And Then There Were None Week13

Two people, Vera Claythorne and Philip Lombard, were standing looking down on a dead man. There was no one on the island, no one at all except them. Vera said that they must carry him up to the house. Lombard helped her, and she leaned against him. She took the revolver from his pocket while they drew the body out of the sea. She had moved a yard or two away and was facing him, the revolver in her hand. Death was very near to him. Automatically she pressed the trigger of the revolver, and his leaping body stayed poised in the middle of the spring then crashed heavily to the ground. She came warily forward, the revolver ready in her hand, but there was no need of caution. He was dead, shot through the heart.

Enormous exquisite relief possessed her. At last it was over. There was no more fear, because she was alone on the island, alone with nine dead bodies. One little soldier boy left all alone. She went to the dining room and picked it up and held in her hand. Then, she went to her room, because she was so tired and wanted to sleep. She opened the door and she gave a gasp. A rope was hanging from the hook in the ceiling and a chair to stand upon, a chair that could be kicked away. Like an automaton she moved forward. She climbed up on the chair, her eyes staring in front of her like a sleepwalker. She adjusted the noose round her neck. She kicked away the chair. The little china figure fell from her hand.

And of course that was the last line of the rhyme.
“One little soldier boy left all alone;
He went and hanged himself and then there were None.”