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!

[Cluedo]

You will be surprised by the end!
______________________________________________

Everybody was gathered in the Parlor after supper. Rogers had yet to come out with the tea, but they hardly took notice. They were far too worried to even think about the novel suggestion earlier. The gentlemen were pacing back and forth thinking deep into their own thoughts as the rain poured down the sides of the windows in a drizzle....it made for a quiet, nervous atmosphere. Suddenly into this quietness, Wargrave spoke up...

"I've been thinking," He announced, as he walked into the center of the room, "What was it General last said during breakfast?"

"None of us are going to leave the island," Reminded Blore as he stood by the fireplace, "I remember it quite distinctly; quite the vague old man he was. He sounded almost resigned to his fate."

"Eight little Indians traveling in Devon; One said he'd stay right there, and then there were seven...," Recited Vera Claythorne almost instinctively.



"An interesting point I was getting to," Said Judge Wargrave in reply, "I don't know about the rest of you, but it seems our homicidal "Mr. Owen" who may indeed be in this room, this very moment, is committing his murders in accordance to the nursery rhyme that had been put in our rooms..."

He stopped for a moment and cleared his throat.

"Yes, I was beginning to see that myself," Replied Philip Lombard folding his arms, "Each death so far on this island corresponds with each verse from the rhyme! It couldn't possibly be a coincidence! Anthony Marston chokes on whiskey after dinner, Mrs. Rogers oversleeps herself during the night and dies,  and now General MacArthur had made a death-wish to not want to leave the island!"

"But why!?" Cried Vera in confusion.

"My dear, I'm sure you and I can see that our killer is indeed a madman," Explained Lombard a little callously.

"That's not all," Interrupted Dr. Armstrong, "Rogers showed me those Indians on the mantle yesterday after his wife passed away. There were only eight then...and now.."

"There are only seven," Said the Judge, finishing the doctor's sentence.

Miss Brent's face was turning a rather sharp colour.

"I'm ready to go to bed," She announced rising.

"My dear, you shouldn't go alone," Warned the Judge, smiling a little ruefully.

"Of course!" Blurted our Blore suddenly, "Where is Rogers anyway!? That man was supposed to come with the tea half an hour ago! It surely couldn't take a  man that long, I tell you."

"Yes," Said Miss Claythorne, shuddering a little, "That man makes me uneasy. It's the way he still continues with his duties even after his wife died."

"Of course! It's Rogers I tell you!" Bellowed Blore, almost jumping, "I wouldn't be a moment surprised if he did his wife in. In fact, I wouldn't be shocked if he was in the Kitchen planning our deaths right now!"

"Oh yes," Agreed Miss Brent, "It's very possible that Rogers is the possessed one out of us. "

"Interesting notion Mr. Blore, but quite unlikely." Disagreed the Judge.

Blore swung around and in his usually bullish-voice,

"Oh yeh? And why not?"

"Because he hasn't got the brains for one thing!" Reminded Lombard, backing up the Judge,  "That man is as dull as a rock. Although, I've been thinking, and I'm also quite certain he and his wife did that old lady in as Miss Brent said. I mean you can see it in his face..."




That's when Rogers stumbled into the room, almost falling over. It was now clear as to why he didn't bring the tea in...anybody standing close by could certainly smell the whiskey that lingers in his breath.

"I..is..that what you think of me, then..." Rogers stuttered drunkenly, "Is it...so you all think I'm the murderer eh!? You think..I killed Miss Brady!?"

Lombard attempted to intervene,
"Now Rogers my boy, listen..."  

But Rogers angrily spun around.

"I don't need to listen to you, MISTER LOMBARD!"



"Easy now Rogers!" Silenced Wargrave sternly, "Perhaps if you cleared up what was accused against you, it would help the rest of us feel a bit better."

"We...never killed Miss Brady!" Insisted Rogers, sweating profusely, "She was sick I tell ya! We couldn't find a doctor, my wife and I couldn't...and she died!"

"Came into a bit of money did ya?" Jeered Blore, maliciously.

Rogers eyes narrowed.

"Miss Brady left us her gratitude!" He growled back, "She wanted our...devotion. she did! We didn't kill her! No we didn't! And that's what you all think then...that I'm a murderer...then..then...I SHANT SERVE ANY MORE MEALS!"

And with that he staggered off, leaving the remaining six bewildered.  

"One by one we make our confessions..." Whispered the Judge to himself thoughtfully. Then aloud to the others he suggested that they ought to go to bed.

Everyone agreed.

[Cluedo]

Hardly a word was said as each guest proceeded upstairs to their respectable bedrooms. Self-preservation was on everybody's minds and they nervously proceeded to their rooms and promptly followed by the sound of the shot of the bolt and click of the locks.

"Don't forget to lock your door tonight Miss Brent," Reminded Vera cautiously.

"Oh don't worry," Answered back Emily Brent without a hint of fear in her voice, "I intend to do so right enough."

"You know, Miss Brent it's quite odd," Vera said suddenly, thinking hard.



"Oh...what's odd?" Answered Miss Brent coolly.

"You seem awfully unperturbed by all that has been happening," Observed Vera, "In fact, you appear to be downright calm.."

"My parents raised me in a strict and proper environment," Informed Miss Brent, without a hint of aggressiveness, "I was brought up to never make a fuss, no matter how dire the circumstances are. With God watching over me, I shall have no fear. Hopefully that explains things a bit better, my dear."

"Repressed as a child," Vera thought, "That accounts for a lot."

"But aren't you afraid?" Asked Vera, "Or you just don't mind dying?"

It was though somebody had pricked Emily Brent in the brain...something cracked beneath the surface of her skull.

"Dying?" She thought, "This girl just doesn't understand. The others may die soon enough, but Emily Brent is surely not going to die! None of the other Brents were ever afraid...so I certain shall not as well.  I have nothing to be ashamed of....so naturally I shall not die."


"My dear...it's getting late, Now if you excuse me...."

They both went their separate ways....

Vera stood in her bedroom and looked out the window. The rain had died down to a near stop. Now just a mere drizzle...but how the waves still crashed up on shore! Then she realized...somebody was out on the balcony!

Slowly she proceeded to the door, her hand feeling for something...something to strike the figure...until he turned around. It was Philip Lombard!

His calm yet puzzled look eased her to join him out on the balcony.

"What are you doing out here, Philip?" She asked, "It's quite chilly from the storm tonight."

Lombard smiled at her with his pointed wolfish teeth....

"Just getting a bit of air before the rain picks up again." Lombard replied, "I don't think I will be getting much sleep tonight."

"How anybody possibly sleep?" Asked Vera wearily, "When we are all trapped in this horrible dream!"

Lombard made a grim face.

"This whole thing is incredible," He said, "And how I wish that what the Judge said about one of us being the killer wasn't true, but after what happened to the General this afternoon leaves no more doubt...this is definitely murder going on. Now we must keep on our guards."

Vera lowered her voice,

"If...if it is one of them, which one do you think it is?"

"Exempting ourselves you mean?" Lombard replied in a humored manner, "Well I'm alright with that. I know I'm not Mr. Owen and I don't fancy you are the killer either, Vera. You strike me as one of the most sanest and level-headed girls I've seen. I'd stake my reputation on your sanity."

Vera gave a shy smile.

"Thank you," She replied wryly.

 "Come now, Miss Claythorne! Aren't you going to return the compliment?"

Vera smiled at him again, and relaxed her hand...almost touching his.

"Well, I don't know...I wish to know if you left those natives to die..."

Lombard smiled again, only this time a little more bolder.

"It's a bit of story, but yes, I left them to die."

"Well then, you admit now that you don't hold human life sacredly.."

She looked at the dashing Lombard opposite of her.

"But I can't say I see you as the man who dictated the accusations....but now I'm wondering who did?"

"If you want my opinion..." Lombard answered, "I'd plump for Wargrave."

Vera looked at him a little shocked.

"The Judge?" She exclaimed, "Why?"

"That old man has played God Almighty in the courts year after year. That kind of power must go to a man's head eventually. It's possible that with all his power of life over death, he may snap and wish to go one step forward and want to become Executioner and Judge Extraordinary."

"That's possible..." Vera answered.

"Why, who do you plump for?"

"Dr. Armstrong." Vera replied without a hint of doubt.

"The Doctor eh?" Lombard replied, "You know, I would have put him on the last of the list..."

"Oh no!" Refuted Vera, "All that work must eventually put a lot of strain on a doctor such as him and cause him to go mad! Also don't forget that he has access to all his drugs and poisons for Tony and Mrs. Rogers."

"But he was with us when the General was supposedly killed!" Lombard reminded.

"He didn't do it then," Vera answered, "He had an opportunity later when he went off to bring him to lunch. He said the body had been dead for an hour, but he's a doctor! Who's going to contradict him!?"

They both looked up to each and stared in each other's eyes. A knowing, trusting smile came across their faces.

"You know, my dear that's a clever idea of yours! I wonder...."



Downstairs, Rogers was frantically washing his hands and face. He was also sweaty as he was sobering down a little....

"Come on man, pull yourself together..." He thought to himself, while shaking, "Oh God...oh God. I hope there are no more little Indian tricks tonight...I see to that! I'll see to that myself!"




The rain was now picking up in full swing again. The seven prisoners pondered in their rooms as the storm raged on....

What storm waits for them tomorrow!?



END OF PART I

[Cluedo]

PART II

It was waking up from a dream. The sunbeams glowing from outside on the crisp waves, the breeze wisping off from the high cliffs; Peace itself. One could possibly even forget the ghosts that haunt the night before, and only the dew; a hint of the storm remained. Cheerfully, a song bird would chirp as a graceful an albatross would swoop by. Yes, peace had returned to Indian Island....

Dr. Armstrong was fully dressed as he stepped out from his room and onto the balcony. The breeze blew through his hair as he lifted his head back and inhaled the salty sea air. What a rush it sent through the body!



The railing of the balcony was still damp from the rain the night before. (But Armstrong was certainly ready to forget the night before!) His spirits were rather high however. He walked along a little ways until he reached the end of the balcony where he could go no further. He looked down....and saw a figure walking along the beach. Curious it was.



Just who was this mysterious early-bird stroller?

[Cluedo]

Lombard had a habit of waking up early as he did the night before. Already he was sitting in the Parlor all ready and dressed.  This time, he was up before Blore which was a little surprising.

"You're up rather late than usual Blore," Commented Lombard, playing with his tie.

Blore yawned.

"Slept the clock round I suppose Mr. Lombard," Answered Blore shrugging his shoulders.

Lombard stood up as Judge Wargrave entered.



"Good morning gentlemen," Wargrave greeted, "I trust you all had a good sleep."

"Quite well if I do say myself," Answered back Lombard, "I don't suppose anybody has the time?"

Wargrave looked at his watch,

"It's about a quarter till ten," He replied.

"Well I'm getting hungry," Announced Blore, "Where's breakfast?"

Suddenly Dr. Armstrong entered the room...

"I wouldn't count on breakfast yet," Reported Dr. Armstrong, "I poked my head in the kitchen. Rogers hasn't even started the coffee yet."

"Perhaps that chap is still asleep?" Suggested Blore.

"I find that difficult to believe Blore," Lombard disagreed, "That man should have been the first one up out of all of us!"

Just then, Vera Claythorne entered the room quietly.

"Miss Brent isn't in her room," She reported softly....



"Well that makes two people strangely absent," Concluded the Judge, scratching his forehead.

"Wait!" Dr. Armstrong burst suddenly, "I almost forgot! I did see some person strolling along the beach! I watched from my balcony...I couldn't see who it..."

Suddenly, they heard the front door open. Into the room came Emily Brent, looking calm, placid and upright.

"Well Good Morning," She announced, "The sea is as high as ever. I shouldn't think a boat would be put out today. "



"Were you wandering alone just now Miss Brent?" Asked Blore nervously, "Don't you realize that's an incredibly foolish thing to do?"

"I assure you Mr. Blore that I kept an extreme lookout," Reassured Emily calmly.

Blore grunted,
"Seen anything of Rogers?"

Miss Brent's face hardened,
"No, I haven't seen that man at all. Why?"

"Oh he's probably still asleep then," Figured Blore, "Perhaps we better go wake him..."

"I'll go too," Volunteered Dr. Armstrong, "Errr...just in case."

The two hurried down the hall and into the corridor that accessed the servants room....

Inside, the body of Mrs. Rogers still laid as she always had been, though the face was now turning a rather sickly white. Roger's bed was vacant however...



"Looks like the man got up alright..." Blore said, "But where the devil is he?"

Dr. Armstrong looked around and picked up a straight razor from the desk.

"His razor is still wet," He reported, " He's obviously gotten up this morning, that's quite clear, but I just don't understand...I really don't..."

Back in the parlor, like a instant reaction, Vera grabbed the Judge with such athletic fingers, it made him wince.

"Look! Judge!..." She pointed at the Indian statuettes on the mantle, "There...are only six!"

[Astral Faery]

Oh boy.  Things are getting very suspenseful.  I'm really enjoying this story so far and can't wait to see what befell Mr. Rogers.  I love how they're starting to suspect the others.  It will be a real treat to find out what's behind all of this.  I'm really happy I haven't heard this story before - because I don't know what's coming next.  You have some really beautiful shots in this chapter.  I love the scene of Dr. Armstrong on the balcony - a nice view of the stately manor - did you build that yourself?  And the shot of Miss Brent on the beach is just gorgeous with the ocean water.

[Cluedo]

Yes, the house is built entirely by me. So is the island. Everything needs to be perfect in a way that captures what my thoughts of what Indian Island ought to look like. I used quite a bit of custom content myself, as well.

As for the suspicion of each other, that's only going to create more suspense later on as the number of guests dwindle...

[Cluedo]

Philip Lombard eventually found Rogers. He was discovered by the little wood shed. Apparently, he had been chopping some wood early morning. When he made the discover, he made a shout out for everyone else to come outside...



The corpse itself was horrible, gruesome thing. The body of Mr. Rogers laid crumpled onto the ground, surrounded by a large pool of blood. Many of the remaining guests couldn't look, as they stopped dead in their tracks. Wood laid scattered about apparently having been neatly chopped for the fire. The axe had been wedged back into it's place on the stump. Apparently, the blade had been cleaned off after clearly being used to create the deep bloody wound in the back of Roger's head....



Dr. Armstrong took a step closer and bent down to examine the murdered butler...it didn't require much examining.

"Perfectly clear, " He announced, "Rogers had gone out to chop some wood. When he was done the murderer crept around from behind the shed and took the axe from the stump. When Rogers wasn't looking, he took the axe and swung it once! Bringing it down and splitting the butler's cranium open."



"Would it have needed great force, doctor?" Asked Wargrave.

"A woman could have done it if that's what you mean," Replied Dr. Armstrong as he glanced at both Vera and Miss Brent, "We are all still under equal suspicion."

"I quite understand," Answered Wargrave, "I don't believe it wouldn't require excessive brutal force. Sorry Miss Brent, but I think even those as elderly as you and I would still have been able to pack such a force."

Suddenly, they heard a shrill sound of laughter. They turned sharply...it was coming from Miss Claythorne!"

"Do they keep bees on the island!? Ha ha! Can you tell me that!?  When do we go for honey!?"

It was as though the sane, well-balanced girl had gone mad before their very eyes! She continued in a high-unnatural voice..

"Oh don't stare at me like that! It's sane enough what I'm asking! Bees, hives, bees! Oh don't you understand!? It's up in all of your bedrooms....put there for you to study! We might have come here straight way if it had made sense.     "Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks; one chopped himself in halves and then there were six." And I'll tell you the next verse. I know it by heart! "Six little Indian boys playing with a hive; a bumblebee stung one of them and then there were five!" And that's why I'm asking...do they keep bees on the island...isn't it funny? Isn't it damn funny!?"



She continued her horrible laugh again, until Dr. Armstrong finally came forward. He raised his hand and with a firm swing, struck her a flat blow across the cheek...



She gasped..hiccuped...and gulped. Then she said,

"T..thank you, I'm all right now."

Her voice was more calm and controlled again...the voice of a efficient games mistress.

[Astral Faery]

Cool!  I was just here and there's already another update!  I figured it would be something like this, wow, look at all the blood.  Nice job.  Vera sure is a pretty little thing.  I wonder which one of them will get stung.  Looking forward to the next update.

[Cluedo]

Roger's body had been taken inside by William Blore and Dr. Armstrong. His corpse disposed of in his room, laid on his bed. He and his wife finally reunited in spirit. After that was taken care of, the door to the servants room was closed and nobody else went in there again.

Blore then retired to the Kitchen where he found Vera Claythorne preparing breakfast.  

"Is it just you all by yourself in here?" He asked, curiously.



"Miss Brent was in here to help for a while," Vera replied, "She was assisting in the preparation of the eggs, but she's left for a moment."

"Anything I could do?" Blore asked, eager to assist, "I am a domesticated sort of man. With the servants dead, I have no trouble to take over, if necessary."

"Perhaps you could help make the coffee," Vera requested, "Mr. Rogers didn't exactly have a chance to make some."

"Which reminds me," Blore suddenly wondered, "Hows the stock holding up?"

"It's bacon and eggs for breakfast mixed with some lettuce and potato," Vera answered back, sounding rather serious, "After that, there's only a stock-up on the tinned stuff. We will have to make to with that for lunch and dinner."

"And after..?"

"What do you mean after?" Vera answered, shooting a rather hard look a Blore which took him a little aback, "After the food runs out? Just maybe a boat will get us before then?"

They were suddenly both silent.

Upstairs, Emily Brent lay resting on her bed. She had been helping Vera all morning with breakfast. The situation on the island has really gotten to a dire point, even she would have to admit. The amount of food was reducing by every meal and the servants have both been murdered.



"Very stupid to kill the only servant in the house," She thought to herself, "I didn't know where to look for the marmalade!"

Of course, something as frivolous as marmalade was the least of her worries.  Perhaps, she would admit that like the rest of them, she wanted to leave the island so desperately as well.

"None of us shall leave the island.."   She thought, "Who said that? Ah yes, General MacArthur of course, who's cousin married Elsie MacPherson. He hadn't seemed to care...why he welcomed the idea! Wicked! Almost impious to feel that way. Some people think so little of death they actually take their own lives....like Beatrice Taylor."


Last night, she had dreamed of Beatrice....dreamt that she was outside, pressing her face against the window...moaning to be let in. But Emily Brent hasn't wanted to let her back in, because if she did....something terrible would happen.....



Lombard and Dr. Armstrong were both in the Parlor waiting for breakfast. In the meantime, they were discussing the recent events that occurred...

"Quite a slap you gave Vera back there," Commented Lombard.


"It was necessary," Answered back Armstrong in a honest tone, "We can't cope with hysteria along with everything else."




Lombard said,
"Vera's not the hysterical type."

"Oh no no no, certainly not," Agreed Dr. Armstrong, "Quite a sane, well-balanced girl she is, just a bout of shock that came upon her, what with that grizzly sight of Roger's body and all. Could have happened to anybody."

[steelguy]

Ah yes, the days when slapping a hysterical woman was considered acceptable practice.
And she'd thank you for it. :smt120

You're one of the fastest updaters I'm reading at the moment, well done! I haven't actually read the original story, are you doing your own narrative, taking it straight from the book, or somewhere in between?

I'm liking it, anyway, if I haven't made that clear. :happy8: