And Then There Were None Week12

Three people sat eating breakfast in the kitchen. Outside, the sun shone. It was a lovely day. The storm was a thing of the past. And with the change in the weather, a change had come in the mood of the prisoners on the island. They felt like people just awaking from a nightmare. There was danger, yes, but it was danger in daylight. That paralyzing atmosphere of fear that had wrapped them round like a blanket yesterday while the wind howled outside was gone.

Vera Claythorne and Philip Lombard were sitting on the cliffs, and Blore went into the house to eat something for lunch. Then, two people heard a sort of cry from the house. They walked up the slope to the house. Blore was spread-eagled on the stone terrace on the east side, his head crushed and mangled by a great block of white marble.

Before Blore was killed, Vera and Lombard had thought that Armstrong might have been thrown into the sea. However, after the crime, they thought that he was in hiding somewhere in the house or the island. They decided to spend a whole night on the top cliffs where they could overlook the sea, and they moved. Then, they found something like clothes between big rocks. They scrambled over the rocks. Vera stopped suddenly and said it wasn’t clothes, it was a man. The man was wedged between two rocks, flung there by the tide earlier in the day. A purple discoloured face and a hideous drowned face…it was Armstrong.