Surely they'd got the temperature too high? The sweat was rolling down his face. His hands were clammy. Difficult to hold the scalpel firmly…

Sister was watching him. No, he couldn't ask her. She was suspicious, he could see that. But who was it on the operating table?

Easy to do a murder with a knife like that. And of course he was doing a murder. The woman's body looked different. It had been a large unwieldy body. This was a spare meagre body. And the face was hidden.

Emily Brent, of course. It was Emily Brent that he had to kill. How malicious her eyes were! Her lips were moving. What was she saying?

He couldn't remember. But he must know! Should he ask Sister?

Ah! that was better. A young probationer was pulling off the handkerchief.

They shouldn't have covered up the face like that.

If he could only see the face…

Dr. Armstrong was dreaming…

She was laughing now. No, nurse, don't put the handkerchief back. I've got to see. I've got to give the anaesthetic. Where's the ether? I must have brought the ether with me. What have you done with the ether, Sister? Chateau Neuf du Pape? Yes, that will do quite as well.

Who was it that he had to kill?

"In the midst of life we are in death.

It was very hot in the operating room…

How beautifully sharp it was…

Look out, man, look out. Nurse, steady it -- steady -- it -- With a start Dr. Armstrong woke up. It was morning. Sunlight was pouring into the room.

Take the handkerchief away, nurse.

Dr. Armstrong woke up completely.

Of course! I knew it all the time! It's Anthony Marston! His face is purple and convulsed. But he's not dead-he's laughing. I tell you he's laughing! He's shaking the operating table.

And some one was leaning over him -- shaking him. It was Rogers. Rogers, with a white face, saying: "Doctor -- doctor!"

He bent over the bed where the woman was lying peacefully on her side. He lifted the cold hand, raised the eyelid. It was some few minutes before be straightened himself and turned from the bed.

"It's the wife, doctor. I can't get her to wake. My God! I can't get her to wake. And -- and she don't look right to me."

He sat up in bed. He said sharply: "What is it?"

Dr. Armstrong was quick and efficient. He wrapped himself in his dressing-gown and followed Rogers.

Rogers whispered: "Is -- she -- is she?"

Rogers said: "Was it -- was it -- 'er 'eart, doctor?"

His eyes rested thoughtfully on the man before him. Then they went to the table by the bed, to the washstand, then back to the sleeping woman.

Armstrong went over to the washstand. There were a certain number of bottles on it. Hair lotion, lavender water, cascara, glycerine of cucumber for the hands, a mouth wash, tooth paste and some Elliman's.

The doctor said sharply: "Did she take things to make her sleep?"

Rogers said: "She was a bit rheumaticky."

"No, doctor. I never knew of anything."

Armstrong said: "Did she sleep well?"

"Any doctor been attending her recently?"

"Doctor?" Rogers stared. "Not been to a doctor for years -- neither of us."

Now Rogers' eyes evaded his. The man's hands came together and turned and twisted uneasily. He muttered. "She didn't sleep extra well -- no."

Armstrong nodded. "Yes, she's gone."

Dr. Armstrong was a minute or two before replying. Then he said: "What was her health like normally?"

"You'd no reason to believe she suffered from heart trouble?"

Rogers stared at him, surprised. "Take things? To make her sleep? Not that I knew of. I'm sure she didn't."

He passed a tongue over dry lips.

When the gong sounded for breakfast at nine o'clock it found every one up and awaiting the summons.

Glancing up at the sky, Blore remarked: "Looks all right to me."

Vera Claythome and Philip Lombard had been up to the summit of the island behind the house. There they had discovered William Henry Blore, standing staring at the mainland.

Rogers helped by pulling out the drawers of the dressing-table. From there they moved on to the chest of drawers. But there was no sign of sleeping draughts or tablets.

He said abruptly: "What d'you think of the weather?"

Rogers said: "She didn't have nothing last night, sir, except what you gave her…"

He said: "No sign of that motor boat yet. I've been watching for it."

Philip Lombard was looking the other way, out to sea.

Vera said, smiling: "Devon's a sleepy county. Things are usually late."

Lombard pursed up his mouth into a whistle. He said: "It will come on to blow before the day's out."

General Macarthur and the judge had been pacing the terrace outside, exchanging desultory comments on the political situation.

Emily Brent came out of the drawing-room door to meet them.

"I'd want some proof. Motive, to begin with. Well off I should say he was."

Blore said: "Squally -- eh?"

From below them came the boom of a gong.

Vera was a little ahead. Lombard hung back slightly. He said: "Got any alternative theory?"

As they went down the steep slope Blore said to Lombard in a ruminating voice: "You know, it beats me -- why that young fellow wanted to do himself in! I've been worrying about it all night."

"Not yet," said Vera.

Philip Lombard said: "Breakfast? Well, I could do with some."

They went in to breakfast. There was a vast dish of eggs and bacon on the sideboard and tea and coffee.

Rogers held the door open for them to pass in, then shut it from the outside.

Emily Brent said: "That man looks ill this morning."

Dr. Armstrong, who was standing by the window, cleared his throat. He said: "You must excuse any -- er -- shortcomings this morning. Rogers has had to do the best he can for breakfast single-handed. Mrs. Rogers has -- er -- not been able to carry on this morning."

She said sharply: "Is the boat coming?"

They took the hint. Plates were filled, coffee and tea was poured. The meal began.

Emily Brent said sharply: "What's the matter with the woman?"

Then, when plates were cleared, Dr. Armstrong moved back his chair a little, cleared his throat importantly and spoke. He said:

Dr. Armstrong said easily: "Let us start our breakfast. The eggs will be cold. Afterwards, there are several matters I want to discuss with you all."

There were startled and shocked ejaculations.

Discussion of the island was, by mutual consent, tabooed. They spoke instead in a desultory fashion of current events. The news from abroad, events in the world of sport, the latest reappearance of the Loch Ness monster.

"I thought it better to wait until you had had your breakfast before telling you of a sad piece of news. Mrs. Rogers died in her sleep."

Mr. Justice Wargrave, his eyes narrowed, said in his small precise clear voice: "H'm -- very remarkable -- what was the cause of death?"

Vera exclaimed: "How awful! Two deaths on this island since we arrived!"

"I certainly couldn't give a certificate. I have no knowledge whatsoever of the woman's state of health."

Vera said: "She was a very nervous-looking creature. And she had a shock last night. It might have been heart failure, I suppose?"

Armstrong shrugged his shoulders. "Impossible to say offhand."

"There must be an autopsy?"

One word fell from Emily Brent. It fell hard and clear into the listening group.

"Conscience!" she said.

"What exactly do you mean by that, Miss Brent?"

Emily Brent, her lips tight and hard, said: "You all heard. She was accused, together with her husband, of having deliberately murdered her former employer -- an old lady."

Armstrong turned to her.

"And you think?"

Emily Brent said: "I think that that accusation was true. You all saw her last night. She broke down completely and fainted. The shock of having her wickedness brought home to her was too much for her. She literally died of fear."

Dr. Armstrong said drily: "Her heart certainly failed to beat -- but what caused it to fail is the question."

Dr. Armstrong shook his head doubtfully.

Emily Brent said quietly: "Call it, if you prefer, an Act of God."

"It is a possible theory," he said. "One cannot adopt it without more exact knowledge of her state of health. If there was cardiac weakness --"

Armstrong said: "Nothing."

Every one looked shocked. Mr. Blore said uneasily: "That's carrying things a bit far, Miss Brent."

Emily Brent shrugged her shoulders.

The judge stroked his chin. He murmured in a slightly ironic voice: "My dear lady, in my experience of ill-doing, Providence leaves the work of conviction and chastisement to us mortals -- and the process is often fraught with difficulties. There are no short cuts."

Blore said sharply: "What did she have to eat and drink?"

"She didn't take anything? A cup of tea? A drink of water? I'll bet you she had a cup of tea. That sort always does."

She looked at them with shining eyes. Her chin went up. She said: "You regard it as impossible that a sinner should be struck down by the wrath of God! I do not!"

"Rogers assures me she had nothing whatsoever."

"Ah," said Blore. "But he might say so!"

Vera interrupted. In a low voice she said: "No, I don't think Mrs. Rogers ever felt safe."

Blore said aggressively: "Well, why not? We all heard that accusation last night. May be sheer moonshine -- just plain lunacy! On the other hand, it may not. Allow for the moment that it's true. Rogers and his missus polished off that old lady. Well, where does that get you? They've been feeling quite safe and happy about it --"

His tone was so significant that the doctor looked at him sharply.

Philip Lombard said: "So that's your idea?"

Blore looked slightly annoyed at the interruption. "Just like a woman," his glance said.

He resumed: "That's as may be. Anyway there's no active danger to them as far as they know. Then, last night, some unknown lunatic spills the beans. What happens? The woman cracks -- she goes to pieces. Notice how her husband hung over her as she was coming round. Not all husbandly solicitude! Not on your life! He was like a cat on hot bricks. Scared out of his life as to what she might say."

"And there's the position for you! They've done a murder and got away with it. But if the whole thing's going to be raked up, what's going to happen? Ten to one, the woman will give the show away. She hasn't got the nerve to stand up and brazen it out. She's a living danger to her husband, that's what she is. He's all right. He'll lie with a straight face till kingdom comes -- but he can't be sure of her! And if she goes to pieces, his neck's in danger! So he slips something into a cup of tea and makes sure that her mouth is shut permanently."

Blore snorted. "Of course there wouldn't be! First thing he'd do when she'd drunk it would be to take that cup and saucer away and wash it up carefully."

Armstrong said slowly: "There was no empty cup by her bedside -- there was nothing there at all. I looked."

Blore gave a short laugh. He said: "When a man's neck's in danger, he doesn't stop to think too much about sentiment."

There was a pause. Then General Macarthur said doubtfully: "It may be so. But I should hardly think it possible that a man would do that -- to his wife."

Rogers inclined his head. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

On the terrace outside Philip Lombard said: "About this motor boat --"

Again there was a silence.

Philip Lombard said: "What's the time now?"

"Ten minutes to ten, sir."

Rogers waited a minute or two.

Lombard's eyebrows rose. He nodded slowly to himself.

He said, looking from one to the other: "Is there anything more I can get you? I'm sorry there was so little toast, but we've run right out of bread. The new bread hasn't come over from the mainland yet."

He took up the empty bacon dish and went out.

General Macarthur spoke suddenly and explosively. "Sorry to hear about your wife, Rogers. Doctor's just been telling US."

"Between seven and eight, Sir. Sometimes it's a bit after eight. Don't know what Fred Narracott can be doing this morning. If he's ill he'd send his brother."

There was a pause. Before any one could speak, the door opened and Rogers came in.

Mr. Justice Wargrave stirred a little in his chair. He asked: "What time does the motor boat usually come over?"

Blore looked at him.

"Found the answer?" asked Lombard.

"It's not an accident -- that's what I say. It's part and parcel of the whole business. It's all bound up together."

Blore nodded his head. He said: "I know what you're thinking, Mr. Lombard. I've asked myself the same question. Motor boat ought to have been here nigh on two hours ago. It hasn't come? Why?"

Blore turned his square shoulder slightly and viewed the last speaker thoughtfully. "You think not too, General?"

Philip Lombard said: "It won't come, you think?"

A voice spoke behind him -- a testy impatient voice. "The motor boat's not coming," he said.

General Macarthur said sharply: "Of course it won't come. We're counting on the motor boat to take us off the island. That's the meaning of the whole business. We're not going to leave the island… None of us will ever leave… It's the end, you see -- the end of everything."

He hesitated, then he said in a low strange voice: "That's peace -- real peace. To come to the end -- not to have to go on… Yes, peace…"

Dr. Armstrong came out onto the terrace. He stood there hesitating. To his left were Blore and Lombard. To his right was Wargrave, slowly pacing up and down, his head bent down.

"Could I have a word with you, sir, please?"

He walked a little unsteadily, like a man who was only half awake. Blore said: "There goes another one who's balmy! Looks as though it'll end with the whole lot going that way."

"It would take a lot to send me off my head." He added drily: "And I don't think you'll be going that way either, Mr. Lombard."

He was startled at what he saw.

Philip Lombard said: "I feel quite sane at the minute, thank you."

But at that moment Rogers came quickly out of the house.

The ex-Inspector laughed.

Philip Lombard said: "I don't fancy you will, Blore."

Armstrong turned.

Armstrong, after a moment of indecision, turned towards the latter.

He turned abruptly and walked away. Along the terrace, then down the slope towards the sea -- obliquely -- to the end of the island where loose rocks went out into the water.

He opened the dining-room door. The doctor passed in. Rogers followed him and shut the door behind him. "Well," said Armstrong, "what is it?"

"In here, sir, come in here."

Rogers' face was working. Its colour was greyish green. His hands shook. It was such a contrast to his restraint of a few minutes ago that Armstrong was quite taken aback.

The muscles of Rogers' throat were working. He was swallowing. He jerked out: "There's things going on, sir, that I don't understand."

"Please, sir, if I could have a word with you. Inside, sir."

"Well, man, tell me what it is? Don't go on talking in riddles."

The doctor turned back and re-entered the house with the frenzied butler. He said: "What's the matter, man? Pull yourself together."

"You'll think I'm crazy, sir. You'll say it isn't anything. But it's got to be explained, sir. It's got to be explained. Because it doesn't make any sense."

Armstrong said sharply: "Things? What things?"

Rogers swallowed again. He said: "It's those little figures, sir. In the middle of the table. The little china figures. Ten of them, there were. I'll swear to that, ten of them."

Rogers came nearer.

Armstrong said: "Yes, ten. We counted them last night at dinner."

"There's only eight, sir! Only eight! It doesn't make sense, does it? Only eight…"

"That's just it, sir. Last night, when I was clearing up, there wasn't but nine, sir. I noticed it and thought it queer. But that's all I thought. And now, sir, this morning. I didn't notice when I laid the breakfast. I was upset and all that.

"But now, sir, when I came to clear away. See for yourself if you don't believe me."