And Then There Were None - Agatha Christie [61]
“How?”
Lombard shrugged his shoulders.
“That we don’t know. But if you ask me, we’ve only one danger to fear—and that danger is Blore! What do we know about the man? Less than nothing! All this ex-policeman story may be bunkum! He may be anybody—a mad millionaire—a crazy businessman—an escaped inmate of Broadmoor. One thing’s certain. He could have done every one of these crimes.”
Vera had gone rather white. She said in a slightly breathless voice:
“And supposing he gets—us?”
Lombard said softly, patting the revolver in his pocket:
“I’m going to take very good care he doesn’t.”
Then he looked at her curiously.
“Touching faith in me, haven’t you, Vera? Quite sure I wouldn’t shoot you?”
Vera said:
“One has got to trust someone … As a matter of fact I think you’re wrong about Blore. I still think it’s Armstrong.”
She turned to him suddenly:
“Don’t you feel—all the time—that there’s someone. Someone watching and waiting?”
Lombard said slowly:
“That’s just nerves.”
Vera said eagerly:
“Then you have felt it?”
She shivered. She bent a little closer.
“Tell me—you don’t think—” she broke off, went on: “I read a story once—about two judges that came to a small American town—from the Supreme Court. They administered justice—Absolute Justice. Because—they didn’t come from this world at all.…”
Lombard raised his eyebrows.
He said:
“Heavenly visitants, eh? No, I don’t believe in the supernatural. This business is human enough.”
Vera said in a low voice:
“Sometimes—I’m not sure….”
Lombard looked at her. He said:
“That’s conscience …” After a moment’s silence he said very quietly: “So you did drown that kid after all?”
Vera said vehemently:
“I didn’t! I didn’t! You’ve no right to say that!”
He laughed easily.
“Oh yes, you did, my good girl! I don’t know why. Can’t imagine. There was a man in it probably. Was that it?”
A sudden feeling of lassitude, of intense weariness, spread over Vera’s limbs. She said in a dull voice:
“Yes—there was a man in it….”
Lombard said softly:
“Thanks. That’s what I wanted to know….”
Vera sat up suddenly. She exclaimed:
“What was that? It wasn’t an earthquake?”
Lombard said:
“No, no. Queer, though—a thud shook the ground. And I thought—did you hear a sort of cry? I did.”
They stared up at the house.
Lombard said:
“It came from there. We’d better go up and see.”
“No, no, I’m not going.”
“Please yourself. I am.”
Vera said desperately:
“All right. I’ll come with you.”
They walked up the slope to the house. The terrace was peaceful and innocuous-looking in the sunshine. They hesitated there a minute, then instead of entering by the front door, they made a cautious circuit of the house.
They found Blore. He was spreadeagled on the stone terrace on the east side, his head crushed and mangled by a great block of white marble.
Philip looked up. He said:
“Whose is that window just above?”
Vera said in a low shuddering voice:
“It’s mine—and that’s the clock from my mantelpiece… I remember now. It was—shaped like a bear.”
She repeated and her voice shook and quavered:
“It was shaped like a bear….”
III
Philip grasped her shoulder.
He said, and his voice was urgent and grim:
“This settles it. Armstrong is in hiding somewhere in that house. I’m going to get him.”
But Vera clung to him. She cried:
“Don’t be a fool. It’s us now! We’re next! He wants us to look for him! He’s counting on it!”
Philip stopped. He said thoughtfully:
“There’s something in that.”
Vera cried:
“At any rate you do admit now I was right.”
He nodded.
“Yes—you win! It’s Armstrong all right. But where the devil did he hide himself? We went over the place with a fine-tooth comb.”
Vera said urgently:
“If you didn’t find him last night, you won’t find him now… That’s common sense.”
Lombard said reluctantly:
“Yes, but—”
“He must have prepared a secret place beforehand—naturally—of course it’s just what he