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Vera Claythorne hurried in. She was a little out of breath.

She said quickly:

‘I hope you didn’t wait for me. Am I late?’

Emily Brent said:

‘You’re not the last. The General isn’t here yet.’

They sat round the table.

Rogers addressed Miss Brent.

‘Will you begin, Madam, or will you wait?’

Vera said:

‘General Macarthur is sitting right down by the sea. I

don’t expect he would hear the gong there anyway’—she hesitated— ’he’s a little vague today, I think.’

Rogers said quickly:

‘I will go down and inform him luncheon is ready.’

Dr Armstrong jumped up.

‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘You others start lunch.’

He left the room. Behind him he heard Rogers’ voice.

‘Will you take cold tongue or cold ham, Madam?’

Ill

The five people sitting round the table seemed to find conversation difficult. Outside, sudden gusts of wind came up and died away.

Vera shivered a little and said:

‘There is a storm coming.’

Blore made a contribution to the discourse. He said conversationally:

‘There was an old fellow in the train from Plymouth yesterday. He kept saying a storm was coming. Wonderful how they know weather, these old salts.’

Rogers went round the table collecting the meat plates.

Suddenly, with the plates held in his hands, he stopped.

He said in an odd scared voice:

‘There’s somebody running…’

They could all hear it—running feet along the terrace.

In that minute, they knew—knew without being told.

As by common accord, they all rose to their feet. They stood looking towards the door.

Dr Armstrong appeared, his breath coming fast. He said: ‘General Macarthur—’

‘Dead!’ The word burst from Vera explosively.

Armstrong said: ‘Yes, he’s dead.’

There was a pause—a long pause.

Seven people looked at each other and could find no words to say.

IV

The storm broke just as the old man’s body was borne in through the door.

The others were standing in the hall.

There was a sudden hiss and roar as the rain came down.

As Blore and Armstrong passed up the stairs with their burden, Vera Claythorne turned suddenly and went into the deserted dining-room.

It was as they had left it. The sweet course stood ready on the sideboard untasted.

Vera went up to the table. She was there a minute or two later when Rogers came softly into the room.

He started when he saw her. Then his eyes asked a question.

He said:

‘Oh, Miss, I—I just came to see…’

In a loud harsh voice that surprised herself Vera said:

‘You’re quite right, Rogers. Look for yourself. There are only seven…’’

V

General Macarthur had been laid on his bed.

After making a last examination Armstrong left the room and came downstairs. He found the others assembled in the drawing-room.

Miss Brent was knitting. Vera Claythorne was standing by the window looking out at the hissing rain. Blore was sitting squarely in a chair, his hands on his knees. Lombard was walking restlessly up and down. At the far end of the room Mr Justice Wargrave was sitting in a grandfather chair. His eyes were half closed.

They opened as the doctor came into the room. He said in a clear penetrating voice: