified him a little. Suddenly he felt he could use a little whiskey himself.
"If they..they..keep accusing me like that," Thought Rogers in his head, "I shan't serve them any more dinner!"
"Putting the butler aside for a moment," Said Wargrave, changing the subject a little, "I want you all to consider this. Suppose there is just the seven of us. Ten in the beginning, but now seven. Now suppose there is not a single person anywhere else on the island, and nobody invisible either. Mr. Owen could have only come to this island one way..."
"Wait a minute Judge," Interrupted Armstrong suddenly, " That means your saying..."
"Yes, it's perfectly clear," Replied the Judge, in the most stern, acidic tone, "Mr. Owen.....is one of us!"
Right on cue, he took a shot at the white ball.
"Oh no no no no.." Cried Vera in a moan, "That can't be right...no it can't!"
"I'm afraid my dear, it's no use denying it. Mr. Owen is one of us, and only the dead ones; Anthony Marston, Mrs. Rogers and General MacArthur are above suspicion..."
Outside, the first few drops of water, ominously piddled onto the stone terrace...a storm was coming in.
Cluedo:
Philip Lombard entered the Parlor, and was a little surprised to find Blore sitting quietly by himself. The thunder bellowed outside so he didn't think Blore would here his entry. Suspicious, he stealthily approached the detective as quiet as a panther. In a second or two, Blore spun his head around and quickly covered a up a notepad he was writing in.
"What are you doing 'eer?" Asked Blore narrowing his eyes.
"It is the parlor, Blore," Reminded Lombard, "I'm more curious to know why you were in here sitting by yourself writing in that little notepad of yours."
"Well, It ain't much of your business," Blore insisted, "But I suppose I'll tell you that I was at first recording my original case of Mrs. Owen's jewels in here, but..I suppose that is pretty much old news by now. I've got a new case to solve!"
"Oh? Your now trying to figure out who is our "Mr. Owen" here aren't you?" Lombard chuckled, "Well perhaps you could share a little of your findings with me then?"
"Well....I've was observing some of our fellow inmates during our search of the island.." Blore began, "And now...I'm wondering perhaps it could be our dear Miss Claythorne!"
"Vera," Lombard responded raising an eyebrow, "Why would you suspect her?"
"Think about it!" Blore implored, "She was the last one to report seeing the General alive! Of course don't forget, she probably knows hardly anyone would suspect a young secretary to commit the dastardly murders! She is obviously the one who did it!"
"The problem with you Blore is that you lack credibility," Lombard casually criticized, "You only look for the simple answers, you have no imagination!"
"Oh yeah?" Blore growled, "And what fancy ideas have you come up with yourself Mr. Lombard, eh?"
"Well I certainly know that a killer like Mr. Owen can think and plot circles around you."
"Well no man has ever gotten the bear of me, yet!" Protested Blore.
Lombard could merely snicker.
"And so you think a woman could?"
Upstairs, Emily Brent was looking over the latest chapter she wrote in her diary...
"A terrible thing has happened. General MacArthur is dead. (His cousin married Elsie MacPherson.) There is no doubt that he was murdered. After luncheon the judge made an interesting conclusion. He is convinced the murderer is one of us. That means one of us is possessed by the devil. I had already suspected that. Which one of us is it? They are all asking themselves that. I alone know..."
She paused for a moment and smiled knowingly....and felt her eyes closing...
She woke with a start and looked down at the last scratched in letters.
"..THE MURDERER'S NAME IS BEATRICE TAYLOR..."
With an angry exclamation, she quickly tore the page out of her diary and crumpled it.
She said in a low voice...
"Did I write that!? Did I? I must be going mad...."
Judge Wargrave and Dr. Armstrong were continuing their game of billiards in the Games Room, however it was a surprise if either one could concentrate. Dr. Armstrong certainly couldn't.
"We must! We must get off this island at all costs!" He insisted as the Judge looked on stroking his chin.
"I do not profess to be a weather prophet but weather doesn't seem to be at it's best at the moment and the seas are rather rough and this can last for days," Reminded Wargrave, "I would be quite surprised if a boat could reach us in the next 24 hours...even if they knew of our plight...and that's only if the wind drops."
"In the meantime may we all get murdered in our beds?"
"I intend to see to every possible precaution to prevent that from happening."
Dr. Armstrong stared at the wizened Judge admirably. Here he was, junior to this old man by 20 years or so and he has a more superior sense of self-preservation than himself.
"Murdered in our beds!" Thought Wargrave, "These doctors think in clichés! A thoroughly commonplace mind."
"There have three people murdered already," Reminded Dr. Armstrong.
"Certainly, but remember," Replied the Judge, "They were unprepared for attack. We are forewarned."
"What can we do?" Cried Armstrong, " Sooner or later..."
"I think," Murmured the Judge, "There are several things we can do."
"But we don't even know who killed them, after all..."
"Oh you know," Interrupted the Judge stroking his chin again, "I wouldn't quite say that..."
Armstrong stared at him,
"Do you mean you know?" He asked wide-eyed.
"In the sense of physical evidence that would be required in a court hearing, I don't. But I think after reviewing everything...I'm beginning to gather enough reasoning for one person to be sufficiently indicated, in fact...dare I say I might have a plan...."
Dr. Armstrong stepped a little closer.
"Go on.." He coaxed.
Cluedo:
The rain continued to pour outside, while everybody was gathered around the dining table eating away at supper. Everybody seemed to be surreptitiously watching each other with accusing eyes. When Rogers entered, everyone nearly jumped up.
"Would anybody care for some tea after dinner?" Offered Rogers, "It would make it more warm and cozy like."
"I'll have a little," Miss Brent replied, "Anyone else?"
Dr. Armstrong and Vera Claythorne were the only other two to accept the offer of tea. Blore, Lombard and the Judge all wanted some black coffee, which Rogers protested.
"I'm sorry gentlemen," He apologized, "But were getting low on coffee in the larder. I was hoping to save it for tomorrow morning."
"Very well Rogers, tea it will be for me then," Replied Judge Wargrave, who ordinarily hated tea.
Blore and Lombard succumbed to the tea as well. At any rate, normality began to return to the group. Tea! Hot, blessed, ordinary tea!
"Well it sounds like the rain is letting up a bit!" Lombard commented cheerfully.
"Well hopefully that will make for a good day tomorrow," Responded Blore.
Everybody else nodded in agreement. Their spirits were rising. In fact, even Dr. Armstrong who was in good humour had a little doctor story to share...
"An old patient of mine, Mr. Brown was a hypochondriac and should never have attended the medical lecture on diseases of the kidney, unfortunately he did and the very next day called on me. I attempted to explain that in that particular disease there was no pain or discomfort of any kind. "I knew it," gasped Mr Brown, "My symptoms exactly."
There were a few merry chuckles amongst the group.
That's when Rogers unexpectedly entered from the Kitchen. He was upset as he said,
"Excuse me but does anybody body know what has become of one of the bathroom towels?"
Nervous glances were shot around the room at and at Rogers.
"Just what did this towel look like?" Asked Miss Brent sharply.
"It was a deep scarlet towel, a large one at that." Rogers informed her.
"How odd!" She answered back, "I too am missing something. I wasn't going to say it, but I have lost two skeins of my good white knitting yarn. It's most distressful. I can no longer finish the shawl I was knitting for my niece!"
"Was it here this morning?" Asked the Judge calmly.
"Yes," Emily replied, "I was knitting in the parlor...and now it's gone."
Again the pall of fear encased the room, and once more everyone was looking around in a gaze in suspicion....
Astral Faery:
Ooooo....leading up to something. Getting more suspenseful as ever, now!
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