“The abandoned creature, not content with having one sin on her conscience, committed a still graver sin. She took her own life…. Her own action—her own sin—that was what drove her to it. If she had behaved like a decent modest young woman none of this would have happened.”
She turned her face to Vera. There was no self-reproach, no uneasiness in those eyes. They were hard and self-righteous. Emily Brent sat on the summit of Soldier Island, encased in her own armour of virtue.
“It strikes me that cyanide is going to need a bit of explaining. Either Anthony Marston meant to do away with himself before he came here, and therefore came prepared,—or else—….
Philip Lombard grinned.
“Why make me say it? When it’s on the tip of your own tongue. Anthony Marston was murdered, of course.”
He said gently:
“…It’s true, isn’t it? We’re all waiting for the end…. None of us are going to leave the island. That’s the plan. You know it, of course, perfectly. What, perhaps, you can’t understand is the relief!”
The house was easily searched. They went through the few out buildings first and then turned their attention to the building itself. Mrs. Rogers’ yard measure discovered in the kitchen dresser assisted them. But there were no hidden spaces left unaccounted for. Everything was plain and straightforward, a modern structure devoid of concealments.