无人生还33

IV

Dr Armstrong came out on to 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.

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

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

‘Could I have a word with you, sir, please?’

Armstrong turned.

He was startled at what he saw.

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 Arm-

strong was quite taken aback.

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

The doctor turned back and re-entered the house with the frenzied but-

ler. He said:

‘What’s the matter, man, pull yourself together.’

‘In here, sir, come in here.’

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?’

The muscles of Rogers’ throat were working. He was swallowing. He

jerked out:

‘There’s things going on, sir, that I don’t understand.’

Armstrong said sharply:

‘Things? What things?’

‘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.’

‘Well, man, tell me what it is. Don’t go on talking in riddles.’

Rogers swallowed again.

He said:

‘It’s those little figures, sir. In the middle of the table. The little china fig-

ures. Ten of them, there were. I’ll swear to that, ten of them.’

Armstrong said:

‘Yes, ten. We counted them last night at dinner.’

Rogers came nearer.

‘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 up-

set and all that.

‘But now, sir, when I came to clear away. See for yourself if you don’t

believe me.

‘There’s only eight, sir! Only eight! It doesn’t make sense, does it? Only

eight…’

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