Chapter 5 chapter Five

It happened so suddenly and so unexpectedly that everyone present held their breath in amazement and stared blankly at the hesitant and huddled people on the ground. Dr. Armstrong jumped up, ran over, and knelt down beside Marston.When he raised his head again, his eyes were blank, revealing a deeply bewildered expression. He whispered softly, terrified. "My God! He's dead." Those people didn't understand, didn't understand right away. died?died?This youthful and beautiful young god was knocked down all of a sudden?A fit lad wouldn't die like this, choking on a brandy-soda...

No, no one believed it. Dr. Armstrong gazed at the dead man's face, and leaned forward to sniff at the blue, distorted lips.Then he picked up Anthony Marston's glass from the floor. General MacArthur said: "Dead? You mean the guy choked and so--so it was over?" The doctor said: "If you say he choked, say he choked. But he died of suffocation." He went to sniff the cup now.He dipped one finger into the remaining drain in the glass, and very carefully reached out to the tip of his tongue to touch it lightly. He changed his look. General MacArthur said: "Never heard of a man dying like that—just choking like that!"

Emily Brent said it clearly: "Life is death, there is no time for death." Dr. Armstrong stood up and said suddenly: "No, a man doesn't die from choking like that. Marston's death wasn't what we call a natural death." Vera spoke, in a low voice almost a whisper: "Stay—what—in the brandy?" Armstrong nodded. "Yes. Not sure. All the signs look like cyanide or something. There is no special smell of hydrocyanic acid. It may be potassium cyanide. That thing works very fast." The judge asked sharply: "That thing was in his glass?"

"It's in his cup." The doctor went to the wine table, uncorked the brandy, sniffed it, and tasted it.Then I tried the soda.He shook his head. "No problem." Lombard said: "You mean—he must have put that thing in his glass himself?" Armstrong nodded, but with a strange expression, he said with great dissatisfaction: "It seems so." Blore said: "Suicide, eh? What a queer thing!" Vera said slowly: "Nobody would have thought he'd kill himself. How alive he is! He's--oh--he's having a good time! When he drove down that hill tonight, he looked like--like —Oh, I can't describe it!"

In fact, everyone knew what she was going to say: Anthony Marston was in the prime of his youth, his ambition, and he seemed immortal and immortal in any way.Who would have thought that now he was dead, lying dead in the dust. Dr. Armstrong asked: "Is there any possibility other than suicide?" They all shook their heads slowly, thoughtfully.What else can be said?No one touched the wine, they all saw that Anthony Marston went over and poured it himself.It goes without saying, therefore, that the cyanide in the wine was put down by Anthony Marston himself. As for the next question—why did Anthony Marston kill himself?

Blore mused and said: "You know, doctor, it doesn't look right to me. I don't think Mr. Marston is the sort of man who would kill himself." Armstrong replied: "I agree." That's all for now, what else is there to say? Together Armstrong and Lombard took the limp body of Anthony Marston to his own room and covered it with a sheet. The rest of them were standing in a circle when they came down.Although it wasn't cold that night, everyone seemed to be shivering a little. Emily Brent says: "Let's all go to bed, it's getting late." It was past twelve o'clock.This suggestion is quite appropriate-but no one is holding on to leaving, it seems that they all want to stay together, so I can rest assured.

The judge said: "Yeah! We've got to get some sleep." Rogers said: "I haven't done it yet—the dining room has to be done." Lombard said casually: "Do it tomorrow morning." Dr. Armstrong asked him: "Is your wife all right?" "I'll go and see, sir." After a while he came back. "Sleep soundly." "Very well," said the doctor, "don't wake her." "Yes, sir. I'll tidy up the dining room and see if the doors around are closed and locked before I go back." He went across the living room to the dining room.

The rest of the people, one by one, reluctantly started to go upstairs slowly. If it were an old house, with creaking floors, shady here and dark there, and thick and heavy plywood walls, it might give people a creepy feeling.But now the house couldn't be more stylish, there's no dark corner to be found - there can't be a hidden door or a sliding wall or anything - it's lit up everywhere, you can see it all - everything is new, shiny, light Forensic person.There was nothing to hide in the house, no secrets to speak of, not even an atmosphere like this. Somehow, it has now become a terrifying abyss...

They went upstairs, said goodnight to each other, went to their bedrooms, and, of course, all locked the doors automatically and without thinking. . . . In this pastel-toned, cheerfully furnished room, Mr Justice Wargrave was taking off his shoes and undressing for bed. He was still thinking about Edward Seton. He remembered Seton perfectly: the beautiful hair, the blue eyes, the way he always looked straight at you with such openness, the honest and easy-going look on his face, which was why the jury had such a strong affection for him. Llewellyn, on the part of the prosecutor, was a bit of a blunderer, too impulsive, too eager to get things done.

Matthews, on the defendant's side, did a great job.The argument is strong.His cross-examinations hit the nail on the head, and his handling of the parties on the witness stand was marvelous. Moreover, Seton also successfully withstood the test of cross-examination, neither nervous nor impulsive, and the faces of the jury members showed touched expressions.According to Matthews' estimation, perhaps the overall situation is ironclad, just waiting for the scene where the audience cheered him in unison at the end. The judge carefully wound the watch and placed it on the head of the bed.

He remembered exactly what it was like when he was sitting high at that time—listening with his ears, memorizing in his hands, not letting go of every point, searching for even the slightest bit of evidence that could prove the criminal. He is very interested in this case!Matthews' closing remarks were top notch.And Llewellyn, who spoke next, did nothing to dispel the general goodwill enjoyed by the defendant's lawyers. Then it was his turn to make his own conclusions... Judge Wargrave now carefully removed the dentures and dunked them in a water glass.The shriveled lips had sunk in, revealing a cruel mouth, not only cruel but bloodthirsty. The judge squinted, secretly amused. In the end he killed Seton anyway. The rheumatism of the joints was a little more exciting, he went to bed with a humming sound, and turned off the light casually. Rogers stood downstairs in the dining room, puzzled. He was staring in a daze at the small china figurine in the center of the table. He muttered to himself: "Damn it! I'll swear there were ten of them." General MacArthur tossed and turned in bed. Sleepyhead just won't come. In the shadows, the face of Arthur Richmond kept appearing. He had liked Arthur—he'd always been damned fond of Arthur, and he'd been glad that Leslie liked Arthur, too. Leslie was elusive.She sneered at many pretty good characters, and always said: "A fool!" However, she did not think Arthur Richmond was stupid.The two of them got along very well from the beginning.Together they talk about theater, about music and movies.She teased him, teased him, made him laugh.As for MacArthur, he also felt happy when he thought that Leslie loved the big child like a mother. What a mother!Damn it!Forgot that Richmond was twenty-eight and Leslie was only twenty-nine. He had always loved Leslie.He could see her now.Her oval face, dark gray looking eyes, brown and thick curly hair.He had always loved Leslie and had always trusted her absolutely. The army is far away from France, and life is miserable.He would always sit thinking of her, looking at her photograph from the pocket of his military jacket. But then, he found out! Things happened exactly like the story in the novel.The letter was loaded in the wrong envelope.She wrote to both of them at the same time, but put the Richmond letter in an envelope addressed to her husband.Even today, many years later, he can still feel the blow at that time—the pain... God!I can't stand it! It's been a while since it happened, and it's clearly written in the letter.Every weekend, and Richmond's last public holiday... Leslie - Leslie and Arthur! The damn guy!His damn smiling face, that damn loud, crisp "Yes, sir!" Liar, hypocrite!A thief who steals other people's wives! The gloomy murderous intent grew little by little. He had to find a way to carry on as usual—without showing it.The attitude towards Richmond also did everything possible to be the same as before. Did he do it?He thought it was okay.Richmond didn't notice.Living in a foreign land, far away from home, it doesn't matter if you have a good or bad temper, but your nerves are too tense, and you will always whisper. It was just that once or twice little Armitage looked at him curiously, and the kid was so young that he had a heart. Then the time came at last--perhaps, Armitage saw it. He intentionally sent Richmond to die. It would be a miracle if Richmond came back unscathed that time. Of course, the miracle did not happen.Yes, it was MacArthur who deliberately asked him to die, and he had no remorse at all.It was an easy job, mistakes were made every now and then, and officers were continually sent to needless sacrifice.There was confusion and panic everywhere.Afterwards, some people might say: "Old Mai also panicked, and made a big mistake. He was a good subordinate and lost several." That's all, what else can I say? But that's not the case with Armitage.When he looked at his commander in chief, his eyes were different.He presumably saw that Richmond had been deliberately sent to take his life. (So, after the war—will Armitage tell it?) Leslie didn't know.Leslie had wept (he reckoned) over the death of her sweetheart, but by the time he returned to England her grief had passed.He never revealed to Leslie what he perceived as a problem.They lived together again--only she couldn't help being often lost.After another three or four years passed like this, she suffered from bilateral pneumonia and passed away. That was many years ago, too, fifteen—sixteen years? Later, he also left the army and lived in Devonshire - bought a small piece of property, realized the wish of many years.Nice neighbors - there's no better place in the world.More hunting and fishing and church every week (except the day when the sermon was about how David took Yuria to the front to die. He couldn't hear that anyway, it made him restless). Everyone was very polite to him.At first, that was the case.Later, he became uneasy, always felt that someone was talking about him behind his back, and when he saw him, his expression was not right, more or less like this, as if they had heard something—gossip ... (Armitage? Could it be that Armitage said something?) From then on, he always avoided other people - lived in seclusion.It is indeed not comfortable for a person to always feel that someone is talking about him. In short, things have changed, how many years have passed.So - so now it's completely gratuitous.Leslie was long gone, and so was Arthur Richmond.It's gone, so what's the problem? Then life was lonely, and he had to hide from his old friends in the army. (If Armitage talks, they'll all know.) And now—this very night—an unfathomable voice unraveled the long-kept secret. Is he doing it right?Gritting your teeth and not opening your mouth?Expressing intricate feelings - indignation, disgust, but can't appear guilty and anxious?not sure. Of course, no one would take this accusation seriously.Too much moisture, similar to chasing after the wind.Take that utterly lovely girl—that "voice" accuses her of drowning a child!Crazy talk!God knows which lunatic is casually suing and climbing! Emily Brent—actually the niece of old Tommy Brent in the regiment.He even accused her of murder!Anyone can see at a glance that she is really a pious person-it is fitting to say that she is the parson's lamb! Damn weird, exactly!Just crazy, nothing else! Since they got here - when?Yo, damn it!Didn't you just arrive this afternoon?Why does it seem like it's been so long! He thought: "I really don't know when I can get away!" Of course, tomorrow, as long as the motorboat on the shore comes, I will leave. It's really interesting, at this moment, he doesn't really want to leave this island... Go back to the shore, go back to his small house, and go through all kinds of right and wrong troubles again.From the open window came the crash of the sea against the rocks--heavier and louder than in the evening.The wind also rose. He thought, the sound of rest, the place of rest... He thought: The beauty of the small island is that once it comes, it will be at peace, and it can no longer go forward... It has reached the destination of everything... He suddenly understood that he didn't want to leave the island and go elsewhere. Vera Claythorne lay awake staring at the ceiling in bed. The lamp by her bed was still on.She is afraid of the dark. Her thoughts fluctuate: "Hugo... Hugo...why do I feel like you're staring at me tonight?...it seems to be right next to me..." "Where is he? I don't know, and I never intend to know. He just went away--just gone--and I have nothing to do with it." It was impossible to avoid thinking about Hugo.He is by her side.She couldn't stop thinking about him—couldn't forget him... Cornwall... Black sea reefs, magnanimous golden beaches, plump but kind Mrs. Hamilton, etc., etc.As for Cyril, he took her hand and quarreled endlessly. "I'm going to swim to the rock, Miss Claythorne. Why don't you let me swim to the rock?" She opened her eyes and looked up—just in time to meet Hugo's gaze on her. At night, after Cyril went to bed... "Miss Claythorne, come out for a walk." "Okay, let's go for a walk." They walked down to the beach in good order, and the moonlight--the atmosphere of the Atlantic Ocean. At this moment, Hugo put his arm around her waist. "I love you, I love you, do you know I love you, Vera?" Of course, she knows. (It could also be said that she thinks she knows.) "I can't ask you to marry me. I don't have any money, I can only support myself. You know, it's strange to say that once, for three full months, I hoped to become a rich man all at once." Opportunity, opportunity is in front of me. You know that Cyril was born three full months after Maurice died. If Cyril was a girl..." If the child was a girl, then everything belonged to Hugo.He admitted that he was very disappointed. "Of course, I didn't go all in on it. Still, it was quite a blow. Well, luck to luck! Cyril is still lovely, and I do love him." And the kid did like him .He always listens to this nephew, and he can play whatever he wants to play. Hugo is by nature not to hold grudges or resentments. Cyril was born with a handicap and was a weak child--lack of stamina.Maybe it can be said that it is the kind of child who can't raise up and live long... later--? "Miss Claythorne, why don't you let me swim over to the reef?" Angry, stubborn, nagging endlessly. "It's too far there, Cyril." "But I... Miss Claythorne..." Vera got out of bed, went to the dresser, and took three aspirins. she thinks: "If only I had real sleeping pills with me." She thought again: "If I thought about this life too, I'd take more sleeping pills, but no cyanide!" She shuddered at the thought of Anthony Marston's distorted livid face. She went to the mantelpiece and looked up again at the song about Indian children in the frame. Ten little Indian boys, running for food; One can't be saved if he chokes to death, and only nine out of ten remain. She thought to herself: "Simply horrible - as we were tonight..." Why should Anthony Marston die? She doesn't want to die. She couldn't imagine dying... Death is someone else's business...