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Lombard said:

‘What about yourself, Mr Blore?’

‘What about me?’

‘Your name was included in the list.’

Blore went purple.

‘Landor, you mean? That was the bank robbery—London and Commercial.’

Mr Justice Wargrave stirred. He said:

‘I remember. It didn’t come before me, but I remember the case. Landor was convicted on your evidence. You were the police officer in charge of the case?’

Blore said:

‘I was.’

‘Landor got penal servitude for life and died on

Dartmoor a year later. He was a delicate man.’

Blore said:

‘He was a crook. It was he who knocked out the night watchman. The case was quite clear against him.’

Wargrave said slowly:

‘You were complimented, I think, on your able handling of the case.’

Blore said sulkily:

‘I got my promotion.’

He added in a thick voice.

‘I was only doing my duty.’

Lombard laughed—a sudden ringing laugh. He said:

‘What a duty-loving law-abiding lot we all seem to be! Myself excepted. What about you, doctor—and your little professional mistake? Illegal operation, was it?’

Emily Brent glanced at him in sharp distaste and drew herself away a little.

Dr Armstrong, very much master of himself, shook his head good-humouredly.

‘I’m at a loss to understand the matter,’ he said. ‘The name meant nothing to me when it was spoken. What was it—Clees? Close? I really can’t remember having a patient of that name, or being connected with a death in any way. The thing’s a complete mystery to me. Of course, it’s a long time ago. It might possibly be one of my operation cases in hospital. They come too late, so many of these people. Then, when the patient dies, they always consider it’s the surgeon’s fault.’

He sighed, shaking his head.

He thought:

Drunk—that’s what it was—drunk… And I operated! Nerves all to pieces—hands shaking. I killed her all right. Poor devil—elderly woman—simple job if I’d been sober. Lucky for me there’s loyalty in our profession. The Sister knew, of course—but she held her tongue. God, it gave me a shock! Pulled me up. But who could have known about it—after all these years?

IV

There was a silence in the room. Everybody was looking, covertly or openly, at Emily Brent. It was a minute or two before she became aware of the expectation. Her eyebrows rose on her narrow forehead. She said:

‘Are you waiting for me to say something? I have nothing to say.’

The judge said: ‘Nothing, Miss Brent?’

‘Nothing.’

Her lips closed tightly.

The judge stroked his face. He said mildly:

‘You reserve your defence?’

Miss Brent said coldly:

‘There is no question of defence. I have always acted in accordance with the dictates of my conscience. I have nothing with which to reproach myself.’

There was an unsatisfied feeling in the air. But Emily Brent was not one to be swayed by public opinion. She sat unyielding.

The judge cleared his throat once or twice. Then he said: ‘Our inquiry rests there. Now Rogers, who else is there on this island besides ourselves and you and your wife?’

‘Nobody, sir. Nobody at all.’

‘You’re sure of that?’