Chapter 3

At this description Poirot shrugged his shoulders
philosophically.

"It is as I tell you, Hastings," he said to me, after the trial. "He is
an artist, this one. He disguises himself not with the false beard and
the blue spectacles. He alters his features, yes; but that is the least
part. For the time being he _is_ the man he would be. He lives in
his part."

Certainly I was compelled to admit that the man who had visited us from
Hanwell had fitted in exactly with my idea of what an Asylum attendant
should look like. I should never for a moment have dreamt of doubting
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
quite excited as we mounted the steps of her villa at Passy. It has
always seemed to me extraordinary that a woman should go so far in the
scientific world. I should have thought a purely masculine brain was
needed for such work.

The door was opened by a young lad of seventeen or thereabouts, who
reminded me vaguely of an acolyte, so ritualistic was his manner.
Poirot had taken the trouble to arrange our interview beforehand, as
he knew Madame Olivier never received any one without an appointment,
being immersed in research work most of the day.

We were shown into a small _salon_, and presently the mistress
of the house came to us there. Madame Olivier was a very tall woman,
her tallness accentuated by the long white overall she wore, and a
coif like a nun's that shrouded her head. She had a long pale face,
and wonderful dark eyes that burnt with a light almost fanatical. She
looked more like a priestess of old than a modern Frenchwoman. One
cheek was disfigured by a scar, and I remembered that her husband and
co-worker had been killed in an explosion in the laboratory three years
before, and that she herself had been terribly burned. Ever since
then she had shut herself away from the world, and plunged with fiery
energy into the work of scientific research. She received us with cold
politeness.

"I have been interviewed by the police many times, messieurs. I think
it hardly likely that I can help you, since I have not been able to
help them."

"Madame, it is possible that I shall not ask you quite the same
questions. To begin with, of what did you talk together, you and M.
Halliday?"

She looked a trifle surprised.

"But of his work! His work--and also mine."

"Did he mention to you the theories he had embodied recently in his
paper read before the British Association?"

"Certainly he did. It was chiefly of those we spoke."

"His ideas were somewhat fantastic, were they not?" asked Poirot
carelessly.

"Some people have thought so. I do not agree."

"You considered them practicable?"

"Perfectly practicable. My own line of research has been somewhat
similar, though not undertaken with the same end in view. I have been
investigating the _gamma_ rays emitted by the substance usually
known as Radium C., a product of Radium emanation, and in doing so I
have come across some very interesting magnetical phenomena. Indeed, I
have a theory as to the actual nature of the force we call magnetism,
but it is not yet time for my discoveries to be given to the world. Mr.
Halliday's experiments and views were exceedingly interesting to me."

Poirot nodded. Then he asked a question which surprised me.

"Madame, where did you converse on these topics. In here?"

"No, monsieur. In the laboratory."

"May I see it?"

"Certainly."

She led the way to the door from which she had entered. It opened on a
small passage. We passed through two doors and found ourselves in the
big laboratory, with its array of beakers and crucibles and a hundred
appliances of which I did not even know the names. There were two
occupants, both busy with some experiment. Madame Olivier introduced
them.

"Mademoiselle Claude, one of my assistants." A tall, serious-faced
young girl bowed to us. "Monsieur Henri, an old and trusted friend."

The young man, short and dark, bowed jerkily.

Poirot looked round him. There were two other doors besides the one by
which we had entered. One, madame explained, led into the garden, the
other into a smaller chamber also devoted to research. Poirot took all
this in, then declared himself ready to return to the salon.

"Madame, were you alone with M. Halliday during your interview?"

"Yes, monsieur. My two assistants were in the smaller room next door."

"Could your conversation be overheard--by them or any one else?"

Madame reflected, then shook her head.

"I do not think so. I am almost sure it could not. The doors were all
shut."

"Could any one have been concealed in the room?"

"There is the big cupboard in the corner--but the idea is absurd."

"_Pas tout à fait_, madame. One thing more: did M. Halliday make
any mention of his plans for the evening?"

"He said nothing whatever, monsieur."

"I thank you, madame, and I apologise for disturbing you. Pray do not
trouble--we can find our way out."

We stepped out into the hall. A lady was just entering the front door
as we did so. She ran quickly up the stairs, and I was left with an
impression of the heavy mourning that denotes a French widow.

"A most unusual type of woman, that," remarked Poirot, as we walked
away.

"Madame Olivier? Yes, she--"

"_Mais non_, not Madame Olivier. _Cela va sans dire!_ There
are not many geniuses of her stamp in the world. No, I referred to the
other lady--the lady on the stairs."

"I didn't see her face," I said, staring. "And I hardly see how you
could have done. She never looked at us."

"That is why I said she was an unusual type," said Poirot placidly.
"A woman who enters her home--for I presume that it is her home
since she enters with a key--and runs straight upstairs without even
looking at two strange visitors in the hall to see who they are, is a
_very_ unusual type of woman--quite unnatural, in fact. _Mille
tonnerres!_ what is that?"

He dragged me back--just in time. A tree had crashed down on to the
side walk, just missing us. Poirot stared at it, pale and upset.

"It was a near thing that! But clumsy, all the same--for I had no
suspicion--at least hardly any suspicion. Yes, but for my quick
eyes, the eyes of a cat, Hercule Poirot might now be crushed out of
existence--a terrible calamity for the world. And you, too, _mon
ami_--though that would not be such a national catastrophe."

"Thank you," I said coldly. "And what are we going to do now?"

"Do?" cried Poirot. "We are going to think. Yes, here and now, we are
going to exercise our little gray cells. This M. Halliday now, was he
really in Paris? Yes, for Professor Bourgoneau, who knows him, saw and
spoke to him."

"What on earth are you driving at?" I cried.

"That was Friday morning. He was last seen at eleven Friday night--but
_was_ he seen then?"

"The porter--"

"A night porter--who had not previously seen Halliday. A man comes in,
sufficiently like Halliday---we may trust Number Four for that--asks
for letters, goes upstairs, packs a small suit-case, and slips out the
next morning. Nobody saw Halliday all that evening--no, because he
was already in the hands of his enemies. Was it Halliday whom Madame
Olivier received? Yes, for though she did not know him by sight, an
imposter could hardly deceive her on her own special subject. He came
here, he had his interview, he left. What happened next?"

Seizing me by the arm, Poirot was fairly dragging me back to the villa.

"Now, _mon ami_, imagine that it is the day after the
disappearance, and that we are tracking footprints. You love
footprints, do you not? See--here they go, a man's, Mr. Halliday's....
He turns to the right as we did, he walks briskly--ah! other footsteps
following behind--very quickly--small footsteps, a woman's. See,
she catches him up--a slim young woman, in a widow's veil. 'Pardon,
monsieur, Madame Olivier desires that I recall you.' He stops, he
turns. Now where would the young woman take him? She does not wish to
be seen walking with him. Is it coincidence that she catches up with
him just where a narrow alleyway opens, dividing two gardens? She leads
him down it. 'It is shorter this way, monsieur.' On the right is the
garden of Madame Olivier's villa, on the left the garden of another
villa--and from that garden, mark you, the tree fell--so nearly on us.
Garden doors from both open on the alley. The ambush is there. Men pour
out, overpower him, and carry him into the strange villa."

"Good gracious, Poirot," I cried, "are you pretending to see all this?"

"I see it with the eyes of the mind, _mon ami_. So, and only so,
could it have happened. Come, let us go back to the house."

"You want to see Madame Olivier again?"

Poirot gave a curious smile.

"No, Hastings, I want to see the face of the lady on the stairs."

"Who do you think she is, a relation of Madame Olivier's?"

"More probably a secretary--and a secretary engaged not very long ago."

The same gentle acolyte opened the door to us.

"Can you tell me," said Poirot, "the name of the lady, the widow lady,
who came in just now?"

"Madame Veroneau? Madame's secretary?"

"That is the lady. Would you be so kind as to ask her to speak to us
for a moment."

The youth disappeared. He soon reappeared.

"I am sorry. Madame Veroneau must have gone out again."

"I think not," said Poirot quietly. "Will you give her my name, M.
Hercule Poirot, and say that it is important I should see her at once,
as I am just going to the Prefecture."

Again our messenger departed. This time the lady descended. She walked
into the salon. We followed her. She turned and raised her veil. To my
astonishment I recognised our old antagonist, the Countess Rossakoff, a
Russian countess, who had engineered a particularly smart jewel robbery
in London.

"As soon as I caught sight of you in the hall, I feared the worst," she
observed plaintively.

"My dear Countess Rossakoff--"

She shook her head.

"Inez Veroneau now," she murmured. "A Spaniard, married to a Frenchman.
What do you want of me, M. Poirot? You are a terrible man. You hunted
me from London. Now, I suppose, you will tell our wonderful Madame
Olivier about me, and hunt me from Paris? We poor Russians, we must
live, you know."

"It is more serious than that, madame," said Poirot, watching her. "I
propose to enter the villa next door, and release M. Halliday, if he
is still alive. I know everything, you see."

I saw her sudden pallor. She bit her lip. Then she spoke with her usual
decision.

"He is still alive--but he is not at the villa. Come, monsieur, I will
make a bargain with you. Freedom for me--and M. Halliday, alive and
well, for you."

"I accept," said Poirot. "I was about to propose the same bargain
myself. By the way, are the Big Four your employers, madame?"

Again I saw that deathly pallor creep over her face, but she left his
question unanswered.

Instead, "You permit me to telephone?" she asked, and crossing to
the instrument she rang up a number. "The number of the villa," she
explained, "where our friend is now imprisoned. You may give it to the
police--the nest will be empty when they arrive. Ah! I am through. Is
that you, André? It is I, Inez. The little Belgian knows all. Send
Halliday to the hotel, and clear out."

She replaced the receiver, and came towards us, smiling.

"You will accompany us to the hotel, madame."

"Naturally. I expected that."

I got a taxi, and we drove off together. I could see by Poirot's face
that he was perplexed. The thing was almost too easy. We arrived at the
hotel. The porter came up to us.

"A gentleman has arrived. He is in your rooms. He seems very ill. A
nurse came with him, but she has left."

"That is all right," said Poirot, "he is a friend of mine."

We went upstairs together. Sitting in a chair by the window was a
haggard young fellow who looked in the last stages of exhaustion.
Poirot went over to him.

"Are you John Halliday?" The man nodded. "Show me your left arm. John
Halliday has a mole just below the left elbow."

The man stretched out his arm. The mole was there. Poirot bowed to the
countess. She turned and left the room.

A glass of brandy revived Halliday somewhat.

"My God!" he muttered. "I have been through hell--hell.... Those fiends
are devils incarnate. My wife, where is she? What does she think? They
told me that she would believe--would believe--"

"She does not," said Poirot firmly. "Her faith in you has never
wavered. She is waiting for you--she and the child."

"Thank God for that. I can hardly believe that I am free once more."

"Now that you are a little recovered, monsieur, I should like to hear
the whole story from the beginning."

Halliday looked at him with an indescribable expression.

"I remember--nothing," he said.

"What?"

"Have you ever heard of the Big Four?"

"Something of them," said Poirot dryly.

"You do not know what I know. They have unlimited power. If I remain
silent, I shall be safe--if I say one word--not only I, but my nearest
and dearest will suffer unspeakable things. It is no good arguing with
me. _I know_.... I remember--nothing."

And, getting up, he walked from the room.

* * * * *

Poirot's face wore a baffled expression.

"So it is like that, is it?" he muttered. "The Big Four win again. What
is that you are holding in your hand, Hastings?"

I handed it to him.

"The countess scribbled it before she left," I explained.

He read it.

"Au revoir.--I.V."

"Signed with her initials--I.V. Just a coincidence, perhaps, that they
also stand for _Four_. I wonder, Hastings, I wonder."

7. THE RADIUM THIEVES

On the night of his release, Halliday slept in the room next to ours at
the hotel, and all night long I heard him moaning and protesting in his
sleep. Undoubtedly his experience in the villa had broken his nerve,
and in the morning we failed completely to extract any information from
him. He would only repeat his statement about the unlimited power at
the disposal of the Big Four, and his assurance of the vengeance which
would follow if he talked.

After lunch he departed to rejoin his wife in England, but Poirot and I
remained behind in Paris. I was all for energetic proceedings of some
kind or other, and Poirot's quiescence annoyed me.

"For Heaven's sake, Poirot," I urged, "let us be up and at them."

"Admirable, _mon ami_, admirable! Up where, and at whom? Be
precise, I beg of you."

"At the Big Four, of course."

"_Cela va sans dire._ But how would you set about it?"

"The police," I hazarded doubtfully.

Poirot smiled.

"They would accuse us of romancing. We have nothing to go upon--nothing
whatever. We must wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Wait for them to make a move. See now, in England you all comprehend
and adore _la boxe_. If one man does not make a move, the other
must, and by permitting the adversary to make the attack one learns
something about him. That is our part--to let the other side make the
attack."

"You think they will?" I said doubtfully.

"I have no doubt whatever of it. To begin with, see, they try to get me
out of England. That fails. Then, in the Dartmoor affair, we step in
and save their victim from the gallows. And yesterday, once again, we
interfere with their plans. Assuredly, they will not leave the matter
there."

As I reflected on this, there was a knock on the door. Without waiting
for a reply, a man stepped into the room and closed the door behind
him. He was a tall, thin man, with a slightly hooked nose and a sallow
complexion. He wore an overcoat buttoned up to his chin, and a soft hat
well pulled down over his eyes.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, for my somewhat unceremonious entry," he said in
a soft voice, "but my business is of a rather unorthodox nature."

Smiling, he advanced to the table and sat down by it. I was about to
spring up, but Poirot restrained me with a gesture.

"As you say, Monsieur, your entry is somewhat unceremonious. Will you
kindly state your business?"

"My dear M. Poirot, it is very simple. You have been annoying my
friends."

"In what way?"

"Come, come, Monsieur Poirot. You do not seriously ask me that? You
know as well as I do."

"It depends, monsieur, upon who these friends of yours are."

Without a word, the man drew from his pocket a cigarette case, and,
opening it, took out four cigarettes and tossed them on the table. Then
he picked them up and returned them to his case, which he replaced in
his pocket.

"Aha!" said Poirot, "so it is like that, is it?