Dr. Armstrong recited:
"Ten little Indian boys going out to dine;
One went and choked himself and then there were nine.
"Nine little Indian boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were eight."
The two men looked at each other.
Philip Lombard grinned and flung away his cigarette.
"Fits too damned well to be a coincidence! Anthony Marston dies of asphyxiation or choking last night after dinner, and Mother Rogers oversleeps herself with a vengeance."
"And therefore?" said Armstrong.
Lombard took him up. "And therefore another kind of puzzle.
The Nigger in the Woodpile!
X! Mr. Owen! U.N.
Owen.
One Unknown Lunatic at Large!"
"Ah!" Armstrong breathed a sigh of relief. "You agree.
But you see what it involves?
Rogers swore that there was no one but ourselves and he and his wife on the island."
"Rogers is wrong!
Or possibly Rogers is lying!"
Armstrong shook his head.
"I don't think he's lying.
The man's scared.
He's scared nearly out of his senses."
Philip Lombard nodded. He said: "No motor boat this morning.
That fits in.
Mr. Owen's little arrangements again to the fore.
Indian Island is to be isolated until Mr. Owen has finished his job."
Armstrong had gone pale.
He said: "You realize - the man must be a raving maniac!"
Philip Lombard said, and there was a new ring in his voice: "There's one thing Mr. Owen didn't realize."
"What's that?"
"This island's more or less a bare rock. We shall make short work of searching it. We'll soon ferret out U.N.
Owen, Esq."
Dr. Armstrong said warningly: "He'll be dangerous."
Philip Lombard laughed.
"Dangerous?
Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
I'll be dangerous when I get hold of him!" He paused and said: "We'd better rope in Blore to help us.
He'll be a good man in a pinch.
Better not tell the women.
As for the others, the General's ga ga, I think, and old Wargrave's forte is masterly inactivity.
The three of us can attend to this job."
Chapter 8
Blore was easily roped in.
He expressed immediate agreement with their arguments.
"What you've said about those china figures, sir, makes all the difference.
That's crazy, that is! There's only one thing.
You don't think this Owen's idea might be to do the job by proxy, as it were?"
"Explain yourself, man."
"Well, I mean like this. After the racket last night this young Mr. Marston gets the wind up and poisons himself.