Insimenator.org

Greetings. This is my adaptation of Agatha Christie's famous story "Ten Little Indians."  

I'm making this for 3 different kinds of people.

1. Those who do not know the story.

2. Those who know the story and like it and wish to see it in Sim form.

3. Those who just love the Sims.

I would like to ask the people in Category 2 not to spoil the ending for the people in Category 1. I know a lot of you guys may know the ending, but please! Just don't spoil it!:shh: Thank you.:angel:


Anyway without further ado, may I present Agatha Christie's "Ten Little Indians." Dun dun duuuhhhhhh!

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PART I

Friday, August 4th, 1939

Sticklehaven, Devon


It was an unusually hot summer in the seaside town of Sticklehaven. The sun was bright in the sky with little clouds. A perfect day to enjoy a nice cold drink, or even perhaps spend a weekend at an island retreat. It was true however that there did happen to be a private island close-by to Sticklehaven known as Indian Island. It was also true that the island was recently purchased by a low-key couple known as the Owens. The funny thing is, no resident of Sticklehaven or anyone can recall ever seeing or knowing Mr. and Mrs. Owen. However what was known was the fact that the Owens were planning to have a weekend party for a rather large group who were coming directly to their quiet town to get transport to the otherwise secluded island. Who these people are a bit of mystery. From the sound of it though, it was going to be a rather curiously odd bunch.....


"Is everything ready Narracott?" Asked a bluff, bearded man with a bowler hat.

"Yes, Mr. Harrison." Replied Fred Narracott, the boatman.
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Mr. Charles Harrison was the harbour-master, and he happened to be very particular about how things were done around his harbour naturally. Fred Narracott worked for him as the transporter. A nice decent job. Pay wasn't bad as well.

"The visitors should be arriving any minute soon from the station" Reported Harrison, "One of them has arrived early. He asked me when he will be ready to leave. Davis I believe his name was."

"Ah, yes," Replied Narracott, "That well-rounded cheery fellow? I've met him. Seems  to be a rather friendly chap."

"Yes, quite so." Agreed Harrison, "At any rate, I want you to be ready to receive luggage when the others arrive."

"Aye, Mr. Harrison," Confirmed Narracott, "I'll do that."

"Good."

And with that Mr. Harrison walked off to attend to other things in the store.

Continue, please.
This is some good work you've got going.

William Blore was sitting down on the patio enjoying a side meal at the harbour's snack bar. He figured he might as well since it was almost lunchtime. He too felt a little affected by the hot air, and decided it was far too hot to wear a jacket with his suit. Never liked the damn things anyway. They felt a little constricting on such a big man like Blore. As he ate he went over his notebook. He had a little list of people and he was pondering as he checked them off.

"Can't be too careful..." Blore thought in his mind, "Mrs. Owen may keep a tight foot on her jewels this weekend. There's a quite a shady sounding few here"

Blore was a detective. When he received an invitation to Indian Island, he had been told by Mr. Owen to protect Mrs. Owen's jewels from a suspected thief during their weekend stay. There was a point made in the letter that there would be a nice bundle of payment and Blore would be in their debt. They also made note for him to masquerade as a guest under a different name.

At any rate Blore was incredibly curious as to the history of Indian Island. Perhaps a local knew a little...even just a little. An elderly gentleman was walking by and Blore decided that due to his age, surely he must be very familiar with these parts.

"Pardon me sir," He asked while getting up from his seat, "But are you familiar around these parts?"

The old man turned around. He has a touch of a roughness to him, but he appeared friendly.

"I lived here all my life, sir." Replied the old man, "Even since I was a wee lad. I take it you are not local then?"

"No, no." Chuckled Blore breezily,  "Just visiting. Oh, I'm Mr. Sam Davis by the way."

"Aye' pleasure Mr. Davis," He replied, with a little gruffness in his voice, "Pat Sherman is da name."

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"Well Mr. Sherman," Asked Mr. Blore "What do you know about about Indian Island?"

"Used to visit dere when I was a boy," Recalled Mr. Sherman, "A nice rocky place to explore! Not a soul around! Island got it's name from the  shape of da main cliff, when you turn ye head. Look's like an Indian. Now a couple of fancy folk called de Robsons came to build dem a house on the island thinking it would be a romantic spot to live on. The missus wasn't a happy camper and came to hate it for it's rough winds and nobody for company. We never saw dem again! he! he! he!"  

He sounded like a jaybird as he chuckled.

"Now de Owens are da talk of town," He continued, "We never see dem come or go...and I don't like da look of it. You see, dere's a squall comin', lad."

"No, no, old man" Blore corrected, "It's going to be lovely weather this weekend. Just look at the sky!"

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"Dere's a squall coming!" Repeated Mr. Sherman firmly, "I can smell it...de time of judgment is here.... and if you are off to Indian Island, I would a watch me self if I were you,"

With that the old man was off.

"Hmmmmm," Blore thought to himself, "He tells me to watch myself, eh? I'm not a fool, and I bet I would outlive him at any rate! Blimey old man."

A short while later, a cab pulled up onto the docks. Inside were three passengers cramped together in the back seat. It was only a relief for them to exit that hot sweaty cab and smell the sea air.

One of them was an old gentleman in his mid-70's. He appearance was rather frail, though there was something about him that looked as though he still had a bit of strength in him. The other two passengers were clearly younger than him. Much younger in fact.  

The man looked to be in his 30's. The woman perhaps even younger. He had a tall posture, a clean cut suit, and a wolfish-almost cruel face. His mouth curled back in a way that looked like a snake before it lunged to bite. As for the woman, her appearance was softer in comparison and more mild. She was very, very pretty, but in a school mistress kind of way.  Both of them exited the cab and faced each other. The man who's name was  Capt. Philip Lombard  was the first to speak.

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"Well now, were here!" Declared Philip Lombard, "Quite a awful ride here, wouldn't you agree Miss Claythorne?"

"Yes, well..." Replied Miss Vera Claythorne, sounding a light-headed from the drive, "I never really do enjoy riding in cabs all that much."

"I don't blame you." Agreed Lombard, "At any rate, it's great to finally be out smelling the sea air..."

"Oh to be honest, I never liked the smell of the sea much." Vera replied, that took Lombard a little aback.

"Oh then why did you come?" He asked, with a little bit of daring intent, "I assumed you may have come for a holiday!"

Vera giggled a little and said,

"Oh no, no, no..I'm not on holiday! You see, I've actually been hired as Mrs. Owen's secretary. Funny woman, living out on an island like that. So why did you come to Indian Island, Mr. Lombard?"


"Ah, my dear," Began Lombard, chuckling, "That is private business! Mr. Owen said that he needed a good man in a tight spot, and that's all I can say. At any rate, I reckon I will enjoy myself at Indian Island!"

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On the other side of the car, Vera and Philip could hear the  elderly gentleman requesting some assistance with his luggage with a rather strong voice. Looks like there was some strength in that old man after all!

General John MacArthur stood by his baggage as the taxi drove off. Technically he probably could still lift the suitcase, but it was always nice to have youthful assistance with this sort of stuff. Shows certain respect for the elders. Especially one who risked his life in a by-gone war. However at his age, he knew when certain things were doomed to happen. Why, in fact he could see that a war was about to start brewing any time soon. He could only wish he didn't have to live to see it. After all, his late wife Leslie would never have the chance to see it...

A boy who was no more 15 ran up to the General with boyish eagerness.

"Afternoon sir," Greeted the boy, "My name's Jim, what can I do for you?"

General MacArthur looked at Jim.
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"Well you look like a healthy young soldier!" General MacArthur chuckled, before giving a few coughs, "I would be happy if you could take my suitcase over to the boat thank you."

"Right away sir!" Piped Jim and with quite a bit of ease, he lifted the suitcase and trotted off to the jetty.

"A little too damned eager" Thought General MacArthur, a little wary of the kid's obvious ass-kissing, "Just like Richmond! No....I mustn't. I must not think of Richmond...I did what any general would have done during the war!"

He knew he mustn't think of Richmond....or Leslie.

It wasn't long before a second cab from the station arrived on the docks. This time carrying another elderly gentleman, Justice Lawrence Wargrave, and a middle-aged spinster, Miss Emily Brent. Both of them looking rather like rather assessed his surroundings looking little suspicious as he shifted his tortoise-like head. Miss Brent did the same, though slightly more subtle. With her being a decent Christian woman, it was important that she must always keep her head up, and not let worry perturb her, even in the most odd circumstances.

Mr. Harrison who just came back out from the store walked up to greet them both.

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"Welcome to Sticklehaven," He greeted, "I'm Harrison the Harbour-master. I hope you both had a pleasant journey getting here."

"Yes, I'm quite fine thank you." Assured Emily Brent stiffening her lip a little.

Judge Wargrave looked at the people who have already arrived then he looked at Mr. Harrison.

"Is this all who are coming?" He asked.

"No sir," Replied Mr. Harrison, "A couple more should be coming by auto."

Wargrave gave a little nod, and walked off a little just as another man exited one of the stores, approaching the Judge....

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"Can I help you?" Asked Judge Wargrave sternly.

"Oh I'm so sorry to bother," Replied the man whose face muscles appeared quite tense, "But I'm trying to find a telephone. I just had a bit of a car accident very close to here."

"Oh?" Asked the Judge, "What happened?"

"Some wreckless fool nearly ran into me on the road, which sent me landing the car into a ditch." Answered the man tensely while rolling his eyes, "I figured since I was so close, I would walk the rest of the way, but my car is in a ditch. It would hard to enjoy my weekend on Indian Island knowing my car is simply in a ditch."

"Indian Island..." Said Wargrave, "That's where I'm heading...in fact, I don't suppose you know a woman by the name of Constance Culmington?"

The man looked a Wargrave a little surprised.

"Err..no." He replied, "Say, don't I know you? You look rather familiar...why it's Judge Wargrave isn't it? I'm Dr. Edward Armstrong, but you probably wouldn't remember me."

Judge Wargrave looked at him oddly....

"Armstrong eh? Replied Wargrave, "Yes, I seem to recall you in the witness box."

"Yes," Said Dr. Armstrong satisfied, "Fancy meeting you here, out of all places....and once again I'm sorry but I don't know a Constance Culmington."

"It's no consequence," Reassured the Judge, "She was the one who invited me, and since she is not here, I was wondering if I got the right place, but she is a little undependable of course."

"Of course, why didn't I recognize him sooner!?" Thought Dr. Armstrong to himself, "Those spectacles, tortoise head, and squint eyes. That's Wargrave alright!"

There were eight people standing on the jetty above the cool green water, prepared for the journey to Indian Island. Vera Claythorne, General MacArthur, Philip Lombard, Emily Brent, William Blore, Doctor Armstrong, Judge Wargrave, and the boatman, Fred Narracott. For the visitors, a weekend vacation on a island was an extraordinary thing to think about. Even more extraordinary was the anticipation of meeting their mysterious hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Owen. It sent goosebumps down their spines.

Mr. Harrison walked up to them all, ready to give the announcement of departure...
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"Ladies and Gentlemen," Announced Mr. Harrison in his best speaking voice, "In a few moments your luggage shall be put on the boat, and you will will be off to Indian Island for the weekend. We will let you know that the boat will only return on Monday provided the weather holds up. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your sta......"

A glorious honking from a very expensive looking automobile that looked completely out of place in Sticklehaven cut sharply into Harrison's speech. The auto screeched to shaky stop due to the speed of the car.

"I...recognize that auto," Dr. Armstrong thought trying to remember, it didn't take him long to realize it was the same automobile that nearly ran him off the road due to it's speed.

"Glory be! Now who could that be!?" Declared Mr. Harrison, sounding very confused.

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The owner of the vehicle came in the form of a young man. Not just any young man...a Greek God of a man. Wearing an expensive tweed driving coat and goggles, his golden hair blown back by the wind, tall 6-metre frame, bronzed, chiseled features as though carved by an famed artist, and his overall look about him. A strong, confident, powerful look with his shiny, expensive auto parked impressively behind him. Vera blushed a little.

"Sorry!" He called out without a hint of apology. His tone was confident and cocky, "Waiting for me?"
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"Oh..my, my, my!" Stuttered Mr. Harrison in utter shock, "We nearly left without you Mr. Marston. Jim will bring your suitcase down to to dock, and we shall leave right at once!"

Anthony Marston looked at him and flashed a grin.

"I'll give you the keys, chief," Replied Marston, "Have somebody park it somewhere safe."

"Yes, of course!" Replied Harrison still in awe.

Several locales of Sticklehaven stared at the gorgeous vehicle and it's more than mortal owner. It was an event many of them would not forget.
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"All ready sir!" Called Narracott ready to start off the journey, he assessed his passengers...and they were queer passengers indeed. They were such a mixed up bunch that he couldn't comprehend it.

"There's an old maid, a few professional looking men, a pretty, yet plain young  thing, a couple of them are elderly," Narracott tried to comprehend, "Not at all like Mr. Robson's group. That Mr. Marston fellow would fit in the Robson crowd, but not the rest of them. They really don't fit at all. Mr. Owen certainly holds strange company....."


Before he boarded the boat, Anthony Marston assessed his fellow passengers as well.

"It's too bad that rumour about Gabrielle Turle buying Indian Island isn't true." He thought regretfully, "I would have liked to have been in with the acting crowd. That young sweet thing looks good enough at least. I hope she's the playful type. What I don't understand is that old horse Barkley isn't here...perhaps he's playing a practical joke on me and stuffed me into THIS crowd."

Jim was finished loading the boat. As Harrison gave the signal, it was time to cast off to Indian Island...

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The waters of the Devon coast were calm and crisp as Narracott's motor boat roared over. They were on their way to Indian Island, though it made some of the passengers wonder. Most of them pictured the island being close to shore with a pretty white house on it. None of them suspected it would be this far out. Sticklehaven was disappearing in the horizon as Narracott's boat plugged on....

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"Well now," Declared William Blore breaking the silence, "I do suppose we better get to know who we are then shall we? Davis is the name, and Natal, South Africa is my homeland. GORGEOUS place!"

He used his arms to emphasize what he was saying.

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"Yes, well..." Emily Brent, who was unsure whether she liked this bluff, boisterous man, "I'm Miss Emily Brent."

Everybody was little taken aback about how tight she said her name.

"I'm sure I need no introduction.." Leered Anthony Marston, "But you call all call me Tony."

Vera spoke next...

"Well I'm Vera Claythorne," she said, "And I suppose I better tell you that I'm Mrs. Owen's new secretary."

"Ahhh.." Noted Judge Wargrave, "So you met Mrs. Owen then?"

"Actually I haven't." Replied Vera sheepishly, "I was contacted though an agency in Plymouth.

"I see," Replied Judge Wargrave stroking his chin, "Oh I'm Lawrence Wargrave by the way."

"A pleasure to meet you sir," Stated General MacArthur, "I'm General John Gordon  MacArthur "

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"A fellow soldier!" Declared Lombard, "How do you do sir? I'm Capt. Philip Lombard at your service!"

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General MacArthur stared at the young soldier and winced a little, but gave a nod.

Finally Dr. Armstrong spoke up.

"Ah yes, I guess I better introduce myself," He said, "I'm Doctor Edward Armstrong and uh..."

He turned to Marston.

"I believe we've met sir."

Marston looked at Dr. Armstrong and boldly chuckled.

"As so you were that slow coach there!" He joked, "Sorry about that chap!"

"Damned fool!" Though Armstrong bitterly, "Probably hasn't got any respect for anyone except his own wreckless crowd. I suppose if he isn't careful, I'll be tending to his wounds on this trip."




At any rate now, all conversation stopped suddenly. The awe-striking site of their destination was coming into view. It was Indian Island alright, and what a sight it was! Although, it wasn't what most were expecting. There was something cold and forbidding about it, and the shape of an Indian in rocks created a feeling of eeriness.  But it was probably nothing.

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A man and woman stood on the terrace gazing out to sea. Of course, one may think that these people were the Owens, but they were not. In fact, they didn't even own the house. This couple was named Mr. and Mrs. Rogers. They were the married butler and housekeeper of the Owens. Both of them stood in anticipation of the arrival of the mysterious visitors. As soon as the boat came in view they could see the people who were arriving to stay at Indian Island for the weekend. Mrs. Rogers wasn't pleased.

"Eight?" She thought, "Eight people? The Owens never mentioned that we were caring for such a large party! Oh dear, oh dear....it will never work."

 
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In a matter of minutes, the boat docked along side of the jetty and the guests were more than happy to stretch their legs and get out of the boat to their new lodgings.

"Well everyone," Announced Narracott, "Welcome to Indian Island. In a few moments the butler will be down to give you all your instructions."

He turned around. Rogers was already down the steps behind him. Being a good servant, Rogers had the gift of anticipation, or so one may think.

"Ah," Narracott began to correct himself, "Here he is right now."

"Thank you Mr. Narracott." Thanked the butler.

He assessed the guests with his pale, dull eyes. He wasn't the first to perceive them as a strange crowd, but a good servant never questions.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Announced Rogers in a dull, monotone voice, "I'm Rogers, the butler. If you would be so kind to take the stairs up to the house, my wife will show you to your rooms. I will be up shortly with the luggage."

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The guests proceeded forth up the stairs. The General being the oldest and slowest trailed up from behind. Rogers gave a short respectable nod to each one as they left him one by one. Then he turned to Narracott.

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"How was the boat ride Mr. Narracott?" Rogers inquired.

"It was quite smooth, thank you," Replied Narracott.

"I don't suppose you could help bring up some of the luggage?" Politely requested Rogers, "My wife will make you a nice sandwich for your help."

"A sandwich, eh? Answered Narracott, "Well I haven't had lunch yet. Been working all morning. In that case I would be delighted. Then I ought to get heading back."

"I understand," Concurred Rogers, "And I thank you for the help Mr. Narracott."

And so they both headed up to the house at the top of the hill, with a suitcase in each hand....

After being shown up to their rooms by Rogers, the men adjourned to the mansion's parlor. The house itself was a gorgeous place. From the looks of it, one can tell is was recently built due to modern features. It was bright and spacious rather than old, dusty and cluttered with cob-webs and wood paneling.
The parlor itself was quite a nice room with a few elegant seats, a phonograph, a chessboard, a grand piano, sideboard with drinks (which pleased Marston. He was waiting to get a drink ever since he visited the bar on the way to Sticklehaven), and finally an odd mantle display.

In the meantime, the men in the parlor were discussing what was on their minds after finally reaching Indian Island.

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"Well now, I must admit I do feel a little uneasy," Confessed Judge Wargrave, "For we have yet to have met Mr. and Mrs. Owen. I think it's distasteful when the guests end up arriving before their host."
 
"It happens." Said Marston.

"Not to me, young man." Stated Wargrave self-importantly.

"Well I am hoping they arrive soon." Admitted Blore, "I was talking to an old man earlier. He said there was a storm coming. I told him that it was a beautiful day, but you know these old salts. They always seem to know."

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"The thing that seems to get me however is that Constance Culmington isn't here," Solemnly stated Wargrave, "She's the one who invited me in the first place.

"Say!" Declared Marston suddenly, "The person who invited me isn't here either! Where is Barkley anyway? I suppose he's late or something as well."

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Lombard couldn't help but snicker a little the odd situation the people here were in.

"Well, I wasn't invited here by friends like these people," Lombard thought to himself, "Though, I'm still curious to know what Mr. Owen wants of me. That damnable Jew didn't say a thing!"


Then he turned to the General.

"What about you sir?"

"The people I was hoping to meet," He replied, "Don't appear to be here either..."

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"Well here's somebody who's ought to be able to tell us what's going on," Dr. Armstrong said suddenly from the doorway, "Hey Rogers, where are the Owens anyway?"

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"I don't know sir," Replied Rogers.

"Well surely you've met them, yes?" Asked the Judge.

"Well yes and no sir," Rogers tried to explain, "I've talked to Mr. Owen, but only by telephone. He did say that he would be here by dinner time."

"Well that's good to hear," Replied Dr. Armstrong, as they all breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed a little.

Meanwhile, the women were upstairs awaiting to see their rooms. Mrs. Rogers was in charge of showing them. Vera was already excited by her surroundings. She couldn't wait to see her new lodgings.

"If you follow me down this corridor," Said Mrs. Rogers quietly, "I will show you to your individual rooms."

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After leading Miss Brent into her bedroom, Mrs. Rogers led Vera to the room directly next to it. Her suitcase had already be brought inside by either Rogers or Narracott.

"What a beautiful room!" Declared Vera in a girlish squeal.

"Yes Miss," Replied Mrs. Rogers in a similar monotone voice as her husband, "Very beautiful indeed."

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The bedroom was indeed beautiful. It was modern, upscale bedroom with even a balcony to walk out onto. It has been done in rich, cool colours. Very appropriate for a sea-side setting. There was a nice desk as well for doing her make up, or writing a letter. Vera was getting happier about her stay by the minute.

"I'm Vera Claythorne by the way," Vera told Mrs. Rogers, "I'm Mrs. Owen's new secretary. I believe she has mentioned me, yes?"

"No Miss," Replied Mrs. Rogers, "Mrs. Owen hasn't told us anything."

"But surely she ha...!?"

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Then she stopped herself mid-sentence.

"Oh nevermind."

Mrs. Rogers stared at her blankly.

"May I leave you alone, Miss?"

Vera gave her a nod, and Mrs. Rogers scurried out of the room.

"What an odd woman!" She thought to herself, "She's as skiddish as a mouse and she looks like ghost..."

Then her attention turned towards a small written piece of parchment on her desk.

"What's this?" She thought to herself, "A welcoming letter? From the Owens perhaps?"

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It wasn't. In fact all it was, was a nursery rhyme. At the top was the title, "Ten Little Indians."

"Ah!" She thought suddenly, "It's the nursery rhyme! What fun! This is Indian Island after all..."

Vera read a little further....

"Ten little Indian boys went out to dine; One choked his little self and then there were nine..."

"How ghastly!" Vera thought, a little jokingly disgusted, "Well the rhyme is a bit gruesome..."

Then her attentions turned towards a teddy bear sitting innocently in the corner of the room. She strolled over to pick it up, and seeings how she was alone, give it a little hug as her inner child would have. Unfortunately, the bear was nothing like what she was expecting. It wasn't cuddly at at all. In fact, it was downright heavy....

"Good grief!" Exclaimed Vera, "What kind of teddy bear is this? It's as though it has been filled with a lot of rocks!"

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Despite being rather weirded out, Vera never gave it a second thought as she dropped it back down and walked over to her suitcase to unpack.

Downstairs again in the parlor, the men started to take notice of the odd mantle display....

"Quaint these things!" Stated Marston, "What the heck are they?"

"Hmmmmm," Thought Armstrong aloud, "Well there are ten of them."

"Ten, eh?" Noted Blore, "Seems like they are the Ten Little Indians if you ask me."

"Ten Little Indians?" Questioned Marston, "That's a rum go. Well I suppose this Indian Island after all. Funny they don't look like American Indians."

"Perhaps not," Said Blore, "But they do resemble the East Indians or perhaps African Indians."  

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The Rogers were now in the Kitchen preparing supper. Mind, the fact it was still late afternoon, but Mrs. Rogers insisted they get a head start due to the amount of guests. She was starting to feel a tad overwhelmed by the guests.

Just then Rogers entered after setting out the plates in the Dining Room.

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"Have you got dinner underway?" He asked.

"I'm working on the salad right now." Mrs. Rogers replied, "Anyway, it's not right to be cooking for so many visitors."

"You knew the Owens were having a party." Mr. Rogers reminded sternly.

"Never did they say this many number of guests in the letter!" Declared Mrs. Rogers, "You tell the Owens!"

"Alright," Reassured Roger, "I will have a word with Mr. Owen when he arrives."

"You tell them we're quitting!" Cried Mrs. Rogers, whose pale face turned a shade of red.

Rogers didn't know what to say to that. He never has seen his wife so upset since their last employment. A efficient butler and excellent cook was what they advertised in the papers, and he really wished to keep his word. Now if his wife could just keep her mouth shut....


Their argument went unheard as everybody else was involved in their own thing. Emily and Vera were sitting in the Parlor listening to the outdoor sounds...

"Peaceful sound," Voiced Emily Brent, "The water crashing on the rocks..."

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"I hate it!" Burst Vera all so suddenly it took Emily Brent aback.

"I beg your pardon?" Asked Miss Brent, who was still in shock at Vera's comment.

"Oh, excuse me," Vera replied back to her mild self, "I never really liked the sound of the sea much..."

"Well then," Miss Brent was trying to change the subject. She didn't want to upset the poor girl again, "The servants here are quite excellent. Mrs. Oliver was quite lucky to get these two."

"Mrs. Oliver?" Asked Vera, who was a bit surprised, "Don't you mean Mrs. Owen?"

Emily Brent stared at Vera, embarrassed.

"I never met a Mrs. Owen." She replied sharply.

"Well, this is nuisance!" She thought, as her face flushed, "I could of sworn that said Mrs. Oliver on the letter. I don't know a Mrs. Owen! Who's this Mrs. Owen?"

At the end of the room, General MacArthur ignored the two ladies as he was involved with a game of chess with himself.

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"It's your turn Leslie, dear." The General thought, as he was absorbed in his thoughts, "Oh..no. That's not right. Damned whole thing. Old army friends? My foot! And wanting to talk about old times? Ha! Spoof Leggard and Johnny Dyer? They are dead probably....just like everyone else."

Not realizing what he was doing, he knocked over his own King in defeat.

Detective William Blore was trying to avoid everybody else for the present moment. He was getting a head start on the investigation despite no further instructions from the elusive Mr. U.N. Owen. He sat in the private Library, trying to see if he could get information on Mr. Owen himself, or perhaps even the island! He did find a couple of interesting books of some of the island's old history, as well as a map, and some parchment without writing.

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At any rate, he had to be careful being in Owen's Library without permission. He didn't want to bungle his job at any rate. What if Rogers were to come in? Still however, Blore didn't think Rogers would come in here during dinner preparation. Nor did he think Rogers would tell. Deciding on that scenario, Blore relaxed a little, and looked out the window. It was quite cozy in here in fact, and like the old man, Blore did recall knowing about Indian Island before.

"Recall Indian Island when I was a kid myself," Blore thought, "But I never would have guessed I would be given a job in this house. Good thing, perhaps, that one can't foresee the future!"


Upstairs, Anthony Marston was taking a long, hard bath. His tensed, cramped muscles oozed in the warmth of the bath water. It was pure relaxation. "Ahhhhhhhhhhh....." He sighed in a single breath, as he massaged his calves. Being a man of sensation, this was one of his favourite moments.

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"A nice steamed bath," He thought wistfully, "Kink out those tired limbs from the drive, perhaps a shave, a c0cktail, dinner, and after...?"  


Meanwhile, Emily Brent was in her bedroom dressing for dinner. Something modest, classy and decent seemed appropriate. A nice black silk dress was a article of choice. The red in her vest not too flashy, and finally she fastened an heirloom broach at the collar.

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What now though? There was still time for dinner. Perhaps a good Bible verse would be appropriate. Sitting where she was, she pulled her King James 1611 Holy Bible out from the drawer and opened it up. She stared at the cross that she affixed to the wall close to her bed. As she read her Bible, she mouthed the words along with it....

"The heathen are sunk down in the pit that they made: in the net which they did hid is their own foot taken. The Lord is known by the judgment which he executeth: the wicked is snared in the work of his own hands.  The wicked shall be turned into hell...."

She felt her eyelids get heavy. Better not fall asleep at the dinner table! Perhaps she better take off her spectacles for now. She closed her Bible and put it on the side table as she headed down to dinner....

I really like this! We had to read the book in school last year and you did a really good job with this.

Why thank you!

----------------------------------


Vera Claythorne wasn't sure what to wear. She didn't realize how more or less formal the dinner was going to be. On one hand, she didn't want to be shabby and wear the clothes she was wearing when she arrived. On the other hand, she didn't want to be ogled at by the gentlemen. She hoped the light blue frock she brought would be decent and classy enough for the dinner. Sure, it was a little more revealing than she wanted (and she really didn't want to give the wrong impression to Mrs. Owen!), but it was a hot summer night and sweating wouldn't do her good either. Sure enough though, with her being the de-facto IT female of the house, Mr. Marston who was going to be "lust-deprived" for the weekend was noted to be counted upon....

He whistled.

"Simply gorgeous."

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Vera blushed a little. She figured that must have meant a lot coming from someone of such high standing as Tony Marston. However she didn't know what to say. The most striking article of clothing was Marston's smoking jacket...

"Why...err..thank you, Mr. Marston" Vera said, embarrassed, "Your jacket is very....lovely as well."

She didn't know what adjective to use.

"You like it?" Replied Marston pretending to be surprised, "I got it this Autumn in Paris."

Marston thought to himself.

"Alright, I've got her hooked...."


"How would you like to sit next to me at dinner?" He proposed confidently.

Vera didn't have the courage to say no. She was under Tony's spell. Of course however, Vera's boldness would undergo a slight change before the weekend was out....

Everyone was gathered in the Dining Room ready to devour the feast in front of them prepared by Mrs. Rogers. The vistors were dressed up in their formal attire (Blore worried if he looked right and didn't give the show away.  He wasn't good with bow-ties). The atmosphere was warm and inviting and the guests would admit that they were starting to warm up to occasion. The meal consisted of some of the best cooking they've had. One thing was missing....



...no Mr. and Mrs. Owen.

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"I wonder where the Owens were planning to sit." Declared Lombard as he seated himself, "I only see eight chairs."

"Well this is rather strange..." Agreed Armstrong, "Rogers, perhaps you know why the Owens have yet to arrive?"

"I couldn't say say sir," Replied Rogers looking equally dumbfounded.

"Well at any rate," Said Blore changing the subject, and he let out a slight belch, "This is a damned good meal! My compliments to your woman, Rogers."

"Yes," Agreed Brent, shooting a glare at Blore's oblivious habits, "I must say this is a very pleasant meal."

"Miss Brent" The General said suddenly, "I don't suppose we've met before in St. Tredenick?"

"No...." Emily Brent replied curiously, "I don't recall...oh yes, I do recall now."

"Yes, yes..." Said General MacArthur, "My cousin Ben married a cousin of yours."

"Yes, I believe he did." She replied with a smile, however she really wished to change the subject. She liked General MacArthur; a refined polite old gentleman. However she didn't wish to discuss personal matters at the table.

"I don't know if my mind is going," Continued the General, "I seemed to recall somebody then mentioning a rather tragic accident that happened to somebody who was close. My condolences to you Miss Brent, my condolences."

Brent's face pinched a little. What could he possibly be talking about? After all, she never was married. Not many gents good enough for her. Miss Brent has rather high standards, and even yet the General still looked at her with his weary eyes...
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Dinner was starting to come to close. The meal had been perfect, and everybody was in their best spirits.

"If they aren't comfortable after that meal," Thought the mellowed Judge, "I don't know what would could appease them."

Tony Marston was getting a little restless. He picked up his plate as he gave it a little tap with his knife, and another...and another....

"Young man," Said General MacArthur, "Just what are you doing?"

"Well how the HeII does that old song go?" He asked.

"If you don't mind me asking," Said the Judge, "What old song?"

"The rhyme," Replied Marston, "You know..the Ten Little Indians!"

"That's funny," Said Lombard, "I found a copy of that song in my room."

"And so did I," Voiced in Dr. Armstrong.

"And I!" Chirped Vera Claythorne, "I remember it from the time I was a governess. I dealt with a children and their songs all the time. Funny, it all seems to fit. Indian Island, those figurines in the Parlor, and the rhyme itself! What fun!"

"Well then?" Asked Marston, curious, "Do you remember how it goes?"

"Well, I can't recall for sure," Replied Vera, "I saw the song on the piano in the next room. Perhaps you would like to have a go at that."

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Anthony Marston sat down at the piano in the Parlor. His eyes scanning the music sheet. Sure enough at the top, he saw the title, "Ten Little Indians." The scene was set!

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He plunked down the first notes....

"Ten little Indians....," He sung aloud, clearly under a bit of courage from the wine, "went out to dine; One choked his little self, and then there were nine...."

A few people glanced at him, some of them a little more than irritated.

"Nine little Indian boys sat up rather late," He continued, "One overself himself, and then there were eight...."

Rogers entered the room with the after dinner drinks. He stared with curiosity at the young man at the piano.

"Eight little Indian boys traveling in Devon; One said he'd stay right there, and then there were seven...."

Marston feeling more confident than ever began to play a little louder...

"Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks; One chopped himself in halves and then there were six...."

Wargrave walked over to the drinks. He had enough of that young philistine!

"Six little Indian boys playing with a hive; A bumblebee stung one of them and then there were five...."

Emily Brent sniffed in distaste. This was all getting rather gruesome!

"Five little Indian boys going in for law; One got in Chancery and then there were four...."

Blore was trying to not pay attention to the music, he was closely examining each guest. One last look before bed.

"Four little Indian boys going out to sea; A red herring swallowed one, and then there were three."

Vera smiled to herself. The others may not appreciate Marston's flamboyant attitude, but she found him fun, and very handsome to look at.

"Three little Indian boys walking in a zoo; A big bear hugged one, and then there were two..."

The music was starting to get faster, louder and more suspenseful at it was approaching the climax.

"Two little Indian boys standing in the sun; One got all frizzled up and then there was one."

"I can hardly take much more of this..." Sighed Wargrave almost in a whisper.

"Don't worry!" Reassured Dr. Armstrong, "He's down to his last little Indian!"

"One...little...Indian boy...left all alone....." Marston paused, simply to hold the moment, "He went and hung himself, and then....there...were....[size=18]NONE![/size]"

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Everything became silent after Tony's piano playing. It was comfortable silence. One that had everybody relaxed and in the best mood. They had been well fed and well cared for. And afterwards? They would return to their comfortable, well decorated rooms.

Suddenly within that silence came a voice. A cold condemning voice, abrupt and unexpected....


[size=18]
"Ladies and Gentleman Silence please!"[/size]

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Everybody jumped at the sound of the voice. Who was speaking? The disembodied voice continued...

"This is your host U N Owen speaking! You are charged with the following indictments:

Edward George Armstrong, that you did upon the 14th day of March 1925, cause the death of Louisa Mary Clees."

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"Emily Caroline Brent, that upon the fifth November,1931, you were responsible for the death of Beatrice Taylor."

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"William Henry Blore, that you brought about the death of James Stephen Landor on October 10th, 1928."

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"Vera Elizabeth Claythorne, that on the 11th day of August, 1935, you killed Cyril Ogilvie Hamilton."

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"Philip Lombard, that upon a date in February, 1932, you were guilty of the death of twenty-one men, members of an East Africa tribe."


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"John Gordon Macarthur, that on the 14th of January, 1917, you deliberately sent your wife’s lover, Arthur Richmond, to his death."

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"Anthony James Marston, that upon the 14th day of November last, you were guilty of the murder of John and Lucy Combes."

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"Lawrence John Wargrave, that upon the 10th day of June, 1930, you were guilty of the murder of Edward Seton."

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Thomas Rogers and Ethel Rogers, that on the 6th of May, 1929, you brought about the death of Jennifer Brady.

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"Prisoners at the bar, have you anything to say in your defense?"



There was a short scream and loud thud from the other room...

Dr. Armstrong rushed out of the Parlor. He joined with with Rogers looking down on a huddled mass on the floor shaken with fear. It was none other than Mrs. Rogers who has fainted dead at the gramophone recording.


"Doctor!" Cried Rogers.

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"It's alright Rogers," Replied Dr. Armstrong, "She's only fainted."

The Doctor bent down and patted her cheek to revive her. Then he lifted the shaken Mrs. Rogers to her feet.

"How do you feel?" He asked.

Mrs. Rogers gave a little moan in response.

"Come Ethel," Said Rogers calmly, yet with a little worry in his voice, "Pull your self together."

"I...I..." Mrs. Rogers was trying to speak. She turned to Rogers, "I told you we shouldn't have come! I knew that something horrible was going to happen! I told you! Didn't I! You didn't listen...no you didn't!"

By now, a group was gathering at the Parlor doorway watching the spectacle of Mrs. Rogers. Rogers looked around turning white and embarrassed.

"Shut up!" He snapped, "Shut it I say! I don't want to hear any more of this!!"

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"Easy now Rogers," Commanded Dr. Armstrong, "She needs comfort, not condemnation."

"I'm..sorry Ethel," Replied Rogers numbly, trying to pull himself together, "I didn't mean that. Come here my dear.."

He drew Mrs. Rogers close and gave her a tight hug, rubbing her back.

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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."

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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....."

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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."

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"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!!"

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"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....!"

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"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..."

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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.

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"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.

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"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!"

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"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...

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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.....

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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...

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It was the most horrible sight, and he staggered drunkenly forward; his face turning purple....


"Somebody help him!" Cried Vera desperately!

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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]"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_14ac1380.jpg)


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...

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"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.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_d4ac1556.jpg)

Just what was she talking about?

its good so far! :p

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...."

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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!

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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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Emily Brent was completely unnerved as she stood alone in her bedroom. Of course, she wouldn't deny that it had been a tiresome night. The funny thing was she wasn't the least bit surprised that Anthony Marston died. He was a wild, foolish man!  She certainly wasn't afraid of the presence of death either. Why should she? Emily Brent was never afraid! To think that the record could accuse her of murder was probably the silliest thing she had ever heard. Everybody else may have felt guilty, but not Emily Brent. Why would she? She didn't even touch the girl! She didn't tell her to commit suicide!

"Hardly what I would call "murder"," Emily thought stiftly, as she walked towards her precious Bible, "I've always lived and acted according to the Lord. What crime could possibly be seen in that? Whole thing is ridiculous more than anything."

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Vera Claythorne was also awake. She couldn't sleep a wink. She could have at least gotten into her sleeping gown, but she didn't feel like that either. It was funny. She felt as though Hugo was close to her again (But she wouldn't think of Hugo!). However, despite this, she knew that she couldn't ignore the feeling. Being on the island reminded her of the sea. In fact, she could almost hear that puny, whiny voice of Cyril's,

"Why can't I swim out to the rock Miss Claythorne? I want to swim out to the rock!"

"No," She would reply, "No Cyril, it's too far out."

And then afterwards? When he was in bed? Hugo would come for her...

"Come out for a stroll Miss Claythorne...."

"Why I think I will..."

Then his strong muscular arms would be wrapped around her.

"I love you Vera, you know I love you...," Hugo would say.

She knew he loved her (Or at least though she knew.)

"I've haven't got a penny to spend. I can't ask you to marry me. Queer though, for once, for three months I had a chance to be a rich man to look forward to, " Hugo would recall, "Cyril wasn't born until three months after Maurice died. If he had been a girl..."

If Cyril had been a girl, Hugo would have gotten everything, and they would live happily together ever after...

But Hugo was awfully fond of Cyril however. He didn't hold it against the child. They would play games together, nothing rough though. Cyril was a puny boy compared to grown-up Hugo. In fact, he was puny little runt all together. Just a 7-year old lad!

And then of course...

"Why can't I swim out to the rock Miss Claythorne?"

"It's too far Cyril.."

"But Miss Claythorne!"

Vera got up and went over to the table to take some aspirin with water. Her mind poured over the evening events...

"Poor Tony Marston...," She thought, "If I were to commit suicide I would use some painless sleeping stuff but not cyanide!"

Suddenly the rhyme on her desk caught her eye....

"Ten little Indian boys went out to dine; One choked his little self, and then there were nine..."

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She shuddered. Suddenly she remembered that horrible, twisted, convulsed, purple face of Anthony Marston...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Marstonchoke.jpg)

"Why would he want to die?" She thought sadly to herself, "Death wasn't for young men like him, death was for...other people..."

Dr. Edward Armstrong lay wide awake. It was now about 2:00 AM. He was having a little insomnia. Of course, he thought about taking the same sleeping stuff he gave to Mrs. Rogers, but he felt too weak to move. He was sweating in fact as he tried to make to make personal reconciliation with the record accusation. Of course, he would think that every time a patient died, everyone would consider it the surgeon's fault, but this time it was different...

"Drunk...,"He thought, "That's what it was...drunk....and I operated! Elderly woman...poor dear....simple job if I had been sober. Lucky for me, there's loyalty in our profession. The sister knew of course, but she held her tongue. God it gave me a shock! Pulled me up. But who could have known about it....after all these years?"


He couldn't bear it any longer. His eyelids felt like stinging drapes yearning to be pulled down over his eyes. The heat, the deep sleep, the guilt....no sooner was he dreaming....

It was hot in the operating room...

Surely they got the temperature too high? The sweat. His clammy hands. Difficult to hold the scalpel properly....

How beautifully sharp it was. Easy to do a murder, and that's exactly what he was doing. Murder.

The woman's body looked odd. Not like it has before...it was a spare meager body.

Who was it he had to kill?

Sister was watching. Should he ask the Sister? No....she was suspicious enough.

Who was it on the operating table? If only he could see the face....

He lifted a corner of the sheet....

Ah that's better!

Wait, it's Emily Brent he had to kill! What was it she said?

"In the midst of life, we are in death..."

She was laughing now....but no. Not Emily Brent. Is wasn't Emily on the table...why it was actually Anthony Marston!

Damned young fool! Nearly ran him over! This speeding is all wrong, all wrong! It is Marston he has to kill, yes! His purple convulsed face....and yet he's not dead. He's laughing!

Nurse! Help! Steady the table! He's out of control....he's shaking the operating table! Steady it nurse! Steady it!



Dr. Armstrong woke up with start. It was morning already! Rogers suddenly recoiled after shaking Armstrong from his sleep. He stood tall, but his face was pale and his hands were shaking...


"Doctor!" He cried.

"Rogers!?" Responded Dr. Armstrong groggily, "What is it man?"


(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_14ac1958.jpg)


"It..It's my wife sir!" Replied Rogers frantic, "I...I..can't get her to wake! My God, I can't get her to wake!"

Philip Lombard had a habit of waking up early. The sun shined through the windows. It was a beautiful day. In fact, he could almost forget what happened the night before. There was just one reminder...one small piece of evidence that would snap him back to just where he was.

On the table he saw his personal revolver....

He was told that Mr. Owen requested that he ought to bring it. Just it case, but now that mattered have turned....interesting. As he got dressed for the day, felt it was best to put it somewhere where it would be out of sight for now.....perhaps he may need it later....

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William Blore also had a habit of waking up early. He was probably the first guest downstairs. He liked being the first one up. It gave him a sense of freedom to examine areas undisturbed by bothersome people. He entered the parlor; a location that held great drama the night before. It must be ridden with clues! Of course the first thing that came to his mind was what had become the perpetrator of death last night; Marston's whiskey glass!

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"Hmmmmm..." Blore thought as he curiously examined the glass sitting innocently on the sideboard, "I wonder if it's just Marston's fingerprints that are all over that glass..."

Before he had any more time to think, Lombard entered...

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"Good morning Blore!" Announced Lombard cheerfully, "Having your early morning investigation?"

"Call it what you like," Replied Blore, shrugging his heavy shoulders, "I just had a few things on my mind after what happened last night..."

"Ah, so you have ideas then?" Asked Lombard interested.

Blore yawned.

"I may," He replied, "But I don't think I can say much more until I've had some breakfast..."

Rogers led Dr. Armstrong into the room where his wife was still in bed.

"There..," He said, "I don't know. I can't understand it. She won't wake or respond to me. What's happened Doctor?"

"Well," Replied Armstrong calmly, "I'll have a look."

He approached the sleeping woman with great apprehension....


(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_34ac19e1.jpg)

He bend down close, and felt her skin. It was cold a clammy. A bad sign alright. Then he pushed his fingers into her mouth and felt the tongue; dry as paper. Finally he lifted one of the eyelids....the eyes were diluted...and she never woke....

He stood up and let out a deep sigh.

"I..is she?" Asked Rogers nervously.

"Yes Rogers, I'm sorry," Said Dr. Armstrong quietly, "She's gone."

Rogers let out a breath and looked down at the floor. As the shock passed he looked as though he was going to cry....

"Was...was it her heart doctor?" He asked softly.

"Her heart definitely failed to beat," Armstrong replied, "What caused it to fail is the question."

Before he could say another word, Rogers clutched his stomach and  let go of a few uncontrollable tears...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_14ac1a9e.jpg)

He feebly excused himself and turned away from the Doctor as he sobbed.

"She..she had a bad feeling about this place," He blubbered, "And...oh I wish I had listened to her. I wish I had been kinder to her the past few days...."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_d4ac1b70.jpg)

Of course now the question was, who's going to make breakfast?

Wow!  This is really great!  I'm not at all familiar with this story, so it's interesting to read it in sim form.  I'm on the edge of my seat now, I hope more will come soon.

Hey thanks! I'm glad to hear you are in suspense...it's only going to get better!:-P

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."

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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."

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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...."

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Everybody hushed down his protests...

"It's alright Rogers, we understand."

Then the simple breakfast was served...

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?

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

----------------------------------------------
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...

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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."

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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!"

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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."

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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!

Blore and Lombard were still outside waiting for Dr. Armstrong to return. It was clear a search had to be done of the island. They wanted to rope in the Doctor as well. There was one thing on their minds that had them both puzzled. That entailed the two deaths on the island.

Just then the General walked by them...

"Looks like you in an exploring mood today, General," Said Lombard dryly, "Were off to explore the island."

"Quite the adventurer you are," Replied General MacArthur almost in a trance, "There is so little time...so little time, I really must insist nobody disturbs me."

"We won't disturb you," Replied Blore, "We were just wondering if you may know of anyone hiding on the island so to speak."

"You don't understand," Replied the General once again trance-like, "Please leave me alone...in peace."

With that, he was off.

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"There's one who's going balmy," Snickered Blore to Lombard.

Just then the Doctor exited once more. He saw the Judge reading the newspaper, then he saw Blore and Lombard coming around the corner. He wanted to speak to an articulate mind. He was well aware of the Judge's masterful intelligence, but he also had a feeble elderliness about him. He decided to speak with the latter...

"So Doctor," Asked Lombard, "What did Rogers have to say?"

"Oh not much," Replied Armstrong looking away a little, "Just a couple of disappearing statues in the parlor."

He paused for a minute.

"I had a little bit of a chat with him on the death of the old lady in their care; Miss Brady."

"Go on" Said Blore, keen on the subject.

"I found his answer very enlightening. Turns out Miss Brady had been suffering from a form of a cardiac trouble. When a person has cardiac attack, amyl nitrate is inhaled to save them. Supposing amyl nitrate was withheld...the result could be fatal."

"And as easy as that!" Replied Lombard, "It must have been rather tempting..."

"Of course this all leads back to the crimes against us," Reminded Blore.

"Yes indeed," Lombard concurred, "Suppose the Rogeres committed a indirect murder the law cannot touch. Take Wargrave for example, he committed murder within the law!"

Armstrong tried to quiet Lombard down a little as the Judge was sitting close by. Then he made a motion to move somewhere else. So they circled around and ended up in the yard behind the house.

"You don't really believe that story do you?" Asked Armstrong in a whisper, as they walked.

"Oh I believe it alright!" Confirmed Lombard, "He certainly murdered Edward Seton no question about it! But he was clever to do it from the Judge's seat in a wig and gown!"

"I just don't see where this is getting us though!" Burst in Blore confused.

"Well let's go back to the deaths." Suggested Armstrong, "Perhaps Rogers snuffed his wife out because she would have given the show away. Or she may have felt so much guilt she took the easy way out!"

"But if it was suicide or perhaps an act from her husband, what about Marston? Asked Lombard, "I don't believe Rogers would have killed him for a second! And don't tell me that a young bull like Anthony Marston with no nerves or brains would go poisoning himself because he felt remorse after mowing down two kids with his car! What kind of poison did you suspect anyway?"

"Potassium Cyanide," Replied Dr. Armstrong, "I'm almost sure of it!"

"Not something I would be carrying back and forth in my coat," Rationalized Blore.

"Well this cyanide needs explaining then!" Insisted Lombard, thinking hard, "Well in that case, either Marston came to the Island carrying cyanide as he planned to do himself in, therefore came prepared..or..."

"Or else?" Asked Dr. Armstrong.

"Why make me say it when it's on the tip of your tongue," Lombard replied, grinning menacingly, "Anthony Marston was murdered of course....."


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The three men began their search of Indian Island. The island itself was not much to search. It was more or less a bare rock and it was actually rather small in fact. There were a couple of trees that provided only a little cover in the yard. Their search eventually had taken them to the northeast cliffs of the island. Blore and Lombard scrambled up to the very top to get a good look, while Armstrong waited closely below...

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"Nothing!" Bellowed Blore, "Not a soul here!"

"No motorboat either," Added Lombard, looking out to sea, "I'm beginning to wonder if I will ever come. Perhaps, it's been instructed not to. Not until the lunatic Mr. Owen has finished off everybody!"

"I don't know how he could possibly kill us all," Thought Blore, thinking hard.

"That's true Blore," Agreed Lombard, "Before none of us were on guard, but now..."

"But now! We can protect ourselves!" Declared Blore, "I don't suppose anybody has a revolver or anything like that?"

"I do," Admitted Lombard, flashing the revolver in his pocket.

"Always carry that thing with you?" Asked Blore, looking bewildered.

 "Habit of mine," Replied Lombard, "Especially when I'm in tight places....and now you know what I've been thinking?"

He looked down to Dr. Armstrong who was scanning the area.

"Hey Armstrong," He called, "What was it that Rogers said!? About the statues?"

"What's that?" Asked Armstrong, "The statues? Oh...he said two were missing."

"Queer it is, isn't it?" Blore remarked.

Dr. Armstrong recited:

"Ten little Indian boys went out to dine; One choked his little self and then there were nine.

Nine little Indian boys sat up very late; One overslept himself and then there were eight."


Lombard lit himself a cigarette.

"Fits too damned well to be a coincidence! Anthony Marston dies after a choking fit last night! Mother Rogers oversleeps herself with a vengeance!"

"And therefore?" Said Armstrong.

"Therefore we have one Unknown lunatic at large!" Burst Lombard, "Were going to find the man no matter what!"

"He'll be dangerous." Reminded Blore.

"I'll be dangerous when I get hold of him!" Retorted Lombard.

"There's one thing we haven't considered," Reminded Armstrong, "What if this Mr. Owen is in the house?"

Blore and Lombard stared back at Armstrong as though he just struck something genious.

Vera Claythorne had been wandering the island herself, but not because she too was searching for Owen...she had been trying to avoid Miss Brent since their talk earlier. She couldn't think of Emily without getting the shudders. It wasn't long before she found herself walking down to a quiet little beach where she saw General MacArthur staring trance-like out at sea as the waves rolled in....

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As she approached, the General turned around to face her which was rather unexpected.

"How queer!" Thought Vera, "It's almost as though he knew!"

"Ah it's you," Said the General quietly, "You've come..."

"Nice peaceful spot you found for yourself General," Noted Vera.

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"Yes," Replied General MacArthur, "Pleasant little spot. It's a good place I think to wait..."

"To wait?" Asked Vera sharply, "What are you waiting for?"

"The end." Replied the General, "I think you knew that don't you? That is what were waiting for isn't it?"

"I...I don't know what your talking about," Vera admitted unsteadily.

MacArthur's response was a grave one,

"None of us are going to leave the island. That is the plan. You know it perfectly. What you may not quite realize is the relief."

"The relief?"

"Yes, well of course you are a pretty, young thing. You haven't got to that yet. But you will soon see...and await the day where you no longer have to carry the burden...."

"I..I don't understand!" Vera replied, getting more and more afraid of the old soldier.

"You see I loved Leslie...I loved her so much..."

"Was Leslie you wife?" Asked Vera in wonder.

"Yes," Answered the General softly, "She was. She was so pretty...so lively...so gay...and I loved her. That's why I did it."

"You mean..."

"Yes, It's not good denying it now," Confessed MacArthur almost in a whisper, "Not when were all going to die. I sent Arthur Richmond to his death..."

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"I suppose in a way it was murder," He continued, "Funny thing...murder. I've always been such a law-abiding man! But it didn't seem like that at the time. "Served him damned right!" That's what I thought, But now..."

"And afterward?" Vera urged him on in a hard voice.

"Afterward, I don't know." Answered the General, "I just don't know. It seemed like Leslie never figured out what really happened....But I didn't know her anymore after that. She gone far away to somewhere where I couldn't reach her, and then she died....and I was alone..."

His voice seemed to echo amongst the cliffs...

"Alone..alone..alone...."

"You'll be glad too when the end comes, my dear."

Vera turned to him suddenly.

"I don't know what you mean!" She answered sharply.

"I know, my child, I know..."

"No, you don't know!" Burst Vera, frantically, "You don't understand at all!"

He almost didn't realize she was leaving behind him, his conscience had returned to the sea...

"Leslie...?" He softly called out.

Judge Wargrave was still sitting on the front terrace reading his newspaper. It was all old news from yesterday, so not much in it for him. There was hardly any mention of Indian Island in the papers. But why should there? His mind was wandering to what the trio were talking about Edward Seton earlier. Not that it mattered much now, afterall...

"I cooked Seton's goose alright!" Thought the Judge, almost with a smile.

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Then his mind wandering to something different altogether. What was it the General said earlier?

"Ah yes," Though Wargrave, "He said none of us would leave the island!"

He got up, and left....


Meanwhile, the three explorers had now conducted their searches within the house...but the results have been fruitless.

"Well now," Said Blore, "We've search high and low all over the house. Maybe there is a hidden room!"

"Unlikely," Replied Lombard, "This is a modern house. Not one of those old creaky manors. I doubt there would be any hidden passage or concealment."

"Wait," Blore said suddenly, "Where does that door lead to?"

"The servants room," Answered Dr. Armstrong.

They listened....they could hear feet moving around inside......

"Aha!" Declared Blore in a rapid whisper, "Of course Mr. Owen would be hiding in there! Nobody would suspect he would be in that room after what happened!"

"Now," Commanded Lombard, "As quietly as you can..."

The three men stealthily approached the door...they could hear a creak on the floorboards inside.

"Now!" Ordered Blore.

They flung the door opened and stopped dead.

Rogers stood meekly in the center of the room.

"Oh!" Rogers cried in suprised, "I..I was just moving some of my wife's things..."

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"Err...sorry about that Rogers," Replied Blore turning red with embarrassment.

"May I go sir?" Asked Rogers politely.

"Yes, yes get on with it," Answered back Dr. Armstrong.

Rogers quickly scurried out of the room.

Blore was looking at the body of Mrs. Rogers on the bed. It was such an unnervingly peaceful face. There was no fear or pain in her any longer. Just emptiness.

"Let's get finished," He ordered turning to the other two, "I'm starting to get a bad feeling that were not going to find anything."

And sure enough they soon discovered he was right. There was no one on the island but the eight of themselves.

The gong had sounded for luncheon. At least, what Rogers could make of it. It was mostly cold ham and tongue, some boiled potatoes, and a few biscuits with cheese.

"I did the best I could with lunch," Reported Rogers as they sat down, "I will go fetch your meals."

He turned and entered the Kitchen as the guests began to sit down.

Dr. Armstrong, William Blore and Philip Lombard entered and sat down as well.

"Well you men had an active morning," Said Judge Wargrave to them with a faint sound of malicious pleasure in his voice.

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"Is everyone present?" Asked Emily Brent, raising a eyebrow, "Where's the General?"

"I spoke with him down by the sea," Answered Vera Claythorne, "He must have not have heard the gong. He was a little "vague" today."

Rogers reentered with some plates.

"I will go down and inform him luncheon is ready."

Dr. Armstrong got up from his seat.

"I'll go," He said to Rogers, "You can attend to lunch and the others may start without me."

He quickly left the room.

As he made his way outside, he followed a little path that led down to the beach, he had to scramble over some rocks to get down to the beach, but in the end, the reason as to why General MacArthur never arrived was quite clear.....

...he was as dead as a rock.

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Back in the Dining Room, everyone was discussing the weather...

"The sea is becoming quite strong," Noted Emily Brent, "And there are white-horses on the waves."

The wind was presently picking up outside...

"There's a storm coming," Said Vera shivering.

"Yes, there was that old man in Sticklehaven who said that there was one due to arrive," Added Blore, "Funny how these old salts know."

Roger suddenly stopped in the middle of his duties.

"Somebody's running!" He said almost scared.

Everybody got up from seats and entered the hall, just as Dr. Armstrong was coming in through the front door.

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"General MacArthur....!" He cried.

"DEAD!" Burst Vera, unexpectedly.

"Yes..." Whimpered Armstrong, wiping his forehead, "He's dead."

The was a pause...and long pause. Seven remaining people cast their eyes around the room, with not a single word to say.

As the other men went off to look at the body, Rogers scurried over to the Parlor, his face turning pale. He found Vera Claythorne standing over by the fireplace, clearly startling each other.

"Oh Miss!" He cried, "I just came to see..."

"You are quite right Rogers," Said Vera in a loud, harsh voice, "There are only seven...."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_34ac82a0.jpg)

I know what is going on lol!I never read the actual book before,but I know what is happening!

It just keeps getting better!  So mysterious.  I can't wait to read more!

Oooh! Damned intriguing, what?
I love the stories from this era!

Well I'm glad to see you are all enjoying it!

_______________________________________________________


General MacArthur's head was indeed quite bloody. However, Dr. Armstrong decided to lay the body in the bed before he cleaned his wound. His stalled a little in the dead man's room with his mind racing...soon to be interrupted by a knock on the door. He went over to open it and found Blore and Lombard standing in the hall. They were keen on hearing of Armstrong's verdict.

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"Well Doctor?" Asked Lombard eagerly.

"Well Gentlemen," Replied Armstrong clearing his throat, "Apparently the General was killed by several blows on the back of his head. He lost quite a bit of blood. His skull is completely shattered."

"Eh, may we see him?" Asked Blore.

"Well men, he's not a pretty slight," Answered Armstrong, reluctantly, "But alright."

He walked over and pulled back the sheet revealing MacArthur's gory motionless face.

"From the looks of force," Reported Armstrong, facing the other two, "I'd say he died near-instantly."

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"Blimey," Said Blore aloud, "I hope I would never have to have my brains smashed like that. Know what it was?"

"I haven't a clue," Replied Armstrong wiping his forehead, "Probably a heavy rock or even a a hard rubber like in a life preserver."

"Well at least this is confirming what I have come to be absolutely certain of." Lombard announced suddenly.

"Oh and what is that Mr. Lombard?" Asked Blore, raising an eyebrow.

"Poisoned whiskey for Marston could mean an odd suicide. An overdose for Mrs. Rogers could have been an accident. But this third victim who had his head crushed on a sandy beach in the open can only mean one thing...." Lombard's mouth curling into a cruel, malicious state, "....MURDER!"

So they're finally facing up to the facts that these deaths are not happening by accident.  Now...we have to see who's behind it all.  Thanks for bringing this story to life - I'm really enjoying it.  :)

I'm not going to give it away, just wanted to say I think your doing a nice job on the story. :)

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.

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"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. "

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"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."

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"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!"

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"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!"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_34cdc505.jpg)

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.

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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?"

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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...

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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.

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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.

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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.

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"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....

Ooooo....leading up to something.  Getting more suspenseful as ever, now!

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.

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"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..."

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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!"

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"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.

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.

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"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...."

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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!"

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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!?

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END OF PART I

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!

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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.

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Just who was this mysterious early-bird stroller?

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.

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"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....

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"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. "

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"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...

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"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!"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_14acc6bb.jpg)

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.

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...

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...

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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....

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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."

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"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!?"

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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...

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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.

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.

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.

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"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.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_74c26611.jpg)

"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."

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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."

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:

Yes actually, I am taking lines and such directly from the book, but like any adaptation of something, I'm throwing in some of my own movements and lines that were not in the book.

For example:

Dr. Armstrong slapping Vera was in the book.

General MacArthur did not play chess with himself in the book.

Some of the stuff I write is also inspired by a couple of the film adaptations as well.

Basically, the alterations I make are little creative touches that don't drastically change the story itself. All the character's names are from the book for example, and the conclusion I give at the end will also be from the book.

One other thing I do is take important lines and event(or even the not so important ones) and throw them in to occur earlier or somehow fit it in with something else so that I don't have to write so much.

It was time for breakfast. Once again, everybody was gathered in the Dining Room eating the first meal that hadn't been prepared by the servants. Although the meal itself was rather odd. Everybody was so polite.

"May I get you some coffee Miss Brent?"

"Miss Claythrone, another slice of bacon?"

"My, this meal is delicious!"

Six people, all self-possessed and normal.

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And within? Thoughts ran around like squirrels in a cage.

"What next? What next?  Who? Which?"

"Would it work? I wonder if it's worth trying. If there is time. My God, if there is time..."

"Religious mania, that's the ticket! Just looking at her you can hardly believe it...Suppose I'm wrong though..."

"It's crazy..everything is crazy! I'm going crazy! Yarn disappearing...red towel going missing...It doesn't make sense! I can't get the hang of it..."

"Damned fool believed every word I said. It was easy.  I must be careful though...very careful..."

"Six. Only six of those statuettes on the mantle. I wonder how many there will be by tonight?"

"Who will have the last egg?"

"Marmalade?"

"Thanks. Can I give you some potatoes?"

Six people behaving normally at breakfast.."

Great!  More, more!  I want to know what happens next.  Whoisit whoisit whoisit?  Don't really answer that, lol.  I guess I'll just have to wait for the next update like everyone else.  Nice job!

The meal was now over.

Judge Wargrave was the first to speak,

"I think it would be advisable if we all met in the parlor in..say half an hour or so."

Everybody sounded in their agreement.

"I'll clear away the plates," Said Blore.

He began to gather them,

"I'll help you clean up in the Kitchen," Offered Vera.

"Thanks."

Miss Brent began to get up.

"Oh!" She exclaimed and began to wobble.

"Is anything the matter?" Asked the concerned Judge.

"I'm sorry, I would like to assist Miss Claythorne and Mr. Blore," She apologized, "But I'm feeling rather...giddy."

"Giddy eh?" Wondered Dr. Armstrong, "Quite natural, could be delayed shock. I could give you a.."

"NO!" Suddenly burst Emily like an exploding shell.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_74ace5e1.jpg)

Dr. Armstrong's face turned red.

"Just as you like, Miss Brent."

"No..I don't want to take anything. I will just wait for the giddiness to pass. Perhaps I ought to sit outside for some fresh air."

"Perhaps that could be arranged," Said the Judge.

They led Emily Brent outside where there was a bench for her to lie down on in the shade. It was close to the scene where Rogers was killed, but she didn't seem to care.


"You can rest here and wait for you giddiness to pass," Advised Judge Wargrave, "Don't forget to join us in the parlor in half an hour."

Emily Brent looked at her watch.

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"Yes..yes...I understand," She replied.

"Are you sure you want to stay out here all by yourself?" Questioned Vera, "It's rather risky.."

"I have nothing to fear Miss Claythorne," Answered back Emily Brent coldly, "So long as I have God to protect me from the demons."


With that said, everybody else departed, leaving Emily all alone...

The giddiness was passing...now she was feeling drowsy...like she could use a long nap.

There was also a buzzing sound...or was it a real buzzing? Presently she saw a bee crawling along her lap. Vera Claythorne had talked about bees this morning, she recalled.

Bees and honey.

Oh she loved honey. Honey in the comb and you could drip it through a muslin bag....drip, drip, drip....

First she smelt it. A dank smell in the air. Then she felt it. A very sharp sting on the side of her neck....ohhh it went deep.

Oh God did it hurt! At first. The dripping wouldn't stop though. She felt the liquid dripping down the side of her neck. Somebody was next to her...all wet and cold...she smelt the dank smell of the drowned girl...BEATRICE TAYLOR!

Emily Brent jumped up. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't breath. Her face was puffing up all horrible and purple. She tried to run..but she couldn't feel her legs. She was falling.....all around her swarms and swarms of bees attacked in a horrible frenzy!

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ace902.jpg)


Then...everything went black.

Half an hour passed and everybody was in the parlor. All except for Miss Brent. Lombard was seated at the piano, and appeared to be trying to plunk out the melody to "Ten Little Indians", but of course, he was no pianist.

"Six....little...Indian boys...play..ing..with..a .....hive," He said slowly as he played, "A bumble...bee...stung one of ..."


Vera covered her ears.

"Oh please don't do that Philip!" She cried, "Such a horrible song!"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_34ace79d.jpg)

"Yeh, do you have to do that?" Asked Blore, annoyed.

"I've been studying Mr. Owen's little scheme," Said Lombard turning to Blore, "As we know, Mr. Owen is only going to kill us off as long as it fits the verse, as Vera mentioned before."

"Which means," Said Dr. Armstrong, "Rather than when we are in a group, he will knock us off when we are off guard and alone!"

"Miss Brent!" Vera cried suddenly, "I think I ought to go fetch her!"
 
"Stay where you are Miss Claythorne, Commanded Judge Wargrave, "I think we ought to give her a moment or two. She may be just recovering."

"Hang on, I have a thought Judge!" Exclaimed Blore suddenly, getting up, "I don't think we have to move an inch further to be able to see who the murderer is. Why I believe she is one sitting outside this instant. I swear my oath she is the one we are after!"

"And the motive, Mr. Blore?" Asked Wargrave raising an eyebrow.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_f4c2682a.jpg)

"Religious mania!" Proposed Blore, "What do you say doctor?"

"It's quite possible," Admitted Dr. Armstrong, "Of course we have no proof."

Vera shuddered,
"She was quite odd in the Kitchen this morning. She helped out, then left in a hurry..."

"Oh come now!" Burst Lombard, "We can't judge her by that! We are all getting a bit off our heads now, don't you think?"

"Of course, none of know the story behind her crime," Reminded Wargrave.

"That's not exactly true," Admitted Vera, "She did tell me her story yesterday..."

Wargrave turned to her,
"What did she tell you?"

Vera repeated the story behind Emily Brent and her drowned servant, Beatrice Taylor.

"Hmmmm..:" Mumbled the Judge, thinking, "A perfectly straightforward story. I have no trouble accepting it. Tell me though, did she feel any remorse or guilt afterwards?"

"None what so ever," Said Vera, "She was completely unmoved."

"Heart of stone, I see." Chuckled Lombard.

"Crazy old religious maniac she is!" Insisted Blore.

"She's had more than enough time," Said Judge Wargrave, "I think it's about right that we all go and fetch her."

Everybody got up and moved towards the door...then suddenly something caught Vera's eye.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_f4acee41.jpg)

"Judge! Blore! Doctor! Philip!" She cried, "Look!"

Sure enough, another Indian statuette was missing...and then there were five.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_f4acedee.jpg)

The five remaining guests ran outside. Deep down, they knew what they were going to find wasn't going to be pretty...

"She isn't here anymore!" Exclaimed Lombard.

Presently the bench Emily Brent once occupied was empty.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_94ace9c0.jpg)

It was Blore who found her this time. The body lay behind the bushes and blue firewood boxs. He waved to the others to come over...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_94acea3d.jpg)

"My God, she's dead!" Whispered Blore under his breath.

Everybody was visibly upset.

"How could have we let this happen again!?" Grumbled Dr. Armstrong, "We should never have left her alone!"

"And what the Hell is this!?" Growled Lombard, indicating a wooden box with the lid open..."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_f4aceaa1.jpg)

"It's one of those...those bee house things..." Quivered Vera, "Usually found in an apiary..."

"Bees! Of course!" Blurted Lombard slapping his forehead.

Dr. Armstrong bent down to examine, then recoiled. Three bees that were crawling along Miss Brent's purple, convulsed face flew away.

"Horrible! Just horrible!" Dr. Armstrong said aloud in a stiffened tone, "Those welts on her face...horrible way to die!"

"How...did she die like that Doctor?" Asked Lombard, "She was alright when we left her."

Dr. Armstrong bent down again. There was a bloody mark on her neck that was significantly larger than the rest of the bee stings.

"It wasn't the bees that killed her," Armstrong reported, "That's the mark of a hypodermic syringe!"

"What kind of poison was it?" Asked the Judge.

"One of the cyanides probably," Figured Armstrong, "Probably the same kind Anthony Marston choked on. She would have died from asphyxiation at any rate."

"But the bees!" Cried Vera, "It couldn't have been a coincidence!"

"Oh it's not a coincidence my dear," Lombard assured grimly, "It's the murderer's touch of local colour. Likes to stick to his damnable nursery jingle as close as possible."

"Here look! What's this!?" Exclaimed Blore, looking closely at an object on the ground, "I believe I've found your stinger doctor!"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_34acebfd.jpg)

"That's a syringe alright!" Said Dr. Armstrong, "Very similar....to the one I brought."

All eyes turned to him suspiciously.

"Purely within medical reason," Explained Armstrong trying to sound as professional as possible, "Most doctors bring them you know."

"In that case," Said Wargrave, " Could you tell us where it was?"

"It was in my suitcase," Recalled Dr. Armstrong, "But this one happens to be identical enough, and I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't there."

"It seems then, that the murderer must have known you brought it," Wargrave said gravely, "Also, I must regret that I have to something else to say."

"What's that?" Asked Lombard.

Judge Wargrave looked down at Emily Brent's gruesome corpse.

"This is one more acquitted....too late."  

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_54acec36.jpg)

Ooo!  Ooo!  More!  More!  Things are moving pretty quickly, now - must know what happened, lol.  By the way, we really could use some spooky music about now.  Poor Miss Brent - she was a real snot - but those are the ones you tend to miss the most.

I could try and find some spooky music if you wanted!
______________________________________________



Only five remained since Emily Brent was murdered. Her body taken to her room and laid on the bed like the rest. The remaining five stood out in the hallway wondering what to say or do next.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_14acf219.jpg)

It was Judge Wargrave who spoke first.

"There are five of us in this room; one of us is a murderer," He confirmed, "Everything must be done to safeguard the four of us who are innocent. Already, Dr. Armstrong claims that the syringe we found was stolen from his room. Now I must ask what other things do you have in possession Dr. Armstrong?"

Dr. Armstrong thought for a moment,
"Oh a couple of medical drugs of the sort," He answered, "Potent sleeping tablets, aspirin, medical supplies; the lot."

"I too have to confess that I do have a few sleeping tablets in my possession," Admitted the Judge, "I think it would be wise if we gathered up all potential weapons throughout the house and lock them in a safe spot. That would include firearms. Mr. Lombard, you have a revolver I hear?"

Lombard's eye narrowed.

"Who told you that?"

"Sorry," Shrugged Blore, turning a little red.

"I'll be damned if I give up my revolver!" Declared Lombard.

"Mr. Lombard, you are a strong man it appears, but hopefully there are enough of us here to enforce the issue if necessary," Threatened Wargrave.

"Oh very well, I'll fetch it.." Grudgingly replied Lombard.

"I think it would best if we came with you just in case," Said Blore.

"Suspicious devils, the lot of you are," Lombard snarled, throwing his head back.

They all strode off to Lombard's bedroom where he proceeded to open drawer where he kept the weapon...

 (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_d4acf3d6.jpg)

Then he recoiled suddenly, cursing audibly.

"It's gone!"

"Where could it have gone?" Asked Vera.

"I'd think the owner would know the answer to that..." Sneered Blore, with suspicion.

Lombard swung around angrily.

"You damned pig-headed fool!" He growled, "It has been stolen from me!"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_34ad00ce.jpg)

"When did you see it last?" Wargrave asked.

"It was in my drawer last night before I went to bed," Answered Lombard, "I checked to make sure!"

"It seems then that perhaps your revolver must have been stolen during the search for Rogers this morning, or even after we found his dead body," Theorized Wargrave, "Unless of course one of us has it right now....."


Vera stood out in the hallway as one by one each of the gentlemen striped to the skin and searched each other's clothing. No revolver was found.

I have read story in class, I like it and thanks for brigning it alive in our favorite game. Check out my story about witches hope ya enjoy it.

Hmmm...very mysterious.  Who will search Vera?  Or is she exempt because she's a woman?  The pace is starting to pick up, now, and the finger pointing is getting even more persistent.  Looking forward to more!

She does get searched eventually, but within reason.
_______________________________________________
It was now evening. Dinner...or as least what could be called dinner was being prepared by Vera in the Kitchen. Out of all things to be doing, Blore and Lombard were in the Parlor, having a game a chess. Before there was a commotion over the missing revolver, but it was yet another thing everyone was willing to forget. It was a curious sort of thing to be doing, but by now...everything was beyond curious.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_74ac8ff3.jpg)


"You know Lombard, come to thing of it, our whole situation is like a game of chess...," Commented Blore.

"What's that old man?" Perked up Lombard.

"Well the whole purpose of chess is almost like a game of survival," Explained Blore, "And well...I never have been good at it myself. In fact...I don't know why we are even playing."

"Have to pass the time somehow," Replied Lombard, "We can't sit frozen like frenzied vegetables waiting in bathed fear for the murderer to pick off another of us..."

"Do you think you can keep your wits long enough?" Blore asked as he leaned forward.

"I've been in tough spots before," Answered Lombard, "But I think....just think I will make it out of this one."

"Would you wager on that claim then?" Blore urged on.

"Perhaps I might," Lombard boasted, "Why, would you bet that you could outlive me?"

"Nobody is going to pull one on William Henry Blore, I'll see to that!" Growled Blore, obstinately, "How much would you bet on it?"

"Well if we bet on it..," Wondered Lombard with menace, "Who shall collect the winnings from the loser?"


Dr. Armstrong and Judge Wargrave were once again in the Games Room involved in a game of billiards. However, the tension had heightened significantly since the last round the day before...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_f4c303f7.jpg)

"What's the matter doctor?" Asked Wargrave solemnly, "You don't look well and your playing has been..shall we say...not up to par."

"Surely you understand Judge," Armstrong answered back, "This whole situation is exceedingly stressful on my shot nerves..."

"I perfectly understand," Assured Wargrave, "Though I often find a stiff whiskey does the trick."

"Pity the drinks and spirits have been holding up in the larder..." Muttered Armstrong under his breath.

Suddenly the lights in the room flickered as Dr. Armstrong was about to take a shot....

For a split second, the room was thrown into darkness before coming back on, causing Armstrong to hit the ball right off the table.

"Blast! It's hopeless with these lights flickering!" Growled Armstrong, "Something is messing up the electricity!"


Blore and Lombard were noticing it too in the Parlor.

"Ruddy Hell!" Blurted Blore, "What's going on here?"

"The generator," Answered Lombard, slapping his forehead, "It hasn't been checked since Rogers was alive!"

"Not if I can do something about it!" Insisted Blore.

And like a flash he darted out of the room....no sooner when he left did the lights shut out completely. The house was thrown into darkness! Then came the sound of footsteps running...and into the Parlor came a shakened Vera.

"Oh Philip!" She cried, "I was in the Kitchen when suddenly we were in complete darkness! I couldn't see a thing!"

Lombard grabbed her and held her close to him,

"Just stay here with me," He told her, "We will stay here until the others come. Don't worry we will light some candles.....until the lights come back on."

Vera looked up.

"Do you think they will come back on?"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_34ad0743.jpg)

"Stay where you are!" Ordered Dr. Armstrong clutching his billiard cue close.

"I haven't moved an inch," Replied Wargrave calmly.

"Let's just wait...a second or two...until they come back on," Armstrong stuttered.

"They won't come back on," Bluntly replied Wargrave in a cold tone.

"And why shouldn't they?" Asked Armstrong in a high paranoid tone.

"Do you think this is an accident?" Wargrave inquired, "Clearly the murderer wants the house to be in darkness tonight....nows the time."

"You mean...?" Perked up Armstrong leaning closer.

"Yes," Answered Wargrave, "Let us go over the plan...."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_f4c30442.jpg)

Ooh - should be interesting to see what happens next.

Hardly a word was said over dinner. It was cold tongue. They ate it in silence, casting suspicious glares at each other. All they could think about was "One of us...one of us....one of us...", After it was over, they all adjourned to the Parlor which was where they sat still in further silence. The rule was that only one person was allowed to leave. Nobody else could leave until the first person got back. It was if they were less like human beings and had transformed into beastly animals.

Judge Wargrave was a wary old tortoise who sat hunched with his eyes alert. Mr. Blore looked coarser and clumsier in build like a hulking bear. There was a look of ferocity and stupidity about him. Philip Lombard's senses were heightened like a wolf; reacting to even the slightest sound. Vera Claythorne sat huddled on the sofa looking dazed and confused as though she were a bird that had just smashed against the window pane. Dr. Armstrong was a bundle of nerves twitching nervously and suddenly like a terrified rabbit. Every now and then he would burst out in nervous speech...

"We shouldn't just sit here and do nothing!" He insisted nervously, "We ought to do something! We should lit a fire...yes a fire! Let's start with that!"

He did so, making the room warmer...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_14ad07ae.jpg)

"Well who shall be first to speak?" Asked the Judge, all so suddenly.

All eyes turned on him.

"What the Devil do you mean?" Asked Lombard.

"I believe it is time we ought to confess our crimes," Replied Wargrave, "If we could sort out those who confess from the person who cannot explain, then it may be the key to save our lives. Anybody care to go first?"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ad0648.jpg)

Nobody responded.

"Very well, I shall begin," Said the Judge solemnly, "As you know, Mr. Owen held me responsible for the death of Edward Seton. It is perfectly true. He was an innocent young man accused of killing an old woman. I had nothing against him, I wanted to ruin the reputation of his defending counsel; who lost the case. While his client, lost his life."

There was still a silence. Then the Judge turned to Dr. Armstrong and nodded.

"Well...I rather not," He meekly replied.

"Tell us the truth Doctor," Urged on Wargrave, "Your fate depends on it..."

"The gramophone record....did not lie," Admitted Armstrong, wiping his forehead, "Elderly woman, poor dear. I operated on Mrs. Clees while under influence of a little pick me up or two to steady myself. It was an accident that could of happened to anyone....and I blundered it. Guilty I was, I suppose. But of drinking....not of killing."

Suddenly Blore spoke up,
"I don't see where this is getting us!"

"I think this is getting us to a very important conclusion Mr. Blore," Replied Wargrave, "If I were you, I would speak."

"I didn't kill anybody!" Protested Blore, "This Landor chap was innocent alright,   but I got mixed up with the Purcell gang that was out to get him. From my testimony he got sentenced for life. That's all."  

"Well I hope you made a tidy bit out of it," Said Lombard maliciously.

"Didn't make as much as should have. Mean crowd the Purcell gang. I got my promotion though..."

"And Landor got penal servitude and died in prison," Reminded Lombard.

 How was I supposed to know he was such a fragile man?" Demanded Blore, "Anyway what about you Mr. Lombard and those twenty-one Natives?"

"Self-preservation is a man's first duty in the bush," Explained Lombard, "A crisis arose when we got lost. A couple of fellows and I took the supplies and headed out. Yes, I left them to die. But they were only African natives. They don't look at death the same we us Europeans do."

Before anybody could respond, Vera suddenly quivered...

"I would like to leave...just for a moment," She requested, "I...I feel so cold."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ad06cd.jpg)

"Would you like us to postpone this inquiry while you go fetch yourself a wrap?" Asked Wargrave sympathetically.

"Yes, please," Responded Vera.

"Very well my dear, but don't be long...."

With that, Vera got up and left the four men in the Parlor.....

Vera went upstairs along the passage to her room. As she opened the door, she sudden stopped to a halt. Her nostrils quivered...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_34ad45ef.jpg)

"The sea..." She thought, "The sea....it smells like the sea!"

It was no mistake. It wasn't the regular smell of sea that was regular on the island...it was the smell of the beach.....with the tide out and the rocks covered in seaweed drying in the sun.

"Can I swim out to the island Miss Claythorne? Why can I not swim out?"

Horrible whiny little brat! If it weren't for him, Hugo would be rich and would have been able to marry the girl he loved...

Hugo...

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

In the dark, she was suddenly afraid...and there was someone in the room...

She took a step forward, and then she felt it. A cold, clammy hand coming down and suffocating her...

Vera screamed....she screamed of utmost terror!

Downstairs, there was a crash and a commotion as the men scrambled and fumbled in their pursuit to rescue Vera...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_14ad09db.jpg)


"Quickly now! She's upstairs!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!"

Suddenly admist all the running came the ringing of a gunshot...

BANG!



A minute later, Blore and Lombard flung into Vera's room towering over her twitching body....covered in seaweed.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ad0a5e.jpg)

"My God what is that!?" Exclaimed Blore.

Lombard took a whiff of the air.

"Smells like the sea in here!"

Then Dr. Armstrong entered the room and looked down at Vera's crumpled figure. Then he looked up.....there was a little bit seaweed hanging from a hook on the ceiling.

Acting fast, he bent down and patted Vera's cheek to revive her. Her eyelids fluttered and snapped open. She found herself lying in strands of slimed up ribbons.

Then she began to laugh hysterically.

"It..It was only seaweed! Ha ha! That's what the smell was!"

Everybody relaxed for a moment.

"Well here's one murder that didn't go according to plan!" Chuckled Philip Lombard.

"You think that's what it was meant for?" Asked Vera.

"Precisely!" Agreed Blore, enthusiastically, "The killer expected you to pass out from fright! Some people would have, wouldn't you say Doctor?"

"Hmmm, impossible to say really," Replied Armstrong, "Young healthy woman, unlikely chance of cardiac arrest..."

Suddenly with her wits revived, Vera made a diversion,

"Where's the Judge?" She asked.

The three men looked at each other.

"That's odd!" Declared Blore, "I thought he came up with us!"

"I thought he was following me," Said Dr. Armstrong, "Of course, being an old man, he would have gone slower..."

"It's damned odd..." Muttered Lombard.

"Well we got to go look for him!" Insisted Blore, "In fact, I could have sworn I heard a gun go off!....."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ad0b28.jpg)

The four of them walked along the upper hallway in pursuit of the missing Judge Wargrave. Each one of them calling out "Wargrave? Oh Wargrave? Where are you?" Suddenly Philip Lombard stopped dead as something caught his eye.....his revolver!

He bent down to pick it up.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_d4ad0d9a.jpg)

"Looks like Mr. Owen has been kind enough to leave it for me..." Lombard muttered under his breath.

"This is the door to the Judge's bedroom," Informed Dr. Armstrong.

"Perhaps he's in there then...waiting for us!" Hissed Blore in a loud whisper.

Lombard knocked on the door.

"Judge? Are you in there? Were coming in..."

After a count of three, Lombard flung the door open and everybody rushed in...

Judge Wargrave was sitting in the room on a chair at the foot of the bed. What the shocked the onlookers was a scarlet cape draped over his back as well as a full white judge's wig on top of his head.

Dr. Armstrong motioned the others to stand back as he examined the slumping figure of the Judge...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_14ad0e83.jpg)

He bent over and pulled back the wig a little. Clear in crimson was a small mark on his forehead which trickled a little.

Then he turned to the others and gave the verdict.

"He has been shot through the head."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_74ad0e60.jpg)

"God...the revolver!" Cried Blore.

Lombard opened the gun up and checked the barrel.

"One shot fired," He reported.  

Vera suddenly put her hand up to her mouth in shock as she stared at the white wig on his head...

"Miss Brent's missing white yarn!" She cried.

"And the scarlet towel missing from the bathroom!" Added Blore.

Suddenly Philip Lombard laughed. It was a high, unnatural laugh.

"Five little Indian boys going in for law; One got in Chancery and then there were four!" Recited Lombard, "That's the end of Mr. Bloody Justice Wargrave! No more pronouncing sentence for him! No more putting on the black cap! Here's the last time he'll ever sit in court! No more summing up and sentencing innocent men to their death. How Edward Seton would laugh if he were here! How he would laugh..."

"But last night, you said he was the killer!" Reminded Vera.

Lombard turned more somber,
"I know I did...Well I was wrong. One more of us acquitted...too late!"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_d4ad0ec9.jpg)

I've got it! The Butler did it!

No, wait. The Butler's dead.

Curses, this fiend is just too dashed clever!

Awesome!
Read this before and I know what happens - but I am still excited and can't wait for you to update!

OMG!!  What a twist!  Here we thought Vera was being done in, but that was just a distraction while the judge bit it!  And the killer had come and gone in the blink of an eye.  I'm very curious, now, anxiously waiting to see whose behind it all - and I thank everyone for not spilling the ending - because I haven't read this yet!

lol wait untill the endyou gonna laugh outa your pants when you find out who is the killer

Thank you all for your kind comments. Of course now we are down to four and so we are coming closer to the end...

_________________________________________________________


Everybody was once again gathered in the Parlor, just as they had before. Only this time, they were minus Judge Wargrave who had been shot in his room.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_94ad107a.jpg)

"A damned clever double cross!" Growled Lombard, "That stuff was planted in Vera's room and it worked as it intended to! Everyone dashes up thinking she's being murdered, so in the confusion....someone is able to catch the old man off his guard."

"Well that trick is not going to work on us again!" Assured Blore, "Though I must admit myself, we are getting to be quite a small group now. Six out of the ten of us have been murdered! To also think it was the Judge who got it this time. For all his sagacity and for all his caution...he has gone the way of the rest."

"He had found a solution," Reminded Dr. Armstrong, "He had to be silenced."

"Silenced by who?" Asked Blore, sitting down.


"By who?" Replied Armstrong, "Well I'm beginning to wonder myself. Four of us, and we don't know which one."

"I think I may know..." Pondered Blore.

"I haven't the least doubt," Muttered Vera suspiciously, as she gazed the three men.

"I suppose I do know really," Said Dr. Armstrong slowly.

"I think I've got a pretty good idea now," Sneered Lombard.

Vera slowly staggered to her feet.

"I feel awful," She announced, "I must go to bed...I'm dead beat."

"Just a minute Miss Claythorne," Said Dr. Armstrong stopping her, "Just when the Judge was about to question you...you went upstairs to presumably get your fur wrap. True?"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_94ccc6a1.jpg)

"Yes," Responded Vera coldly.

"Well then, when you came in here and opened your door, you felt the seaweed hit your face," He continued, "You screamed! So we all rushed to you. However, had you not screamed, we would still be in the Parlor and the Judge would still be alive."

"Now wait a minute!" Exclaimed Lombard, "Don't confuse things! One of you two pulled this trick and are trying to pin it on Vera!"

"Now wait a minute Mr. Lombard," Silenced the Doctor, "We know very well the Judge was on the verge of an important discovery."

"How do you know what was in the Judge's mind?"

"I do know," Replied Armstrong, "He took me into his confidence. "The truth" he told me, "The entire truth."

He then turned to Vera.

"Did you or did you not commit the crime the gramophone recording accused you of?"

"Very well," Replied Vera, "Cyril was a child in my care. One day at the beach, I got distracted and...he swam out too far and drowned. That is all I am willing to say. And don't ask me anymore questions. Goodnight gentlemen."

And with a hurry, she rushed out of the Parlor and up to her room where they heard they door locked and bolted.

"I don't see why you had to question her like that," Muttered Lombard.

"Can you see Mr. Lombard?" Urged on Dr. Armstrong, "Mr. Owen had enticed us to this island due to our past crimes, of wish he is taking the punishment out on us. This means that the person here who doesn't have a past crime is clearly Mr. Owen. The Judge suggested this to me before he was killed."

"I understand now!" Exclaimed Blore, "What a clever brain the Judge had...too bad it didn't save his life."

"Yes but it will save ours," Reassured Dr. Armstrong, "At any rate, I think the best thing we can do is go to bed."

"I quite agree," Replied Lombard, "No point sitting here watching each other. May we all meet safely in the morning.....all four of us."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ad10a8.jpg)

The rain was pouring again. Hard. It made it harder for anyone to get to sleep. With no lights, a storm of nightmare proportion, and a murderer on the loose. Nighttime was an wide-awake Hell...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ccc1cd.jpg)


Ex-Inspector Blore was able to relax a little. He even went as far as to lie on his bed, but he did not undress. His mind was working hard. Outside, he listened as the storm raged on. A thunder clasp....more rain. All he could do was just lie there on the bed in the dark.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_94ad121b.jpg)

He found the darkness created a supernatural veil over the island. It was an unnerving, mysterious veil. Blore wasn't scared of danger. At least not the physical kind in the open. But he couldn't handle the dangers of the supernatural. Suddenly he felt they weren't alone. It wasn't just the four of them on the island. He couldn't forget the ghosts of the deceased who inhabited it as well....

He remembered Anthony Marston alright. He lay in room next door rotting away all convulsed...but before then...he could still remember the first sight he had of him. The dashing young Marston....in the youth of his prime....he was in the room jeering at him.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_d4ba4db6.jpg)

It wasn't just Marston invading his room. Who else was in his room, haunting the night? Of course! It was that miserable old cow, Miss Brent! All stuck up...all high and righteous she was. Blore could still see her. She was at the door disapproving. ...at his manners. Her face was all bloated and purple with stings...the bees swarming her face....

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_34bb860b.jpg)

Somebody was crying...sobbing in a mourn. Why it was Mrs. Rogers! All ghostly and pale she was....she looked like a ghost already. Even before she died. Doomed to the island forever...or was she free? She and her husband were both dead....almost like a distant memory.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_54ba4c91.jpg)

But was it her crying? That's when a forth face came into view. It wasn't anybody on the island though. He knew he it was. He recognized the face. Pale, spectacled with a small straw-coloured mustache....It was Landor! Funny how he recognized him....he had completely forgotten before. Landor had a wife as well. A short thin figure she was; and a little girl they had too. Probably no more than fourteen years old. For the first time in Blore's life, he wondered what had happened to them.

Slowly...his eyes closed...











Then he woke with a start. It was a strange noise that woke him. He must have heard it when the rain stopped. It was now quiet with crickets outside. Morning was coming, but the strange noise continued. It was footsteps. They were going downstairs....then he heard the front door open....


Thinking fast, Blore leaped out of bed. Slowly he opened the door and didn't exit until satisfied the coast was clear. As he made his way downstairs, he noticed the front door was wide open! Blore hurried over to the doorway, but didn't expect to find anyone. He was alone staring at the heaving sea in the morning air. Suddenly into this natural noise came a scream....far in the distance...only to be drowned out by the waves....


(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_14ad1a01.jpg)

END OF PART II

Hey readers, I will be in Ottawa for Easter weekend. I will have to continue the "Ten Little Indians" adaptation when I get back. For those who are waiting for the ending to come, please be patient for the weekend. It will be worth the wait not to spoil it prematurely.

Things to expect for Part III:

Dr. Armstrong falls under great suspicion when he appears to have vanished off the island.

Heated tensions will sizzle up between Vera and Lombard.

Blore will encounter an unexpected character from the very beginning.

More deaths.

Keep reading.

Looking forward to it.  Have a good weekend!

Ten green bottles, hanging on the wall...

PART III

Blore ran back upstairs in a hurry, and then stopped at the landing above. Somebody was moving around outside and he had to find out who it was. He ran to each door knocking.

"Lombard! Armstrong! Miss Claythorne!" He called as he knocked on each one.  

Lombard came out fully dressed, shortly followed by Vera who also hadn’t gotten changed for bed.

“What’s the matter Blore?” Lombard

“Somebody was moving about below and left the house, and I can’t figure out who it was,” Replied Blore.


(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_d4ad1ac7.jpg)

Vera walked down the corridor and came to Dr. Armstrong’s door. She knocked on it again. No reply. Then she found the door was unlocked. When she opened and entered, it was clear the Dr. Armstrong was no longer in his bedroom. His bed however had been clearly slept in.

“Dr. Armstrong isn’t in his room,” Vera alerted the others.

“The Doctor?” Perked up Lombard, “Then he’s our pigeon then…”

“Yes, just as I suspected,” Said Blore, “Now it is a case of finding the bugger!”

“What if hiding?” Asked Vera, “and what if he’s watching us?”

“We’ll be on our guard this time!” Reassured Lombard, “And we will find him before he strikes again!”

“Well I heard him go outside, the front door is open,” Informed Blore.

Lombard walked over to the top of the stairs. Presently the wind kept blowing and banging the door open and shut. The lock having been broken...

“The island is no or more less a bare rock,” Reminded Lombard, “He won’t have too many places to hide. We shall wait till morning so that it is light out however, and when we do, we will find him….”

The sun was shining high in the air once again in the early morning wake. The storm that raged the nights before was a thing of the past. The air was clear and warm, though it was not enough to dispel the bated tension that covered Indian Island. Blore and Lombard were outside on the cliffs. Their mind set to their single task of finding Dr. Armstrong, while Vera stayed secure and locked in her room.

“He’s got to be here, he just has to!” Insisted Blore.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_94ad2e91-1.jpg)

“Dr. Armstrong seems to be quite the quick one, though he is still a considerably weak man. If we spot him, we will catch him in no time,” Reassured Lombard, “Though at the moment, he is simply giving us the chase.”

“But if he spots us, he will try and kill us, you understand that?” Said Blore.

“Oh he won’t kill us, I’ll see to that,” Replied Lombard patting the pocket where his revolver resided.

That was when Blore suddenly perked up.

“Wait a minute Lombard!” He declared, “What if Armstrong has gone back inside?”

No sooner when they returned to the house did they find Vera waiting for them.

“I thought we told you to stayed locked in your room Miss Claythorne…” Reminded Blore.

“I was watching you both from the window when I thought I heard footsteps…” Vera whimpered, “When they got faint I took the chance and left so I could find you both. But then I discovered something else. A window in the Dining Room has been smashed…and there are only three Indian statuettes on the mantle….”

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ad2cf9-1.jpg)

The house was searched high and low. Every single room was searched throughly. They even searched the victim's rooms. A quick pull back of the bed sheet to satisfy that it wasn't Armstrong masquerading as a body. However, their search for Dr. Armstrong went just as unsuccessful as their original search for Mr. Owen. The verdict was quite clear.....Dr. Armstrong had disapeared.


The three of them sat at the dining room table eating a small portion of bull tongue with butter each. It was practically all the food they had left in the house. However, the meal itself was peaceful. They felt like people who had just awakened from a nightmare. The paralyzing atmosphere of fear from the night before was gone.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_94ad2c26.jpg)

"I've had enough of sitting around encased in paranoia," Declared Lombard, "Today we are going to try and save ourselves! We shall light a bonfire and use smoke signals to get attention from the mainland."

"Surely somebody on the mainland should recognize S.O.S.," Agreed Blore, "I think we ought to give it a go."

Only Vera still seemed perturbed.

"That's all fine and well. Anything would be better than staying a night in this place, but where is Armstrong?"

"Judging from the Indians, I'd say Dr. Armstrong has met his demise," Figured Lombard.

"But why then couldn't find his body?" Asked Blore, "Was it thrown in the sea?"

"By who?" Asked Lombard, "You? Me? Vera? You saw him go out the door, and then came to find me and we went to to search for the body. When the devil did I have time to kill him and carry his body around the island!?"

Suddenly, Vera spoke,

"Don't you remember the Nursery rhyme?

Four little Indian boys going out to sea; A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.


A red herring! That's the vital clue! Armstrong is not dead! He only removed the Indian to make us think he is dead!"

"Rather a dead giveaway don't you think?" Said Blore, "Actually mentioning a red herring in the verse. Rather giving himself away isn't he?"

"Don't you see!?" Cried Vera, "He's mad! It's all mad! Killing everyone according to the rhyme is mad! Dressing up the Judge in a wig and cape, killing Rogers when he was chopping sticks, overdosing Mrs. Rogers so that she would oversleep herself, arranging for bumblebees to sting Miss Brent when he killed her! It's like some horrible child playing a game. It's all got to fit in."

"Well as for the next verse," Chimed in Lombard, "Three little Indian boys walking in a Zoo; A big bear hugged one and then there were two."

"Well at any rate there's no Zoo on the Island," Noted Blore, "He will probably have a bit of trouble getting over that."

"Don't you see!?" Vera cried again, "We're the Zoo! Last night we were hardly human anymore! We're the Zoo..."

Ooh - chilling...creepy.  Awesome update!  I can't wait for more.  Will anyone make it out alive?  DON'T answer that, lol, I want to read the story.  Great job.  I'm glad you brought this story to the forum, even though I seem to be the only dork that's never read it!:happy8:

Well this is one way to get acquainted with the story. Plus it would be boring if everybody knew the ending. I like to keep at least one person in suspense!

___________________________________________


They spent the rest of the morning on the cliffs. They gathered the last of the firewood Rogers had chopped and put it in a pile to light a fire. The sky was clear, though there was no sign that anybody saw their signal. There were no boats out on the water. There was also no signs of the missing physician.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_74ad3080-1.jpg)

"There we are!" Declared Blore, "A nice fire. We will keep adding to it and then we shall get some smoke in no time!"

"One feels safer out here in the open," Remarked Vera, "Let's not go back to the house."

"Not a bad idea," Agreed Lombard, " We will see him before he can get to us."

"We have to go back sometime," Said Blore, "Where will we sleep if we are still here by nighttime?"

"I can't bear it!" Cried Vera, "I can't bear to go another night!"

"You would be safe enough locked in your room, Miss Claythorne," Reminded Blore.

"I suppose so," Vera grudgingly agreed.

Then she stretched.

"How good it feels...the sun on the skin. Even though I know we are in danger...I feel out here in daylight...I cannot die."

Blore looked at his wrist-watch.

"It's two o' clock. How about lunch?"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_94ad31c3.jpg)

"I'm not going back to that house!" Cried Vera, "I'm quite happy staying put where I am!"

"Oh come now Miss Claythorne," Insisted Blore, "We must keep our strength up."

But Vera's mind was made up. Then Blore turned to Lombard.

"I think I will stay here with Vera," Requested Lombard, "Don't worry, I'm not going to shoot Vera suddenly when your back is turned, if that's what you think."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_74ad3156.jpg)

"It's alright if you say so, but we agreed not to separate," Reminded Blore.

"Your the one who wants to go into the lion's den!" Said Lombard.

"Well I guess it is a bit risky going up to the house so..."

"Therefore will I lend you my revolver? Well the answer is no!" Lombard said raising his voice in a whisper.

Blore shrugged his shoulders.

"Suit yourself," He said.

With that, he headed off from the cliff along the narrow path...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_94ad3240.jpg)

Philip Lombard and Vera Claythorne waited high up on the cliff for Blore's return from the house. He apparently had gone off to get himself some lunch leaving the other two behind.

"A bit risky what he's doing, isn't it?" Vera wondered.

"Hardly," Replied Lombard, "Blore is twice Armstrong's physique and is on his guard. Besides, supposing Armstrong is not in the house...."

"Well what other possibility is there?" Asked Vera.

"Well there is Blore," Lombard whispered quietly, "I mean, perhaps he made up all that stuff about seeing Dr. Armstrong leave the house and hearing footsteps. For all we know, Blore probably killed the doctor hours before that. What do we honestly know about the man? Maybe he's not even an ex-policeman. For all we know he could be a mad-millionaire...or a crazy business man..or even an escaped inmate from Dartmoor!"

"And supposing he gets us?" Vera pondered frightfully.

"I will make quite sure it won't come to that..." Lombard reassured.

"Well I still don't think Blore's the killer," Vera disagreed, "I'm still betting it's the Doctor...."

'The mad Doctor?" Replied Lombard softly, "Waiting for Blore at the house...?"


Suddenly there was a loud thump in the air followed by a faint cry...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_f4ad335c.jpg)

"What was that?" Cried Vera, "It felt like an earthquake!"

"No no..it wasn't an earthquake," Reassured Lombard, "Though something did shake the ground...I also thought I heard somebody cry out...did you?"

They both looked in the direction of the house.

"We better go see what it was," Said Lombard.

"No! I'm staying here," Insisted Vera.

"Please yourself," Shrugged Philip, "I'm leaving."

Vera hesitated.

"Fine, I will come with you," Vera grumbled.

They made their way down the cliffs slowly. They took their time in the sunshine. When they made it to the front door, they both stopped. Then they decided to circle around on the terrace when they finally made it to the Kitchen door...

They found Blore.

He was spread on lawn below the steps. His head crushed and mangled by a scruffy, innocent looking teddy bear covered in a crimson grime...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_d4ad3507.jpg)

Philip Lombard looked up.

"Who room is that from the balcony?" He asked.

"It's mine...." Vera whimpered, "And that was the stuffed creature that was next to my desk..I remember now...it was the teddy bear who felt as though he had been filled with heavy rocks."

She paused and quivered with a cry.

"A big bear hugged one, and then there were two..."


(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_f4ad3601.jpg)

Astral: I haven't read it either!
But I have my suspicions...

Arrgh!  I need more, Cluedo!  What happens next, what happens next?  Tell meeeee!

Okay - deep breath - I'm okay.  Great update (when's the next one?):blob:

Great, steelguy - I'm glad I'm not the only one, lol!

Philip Lombard and Vera Claythorne stood by the sprawled out body of the late Ex-Inspector.

"That does it!" Bellowed Lombard, "Now only one thing is certain and that is Dr. Armstrong is the murderer and is hiding somewhere in the house. I'm going in to  get him..."

Vera grabbed Philip's arm.

"Don't be a fool!" She cried, "It's us now! We're next! He's counting on us to look for him!"

"But I now got this!" Lombard said as he flashed his revolver.

"But Dr. Armstrong is mad!" Vera continued, "You said Blore would be alright, and that he was more than a match for Armstrong. Look at him now!"

Philip grabbed Vera by the waist and ushered her indoors.

"Come on," He whispered, "In that case, we must make our way back to the cliff.  We may even have to spend the night there if we have to."

They both stealthily hurried down the hall of the house so that he could make it to the front. Lombard kept his revolver on guard....

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_14ad36dc.jpg)


When they exited through the front doors, Lombard stopped for a moment and looked out at the sea with the sun glowing down on it...

"So," He said suddenly, "What now?"

"What do you mean..?" Asked Vera.

"What I mean is once were rescued," Clarified Lombard, "I mean, as long as we both stick together and avoid Armstrong, I don't see why we shouldn't be rescued. What do you plan to do after this?"

Vera giggled a little.

"I would first of all like to have a bath..."

"I'm wondering if we'd ever see each other again," Suggested Lombard.

"Perhaps we might..."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_34ad385e.jpg)

"Well, here I'm asking as a friend mind you," Lombard said with a grin , "You didn't drown that little boy did you?"

Vera stepped back.

"I didn't! I didn't! You have no right to say that!"

Philip laughed with ease.

"Oh yes, yes you did my good girl!" He chuckled, "I can't imagine why though...must have been a man involved I assume?"

"Yes..there was a man in it..." Vera replied in a dulled voice.

"Thanks," Said Lombard, "That's what I wanted to know."

Vera turned away from him and looked out at the waves drearily. The was an object. A coloured object floating in the waves back to shore...

"What's that there!?" She called out, "Right there! By the rocks!"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ad3919.jpg)

Philip Lombard turned around to see what she was talking about...

"I don't know," He replied, "It's looks as though it's wearing clothes...a bather perhaps?"

Vera kept her eyes focused on the object.

"We better go look."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_54ad39d9.jpg)

Carefully, both Vera and Philip climbed over the veranda balustrade and onto the  rocky terrain below. Then they slowly made their way down the side of the island down to where the beach was.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ad3a83.jpg)

"It is clothes!" Vera remarked as they made their way down, "Look I can see slippers and a coat!"

"Wait," Said Lombard, "It looks more like a dressing robe to me."

"Hold on!" Cried Vera, "It's not clothes...it's a man!"

They watched as the man got wedged up along the rocks and the beach due to the tide moving in.

Finally they both made it down to the beach where the reached the body that had been coughed up from the sea...

It had a face...a hideous, purple, drowned face.

"My God," Whispered Lombard, "It's Armstrong!"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_34ad3c5a.jpg)

Aeons passed...world spanned and whirled....Time was motionless....It stood still...It passed through thousands of ages....

No. It was only a minute or so.

Two people were standing...looking down at the dead man.

Slowly...very slowly, Philip Lombard and Vera Claythorne lifted their heads and looked into each other's eyes.

Lombard laughed.

"So is that it then, is it, Vera?"

"There is no one on the island," Coldly stated Vera, "No one except the two of us."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_f4ad3cde-1.jpg)

"Precisely," Whispered Lombard, "So you know what this means then...don't you."

"How did you do it?" Vera asked, "That trick with the teddy bear?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"A very old parlor trick my dear, a very good one at that."

Their eyes met again.

"Why didn't I see his face properly before?" Vera thought, "A wolf...that's what it is...a wolf's face. Those horrible teeth..."


Lombard's voice became a snarl...deep and menacing.

"This is the end you understand...we come to the truth now. And it's the end..."

"I understand," Vera whispered.

She stared back out to sea again. General MacArthur stared out to sea before. When? Yesterday? Or is it the day before. She could almost feel him close by...

"This is the end," He'd said.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ba43e8.jpg)

He said it with acceptance...almost with welcome.

But to Vera, it should not be the end...it will not be the end.

She looked down at the body again.

"Poor Dr. Armstrong," She whispered.

"What's this?" Sneered Lombard, "Womanly pity?"

"Why not? Haven't you any pity?"

"I've no pity for you, you..little conniving bitch. And don't you expect it."

Vera almost ignored him. She was concentrating on the figure that once was the living physician; Dr. Edward Armstrong.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_54ad3b94.jpg)

"We must move him. Carry him up to the house..."

"To join the other victims?" Laughed Lombard, "All neat and tidy in his bed? As far as I'm concerned, he can stay where he is."

"At any rate, let's get him out of reach of the sea..."

"As you like," Replied Lombard with a hint of sarcasm.

They both bent down as they dragged the body out of the lapping water and high up on the sand. He was heavier than they thought; the water had added to the extra weight. Vera had to press hard against Lombard's body to give him assistance.

"Not such an easy job..." Panted Lombard.

Finally they were able to get the body clear of the water mark.

"Satisfied?" Lombard panted as he faced away from her, catching his breath.

"Quite.." Vera replied.

Her tone warned him...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ad3da1.jpg)

...even as he clamped his pocket, he knew he would find it empty.

Lombard quickly spun around and saw her face to face. Danger was in her eyes, and the revolver was in her hand....

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_94ad3fbf.jpg)

Go, Vera, Go!  Shoot him!

Oh no! Please get the next one up quickly!

Both of them stood there on the beach face to face in a deadly climax of tension. Vera held the revolver poised and ready....

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_94ad3ff1.jpg)

"So that's the reason for your womanly solicitude," Growled Philip Lombard, "You wanted to pickpocket me."

She nodded.

Still, she held the revolver steadily and unwaveringly. Death was very near to Philip Lombard now. It had never..he knew...been nearer. Nevertheless, he was not beaten...yet.


"Give that revolver to me," He said authoritatively.  

Vera laughed. She wasn't stupid.

"Come on...hand it over!" He continued.

His brain was working....should he talk her over? Lull her into security? Or make a swift dash?


All his life, Lombard took the risky way. He took it now...

"Now look here my dear girl...you just listen..."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_54ad4065.jpg)

And then he sprang. Quick as a panther...as any other feline creature....

Automatically, Vera pressed the trigger.....

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_34ad3f9f.jpg)

BANG!


(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_74ad410c-1.jpg)

Lombard stood frozen in his jump....a split second of shock.

His heart would have been beating...if only it would beat.
A clean hole straight through silenced it instead.

Then he hardly felt a thing...the life had left Capt. Philip Lombard...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_14ad4161.jpg)


Heavily, he crashed to the ground; frozen and motionless.

Vera came warily forward, the revolver still in her hand....but she had nothing to fear.

Philip Lombard was dead....shot through the heart.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_74ad4233.jpg)

A teardrop rolled down Vera Claythorne's cheek. It was a tear of relief. It was over. There was no more fear. She was alone on the island. Alone with nine other dead bodies. But what did that matter? She was alive! And that was all that counted. She had killed the monster. No more fear....

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_74ad426e.jpg)

It was the afternoon now. Even still, there was no room in her now except the glorious sense of safety.

However, she realized now that she was now very hungry and sleepy. Principally sleepy. She wanted to throw herself onto her bed and sleep and sleep and sleep...

Even if she did have to wait for tomorrow to get rescued, she really didn't care. She was alone now and safe. She didn't mind staying in the house. Not now that she was alone.

Now she had nothing to fear...and slowly...she made her way up to the ordinary modern house she was once afraid of. After using her quick thinking and ingenuity, she had gotten rid of her would-be destroyer. After that, she would be suprised if she was afraid of anything....

Slowly, she headed up the rocks, leaving the abandoned beach....

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_74ad43a9.jpg)

She made her way to the quiet terrace. How peaceful everything was once again.

"It is as though I'm in a dream..." Vera thought.

She entered the front door. Her eyelids were drooping. All she wanted to do was sleep, sleep, sleep.....

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ad446b.jpg)

The house felt strangely peaceful.

"Ordinarily, one wouldn't want to sleep in a house with a dead body in practically every room!" She thought.

She thought about getting something to eat from the Kitchen, but she was simply too tired. She needed the bed.

Suddenly, something else struck her mind....the Indians.

She strolled into the Parlor where she found a single Indian resting on top of the mantle.

Vera giggled...

"One little Indian boy left all alone..." She said aloud, trying to remember,"Ah yes! He got married and then there were none!"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_b4ad44c7.jpg)

Married...funny how she suddenly got the feeling Hugo was in the house. Very strong feeling in fact. It was if though he were waiting for her upstairs.....

The sound of Vera's feet climbing the staircase could be heard. Otherwise, the house was bathed in complete silence, save for the ticking of a clock downstairs. How quiet the house was. But still, it didn't seem like an empty house.

Hugo was upstairs, waiting for her.

"One little Indian boy left all alone," Vera thought, "What was that last line again? Something about being married? Or something else?"

She had come now to the door of her bedroom. She felt as though she were to collapse as she entered, rubbing her eyes with fatigue...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_d4ad4774.jpg)

She stumbled to the center of the bedroom, preparing to collapse on the bed, when suddenly she realized a chair was in her way.

"What's this doing her?" She wondered, "I didn't move this..."

Then she looked up...and gave a little gasp at what she saw....

It was a rope. A rope that was tied to a noose attached to the same hook that held the seaweed before. The chair below was ready for her...ready to be stood upon, and kicked away....

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_34ad462d.jpg)

Suddenly, Vera remembered the last line of the poem...

"One little Indian boy left all alone; He went and hanged himself, and then there were none!"


(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_54ad4b3e.jpg)

To hang herself? That was exactly what Hugo Hamilton wanted!

Like automation, Vera stepped forward....her mind was in a daze. This was the end after all...it was here where Cyril's cold wet hand touched her throat....

She remembered now:

It was during the August summer, much like the one now. Cyril was just being as horrible and obstinate as always...

"Please Miss Claythorne! I want to swim out to the rock today!"

The puny little child didn't stand a chance...not against the rough waves. He couldn't make it...and she knew it.

"You may swim to the rock Cyril...."

That was what the murder was...as easy as that!

But now...it was too much to bear, for the tears welled up within her, begging to leave...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_14ad4739.jpg)

It was a child! A shrimp of nine year old! She...she let him die. She killed him. She couldn't even hear him scream as he battled helplessly against the waves as his lungs burst with water; choking up his throat....

She tried to save him...no...she pretended to try and save him. But in the end...she never got Hugo. She fooled everyone else, but she never fooled Hugo.

"Why..!?" Vera sobbed through garbled, hysterical tears, "How...could I? HOW COULD I! WHY DID I DO IT!?...why? Cyril...I'm so sorry......I'm so sorry...."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_f4ad46f8.jpg)


But now it was no use denying it now. It was the end. She knew exactly what she had to do...

She climbed up on the chair...her eyes damp and blurry from the tears stared ahead as fastened the noose around her neck...

"HUGO!" Vera cried out.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_14ad4a66.jpg)


He was in the room. Hugo was there watching to see what she had to do...

She kicked away the chair....

"ACK!!"

...and that was the end of Vera Claythorne.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_74ab6b20_f4ad490e-1.jpg)

END OF PART III

AAAAAHHHH!  Is there more?  Is there an epilogue or something?  Please say there is!

Brilliantly done.  Your pictures are great - I really like the one on the beach with the gun in the shadow - and the one where she's looking up at the noose - very well done!  Good show!

Yes, don't worry.

There will be an Epilogue AND a Confession (He!).

EPILOGUE

Wednesday, August 9th, 1939

Scotland Yard, London


Sir Thomas Legge, Assistant Commissioner at Scotland Yard was sitting irritably at his desk going over some legal document he didn't care about. It was an exceptionally hot day and he just wanted to head back to his home for the day.   However, with all the work in front of him, it seemed as though he will be working late.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_54bb8ed9_74bb91cd.jpg)

"Good Lord, look at all this!" He grumbled as he glanced over the document.

That's when his secretary, Miss Buxley entered...

"Mr. Legge," She announced in a husky voice, "The Inspector is here to see you about the Indian Island case."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_54bb8ed9_34bb9253.jpg)


Well...at least it would give him a little break from his cumbersome document.

"Well?" Sir Thomas Legge asked, "How did it go?"

Inspector Maine looked grim as his fingered his little mustache.

"All of them are dead," He reported, "And not a single other soul alive on the island."

"Damn it all, Maine!" Grumbled the A.C., "It just doesn't make sense! Ten people dead on the island and not a living soul on it! Somebody must have killed them! Anything helpful in the doctor's report at least?"

"No sir," Maine respectfully replied, "Wargrave and Lombard were shot. The first through the head, the second through the heart. Miss Brent and Mr. Marston died of cyanide poisoning. Mrs. Rogers died of an overdose of chloral. Her husband, Rogers' head was split open. Blore's head was crushed in. Armstrong died of drowning. MacArthur's skull was fractured by a blow on the back of the head, and Vera Claythorne was hanged.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_54bb8ed9_14bb9391.jpg)

'Nasty business, all of it," Muttered the A.C., "Have you at least found out about the bugger who arranged all of this and provisioned the island?"

"Actually, we have," Maine replied, "It was a man named Issac Morris. Unfortunately he is dead as well. He was an unsavory little man who in my honest opinion, got what he deserved."

"And he was the one who arranged the island?"

"Yes he was. He put the house and island for sale...made it clear he was buying it for a third party, "Mr. Owen." He then made all of the arrangements. He also was the one who apparently told the locals of Sticklehaven about there being some sort of bet about living on a "desert island" for a week and to take no notice of their appeal for help!"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_54bb8ed9_34bb9424.jpg)


Inspector Maine continued on.

"Fred Narracott was the man who provided the boat transport to the island. He found something oddly normal about all his passengers that when a local boy announced he saw an S.O.S. smoke signal, Narracott overrode Mr. Owen's instructions and provided a boat back to the island early."

Then the A.C. turned the attention over to the letters and gramophone...

"I'm assuming then then that Morris had written the letters and provided the voice on the gramophone..."

"It was Morris again who recorded that, under instructions of "Mr. Owen", Maine explained, "As for the subject matter, I can't say much about it. I will have to do some extra research. I do know however that Wargrave was falsely accused on it. Edward Seton was guilty alright, as I recall. I do remember Blore. He was an old friend and colleague of mine. We had a falling out when I discovered he wasn't going straight. He got mixed up in a bad gang and from what I know, committed black perjury against Landor."

"How did Morris die?" Legge asked.

"Overdose of a barbiturate at his house, no evidence of accident or suicide, but I find his death to be very convenient for "Mr. Owen."

"Quite," Replied Legge, "Also quite convenient for Mr. Owen to vanish in thin air from the island like that...well then the only explanation I can see is that he was one of the ten."

"We thought of that as well, and have gone into it. Our discovery was that Vera Claythorne kept a diary. So did Emily Brent. Old Wargrave made some rather cryptic legal notes that are difficult to read. Blore however made some notes too. Piecing them all together, we determined the deaths happened in this order: Marston, Mrs. Rogers, MacArthur, Rogers, Miss Brent, and Wargrave. After that, Vera's diary states that Armstrong had left the house and Blore and Lombard had gone looking for him. Blore made one final entry after that: "Armstrong disapeared."

"Well then isn't it clear that Armstrong is the killer!?" Legge exclaimed, "He obviously went mad, killed the others and either jumped off the cliff to suicide, or he drowned trying to swim to shore."

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_54bb8ed9_34bb93e0.jpg)


"Not so sir," Maine replied, "The coroner certified that everybody had been dead for at least thirty-six hours, but he was certain Armstrong had been in the water for about eight to ten hours. Also, his body had been dragged up high beyond the waterline."

"Alright then, that leaves three other people...Vera Claythorne, Philip Lombard and Blore, who you say are all dead. Let's assume Lombard is the murderer then. He strung up Vera Claythorne with the noose, dropped a heavy thing on Blore's head, then shot himself in the heart."

"Errr no sir." Maine replied weakly, "The gun was found upstairs. Lying outside the bedroom of Wargrave. If he shot himself, how did the gun get up there?"

"This is getting annoying, Maine. Were there fingerprints on the gun?"

"Yes sir, Vera Claythorne's. And now I guess you are going to say that Vera shot Lombard, went and dropped the rock-filled teddy on Blore and finally went and hanged herself. Well that's quite alright, except the chair that Vera used to hang herself had been put neat and tidy against the wall, rather than kicked over."

Inspector Maine continued as he sipped some coffee.

"Now, that only leaves Blore. But if your going to tell me that Blore shot Lombard, induced Vera to hang herself, then went outside and dropped the teddy bear on himself, I just won't buy it. A man like Blore would never kill himself in such a way. Nor would he go out of his way to avenge abstract justice. He was too stupid for that."

"I agree," Mumbled Legge.

"And therefore, somebody must of been still alive on the island...somebody who could have cleaned up after the murders. But there was no escape except from a rescue boat...."

Their conversation continued, while Miss Buxley who was watering the plants, happened to overhear.

"My stars!" She thought, "In that case, who killed them!?"

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/snapshot_54bb8ed9_b4bb94fa.jpg)

What? Whaaaat? *flails madly* All dead? Then who-? And with the-?
But the-? *Sputters helplessly*

Right. It was Hugo. Right?

If it was Hugo, how did he escape the Island? Keep at mind at that point, Vera has gone insane.

That still doesn't explain how the chair got over against the wall.  

Dammit - you just need to post more!  Is there more?  We do get to find out what happened, right?  I'm really stupid when it comes to puzzles, lol.  My guess would be the little old man on the island that was warning of a big storm coming in - Mr. Sherman.  He was pretty creepy - but I don't know about a motive, though.  Okay, you said a confession was coming up - so that means more, hooray!  I'll just have to wait I guess...

Great job - thank you for bringing this story - I've never read any of Agatha Christie's work, but I'm quite enjoying this.

Your very welcome!

Wait till I post the confession after work! :wink:

oh pleace pleace can i spoil the end the killer is..... nah i am not that evil. No actually i am by not telling

CONFESSION

Thursday, October 25, 1945

A MANUSCRIPT SENT TO SCOTLAND YARD BY THE MASTER OF THE EMMA JANE, FISHING TRAWLER....





"From my earliest youth I realized my nature was a mass of contradictions.  I have to begin, an incurable romantic imagination. Even as child, I found fascination in the idea of putting a document in a bottle, and casting it into the waves.  It is for this very reason I write this confession…in hopes that it will be found in the sea, and an unsolved mystery will for once, be explained...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess19.jpg)

I was born with other traits besides my romantic fancy. I have a definite sadistic delight in causing death. I remember experimenting with wasps..and other household pests. From an early age, I had a lust to kill.

But side to side with this came a contradictory trait...a strong sense of justice. Crime and punishment had always fascinated me. I have always fancied detective stories, and I grew to believe that the innocent shall prevail...and the guilty punished!

With in due course I came to preside over the law. It gave me extreme pleasure to watch as a criminal writhed and squirmed on the docks...straight to his doom. I never, ever received pleasure for watching an innocent man squirm. I was careful to make sure that justice was served to the innocent who came before me. But most of the time, they were guilty.

I will say here that such was the case with Edward Seton. He was a good looking lad, and he made a good impression on the jury, but there was no doubt in my mind that he was guilty of the crime of what he was accused of; the brutal murder of an elderly woman who trusted him.

However, for some years to pass, I recognized a change in myself. I no longer felt the strong desire to judge, as much I did to act. That’s when I suddenly realized…I wanted to commit murder myself!


(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confesser.jpg)

I must…I must…I must commit a murder!  What’s more, not just any ordinary murder, but murder...on a grand scale! I wanted something theatrical…impossible!  I wanted to kill…yes, I wanted to kill.

I however was restrained by my innate sense of justice. The innocent must NOT suffer.  And then…suddenly the idea came to me!  It was a casual remark during conservation with my doctor who said that to commit murder, it must be in a way the law cannot touch!

He referenced one case of which an elderly patient of his who had recently died.  He was convinced her death was due to the withholding of an important drug from the married servants who attended on her and stood to benefit substantially from her death. He them mentioned that were similar cases going on all the time…cases of deliberate murder…and all quite untouchable by the law.

That was the starting point, for what was soon to come. …
A childish rhyme of my infancy came back to my mind…the rhyme of the ten little Indian boys.  It had fascinated me as a child…the exorable diminishment …the sense of inevitability.

It was then I secretly began to collect victims…

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Indians-1.jpg)

I will not dwell on the process of doing this, but the first two I collected were Mr. and Mrs. Rogers. The servants previously mentioned by the doctor.  After that, I discovered the others through various means of conversation…

During the time I was in a nursing home, I collected the case of Dr. Armstrong from a violently teetotal sister who warned me of the evils of drinking.  She recounted the tale a while back in a hospital where a doctor under the influence of alcohol killed a patient of whom he was operating. A carless question as to where the sister had trained etc. gave me all the necessary data needed to track him down.

A conversation with two old military gossips in my Club put me on track of General MacArthur.

A man who had recently returned from the Amazon gave me the devastating résumé of the activities of one Philip Lombard.
 
An indignant memsa-hib recounted the tale of Emily Brent and her wretched servant girl.

Anthony Marston I selected from a large group of people who committed similar offences.  His complete callousness and inability to feel irresponsibility made him dangerous to the public…and unfit to live.

Ex-Inspector Blore came my way naturally, some of my professional brethren were casually discussing the Landor case with freedom and vigor.  I took a serious look at his offence.  The police as servants of the law must be in high order of integrity.  For their word is believed to be preface by their profession.
 
Finally there was the case of Vera Claythorne.  I discovered about her during an Atlantic crossing when I encountered a young man named Hugo Hamilton who had quite the drink earlier.  He was unhappy as he recited to me the story of an old lover of his, who drowned his younger cousin so that he could inherit the fortune.  He didn’t say much more, but it was easy to trace back and reconstruct the story.

I needed a tenth victim. I found him in a man called Issac Morris; a shady little Jewish dope peddler, who was responsible for inducing the daughter of a friend of mine to take drugs. She committed suicide at age twenty-one.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Morris.jpg)

Now for the actual mechanics of the crime of Indian Island.  To acquire the island, using Morris to cover my tracks was easy enough.  He was an expert in that sort of thing. Tabulating the information I gathered from my soon-to-be victims, I was able to provide suitable bait for each. None of my plans miscarried.  They all arrived at Indian Island on the 4th of August, the party included myself.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/confess.jpg)

Morris was easily taken care of. He suffered from indigestion. Before leaving London, I gave him a capsule to take last thing at night. I mentioned that it had done wondered to my own gastric juices. He accepted it unhesitatingly, not knowing what it really was. I had no fear that he would leave behind any compromising documents or memorabilia. He was not that sort of man.

The order of death on the island was selected by me with special care. There were among the guests, varying degrees of guilt. Those of the lightest guilt should be snuffed out first, for I would leave the prolonged mental strain and suffering to the more cold-blooded offenders….

Anthony Marston died first. His death was instant.  Marston was a man born without a sense of moral responsibility that most of us possess. He was amoral…pagan.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess2.jpg)

After Marston, I had Mrs. Rogers pass away in a peaceful sleep. In my opinion, Marston and Mrs. Rogers were the two with the least guilt on their minds, thus they died at the start. Mrs. Rogers had acted mostly under the influence of her husband.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess3.jpg)

I need not describe how closely those two met their deaths.  The police would be able to work that out quite easily. Potassium Cyanide is easily obtained for household wasps and I easily slipped it into Marston’s glass during his little piano ditty.

During recent bouts of pain, I had acquired a sleeping draught…Chloral Hydrate.  When Rogers pulled out some brandy for his wife, I slipped the majority of it in when he set it on the table.  It was easy for suspicion had not set in at that point.    

General MacArthur met his death quite painlessly.  He did not hear my come up behind him prepared with one of the Indian statuettes from the Parlor.  I had timed everything perfectly when I easily bludgeoned him, and returned to the terrace.  His offense was one of jealous rage, which clearly affected him.  In my opinion, he was dead long before he arrived at Indian Island.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess4-1.jpg)

By now, a search had been made of the island, which concluded that the killer could only be one of the seven of us.  That at once created an atmosphere of suspicion.  I soon would be in need an ally.  I choose Dr. Armstrong for that part. He was a gullible sort of a man who could not believe a man of my standing would possibly be a murderer!  All his suspicions were directed towards Lombard and I pretended to concur in these.  I hinted to him that I had a scheme by which it might be possible to trap the murderer by incriminating himself. Armstrong was keen on this scheme and was easily taken in…

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess7.jpg)


I killed Rogers on the morning of August 6th. He was chopping sticks for lighting a fire and did not hear me approach.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess5.jpg)

In the confusion of finding Rogers, I slipped into Lombard’s room and abstracted his revolver.  I knew he would have one on him, in fact I had instructed Morris to suggest it in the letter.

At breakfast, I slipped the last of my Chloral into Miss Brent’s coffee.  I then led her outside to rest. When the others were gone, I slipped back outside and found her nearly unconscious. It was then easy to inject a strong dose of cyanide into her neck. The bumblebees were really rather childish, but I wanted to stick as close to the nursery rhyme as best as possible.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess6.jpg)

After that, it was discovered that the revolver was missing, and we had subjected to rigorous search. But by then, the revolver was safely hidden away and I had no more cyanide or chloral on me.
 
It was then I intimated to Armstrong that our plan must now be carried out into effect.  It was simply this…I must appear to be the next victim.  At any rate once I was supposed to be dead, I could move about the house and spy on the unknown murderer.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess9.jpg)

Armstrong was keen on the idea. We carried it out that evening.  A little bit of red lipstick on the forehead…the red towel and wool and the stage was set.  Once Vera Claythorne screamed when she discovered the seaweed planted in her room, Armstrong and I stayed behind and got ready before I headed upstairs to take my place…

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess10.jpg)

The effect of when they found me was all that could be desired. Armstrong was the one who fired the revolver I gave him. He was also the only one to examine me closely when he turned to the others and gave the verdict that I had been shot through the head...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess11.jpg)

I had a rendezvous with Dr. Armstrong outside of the house at a quarter to two.  I took him up a little behind the house at the edge of a cliff.  I said that here we can see if anybody approaches. Nobody will see us because the cliff would block their view from the bedrooms.  He was still quite unsuspicious….and yet, he ought to have been warned…if only he remembered the words of the nursery rhyme;  “A  red herring swallowed one…”  He took the red herring alright!

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/confess12.jpg)

It was easy. I uttered an exclamation; was that the opening of a cave!? He leaned right over. A quick vigorous push sent him tumbling into the heaving sea below, only to wash up on shore hours later...

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess13.jpg)

I returned to the house. It must have been my footfall Blore heard. I then snuck up to Armstrong's room and this time left making noise so that I should be heard. I heard a door open when I got to the bottom of the stairs. They must have just glimpsed my figure as it went out the door.

It was a minute or two before I was followed. I simply went straight around the house and entered through the Dining Room window. My entrance broke the glass. I then went upstairs and returned to my room...

Now came the moment I had anticipated….three people who were so afraid of each other, anything might happen…and one of them had a revolver! I watched them from the windows of the house. When Blore came up alone,  I had the teddy bear on the balcony poised and ready….Exit Blore.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess14-1.jpg)


From a distance, I watched Vera Claythorne shoot Lombard with his own revolver. A daring and resourceful young woman she always was; I always knew she would be a match for him and more....

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess15andahalf.jpg)

I then set the stage in Vera's bedroom.  It was an interesting psychological experiment. Would the conscience of her own guilt, the state of nervous tension of having just shot a man be sufficient, along with the hypnotic suggestion of her surroundings be enough for her to take her own life? It was. Vera Claythorne hanged herself before my very eyes as I stood watching from the doorway…

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess17andahalf.jpg)

And now for the last stage. I came forward, picked up the chair and propped it against the wall. The revolver was found on the beach where she dropped it. I was careful to preserve her fingerprints.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess16.jpg)

And now?

I shall finish writing this, enclose it in a bottle, and cast it to the sea...

Why?

Yes, why?

It was my ambition to create a murder mystery that nobody could solve...

In this I would have assumed that the mystery of Indian Island would remain unsolved. There are a couple of clues the police may discover in which they would be more clever than I had thought, but there is little to say about that.

After entrusting this bottle and message to the sea, I shall go to my room and sit once more in the chair. Attached to my eyeglasses are what seems like a length of fine black cord...but it is elastic cord. I shall sit upon my glasses. The cord I shall loop around the door handle and attach it, not to solidly, to the revolver. What I think will happen is this:

My hand, protected with a handkerchief, will press the trigger. My hand will fall to the side, the revolver, pulled by the elastic will recoil to the door, jarred by the door handle, will detach itself from the elastic and fall. The elastic released will hang down innocently from my glasses under my body. The handkerchief should cause no comment whatsoever.

I shall be found as I was. Dressed in a wig and cape, shot neatly through the forehead in accordance to the record kept by the fellow victims. Time of death cannot be stated with any accuracy by the time our bodies are found.

When the sea goes down, there will come from the mainland boats and men.

They shall find ten dead bodies, and an unsolved mystery on Indian Island. "

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/Confess18.jpg)


Signed,
Lawrence Wargrave









.

(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v617/Cluedokid25/Ten%20Little%20Indians/End.jpg)

Sickening.  Absolutely sickening.  His confession made want to hurl.  Quite fascinating, actually.  It was cleverly plotted and executed.  I never suspected him, of course, since he supposedly died earlier in the story.

Very interesting story!  Your pictures for this chapter are brilliant - lots of drama tied up in them that matches the story perfectly.  Well done!!  I enjoyed this a lot!  Thanks for a great read.  Will you tell us any more stories?

Yes, this was probably Ms. Christie's arguably best-selling book. She is only outsold worldwide by Shakespeare and the Bible.


Just to let you know, the American movie adaptations messed around with the ending a little and gave it a "happy ending." In the happy ending, Vera shoots but doesn't kill Lombard, so they both outsmart the Judge and survive.

I must say, I quite dislike the happy ending, because it kind of ruins the story, and Lombard is such a creep that it is SAD for him to get a happy ending.

That's why I used the book's ending as I should.


Anyway, I'm glad you liked it, and once I get my SIMS 2 working again, I may make something else...

Oh for Heaven's sake.  Not every story can have a happy ending - and I just don't see that in this one.  It kind of ruins the premise of the entire book!  Not much of a mystery with that ending, is it?

I'm glad you kept the original one.  Not only does it make more sense, but it's also more interesting, and more creepy.  Which fits the rest of the book.

*Is absolutely stunned* I did not see that one coming!

And I thought it had ended with the Epilogue at first, which got me all confused and now... *sputters, flails, applauds wildly*

:worship::worship::worship::worship::worship:

Wow...Ninja-like ending, sneaking up on me and stuff.
I completley forgot about Lawrence Wargrave.....until now.
*grows a third arm*
*gives three thumbs up*

Ah thanks so much for all your great comments, all of you. I had much fun making this, and I'm glad you enjoyed reading it (of course, it couldn't compare to Miss Christie herself!).

Alright for those who may enjoy it, I have found the 1965 version of "Ten Little Indians" on YouTube.


It comes nowhere as close to the book. Most of the names have been changed and some re-written completely. Some of the deaths have been changed as well. The location has been changed as well from the island to a remote castle in the Swiss Alps.


Enjoy!


Part 1
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJA7oUoyy7U

Part 2
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJA7oUoyy7U

Part 3
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IdEIuiyiUWU&feature=related

Part 4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WlOcpfM9WGc&feature=related

Part 5
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N5OmZ39jyLI&feature=related

Part 6
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hvy7zfzNdbg&feature=related

Part 7
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_M7RDxo3GKI&feature=related

Part 8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbecKqhNnGo&feature=related

Part 9
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmBIjkOfaAY

Part 10
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xar-zbIxWJo