Ten Little Indians

[Cluedo]

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."



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....

[Cluedo]

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.



"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...

[Cluedo]

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."




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!



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]"

[Cluedo]

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]



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."





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





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




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




"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."





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



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




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





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



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



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

[Cluedo]

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.




"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!!"



"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.

[Cluedo]

The thick air of the confusion had permeated the room. By now, everybody was yammering away that Judge Wargrave had to step in to take order.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Silence please!" He bellowed, "We shall discuss this matter calmly."





Mrs. Rogers was laid on the bed. The colour was starting to return to her, however, she still had a sickly look on her face.

"Will...will she be alright Doctor?" Inquired Rogers nervously.

"Some brandy would do her some good." Suggested Dr. Armstrong, "Here, I got an open bottle from the parlor. I will also give her some pills to help her sleep."

Mrs. Rogers took the bottle, sniffed it, and made a face. Despite this she took a good swig of it. In her mind, however, she only had one thing on her mind.

"That voice....that terrible voice....."




Back in the parlor, everybody has seemed to settle down to on the Judge's advice as Dr. Armstrong entered the room with some news....

"Mrs. Rogers has been taken to bed. I gave her a mild sedative to help her rest."



"Poor woman," Voiced Blore, "Nervous as a rat. Fainted dead away when that record was played."

"Yes Mr. Davis, about that record," Said Wargrave turning the conversation back to their present matter.

"A pack of lies is what it is!" Grumbled MacArthur.

"Or a practical joke." Suggested Miss Brent.

"You think it was a joke?" Asked Wargrave sternly.

Emily Brent shrugged.

"What else could it be?"

"What I would like to know is who the devil put that thing on!" Growled Lombard.

All attention in the room turned to Rogers who just entered.

"Why...I put it on." He replied meekly, "But...but..I didn't know what it was! I swear!!"



"Then why did you play it?" Asked Wargrave calmly.

"I thought it was music!" Rogers replied, "It was titled "Swan Song"

"That as may well be," Said Blore, thinking, "But what I would like to know is how Mr. Owen was able to come up with the material to say such rubbish about us."

"Us?" Asked Lombard sneering, "I didn't hear Mr. Davis get called in the accusation."

"Yes, Mr. Lombard is right." Agreed Wargrave, "I did hear a Mr. William Henry Blore get called. Nobody here has that name. What can you say about that Mr. Davis?"

"Alright you swine!" Growled Marston, putting up his fists, "What trick are you playing here?"

"No..no..men please....!"



"Men you have me all wrong!" Blore stuttered, trying to explain, "It's true! I am indeed Mr. Blore, not Mr. Davis!"


"And I would like to further point out that you have never set foot in Natal, South Africa!" Added on Lombard, "I've been to Natal several times and you hardly sound or look like a true local of the area!"

"Of course I haven't," Replied Blore, "You see, I am a detective! I was hired by Mr. Owen to protect his wife's jewels. Mrs. Owen my foot! I hardly believe such a person exists!"

"Well that accounts for Blore, " Said Wargrave, sitting down, "Now we know why he's here. I also know why I'm here. I was invited by an good friend of mine who doesn't happen to be here. I would be curious to know why everybody else is here however..."

[Cluedo]

After a little discussion and fuss over the invitation letters, almost everybody was able to head to their rooms and fetch their letters. Each one handed theirs to the Judge, who scanned his eyes over them carefully with a squint. Then he cleared his throat....

"Ah yes," He said, "I'm now beginning to see what's going on here. oh Miss Claythorne? Don't you have your letter, my dear?"

"Oh no," Vera replied, "I threw it out before I came here."

She then explained her secretarial engagement to the Judge. He then turned to Emily Brent who sat perfectly unmoved by the whole thing.

"Miss Brent," Said the quiet voice of Wargrave, "I find this letter very hard to read."

"I'm pleased to see you think likewise," Replied Miss Brent, "I find is rather annoying that people write their names so illegibly these days. I was thinking an dear friend, Mrs. Oliver had invited me for promise of a free vacation. Free from all these scantly young women with their bodies laid all over the beach."

The Judge nodded.

"I see," He cleared his throat, "I would like the dwell on this, but I think most of us would like to retire soon, so I shall move on.... Doctor Armstrong,   is this true that you were hired to provide medical aid for Mrs. Owen?"

"Yes," Replied Dr. Armstrong a little red-faced, "They said she was prone to heart attacks, and of course, I would never turn down a patient. Especially since they mentioned a old colleague of mine."

"Forget Mrs. Owen!" Grumbled the General, "Damned record nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Ah yes, General MacArthur," Said Wargrave clinical, "My good sir, I was just about to get to you. So who are these "old cronies" in your letter, sir?"

"Just some old army friends," Said General MacArthur a little too quickly, looking ten years older, "I figured they wanted to talk about the old times!"

"Perfectly reasonable," Replied Wargrave nodding, "On to you Mr. Marston, in my hands is a crumpled telegram. Care to explain, young man?"

"Got a wire from a pal of mine," Answered Tony, "Badger Berkeley, I figured the old horse had gone to Norway, told me to roll up here."

"Well it's starting to become clear," Replied Wargrave, flipping through the letters, "It is clear Mr. Owen has taken the time to find out a great deal about us all. He has clearly adapted Constance's writing style which fooled me. He also also found out about the friend of Marston's nickname as well his his telegram style. He discovered about Dr. Armstrong's colleague as well as where Miss Brent has been to two years ago for vacation. He even found out about the General's "old cronies". Mr. Lombard, I don't believe I received a letter from you."

"I'm sorry friends," Lombard tried to give an explanation, "I was never given a letter! I met a man named Morris. He gave me a job, or something like that that Mr. Owen was going to fill me in on."

He stared around the room with that cruel look on his face.



"Hey Judge!" Said Dr. Armstrong suddenly, "Look at these letters! They are labeled each U.N. Owen. By a slight stretch, that sounds almost like Unknown to me!"

"By Jove!" Cried Blore, "He's right!"

"This is fantastic...mad!" Cried Vera.



"Which is why," Interrupted Wargrave, "That I would like to turn our attentions over to the record."

"Wait!" Declared Anthony Marston so suddenly, as retrieved his glass of whiskey, "I feel I ought to explain that!  I remember now, since it happened months ago. It was a beautiful day. I was driving fast. Rather fast in fact. Two kids ran out in the middle of the road. I couldn't stop in time!"

His face then turned a little sour...

"Were you not charged!?" Asked Blore.

"Well," Replied Marston, "They took my license away. Beastly bad luck!"

"For them? Or for you?" Asked Wargrave gravely.

"Well, I would like to say for me, but of course it was damned bad luck on their part!" Replied Marston shrugging, "Anyway, I for one would like to get to the bottom of this mystery!"



"I for one would like to leave!" Blustered General MacArthur.

"So would I!" Cried Vera.

Everybody else voiced in agreement.

"Why do you want to leave, friends!?" Disagree Anthony Marston, sounding surprised, "This whole thing is thrilling! It's a mystery! And I for one would like to solve it!"

"Young man," Replied Judge Wargrave acidly, "At my time in life, I have no desire for "thrills" as you call them."

"The legal life is narrowing Judge!" Laughed Marston, "I'm all for adventure! Here is to crime!"

He raised his glass and took a quick gulp...

[Cluedo]

He probably drank too fast for then he swayed a little. For once, Marston didn't look right. Slowly, he lurched far forward and slammed his glass down on the sideboard, holding his hand up to his throat. He was emitting strange heavy breathing noises.....



Suddenly he swung up and gasped....

"ULP!!" He spluttered, "ACK!! URK!!!"

He couldn't breathe!! His hands clutched his throat as he violent gasped for air...



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


"Somebody help him!" Cried Vera desperately!




It was no use however, as Marston dropped to his knees. His choking was more increasingly violent.

"ULK! URK!! ACK!! ULP! [size=18]URK! URK! URK! URK![/size]"




Then finally, he dropped to the floor. Not a sound coming from the once great Anthony Marston; now only a broken figure on the carpet...




"Is he alright!?" Asked Blore, alarmed, "Just playing drunk is he!?"

The Doctor bent down to examine Marston. Then he looked up. His face said it all.

"Just playing dead..." He weakly replied.

"You mean the fellow just choked and died!?" Spluttered the exasperated General.

"You can call it choking if you like." Replied Dr. Armstrong, "He died of asphyxiation alright."

He stood up and went over the glass on the sideboard. He sniffed the glass, then tasted it.

"Lethal solution!" Replied Dr. Armstrong making a face, "Cyanide probably..."

"Suicide?" Asked Blore.

"That I believe comes under your line of work, Mr. Blore." Responded Armstrong.

"You...you wouldn't think he would kill himself," Whimpered Vera shuddering, "When he came down in his car, he was so....oh I can't explain it!"

They knew what she meant. They all recalled that glorious sight of the young warrior and his flashy vehicle. That same warrior was now crumpled, broken and purple-faced on the floor.

"In the mist of life, we are in death." Said Emily Brent, ever so coldly.



Just what was she talking about?

[Baby_Cat]

its good so far!

[Cluedo]

Thanks so much Baby-cat!

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

Hardly a word was said after Marston's abrupt death. The shock was still too great on everyone's minds. Lombard, Blore and Armstrong assisted in carrying the body of Marston up to his room where he was laid on the bed. They then left quickly and quietly, turning off the lights and shutting the door behind them. Better to let the dead rest in peace.....

Downstairs in the Games Room, Justice Wargrave sat quietly. He certainly wasn't going to retire down here, but for some reason, he was more exhausted than usual.

"The young amoral Anthony Marston is dead," He thought, "What was it the detective said? Suicide? Ha! I figured he would have come up with something better than that. Ah but I must be careful for now on this weekend. I must be very careful...."




Upstairs, General MacArthur entered his room to get ready for bed. He felt incredibly weak. The shock of everything was what did him in. The record accusation, and of course....that young man. Stuck down in his prime. Choked over whiskey and soda. Damned odd it was! More than odd! However at his age, he could sleep through anything. He probably was going to have a long sleep tonight. He looked up at a painting of a schooner at sea. Just above his bed. It made him think...about his wife.

"Ah..Leslie," General MacArthur thought to himself, "We used to sail in the earlier days....I remember. Down along the English channel. You loved all the albatrosses at port."

Oh how he loved Leslie. Her long curly brown hair that bounced in the breeze. Her dancing deep-grey eyes. Her hear-shaped face. Yes she was beautiful! And how it hurt! When he found out, that she was seeing Arthur! He liked Arthur Richmond quite alright, and he was glad Leslie liked him. Liar and hypocrite! Leslie and Arthur? And then... then his mind turned towards what was bothering him the most. That record.

"Damned this whole thing!" He thought in a cranky manner suddenly, "Damned the island!  Damned the accusation! Accusations of murder!? Preposterous! Who might have spoke? Armitage may have spoke. Damned young pup! What did he know? Arthur never questioned me! Simple measures in wartime. We lose our nerve a bit. It would have taken a miracle if Richmond made it out alive. And what about Emily Brent!? A good righteous woman she is! Cousin of Tom  Brent of the Regiment."

He looked back at the painting. A lump began to form in his throat. The boat reminded him of the boat that was suppose come pick them up.

"I do wonder when the boat would come to pick us up?"

Tomorrow he figured. Though, suddenly he felt as though he didn't want to leave. Back to his little house, back to his worries, back to the loneliness. He could here the waves splashing outside his window.

"Peaceful sound..."

Best thing he liked about an island is that you could go no further. You've come to the end of things. That's when General MacArthur suddenly realized....he didn't want to leave the island!



Downstairs, Rogers stood completely baffled. He didn't understand it. Not one bit. It was strange, how there appeared to be something off about the Indians on the mantle.

"That's a rum go," Said Rogers quietly to himself, "I could have sworn there were ten of them..."

[Cluedo]

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."




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..."




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



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

[Cluedo]

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?"





"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!"

[Cluedo]

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....



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!



"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...



"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..."

[Cluedo]

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....




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...



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...."



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

[Astral Faery]

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.