The Big Four
"Yes, monsieur. I am now at the crux of my experiments. I possess
a small portion of radium myself--more has been lent to me for the
process I am at work upon. Small though the actual quantity is, it
comprises a large amount of the world's stock and represents a value of
millions of francs."
"And where is it?"
"In its leaden case in the big safe--the safe purposely appears to
be of an old and worn-out pattern, but it is really a triumph of the
safe-maker's art. That is probably why the thieves were unable to open
it."
"How long are you keeping this radium in your possession?"
"Only for two days more, monsieur. Then my experiments will be
concluded."
Poirot's eyes brightened.
"And Inez Veroneau is aware of the fact? Good--then our friends will
come back. Not a word of me to any one, madame. But rest assured, I
will save your radium for you. You have a key of the door leading from
the laboratory to the garden?"
"Yes, monsieur. Here it is. I have a duplicate for myself. And here is
the key of the garden door leading out into the alleyway between this
villa and the next one."
"I thank you, madame. To-night, go to bed as usual, have no fears,
and leave all to me. But not a word to any one--not to your
two assistants--Mademoiselle Claude and Monsieur Henri, is it
not?--particularly not a word to them."
Poirot left the villa rubbing his hands in great satisfaction.
"What are we going to do now?" I asked.
"Now, Hastings, we are about to leave Paris--for England."
"What?"
"We will pack our effects, have lunch, and drive to the Gare du Nord."
"But the radium?"
"I said we were going to leave for England--I did not say we were going
to arrive there. Reflect a moment, Hastings. It is quite certain that
we are being watched and followed. Our enemies must believe that we are
going back to England, and they certainly will not believe that unless
they see us get on board the train and start."
"Do you mean we are to slip off again at the last minute?"
"No, Hastings. Our enemies will be satisfied with nothing less than a
_bona fide_ departure."
"But the train doesn't stop until Calais?"
"It will stop if it is paid to do so."
"Oh, come now, Poirot--surely you can't pay an express to stop--they'd
refuse."
"My dear friend, have you never remarked the little handle--the
_signal d'arrêt_--penalty for improper use, 100 francs, I think?"
"Oh! you are going to pull that?"
"Or rather a friend of mine, Pierre Combeau, will do so. Then, while he
is arguing with the guard, and making a big scene, and all the train is
agog with interest, you and I will fade quietly away."
We duly carried out Poirot's plan. Pierre Combeau, an old crony of
Poirot's, and who evidently knew my little friend's methods pretty
well, fell in with the arrangements. The communication cord was pulled
just as we got to the outskirts of Paris. Combeau "made a scene" in
the most approved French fashion and Poirot and I were able to leave
the train without any one being interested in our departure. Our
first proceeding was to make a considerable change in our appearance.
Poirot had brought the materials for this with him in a small case.
Two loafers in dirty blue blouses were the result. We had dinner in an
obscure hostelry, and started back to Paris afterwards.
It was close on eleven o'clock when we found ourselves once more in
the neighbourhood of Madame Olivier's villa. We looked up and down the
road before slipping into the alleyway. The whole place appeared to be
perfectly deserted. One thing we could be quite certain of, no one was
following us.
"I do not expect them to be here yet," whispered Poirot to me.
"Possibly they may not come until to-morrow night, but they know
perfectly well that there are only two nights on which the radium will
be there."
Very cautiously we turned the key in the garden door. It opened
noiselessly and we stepped into the garden.
And then, with complete unexpectedness, the blow fell. In a minute we
were surrounded, gagged and bound. At least ten men must have been
waiting for us. Resistance was useless. Like two helpless bundles we
were lifted up and carried along. To my intense astonishment, they
took us _towards_ the house and not away from it. With a key they
opened the door into the laboratory and carried us into it. One of the
men stooped down before the big safe. The door of it swung open. I felt
an unpleasant sensation down my spine. Were they going to bundle us
into it, and leave us there to asphyxiate slowly?
However, to my amazement, I saw that from the inside of the safe
steps led down beneath the floor. We were thrust down this narrow
way and eventually came out into a big subterranean chamber. A woman
stood there, tall and imposing, with a black velvet mask covering her
face. She was clearly in command of the situation by her gestures of
authority. The men slung us down on the floor and left us--alone with
the mysterious creature in the mask. I had no doubt who she was. This
was the unknown Frenchwoman--Number Three of the Big Four.
She knelt down beside us and removed the gags, but left us bound, then
rising and facing us, with a sudden swift gesture she removed her mask.
It was Madame Olivier!
"M. Poirot," she said, in a low mocking tone. "The great, the
wonderful, the unique M. Poirot. I sent a warning to you yesterday
morning. You chose to disregard it--you thought you could pit your wits
against US. And now, you are here!"
There was a cold malignity about her that froze me to the marrow.
It was so at variance with the burning fire of her eyes. She was
mad--mad--with the madness of genius!
Poirot said nothing. His jaw had dropped, and he was staring at her.
"Well," she said softly, "this is the end. WE cannot permit our plans
to be interfered with. Have you any last request to make?"
Never before, or since, have I felt so near death. Poirot was
magnificent. He neither flinched nor paled, just stared at her with
unabated interest.
"Your psychology interests me enormously, madame," he said quietly. "It
is a pity that I have so short a time to devote to studying it. Yes, I
have a request to make. A condemned man is always allowed a last smoke,
I believe. I have my cigarette case on me. If you would permit--" He
looked down at his bonds.
"Ah, yes!" she laughed. "You would like me to untie your hands, would
you not? You are clever, M. Hercule Poirot, I know that. I shall not
untie your hands--but I will find you a cigarette."
She knelt down by him, extracted his cigarette case, took out a
cigarette, and placed it between his lips.
"And now a match," she said, rising.
"It is not necessary, madame." Something in his voice startled me. She,
too, was arrested.
"Do not move, I pray of you, madame. You will regret it if you do. Are
you acquainted at all with the properties of cuare? The South American
Indians use it as an arrow poison. A scratch with it means death.
Some tribes use a little blow-pipe--I, too, have a little blow-pipe
constructed so as to look exactly like a cigarette. I have only to
blow.... Ah! you start. Do not move, madame. The mechanism of this
cigarette is most ingenious. One blows--and a tiny dart resembling a
fishbone flies through the air--to find its mark. You do not wish to
die, madame. Therefore, I beg of you, release my friend Hastings from
his bonds. I cannot use my hands, but I can turn my head--so--you are
still covered, madame. Make no mistake, I beg of you."
Slowly, with shaking hands, and rage and hate convulsing her face,
she bent down and did his bidding. I was free. Poirot's voice gave me
instructions.
"Your bonds will now do for the lady, Hastings. That is right. Is she
securely fastened? Then release me, I pray of you. It is a fortunate
circumstance she sent away her henchmen. With a little luck we may hope
to find the way out unobstructed."
In another minute, Poirot stood by my side. He bowed to the lady.
"Hercule Poirot is not killed so easily, madame. I wish you
good-night."
The gag prevented her from replying, but the murderous gleam in her
eyes frightened me. I hoped devoutly that we should never fall into her
power again.
Three minutes later we were outside the villa, and hurriedly traversing
the garden. The road outside was deserted, and we were soon clear of
the neighbourhood.
Then Poirot broke out.
"I deserve all that that woman said to me. I am a triple imbecile,
a miserable animal, thirty-six times an idiot. I was proud of
myself for not falling into their trap. And it was not even meant
as a trap--except exactly in the way in which I fell into it. They
knew I would see through it--they counted on my seeing through
it. This explains all--the ease with which they surrendered
Halliday--everything. Madame Olivier was the ruling spirit---Vera
Rossakoff only her lieutenant. Madame needed Halliday's ideas--she
herself had the necessary genius to supply the gaps that perplexed
him. Yes, Hastings, we know now who Number Three is--the woman who is
probably the greatest scientist in the world! Think of it. The brain
of the East, the science of the West--and two others whose identities
we do not yet know. But we must find out. To-morrow we will return to
London and set about it."
"You are not going to denounce Madame Olivier to the police?"
"I should not be believed. That woman is one of the idols of France.
And we can prove nothing. We are lucky if she does not denounce
_us_."
"What?"
"Think of it. We are found at night upon the premises with keys in our
possession which she will swear she never gave us. She surprises us at
the safe, and we gag and bind her and make away. Have no illusions,
Hastings. The boot is not upon the right leg--is that how you say it?"
8. IN THE HOUSE OF THE ENEMY
After our adventure in the villa at Passy we returned post haste to
London. Several letters were awaiting Poirot. He read one of them with
a curious smile, and then handed it to me.
"Read this, _mon ami_."
I turned first to the signature, "Abe Ryland," and recalled Poirot's
words: "the richest man in the world." Mr. Ryland's letter was curt
and incisive. He expressed himself as profoundly dissatisfied with
the reasons Poirot had given for withdrawing from the South American
proposition at the last moment.
"This gives one furiously to think, does it not?" said Poirot.
"I suppose it's only natural he should be a bit ratty."
"No, no, you comprehend not. Remember the words of Mayerling, the man
who took refuge here--only to die by the hands of his enemies. 'Number
Two is represented by an S with two lines through it--the sign for a
dollar, also by two stripes and a star. It may be conjectured therefore
that he is an American subject, and that he represents the power of
wealth.' Add to those words the fact that Ryland offered me a huge sum
to tempt me out of England--and--and what about it, Hastings?"
"You mean," I said, staring, "that you suspect Abe Ryland, the
multi-millionaire, of being Number Two of the Big Four."
"Your bright intellect has grasped the idea, Hastings. Yes, I do.
The tone in which you said multi-millionaire was eloquent--but let
me impress upon you one fact--this thing is being run by men at the
top--and Mr. Ryland has the reputation of being no beauty in his
business dealings. An able, unscrupulous man, a man who has all the
wealth that he needs, and is out for unlimited power."
There was undoubtedly something to be said for Poirot's view. I asked
him when he had made up his mind definitely upon the point.
"That is just it. I am not sure. I cannot be sure. _Mon ami_,
I would give anything to _know_. Let me but place Number Two
definitely as Abe Ryland, and we draw nearer to our goal."