Armstrong was in a pitiable condition of nerves.
He twitched and his hands shook.
He lighted cigarette after cigarette and stubbed them out almost immediately.
The forced inaction of their position seemed to gall him more than the others. Every now and then he broke out into a torrent of nervous speech.
"We - we shouldn't just sit here doing nothing!
There must be something - surely, surely, there is something that we can do?
If we lit a bonfire -"
Blore said heavily: "In this weather?"
The rain was pouring down again.
The wind came in fitful gusts.
The depressing sound of the pattering rain nearly drove them mad.
By tacit consent, they had adopted a plan of campaign.
They all sat in the big drawing-room.
Only one person left the room at a time.
The other four waited till the fifth returned.
Lombard said:
"It's only a question of time.
The weather will clear.
Then we can do something - signal-light fires - make a raft - something!"
Armstrong said with a sudden cackle of laughter:
"A question of time - time?
We can't afford time!
We shall all be dead..."
Mr. Justice Wargrave said, and his small clear voice was heavy with passionate determination:
"Not if we are careful.
We must be very careful..."
The mid-day meal had been duly eaten - but there had been no conventional formality about it.
All five of them had gone to the kitchen.
In the larder they had found a great store of tinned foods.
They had opened a tin of tongue and two tins of fruit.
They had eaten standing round the kitchen table.
Then, herding close together, they had returned to the drawing-room - to sit there - sit - watching each other...
And by now the thoughts that ran through their brains were abnormal, feverish, diseased...
"It's Armstrong... I saw him looking at me sideways just then... his eyes are mad... quite mad... Perhaps he isn't a doctor at all... That's it, of course!...
He's a lunatic, escaped from some doctor's house - pretending to be a doctor... It's true... shall I tell them?...
Shall I scream out?...
No, it won't do to put him on his guard... Besides he can seem so sane... What time is it?...
Only a quarter past three!...
Oh, God, I shall go mad myself... Yes, it's Armstrong... He's watching me now..."
"They won't get me!
I can take care of myself... I've been in tight places before...
Where the hell is that revolver?... Who took it?...
Who's got it?...
Nobody's got it - we know that.
We were all searched... Nobody can have it... But some one knows where it is..."
"They're going mad... they're all go mad... Afraid of death... we're all afraid of death... I'm afraid of death... Yes, but that doesn't stop death coming...
'The hearse is at the door, sir.'
Where did I read that?
The girl... I'll watch the girl.
Yes, I'll watch the girl..."