“I didn’t much like Tim,” Mark agreed. “And you’re right. I would have quite happily strangled him. Not that it would have been easy with three broken fingers. But I never had any argument with you or with Eric or any of the others. Why would I want to kill you?”

“It’s still got to be one of us,” Eric insisted. He paused. “It can’t be Tim,” he went on.

“Why not?” Tim asked.

“Because this whole business is the work of a fiendish madman and you’re not fiendish. You’re just silly!”

“Oh thanks!” Tim looked away.

“I know it’s not me . . .” Eric went on.

“That’s what you say,” Brenda sniffed.

“I know it’s not me, so it’s got to be Brenda or Mark.”

“What about Sylvie?” Tim suggested.

“She’s already dead, Tim,” I reminded him quietly.

“Oh yes.”

“This is all irrelevant,” Mark said. “The question is—what are we going to do? We could be stuck on this island for days, or even weeks. It all depends on when Captain Randle comes back. And by then it could be too late!”

“I’d like to make a suggestion,” I said. Everyone stopped and looked at me. “The first thing is, we’ve all got to keep each other in sight.”

“The kid’s right,” Mark agreed. “So long as we can see each other, we’re going to be safe.”

“That’s true!” Tim exclaimed. “All we have to do is keep our eyes open and everything will be fine.” He turned to me. “You’re brilliant, Nick. For a moment there I was getting really worried.”

Then all the lights went out.

It happened so suddenly that for a moment I thought it was just me. Had I been knocked out or somehow closed my eyes without noticing? The last thing I saw was the four of them—Eric, Brenda, Mark, and Tim—sitting in their chairs as if caught in a photograph. Then everything was black. There was no moon that night, and even if there had been, the stained-glass window would have kept most of the light out. Darkness came crashing onto us. It was total.

“Don’t panic!” Eric said.

There was a gunshot. I saw it, a spark of red on the other side of the room.

Tim screamed and for a horrible moment I wondered if he had been shot. I forced myself to calm down. He’d come in first in needlework. Nobody would be aiming a gun at him.

“Tim!” I called out.

“Can I panic now?” he called back.

“Eric . . . ?” That was Mark’s voice.

And then there was a sort of groaning sound, followed by a heavy thud. At the same time I heard a door open and close. I stood up, trying to see through the darkness. But it was hopeless. I couldn’t even make out my own hand in front of my face.