The Big Four
that he was genuine.
It was all a little discouraging, and our experience on Dartmoor did
not seem to have helped us at all. I said as much to Poirot, but he
would not admit that we had gained nothing.
"We progress," he said; "we progress. At every contact with this man
we learn a little of his mind and his methods. Of us and our plans he
knows nothing."
"And there, Poirot," I protested, "he and I seem to be in the same
boat. You don't seem to me to have any plans, you seem to sit and wait
for him to do something."
Poirot smiled.
"_Mon ami_, you do not change. Always the same Hastings, who would
be up and at their throats. Perhaps," he added, as a knock sounded on
the door, "you have here your chance; it may be our friend who enters."
And he laughed at my disappointment when Inspector Japp and another man
entered the room.
"Good-evening, moosior," said the Inspector. "Allow me to introduce
Captain Kent of the United States Secret Service."
Captain Kent was a tall, lean American, with a singularly impassive
face which looked as though it had been carved out of wood.
"Pleased to meet you, gentlemen," he murmured, as he shook hands
jerkily.
Poirot threw an extra log on the fire, and brought forward more
easy-chairs. I brought out glasses and the whisky and soda. The captain
took a deep draught, and expressed appreciation.
"Legislation in your country is still sound," he observed.
"And now to business," said Japp. "Moosior Poirot here made a certain
request to me. He was interested in some concern that went by the name
of the Big Four, and he asked me to let him know at any time if I came
across a mention of it in my official line of business. I didn't take
much stock in the matter, but I remembered what he said, and when the
captain here came over with rather a curious story, I said at once,
'We'll go round to Moosior Poirot's.'"
Poirot looked across at Captain Kent, and the American took up the tale.
"You may remember reading, M. Poirot, that a number of torpedo
boats and destroyers were sunk by being dashed upon the rocks off
the American coast. It was just after the Japanese earthquake, and
the explanation given was that the disaster was the result of a
tidal wave. Now, a short time ago, a round-up was made of certain
crooks and gunmen, and with them were captured some papers which
put an entirely new face upon the matter. They appeared to refer
to some organisation called the 'Big Four,' and gave an incomplete
description of some powerful wireless installation--a concentration
of wireless energy far beyond anything so far attempted, and capable
of focusing a beam of great intensity upon some given spot. The
claims made for this invention seemed manifestly absurd, but I turned
them in to headquarters for what they were worth, and one of our
highbrow professors got busy on them. Now it appears that one of your
British scientists read a paper upon the subject before the British
Association. His colleagues didn't think great shakes of it, by all
accounts, thought it farfetched and fanciful, but your scientist stuck
to his guns, and declared that he himself was on the eve of success in
his experiments."
"_Eh, bien?_" demanded Poirot, with interest.
"It was suggested that I should come over here and get an interview
with this gentleman. Quite a young fellow, he is, Halliday by name.
He is the leading authority on the subject, and I was to get from him
whether the thing suggested was anyway possible."
"And was it?" I asked eagerly.
"That's just what I don't know. I haven't seen Mr. Halliday--and I'm
not likely to, by all accounts."
"The truth of the matter is," said Japp, shortly, "Halliday's
disappeared."
"When?"
"Two months ago."
"Was his disappearance reported?"
"Of course it was. His wife came to us in a great state. We did what we
could, but I knew all along it would be no good."
"Why not?"
"Never is--when a man disappears that way." Japp winked.
"What way?"
"Paris."
"So Halliday disappeared in Paris?"
"Yes. Went over there on scientific work--so he said. Of course, he'd
have to say something like that. But you know what it means when a man
disappears over there. Either it's Apache work, and that's the end
of it--or else it's voluntary disappearance--and that's a great deal
the commoner of the two, I can tell you. Gay Paree and all that, you
know. Sick of home life. Halliday and his wife had had a tiff before he
started, which all helps to make it a pretty clear case."
"I wonder," said Poirot thoughtfully.
The American was looking at him curiously.
"Say, mister," he drawled, "what's this Big Four idea?"
"The Big Four," said Poirot, "is an international organisation which
has at its head a Chinaman. He is known as Number One. Number Two is an
American. Number Three is a Frenchwoman. Number Four, the 'Destroyer,'
is an Englishman."
"A Frenchwoman, eh?" The American whistled. "And Halliday disappeared
in France. Maybe there's something in this. What's her name?"
"I don't know. I know nothing about her."
"But it's a mighty big proposition, eh?" suggested the other.
Poirot nodded, as he arranged the glasses in a neat row on the tray.
His love of order was as great as ever.
"What was the idea in sinking those boats? Are the Big Four a German
stunt?"
"The Big Four are for themselves--and for themselves only, M. le
Capitaine. Their aim is world domination."
The American burst out laughing, but broke off at the sight of Poirot's
serious face.
"You laugh, monsieur," said Poirot, shaking a finger at him. "You
reflect not--you use not the little gray cells of the brain. Who are
these men who send a portion of your navy to destruction simply as a
trial of their power? For that was all it was, Monsieur, a test of this
new force of magnetical attraction which they hold."
"Go on with you, moosior," said Japp good-humouredly. "I've read of
super criminals many a time, but I've never come across them. Well,
you've heard Captain Kent's story. Anything further I can do for you?"
"Yes, my good friend. You can give me the address of Mrs. Halliday--and
also a few words of introduction to her if you will be so kind."
Thus it was that the following day saw us bound for Chetwynd Lodge,
near the village of Chobham in Surrey.
Mrs. Halliday received us at once, a tall, fair woman, nervous and
eager in manner. With her was her little girl, a beautiful child of
five.
Poirot explained the purpose of our visit.
"Oh! Monsieur Poirot, I am so glad, so thankful. I have heard of you,
of course. You will not be like these Scotland Yard people, who will
not listen or try to understand. And the French Police are just as
bad--worse, I think. They are all convinced that my husband has gone
off with some other woman. But he wasn't like that! All he thought of
in life was his work. Half our quarrels came from that. He cared for it
more than he did for me."
"Englishmen, they are like that," said Poirot soothingly. "And if it is
not work, it is the games, the sport. All those things they take _au
grand sérieux. Now, madame, recount to me exactly, in detail, and
as methodically as you can, the exact circumstances of your husband's
disappearance."
"My husband went to Paris on Thursday, the 20th of July. He was to meet
and visit various people there connected with his work, amongst them
Madame Olivier."
Poirot nodded at the mention of the famous French woman chemist, who
had eclipsed even Madame Curie in the brilliance of her achievements.
She had been decorated by the French Government, and was one of the
most prominent personalities of the day.
"He arrived there in the evening and went at once to the Hotel
Castiglione in the Rue de Castiglione. On the following morning, he had
an appointment with Professor Bourgoneau, which he kept. His manner was
normal and pleasant. The two men had a most interesting conversation,
and it was arranged that he should witness some experiments in the
professor's laboratory on the following day. He lunched alone at the
Café Royal, went for a walk in the Bois, and then visited Madame
Olivier at her house at Passy. There, also, his manner was perfectly
normal. He left about six. Where he dined is not known, probably alone
at some restaurant. He returned to the hotel about eleven o'clock and
went straight up to his room, after inquiring if any letters had come
for him. On the following morning, he walked out of the hotel, and has
not been seen again."
"At what time did he leave the hotel? At the hour when he would
normally leave it to keep his appointment at Professor Bourgoneau's
laboratory?"
"We do not know. He was not remarked leaving the hotel. But no
_petit déjeuner_ was served to him, which seems to indicate that
he went out early."
"Or he might, in fact, have gone out again after he came in the night
before?"
"I do not think so. His bed had been slept in, and the night porter
would have remembered any one going out at that hour."
"A very just observation, madame. We may take it, then, that he left
early on the following morning--and that is reassuring from one point
of view. He is not likely to have fallen a victim to any Apache assault
at that hour. His baggage, now, was it all left behind?"
Mrs. Halliday seemed rather reluctant to answer, but at last she
said:---
"No--he must have taken one small suit-case with him."
"H'm," said Poirot thoughtfully, "I wonder where he was that evening.
If we knew that, we should know a great deal. Whom did he meet?--there
lies the mystery. Madame, myself I do not of necessity accept the view
of the police; with them is it always '_Cherchez la femme_.' Yet
it is clear that something occurred that night to alter your husband's
plans. You say he asked for letters on returning to the hotel. Did he
receive any?"
"One only, and that must have been the one I wrote him on the day he
left England."
Poirot remained sunk in thought for a full minute, then he rose briskly
to his feet.
"Well, madame, the solution of the mystery lies in Paris, and to find
it I myself journey to Paris on the instant."
"It is all a long time ago, monsieur."
"Yes, yes. Nevertheless, it is there that we must seek."
He turned to leave the room, but paused with his hand on the door.
"Tell me, madame, do you ever remember your husband mentioning the
phrase, 'The Big Four'?"
"The Big Four," she repeated thoughtfully. "No, I can't say I do."
6. THE WOMAN ON THE STAIRS
That was all that could be elicited from Mrs. Halliday. We hurried
back to London, and the following day saw us _en route_ for the
Continent. With rather a rueful smile, Poirot observed:---
"This Big Four, they make me to bestir myself, _mon ami_. I run
up and down, all over the ground, like our old friend 'the human
foxhound.'"
"Perhaps you'll meet him in Paris," I said, knowing that he referred
to a certain Giraud, one of the most trusted detectives of the Sureté,
whom he had met on a previous occasion.
Poirot made a grimace. "I devoutly hope not. He loved me not, that one."
"Won't it be a very difficult task?" I asked. "To find out what an
unknown Englishman did on an evening two months ago?"
"Very difficult, _mon ami_. But, as you know well, difficulties
rejoice the heart of Hercule Poirot."
"You think the Big Four kidnapped him?"
Poirot nodded.
Our inquiries necessarily went over old ground, and we learnt little
to add to what Mrs. Halliday had already told us. Poirot had a lengthy
interview with Professor Bourgoneau, during which he sought to elicit
whether Halliday had mentioned any plan of his own for the evening, but
we drew a complete blank.
Our next source of information was the famous Madame Olivier. I was