"You rotten devil.."

⚠️⚠️‼️SPOILERS‼️⚠️⚠️

(This is after Justice Wargrave has been shot)

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 Indian 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!"
His outburst shocked and startled the others. Vera cried:
"Only this morning you said he was the one!" Philip Lombard's face changed ­ sobered.
He said in a low voice:
"I know I did... Well, I was wrong. Here's one more of us who's been proved innocent ­ too late!"

They had carried Wargrave to his room and laid him on his bed, putting a sheet over him.
Blore breathed heavily and stared at Lombard and Armstrong. "What do we do now?"
Lombard put his hands on his hips and inhaled "We eat."
Armstrong looked at him in disbelief "Eat?? Eat??? At a time like this, after what just happened— how could a person eat after that.?"

Lombard looked at the doctor, raising his eyebrows "We best keep our heads, lads. I won't let anyone go hungry." Lombard walked out of the room and downstairs to the kitchen where Vera had already been preparing their meal of canned goods. "I'm trying my best I-I.." She stuttered and shook her head, finishing another glass of brandy.
"Careful now, miss claythorne. Losing control of your head is what makes you vulnerable. If you don't want to be next I suggest you get it together."

Vera slammed the glass on the counter "The poem!! A red herring swallowed one...a red herring don't you get it—-" Vera laughed "no one is going to die next— it-it- iTs a trick don't you get it someonES HID—"
Lombard struck her, her cheek red from the mark. Twice now she'd been losing herself...she swallowed the lump in her throat and stood up straight "....I'll make tea.." She walked over to the kettle on the stove.

Armstrong and Blore sat in the living room drinking alcohol. Blore loosened his tie and finished off his drink, laid back on the sofa.
"Who do you think it is.." Armstrong looked at him
"I think it's very clear who it is."
"What does that mean.."
"I can't help but suspect Lombard..the revolver. It's HIS gun. Of course he would know where it is.. damned fool I am to believe him." He scoffed
Armstrong looked around "But..how do we know he did it. He was the first one to run up the stairs to Vera's room it doesn't add up- not in the slightest it doesn't-"
"I still believe it.." Blore set down his empty glass.

Lombard entered the room wiping his wet hands on his shirt from washing the blood off them. "Meal is ready" he grinned
Blore stared at Lombards white dress shirt, wet from the water. He could see his muscular chest..oh how he wanted to—No. No, he couldn't. Detective Blore doesn't put himself in those situations.

The men got up and walked to the kitchen, where everyone silently had their meal.
Vera Claythorne finished eating and stood up "I'm going to go to bed.."
Armstrong did the same "that's not a bad idea. I shall as well.."
They walked together to their rooms, shutting and locking their doors.