Chapter 14 Chapter Fourteen

They carried Mr. Laurence Wargrave into his room, laid him on the bed, and returned to the drawing-room, where they stood gaping, looking at each other.Blore said heavily, "What do we do now?" Lombard said briskly, "Get something to eat. You know, we've got to eat." They went into the kitchen again, opened a can of spatulas, and the machine I swallowed it so hard that I could barely taste it.Vera said: "I will never eat a stick again." They finished their meal and sat around the kitchen table, staring blankly at each other.Blore said, "It's just the four of us now... Who's next?" Armstrong opened his eyes wide and said without thinking, "We've got to be very careful..." He stopped short again.

Blore nodded. "That's exactly what the judge said...but he's dead!" said Armstrong. "I wonder how it happened?" Lombard swore. In Miss Claythorne's room. We were duped into thinking that she was being murdered, and rushed upstairs, and so, in the midst of all the confusion, the old judge was murdered." Blore said, "Why didn't anyone hear the gunfire?" Lombard shook his head. "Miss Claythorne was screaming there, and there was a lot of wind, and we were running around yelling. No way, the gunshots couldn't have been heard." He paused. "But this trick can't If you use it again, he will have to try another method next time."

"He might try," said Blore, his tone unpleasant.The two men squinted at each other. Armstrong said, "There are four of us, but we don't know which..." Blore said, "I know..." Vera said, "I don't doubt at all..." Armstrong said slowly, "I think I do know..." Philip Lombard said: "I think I have a very good idea..." They all looked at each other again... Vera stood up staggeringly and said: "I feel a little bad .I have to go to bed...I'm exhausted." Lombard said, "Better go to sleep. It's not a good thing to sit here and stare at each other."

Blore said, "I'm fine with..." The doctor murmured, "Better so—although I doubt anyone can sleep." They walked to the door.Blore said, "I wonder where that pistol went..." They go upstairs. The next action was a bit like a scene in a comedy. The four stood together and put their hands on the doorknob of their bedroom.Then, as if at a command, everyone stepped into the room and shut the door behind them.There was the sound of deadbolts being bolted, locks being locked, and furniture being moved.Four terrified people locked themselves inside and waited for tomorrow.

Philip Lombard put a chair under the doorknob against the door and turned around with a long hiss.He leisurely walked to the dressing table, and examined his face curiously by the light of the flickering candles. "Yeah, you're pretty scared about it," he whispered. A wolf-like smile flashed across his face, and he quickly took off his clothes and walked to the bed.He put the watch on the bedside table, then opened the table drawer.He froze there for a moment, staring at his lost pistol in the drawer... Miss Vera Claythorne lay in bed with the candle still burning beside her.She didn't have the guts to blow it out, she was afraid of the dark...she said to herself over and over again: "You'll be fine until tomorrow morning. Nothing happened last night, and nothing will happen tonight. Nothing will happen." Now, you have the door fastened and locked. No one can come near you..." She suddenly thought, "Of course! I can stay here! Lock the door and stay in the house, waiting for people to come to rescue Me. Even a whole day--or two--wouldn't matter. Yeah, but can I stay? Hour after hour...no one to talk to, nothing to do but think... ’ She began to think of Cyril—of Hugo—of what she had said to Cyril.A nasty whimpering child who kept pestering her... "Miss Claythorne, why can't I swim up that rock? I can, I know I can."

Was the answering voice her own? "Of course you can, Cyril. Really, I know you can swim." "So I can, Miss Claythorne?" "Listen, Cyril, your mother is always so nervous. I Let me tell you, tomorrow you can swim to the rocks and I'll talk to your mother on the beach and get her attention. Then, when she looks for you, you can stand on the rocks over there and wave to her! Definitely It'll surprise her!" "Oh, you're a good fellow, Miss Claythorne! It must be fun!" she had said.tomorrow!Hugo was going to Newquay, and when he came back—it was all over... Yes, but suppose it wasn't?What if something goes wrong?It is possible that Cyril could be rescued in time.Then...then he'd say, "Miss Claythorne says I can swim." Oh, so what?Some risk must be taken!If the worst happens, she has the audacity to deny it. "How could you tell such a shameless lie, Cyril? I never said that." People would believe her.Cyril often lies.He is not an honest boy.Of course Cyril would understand.But that's all right... Nothing can go wrong anyway.She will pretend to swim after him, but will not be able to catch up... No one will suspect... Does Hugo suspect?Was it because of this that Hugo looked at her with such strange, distant eyes?Did Hugo understand?Is that why he hastily left after the interrogation?He did not answer her letter to him.

Hugo... Vera tossed and turned in bed.No, no, she must not think of Hugo any more.This is so sad.It's all over, it's over... Hugo must be forgotten... Why did she suddenly feel that Hugo was in this room tonight?She stared at the ceiling, at the big black hook in the middle of the room.She hadn't noticed the hook before.That's where the seaweed hangs from...she shudders as she recalls the cold, clammy feeling on her neck...she doesn't like this hook on the ceiling, it draws your eye, bewitches you... ...a big black hook. Retired police officer Blore sat on the edge of the bed.His small eyes were red and bloodshot, and there was a vigilant light on his face.He looked like a wild boar ready to attack.He didn't feel sleepy, the danger was imminent... out of ten, six had died!The old judge, for all his cunning and prudence, was as miserable as the rest.Blore shrugged his nose in satisfaction.What did the old man say? "We have to be extra careful..." Smug, self-righteous old hypocrite, sitting in court thinking he's Almighty God.He got rid of him...don't worry about him anymore.

Now there are only four of them left.The girl, Lombard, Armstrong and himself.It wouldn't be long before another of them was going to die...but it wouldn't be him, it wouldn't be Henry Blore. (But what about the pistol... pistol? It's really disturbing... the pistol!) Blore sat on the bed, his brows furrowed, his small eyes narrowed into a slit as he brooded over the pistol. Crack... In the silence, the ticking of the clock downstairs can be heard.In the middle of the night, his tension relaxed a little, and he could even lie down on the bed, but he didn't take off his clothes.

He lay in bed thinking, going over the whole incident, detail by detail, from beginning to end, just as he had done in the Police Department.He knew he had to think it through in order to figure it out. The candle is almost burnt out.Seeing that the matches were at hand, he blew out the candle.Strangely enough, he found that the darkness could not calm him, as if a fear that had been dormant for thousands of years had been revived and was trying with all its might to dominate his mind.Faces floated before his eyes, the face of the court in a ridiculous gray wig, the cold, lifeless face of Mrs. Rogers, the convulsive, livid face of Anthony Marston... There was another face, pale, with glasses and a brown mustache—a face he had seen before, but when?Certainly not on this island.No, it was a long time ago.Strange, he couldn't remember the man's name... He looked very stupid--looking like a fool.

correct!His heart skipped a beat and he remembered, it was Rand!Strange to say, he had completely forgotten Rand's appearance.Yesterday he tried hard to recall what this person looked like, but he just couldn't.Now he himself appeared, so real, as if he had seen this person not long ago... Rand had a wife, a thin, sad-faced woman.He also had one child, a daughter of about fourteen.For the first time, he considered the current situation of the Rand survivors. (The pistol, where did the pistol go? This is more important...) The more he thought about it, the more confused he became, the pistol was incomprehensible...Maybe someone in the house took it away...The clock downstairs struck The sound interrupted Blore's thoughts.He was startled suddenly and immediately sat up from the bed.He heard a sound, a very faint sound, coming from somewhere outside the room.Someone is walking in the dark.Cold sweat oozed from his forehead.Who could this be?Who is quietly walking along the corridor?He dared to conclude that this person must have bad intentions!Despite his stout body, his movements are extremely flexible.He slipped out of the bed without a sound, rushed to the door in two steps, and stood there listening with bated breath.But that voice was gone.Nevertheless, he was convinced that he had heard correctly, that someone had indeed walked past his door.He felt the creeps, the terror came over him again...someone was moving secretly in the night...he heard it-although the sound only sounded for a while and then died away.

A new thought flashed through his mind.He wanted to rush out desperately to see what happened.As long as he could see who was working in the dark.But opening the door would be a stupid thing to do, and maybe that's what the man wanted.He had calculated that Blore would hear the voice, and opened the door to watch. Blore stood there dumbfounded, listening.He could hear all kinds of sounds—the snapping of branches, the rustling of leaves, and a mysterious whisper—but his practical mind knew what it was—it was just his mood. Nervous about the voice I imagined.Suddenly, he heard an unimaginable sound, very light, very careful footsteps, but still faintly discernible.The footsteps came closer (Lombard's and Armstrong's rooms were farther from the landing than his), and passed without stopping at his door. Blore broke his heart and decided to go out and see who it was!Footsteps came clearly past his door and up the stairs.Where is this man going?Blore looked clumsy and dull, but when he moved he was surprisingly quick.He tiptoed back to the bed, stuffed the matches into his pocket, unplugged the lamp next to the bed, and wrapped the cord around the lampstand—a handy weapon. He quietly walked back to the door quickly, moved the chair under the doorknob, carefully unscrewed the lock, and pulled the door open.He stood for a while in the corridor.There was a rustling sound in the hall downstairs.Blore ran barefoot to the landing.It wasn't until this time that he suddenly realized why he could hear so clearly.It turned out that the wind had completely subsided and the sky cleared.Faint moonlight filtered through the windows on the stairs to illuminate the downstairs living room.For a split second Blore saw a dark figure pass through the gate and disappear into the open air. He was about to go downstairs to chase him, but stopped immediately.Almost became a fool again!Maybe that person didn't realize that he himself made a big mistake and exposed himself completely.Because of the three rooms upstairs that are now inhabited, one must be empty.Now it's just a matter of finding out which ones are vacant.Blore quickly returned to the corridor.He first stopped at Armstrong's door, knocked, but received no answer.He stayed a moment, then came to Philip Lombard's door again, and immediately came the answer: "Who is it?" "It's me, Blore. I don't think Armstrong is in the house anymore. Just a moment." He went to the door at the end of the corridor and knocked on it: "Miss Claythorne, Miss Claythorne." Vera's panicked voice came out: "Who? What is it?" "Don't be afraid, Miss Claythorne, just a moment, I'll be right here." He came to Lombard's door.The door opened, and Lombard stood holding a candle in his left hand, his pajamas tucked in his trousers, his right hand in his pocket, and said warily, "What the hell is going on?" What was found was explained.Lombard's eyes lit up. "Armstrong, is it, is it? Then it's him, the little pigeon!" He went to Armstrong's door. "I'm sorry, Blore, but I don't trust anything." He knocked heavily on the door several times. "Armstrong, Armstrong." no answer.Lombard, on his knees, peered through the keyhole, then cautiously inserted his little finger into the keyhole."The key is not in the door," he said. "That is, he locked the door from the outside and took the key," Blore said. Philip nodded and said, "Be careful. We'll go find him, Blore, and we'll have him this time. It won't be a minute." He called to Vera's room, "Vera." "Hey." "We're going after Armstrong, he's out. Don't open the door under any circumstances, understand?" "Oh, I understand." "If Armstrong comes back and says I'm dead or Blore was killed, ignore him, understand? Don't open the door unless I call you with Blore. Understand?" Vera said, "Got it, I'm not so stupid." Lombard said, "That's all right." He came back to Blore and said, "Now—follow him! Be quick!" Blore said, "We'd better be careful, remember, he's got a pistol in his hand." Philip giggled and ran down the stairs.He said: "You are wrong." As he opened the door, he commented: "You see, the latch is pushed in, and he thought it would be easier for him to come back in this way." He added: "The gun is already in my Here it is." As he said, he half-drawn the pistol out of his pocket. "It was found in my drawer this evening." Blore stopped abruptly at the door, his face changed.Philip saw this, and said impatiently: "Don't be silly, Blore! I won't shoot you! Go back and lock yourself in the house if you want to. I'll go find Armstrong!" He Rushing into the moonlight outside, Blore hesitated for a moment and followed.He thought, "I'm going to figure it out anyway, and..." Besides, he'd dealt with criminals with pistols before.Blore might be lacking in other things, but he was definitely not lacking in courage.When he sees danger, he will go forward without hesitation.He never flinched from open danger, it was the supernatural that he dreaded—danger from nowhere. Vera remained in the room to await the results.She got up and dressed, and glanced at the door.The door was very strong, locked and bolted, and with an oaken chair under the handle, it was impossible to knock it open from the outside.Armstrong is not physically strong, and it is absolutely impossible to break into the door.If Armstrong intended to do harm, he must have used cunning, not violence. She sat there idly imagining what Armstrong might do.He probably claimed that one of the two men was dead, as Philip analyzed.Maybe he pretended to be seriously injured and crawled to her door moaning. There are all sorts of other possibilities.Tell her, for example, that the house is on fire... yes, it's quite possible.Lure those two people out of the villa, then sprinkle some gasoline on the ground, and set the house on fire.So she was imprisoned in the house to die like an idiot.Vera went to the window, but fortunately, she could escape here if she had to.It's just a fall-fortunately, there is a flower bed nearby. She sat down, picked up the diary, and wrote in clear and beautiful fonts, anyway, to kill time. Suddenly, her whole body tensed, and she heard a sound, as if the glass was broken somewhere downstairs.But when she raised her ears to listen carefully, the sound disappeared again. She heard—perhaps fancied she heard—sneaky footsteps, creaking stairs, rustling clothes... But it was all uncertain.She came to the same conclusion as Blore's just now that the voices were purely her own imagination. But at this moment, she heard a real voice again.Someone was walking upstairs, whispering, firm steps up the stairs, a door opened and closed, steps up the attic, and then there were more noises from the attic.Finally, footsteps came down the hallway to her bedroom.Lombard's voice asked, "Vera, are you all right?" "All right, what's going on outside?" Blore's voice said, "Can we go in?" Open the chair, unscrew the lock, unlatch the latch, and open the door. The two people who came in were panting, their feet and trouser legs were dripping with water. She asked again: "What happened?" Lombard said: "Armstrong is missing." Vera called out: "What?" "Disappeared from this island," Lombard said. Blore agreed, "Disappeared—that's a good word, disappeared like magic." Vera said impatiently, "Nonsense! He must be hiding somewhere!" Blore said, "No, it can't be! I can assure you there's no hiding place on this island. It's bare and obvious. The moon is as bright as the day tonight, but he can't be found." Vera said: "He turned back to the villa again." Blore said: "We thought the same thing, just searched. Of course, you must have heard, tell you, he's not there, he's gone—absolutely gone, slipped away..." Vera said doubtfully, "I don't believe it." Lombard said, "It's true, my dear." He paused, then added, "There's another little thing. A piece of the dining-room window was broken, and there were only three A little china man."