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Агата Кристи
II
Lombard laughed.
He said:
‘So that’s it, is it, Vera?’
Vera said:
‘There’s no one on the island—no one at all
Lombard said:
‘Precisely. So we know where we are, don’t we?’
Vera said:
‘How was it worked—that trick with the marble bear?’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘A conjuring trick, my dear—a very good one…’
Their eyes met again.
Vera thought:
Lombard said, and his voice was a snarl—dangerous— menacing:
‘This is the end, you understand. We’ve come to the truth now.
Vera said quietly:
‘I understand…’
She stared out to sea. General Macarthur had stared out to sea—when—only yesterday? Or was it the day before? He too had said, ‘
He had said it with acceptance—almost with welcome.
But to Vera the words—the thought—brought rebellion.
No, it should not be the end.
She looked down at the dead man. She said:
‘Poor Dr Armstrong…’
Lombard sneered.
He said:
‘What’s this? Womanly pity?’
Vera said:
‘Why not? Haven’t
He said:
‘I’ve no pity for you. Don’t expect it!’
Vera looked down again at the body. She said:
‘We must move him. Carry him up to the house…’
‘To join the other victims, I suppose? All neat and tidy. As far as I’m concerned he can stay where he is.’
Vera said:
‘At any rate let’s get him out of the reach of the sea.’
Lombard laughed. He said:
‘If you like.’
He bent—tugging at the body. Vera leaned against him, helping him. She pulled and tugged with all her might.
Lombard panted:
‘Not such an easy job.’
They managed it, however, drawing the body clear of high water mark.
Lombard said as he straightened up:
‘Satisfied?’
Vera said:
‘Quite.’
Her tone warned him. He spun round. Even as he clapped his hand to his pocket he knew that he would find it empty.
She had moved a yard or two away and was facing him, revolver in hand.
Lombard said:
‘So that’s the reason for your womanly solicitude! You wanted to pick my pocket.’
She nodded.
She held it steadily and unwaveringly.
Death was very near to Philip Lombard now. It had never, he knew, been nearer.
Nevertheless he was not beaten yet.
He said authoritatively:
‘Give that revolver to me.’
Vera laughed.
Lombard said:
‘Come on, hand it over.’
His quick brain was working. Which way—which method— talk her over—lull her into security or a swift dash—
All his life Lombard had taken the risky way. He took it now.
He spoke slowly, argumentatively:
‘Now look here, my dear girl, you just listen—’
And then he sprang. Quick as a panther—as any other feline creature…
Automatically Vera pressed the trigger…
Lombard’s leaping body stayed poised in mid-spring then crashed heavily to the ground.
Vera came warily forward, the revolver ready in her hand.
But there was no need of caution.
Philip Lombard was dead—shot through the heart…
III
Relief possessed Vera—enormous exquisite relief.
At last it was over…
There was no more fear—no more steeling of her nerves…
