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Philip Lombard said:

‘It’s a case of echo answers where.’

‘What d’you mean?’ asked the other sharply.

Lombard said:

‘I mean that Rogers is missing. He isn’t in his room or anywhere else. And there’s no kettle on and the kitchen fire isn’t even lit.’

Blore swore under his breath. He said:

‘Where the devil can he be? Out on the island somewhere? Wait till I get some clothes on. See if the others know anything.’

Philip Lombard nodded. He moved along the line of closed doors.

He found Armstrong up and nearly dressed. Mr Justice Wargrave, like Blore, had to be roused from sleep. Vera Claythorne was dressed. Emily Brent’s room was empty.

The little party moved through the house. Rogers’

room, as Philip Lombard had already ascertained, was untenanted. The bed had been slept in, and his razor and sponge and soap were wet.

Lombard said:

‘He got up all right.’

Vera said in a low voice which she tried to make firm and assured:

‘You don’t think he’s—hiding somewhere—waiting for us?’

Lombard said:

‘My dear girl, I’m prepared to think anything of anyone! My advice is that we keep together until we find him.’

Armstrong said:

‘He must be out on the island somewhere.’

Blore, who had joined them, dressed, but still unshaved, said:

‘Where’s Miss Brent got to—that’s another mystery?’

But as they arrived in the hall, Emily Brent came in through the front door. She had on a mackintosh. She said:

‘The sea is as high as ever. I shouldn’t think any boat could put out today.’

Blore said:

‘Have you been wandering about the island alone, Miss Brent? Don’t you realise that that’s an exceedingly foolish thing to do?’

Emily Brent said:

‘I assure you, Mr Blore, that I kept an extremely sharp look out.’

Blore grunted. He said:

‘Seen anything of Rogers?’

Miss Brent’s eyebrows rose.

‘Rogers? No, I haven’t seen him this morning. Why?’

Mr Justice Wargrave, shaved, dressed and with his false teeth in position, came down the stairs. He moved to the open dining-room door. He said:

‘Ha, laid the table for breakfast, I see.’

Lombard said:

‘He might have done that last night.’

They all moved inside the room, looking at the neatly set plates and cutlery. At the row of cups on the sideboard. At the felt mats placed ready for the coffee urn.

It was Vera who saw it first. She caught the judge’s arm and the grip of her athletic fingers made the old gentleman wince.

She cried out:

‘The soldiers! Look!’

There were only six china figures in the middle of the table.

II

They found him shortly afterwards.

He was in the little wash-house across the yard. He had been chopping sticks in preparation for lighting the kitchen fire. The small chopper was still in his hand. A bigger chopper, a heavy affair, was leaning against the door—the metal of it stained a dull brown. It corresponded only too well with the deep wound in the back of Rogers’ head…

III

‘Perfectly clear,’ said Armstrong. ‘The murderer must have crept up behind him, swung the chopper once and brought it down on his head as he was bending over.’

Blore was busy on the handle of the chopper and the flour sifter from the kitchen.