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Vera said almost in a whisper: «You think – that was what was meant?»

Lombard nodded.

«Expected you to pass out through fright! Some people would have, wouldn’t they, doctor?»

Armstrong did not commit himself. He said doubtfully:

«H’m, impossible to say. Young healthy subject – no cardiac weakness. Unlikely. On the other hand —»


He picked up the glass of brandy that Blore had brought. He dipped a finger in it, tasted it gingerly. His expression did not alter. He said dubiously:

«H’m, tastes all right.»

Blore stepped forward angrily. He said:

«If you’re saying that I tampered with that, I’ll knock your ruddy block off.»

Vera, her wits revived by the brandy, made a diversion by saying:


«Where’s the judge?»

The three men looked at each other.

«That’s odd… Thought he came up with us.»

Blore said: «So did I… What about it, doctor? You came up the stairs behind me.»


Armstrong said: «I thought he was following me… Of course, he’d be bound to go slower than we did. He’s an old man.»

They looked at each other again.

Lombard said: «It’s damned odd…»

Blore cried: «We must look for him.»

He started for the door. The others followed him, Vera last.

As they went down the stairs Armstrong said over his shoulder:

«Of course he may have stayed in the living-room…»

They crossed the hall. Armstrong called out loudly:

«Wargrave, Wargrave, where are you?»

There was no answer. A deadly silence filled the house apart from the gentle patter of the rain.

Then, in the entrance to the drawing-room door, Armstrong stopped dead. The others crowded up and looked over his shoulder.

Somebody cried out.

Mr. Justice Wargrave was silting in his high-backed chair at the end of the room. Two candles burnt on either side of him. But what shocked and startled the onlookers was the fact that he sat there robed in scarlet with a judge’s wig upon his head…

Dr. Armstrong motioned to the others to keep back. He himself walked across to the silent staring figure, reeling a little as he walked like a drunken man. He bent forward, peering into the still face. Then, with a swift movement, he raised the wig. It fell to the floor, revealing the high bald forehead with, in the very middle, a round stained mark from which something had trickled…


Dr. Armstrong raised the limp hand and felt for the pulse. Then he turned to the others. He said – and his voice was expressionless, dead, far away:

«He’s been shot…»

Blore said: «God – the revolver!»

The doctor said, still in the same lifeless voice:

«Got him through the head. Instantaneous.»

Vera stooped to the wig. She said, and her voice shook with terror:

«Miss Brent’s missing grey wool…»

Blore said: «And the scarlet curtain that was missing from the bathroom…»

Vera whispered: «So this is what they wanted them for…»

Suddenly Philip Lombard laughed – a high unnatural laugh.

‘«Five little Soldier boys going in for law; one got in Chancery and then there were four.’ That’s the end of Mr. Bloody Justice Wargrave. No more pronouncing sentence for him! No more putting on of the black cap! Here’s the last time he’ll ever sit in court! No more summing up and sending innocent men to death. How Edward Seton would laugh if he were here! God, how he’d laugh!»