The Big Four
risks. I must be suppressed at all costs. _Eh bien_, let him try
to suppress Hercule Poirot! I shall be ready for him."
As he finished speaking, the man at the next table got up and went out.
"He has gone to make his little arrangements," said Poirot placidly.
"Shall we have our coffee on the terrace, my friend? It would be
pleasanter, I think. I will just go up and get a coat."
I went out on to the terrace, a little disturbed in mind. Poirot's
assurance did not quite content me. However, so long as we were on our
guard, nothing could happen to us. I resolved to keep thoroughly on the
alert.
It was quite five minutes before Poirot joined me. With his usual
precautions against cold, he was muffled up to the ears. He sat down
beside me and sipped his coffee appreciatively.
"Only in England is the coffee so atrocious," he remarked. "On the
continent they understand how important it is for the digestion that it
should be properly made."
As he finished speaking, the man from the next table suddenly appeared
on the terrace. Without any hesitation, he came over and drew up a
third chair to our table.
"You do not mind my joining you, I hope," he said in English.
"Not at all, monsieur," said Poirot.
I felt very uneasy. It is true that we were on the terrace of the
hotel, with people all round us, but nevertheless I was not satisfied.
I sensed the presence of danger.
Meanwhile Number Four chatted away in a perfectly natural manner.
It seemed impossible to believe that he was anything but a _bona
fide_ tourist. He described excursions and motor trips, and posed as
quite an authority on the neighbourhood.
He took a pipe from his pocket and began to light it. Poirot drew out
his case of tiny cigarettes. As he placed one between his lips, the
stranger leant forward with a match.
"Let me give you a light."
As he spoke, without the least warning, all the lights went out. There
was a chink of glass, and something pungent under my nose, suffocating
me--
18. IN THE FELSENLABYRYNTH
I could not have been unconscious more than a minute. I came to myself
being hustled along between two men. They had me under each arm,
supporting my weight, and there was a gag in my mouth. It was pitch
dark, but I gathered that we were not outside, but passing through the
hotel. All round I could hear people shouting and demanding in every
known language what had happened to the lights. My captors swung me
down some stairs. We passed along a basement passage, then through a
door and out into the open again through a glass door at the back of
the hotel. In another moment we had gained the shelter of the pine
trees.
I had caught a glimpse of another figure in a similar plight to myself,
and realised that Poirot, too, was a victim of this bold coup.
By sheer audacity, Number Four had won the day. He had employed, I
gathered, an instant æsthetic, probably ethyl chloride--breaking
a small bulb of it under our noses. Then, in the confusion of the
darkness, his accomplices, who had probably been guests sitting at the
next table, had thrust gags in our mouths and hurried us away, taking
us through the hotel to baffle pursuit.
I cannot describe the hour that followed. We were hurried through the
woods at a break-neck pace, going uphill the whole time. At last we
emerged in the open, on the mountain-side, and I saw just in front of
us an extraordinary conglomeration of fantastic rocks and boulders.
This must be the Felsenlabyrynth of which Harvey had spoken. Soon we
were winding in and out of its recesses. The place was like a maze
devised by some evil genie.
Suddenly we stopped. An enormous rock barred our path. One of the men
stooped and seemed to push on something when, without a sound, the huge
mass of rock turned on itself and disclosed a small tunnel-like opening
leading into the mountain-side.
Into this we were hurried. For some time the tunnel was narrow, but
presently it widened, and before very long we came out into a wide
rocky chamber lighted by electricity. There the gags were removed. At a
sign from Number Four, who stood facing us with mocking triumph in his
face, we were searched and every article was removed from our pockets,
including Poirot's little automatic pistol.
A pang smote me as it was tossed down on the table. We were
defeated--hopelessly defeated and outnumbered. It was the end.
"Welcome to the headquarters of the Big Four, M. Hercule Poirot," said
Number Four in a mocking tone. "To meet you again is an unexpected
pleasure. But was it worth while returning from the grave only for
this?"
Poirot did not reply. I dared not look at him.
"Come this way," continued Number Four. "Your arrival will be somewhat
of a surprise to my colleagues."
He indicated a narrow doorway in the wall. We passed through and found
ourselves in another chamber. At the very end of it was a table behind
which four chairs were placed. The end chair was empty, but was draped
with a mandarin's cape. On the second, smoking a cigar, sat Mr. Abe
Ryland. Leaning back in the third chair, with her burning eyes and her
nun's face, was Madame Olivier. Number Four took his seat on the fourth
chair.
We were in the presence of the Big Four.
Never before had I felt so fully the reality and the presence of Li
Chang Yen as I did now when confronting his empty seat. Far away in
China, he yet controlled and directed this malign organisation.
Madame Olivier gave a faint cry on seeing us. Ryland, more
self-controlled, only shifted his cigar, and raised his grizzled
eyebrows.
"M. Hercule Poirot," said Ryland slowly. "This is a pleasant surprise.
You put it over on us all right. We thought you were good and buried.
No matter, the game is up now."
There was a ring as of steel in his voice. Madame Olivier said nothing,
but her eyes burned, and I disliked the slow way she smiled.
"Madame and messieurs, I wish you good-evening," said Poirot quietly.
Something unexpected, something I had not been prepared to hear in his
voice made me look at him. He seemed quite composed. Yet there was
something about his whole appearance that was different.
Then there was a stir of draperies behind us, and the Countess Vera
Rossakoff came in.
"Ah!" said Number Four. "Our valued and trusted lieutenant. An old
friend of yours is here, my dear lady."
The countess whirled round with her usual vehemence of movement.
"God in Heaven!" she cried. "It is the little man! Ah! but he has
the nine lives of a cat! Oh, little man, little man! Why did you mix
yourself up in this?"
"Madame," said Poirot, with a bow. "Me, like the great Napoleon, I am
on the side of the big battalions."
As he spoke I saw a sudden suspicion flash into her eyes, and at the
same moment I knew the truth which subconsciously I already sensed.
The man beside me was not Hercule Poirot.
He was very like him, extraordinarily like him. There was the same
egg-shaped head, the same strutting figure, delicately plump. But the
voice was different, and the eyes instead of being green were dark, and
surely the moustaches--those famous moustaches--?
My reflections were cut short by the countess's voice. She stepped
forward, her voice ringing with excitement.
"You have been deceived. That man is not Hercule Poirot!"
Number Four uttered an incredulous exclamation, but the countess leant
forward and snatched at Poirot's moustaches. They came off in her hand,
and then, indeed, the truth was plain. For this man's upper lip was
disfigured by a small scar which completely altered the expression of
the face.
"Not Hercule Poirot," muttered Number Four. "But who can he be then?"
"I know," I cried suddenly, and then stopped dead, afraid I had ruined
everything.
But the man I will still refer to as Poirot had turned to me
encouragingly.
"Say it if you will. It makes no matter now. The trick has succeeded."
"This is Achille Poirot," I said slowly. "Hercule Poirot's twin
brother."
"Impossible," said Ryland sharply, but he was shaken.
"Hercule's plan has succeeded to a marvel," said Achille placidly.
Number Four leapt forward, his voice harsh and menacing.
"Succeeded, has it?" he snarled. "Do you realise that before many
minutes have passed you will be dead--dead?"
"Yes," said Achille Poirot gravely. "I realise that. It is you who do
not realise that a man may be willing to purchase success by his life.
There were men who laid down their lives for their country in the war.
I am prepared to lay down mine in the same way for the world."
It struck me just then that although perfectly willing to lay down my
life I might have been consulted in the matter. Then I remembered how
Poirot had urged me to stay behind, and I felt appeased.
"And in what way will your laying down your life benefit the world?"
asked Ryland sardonically.
"I see that you do not perceive the true inwardness of Hercule's
plan. To begin with, your place of retreat was known some months
ago, and practically all the visitors, hotel assistants and others
are detectives or Secret Service men. A cordon has been drawn round
the mountain. You may have more than one means of egress, but even
so you cannot escape. Poirot himself is directing the operations
outside. My boots were smeared with a preparation of aniseed to-night,
before I came down to the terrace in my brother's place. Hounds are
following the trail. It will lead them infallibly to the rock in the
Felsenlabyrynth where the entrance is situated. You see, do what you
will to us, the net is drawn tightly round you. You cannot escape."
Madame Olivier laughed suddenly.
"You are wrong. There is one way we can escape, and, like Samson of
old, destroy our enemies at the same time. What do you say, my friends?"
Ryland was staring at Achille Poirot.
"Suppose he's lying," he said hoarsely.
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"In an hour it will be dawn. Then you can see for yourself the truth
of my words. Already they should have traced me to the entrance in the
Felsenlabyrynth."
Even as he spoke, there was a far off reverberation, and a man ran in
shouting incoherently. Ryland sprang up and went out. Madame Olivier
moved to the end of the room and opened a door that I had not noticed.
Inside I caught a glimpse of a perfectly equipped laboratory which
reminded me of the one in Paris. Number Four also sprang up and went
out. He returned with Poirot's revolver which he gave to the countess.
"There is no danger of their escaping," he said grimly. "But still you
had better have this."
Then he went out again.
The countess came over to us and surveyed my companion attentively for
some time. Suddenly she laughed.
"You are very clever, M. Achille Poirot," she said mockingly.
"Madame, let us talk business. It is fortunate that they have left us
alone together. What is your price?"
"I do not understand. What price?"
"Madame, you can aid us to escape. You know the secret ways out of this
retreat. I ask you, what is your price?"
She laughed again.
"More than you could pay, little man! Why, all the money in the world
would not buy me!"
"Madame, I did not speak of money. I am a man of intelligence.
Nevertheless, this is a true fact--_everyone has his price_. In
exchange for life and liberty, I offer you your heart's desire."
"So you are a magician!"
"You can call me so if you like."
The countess suddenly dropped her jesting manner. She spoke with
passionate bitterness.
"Fool! My heart's desire! Can you give me revenge upon my enemies? Can
you give me back youth and beauty and a gay heart? Can you bring the
dead to life again?"
Achille Poirot was watching her very curiously.
"Which of the three, Madame? Make your choice."
She laughed sardonically.