The Big Four hp-5 Read online

  No, I dared not risk it. But one thing I could do, leave the telegram. He would know then that Cinderella had disappeared, and who was responsible for her disappearance.

  All this passed through my head in less time than it takes to tell, and I had clapped my hat on my head and was descending the stairs to where my guide waited, in a little over a minute.

  The bearer of the message was a tall impassive Chinaman, neatly but rather shabbily dressed. He bowed and spoke to me. His English was perfect, but he spoke with a slight sing-song intonation.

  "You Captain Hastings?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "You give me note, please."

  I had foreseen the request, and handed him over the scrap of paper without a word. But that was not all.

  "You have telegram to-day, yes? Come along just now? From South America, yes?"

  I realised anew the excellence of their espionage system-or it might have been a shrewd guess. Bronsen was bound to cable me. They would wait until the cable was delivered and would strike hard upon it.

  No good could come of denying what was palpably true.

  "Yes," I said. "I did get a telegram."

  "You fetch him, yes? Fetch him now."

  I ground my teeth, but what could I do. I ran upstairs again. As I did so, I thought of confiding in Mrs. Pearson, at any rate as far as Cinderella's disappearance went. She was on the landing, but close behind her was the little maid servant, and I hesitated. If she was a spy-the words of the note danced before my eyes. "… she will suffer…" I passed into the sitting-room without speaking.

  I took up the telegram and was about to pass out again when an idea struck me. Could I not leave some sign which would mean nothing to my enemies but which Poirot himself would find significant. I hurried across to the bookcase and tumbled out four books on to the floor. No fear of Poirot's not seeing them. They would outrage his eyes immediately-and coming on top of his little lecture, surely he would find them unusual. Next I put a shovelful of coal on the fire and managed to spill four knobs into the grate. I had done all I could-pray Heaven Poirot would read the sign aright.

  I hurried down again. The Chinaman took the telegram from me, read it, then placed it in his pocket and with a nod beckoned me to follow him.

  It was a long weary march that he led me. Once we took a bus and once we went for some considerable way in a train, and always our route led us steadily eastward.

  We went through strange districts, the existence I had never dreamed of. We were down by the docks now, I knew, and I realised that I was being taken into the heart of Chinatown.

  In spite of myself I shivered. Still my guide plodded on, turning and twisting through mean streets and byways, until at last he stopped at a dilapidated house and rapped four times upon the door.

  It was opened immediately by another Chinaman who stood aside to let us pass in. The clanging to of the door behind me was the knell of my last hopes. I was indeed in the hands of the enemy.

  I was now handed over to the second Chinaman. He led me down some rickety stairs and into a cellar which was filled with bales and casks and which exhaled a pungent odour, as of Eastern spices. I felt wrapped all round with the atmosphere of the East, tortuous, cunning, sinister-Suddenly my guide rolled aside two of the casks, and I saw a low tunnel-like opening in the wall. He motioned me to go ahead. The tunnel was of some length, and it was just too low for me to stand upright. At last, however, it broadened out into a passage, and a few minutes later we stood in another cellar.

  My Chinaman went forward, and rapped four times on one of the walls. A whole section of the wall swung out, leaving a narow doorway. I passed through, and to my utter astonishment found myself in a kind of Arabian Nights' palace. A low long subterranean chamber hung with rich oriental silks, brilliantly lighted and fragrant with perfumes and spices. There five or six silk covered divans, and exquisite carpets of Chinese workmanship covered the ground. At the end of the room was a curtained recess. From behind these curtains came a voice.

  "You have brought our honoured guest?"

  "Excellency, he is here," replied my guide.

  "Let our guest enter," was the answer.

  At the same moment, the curtains were drawn aside by an unseen hand, and I was facing an immense cushioned divan on which sat a tall thin Oriental dressed in wonderfully embroidered robes, and clearly, by the length of his finger nails, a great man.

  "Be seated, I pray you, Captain Hastings," he said, with a wave of his hand. "You acceded to my request to come immediately, I am glad to see."

  "Who are you?" I asked. "Li Chang Yen?"

  "Indeed no, I am but the humblest of the master's servants. I carry out his behests, that is all-as do other of his servants in other countries-in South America, for instance."

  I advanced a step.

  "Where is she? What have you done with her out there?"

  "She is in a place of safety-where none will find her.

  As yet, she is unharmed. You observe that I say-as yetl"

  Cold shivers ran down my spine as I confronted this smiling devil.

  "What do you want?" I cried. "Money?"

  "My dear Captain Hastings. We have no designs on your small savings, I can assure you. Not-pardon me -a very intelligent suggestion on your part. Your colleague would not have made it, I fancy."

  "I suppose," I said heavily, "you wanted to get me into your toils. Well, you have succeeded. I have come here with my eyes open. Do what you like with me, and let her go. She knows nothing, and she can be no possible use to you. You've used her to get hold of me-you've got me all right, and that settles it."

  The smiling Oriental caressed his smooth cheek, watching me obliquely out of his narrow eyes.

  "You go too fast," he said purringly. "That does not quite-settle it. In fact, to 'get hold of you' as you express it, is not really our objective. But through you, we hope to get hold of your friend, M. Hercule Poirot."

  "I'm afraid you won't do that," I said, with a short laugh.

  "What I suggest is this," continued the other, his words running on as though he had not heard me.

  "You will write M. Hercule Poirot a letter, such a letter as will induce him to hasten hither and join you."

  "I shall do no such thing," I said angrily.

  "The consequences of refusal will be disagreeable."

  "Damn your consequences."

  "The alternative might be death!"

  A nasty shiver ran down my spine, but I endeavoured to put a bold face upon it.

  "It's no good threatening me. and bullying me. Keep your threats for Chinese cowards."

  "My threats are very real ones. Captain Hastings. I ask you again, will you write this letter?"

  "I will not, and what's more, you daren't kill me.

  You'd have the police on your tracks in no time."

  My interlocutor clapped his hands swiftly. Two Chinese attendants appeared as it were out of the blue, and pinioned me by both arms. Their master said something rapidly to them in Chinese, and they dragged me across the floor to a spot in one corner of the big chamber. One of them stooped, and suddenly, without the least warning, the flooring gave beneath my feet.

  But for the restraining hand of the other man I should have gone down the yawning gap beneath me. It was inky black, and I could hear the rushing of water.

  "The river," said my questioner from his place on the divan. "Think well. Captain Hastings. If you refuse again, you go headlong to eternity, to meet your death in the dark waters below. For the last time, will you write that letter?"

  I'm not braver than most men. I admit frankly that I was scared to death, and in a blue funk. That Chinese devil meant business, I was sure of that. It was goodbye to the good old world. In spite of myself, my voice wobbled a little as I answered.

  "For the last time, no! To hell with your letter!"

  Then involuntarily I closed my eyes and breathed a short prayer.

  13. The Mouse Walks In

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p; Not often in a life-time does a man stand on the edge of eternity, but when I spoke those words in that East End cellar I was perfectly certain that they were my last words on earth. I braced myself for the shock of those black, rushing waters beneath, and experienced in advance the horror of that breath-choking fall.

  But to my surprise a low laugh fell on my ears. I opened my eyes. Obeying a sign from the man on the divan, my two jailers brought me back to my old seat facing him.

  "You are a brave man. Captain Hastings," he said.

  "We of the East appreciate bravery. I may say that I expected you to act as you have done. That brings us to the appointed second act of our little drama. Death for yourself you have faced-will you face death for another?"

  "What do you mean?" I asked hoarsely, a horrible fear creeping over me.

  "Surely you have not forgotten the lady who is in our power-the Rose of the Garden."

  I stared at him in dumb agony.

  "I think. Captain Hastings, that you will write that letter. See, I have a cable form here. The message I shall write on it depends on you, and means life or death for your wife."

  The sweat broke out on my brow. My tormentor continued, smiling amiably, and speaking with perfect sangfroid:-"There, captain, the pen is ready to your hand. You have only to write. If not-"

  "If not?" I echoed.

  "If not, that lady that you love dies-and dies slowly.

  My master, Li Chang Yen, amuses himself in his spare hours by devising new and ingenious methods of tortures-"

  "My God!" I cried. "You fiend! Not that-you wouldn't do that-"

  "Shall I recount to you some of his devices?"

  Without heeding my cry of protest, his speech flowed on-evenly, serenely-till with a cry of horror I clapped my hands to my ears.

  "It is enough, I see. Take up the pen and write."

  "You would not dare-"

  "Your speech is foolishness, and you know it. Take up the pen and write."

  "If I do?"

  "Your wife goes free. The cable shall be despatched immediately."

  "How do I know that you will keep faith with me?"

  "I swear it to you on the sacred tombs of my ancestors.

  Moreover, judge for yourself-why should I wish to do her harm? Her detention will have answered its purpose."

  "And-and Poirot?"

  "We will keep him in safe custody until we have concluded our operations. Then we will let him go."

  "Will you swear that also on the tombs of your ancestors?"

  "I have sworn one oath to you. That should be sufficient."

  My heart sank. I was betraying my friend-to what?

  For a moment I hesitated-then the terrible alternative rose like a nightmare before my eyes. Cinderella-in the hands of these Chinese devils, dying by slow torture-A groan rose to my lips. I seized the pen. Perhaps by careful wording of the letter, I could convey a warning, and Poirot would be enabled to avoid the trap. It was the only hope.

  But even that hope was not to remain. The Chinaman's voice rose, suave and courteous.

  "Permit me to dictate to you."

  He paused, consulted a sheaf of notes that lay by his side, and then dictated as follows:-"Dear Poirot, I think I'm on the track of Number Four. A Chinaman came this afternoon and lured me down here with a bogus message.

  Luckily I saw through his little game in time, and gave him the slip. Then I turned the tables on him, and managed to do a bit of shadowing on my own account-rather neatly too, I flatter myself. I'm getting a bright young lad to carry this to you. Give him a half a crown, will you? That's what I promised him if it was delivered safely. I'm watching the house, and daren't leave. I shall wait for you until six o'clock, and if you haven't come then, I'll have a try at getting into the house on my own. It's too good a chance to miss, and, of course, the boy mightn't find you. But if he does, get him to bring you down here right away. And cover up those precious moustaches of yours in case any one's watching out from the house and might recognise you.

  "Yours in haste, Every word that I wrote plunged me deeper in despair.

  The thing was diabolically clever. I realised how closely every detail of our life must be known. It was just such an epistle as I might have penned myself. The acknowledgment that the Chinaman who had called that afternoon had endeavoured to "lure me away" discounted any good I might have done by leaving my "sign" of four books. It had been a trap, and I had seen through it, that was what Poirot would think. The time, too, was cleverly planned. Poirot, on receiving the note, would have just time to rush off with his innocent-looking guide, and that he would do so, I knew. My determination to make my way into the house would bring him post-haste. He always displayed a ridiculous distrust of my capacities. He would be convinced that I was running into danger without being equal to the situation, and would rush down to take command of the situation.

  But there was nothing to be done. I wrote as bidden.

  My captor took the note from me, read it, then nodded his head approvingly and handed it to one of the silent attendants who disappeared with it behind one of the silken hangings on the wall which masked a doorway.

  With a smile the man opposite to me picked up a cable form and wrote. He handed it to me.

  It read: "Release the white bird with all despatch."

  I gave a sigh of relief.

  "You will send it at once?" I urged.

  He smiled, and shook his head.

  "When M. Hercule Poirot is in my hands it shall be sent. Not until then."

  "But you promised-"

  "If this device fails, I may have need of our white bird-to persuade you to further efforts."

  I grew white with anger.

  "My God'If you-"

  He waved a long slim yellow hand.

  "Be reassured, I do not think it will fail. And the moment M. Poirot is in our hands, I will keep my oath."

  "If you play me false."

  "I have sworn it by my honoured ancestors. Have no fear. Rest here awhile. My servants will see to your needs whilst I am absent."

  I was left alone in this strange underground nest of luxury. The second Chinese attendant had reappeared.

  One of them brought food and drink and offered it to me, but I waved them aside. I was sick-sick-at heart-And then suddenly the master reappeared tall and stately in his silken robes. He directed operations. By his orders I was hustled back through the cellar and tunnel into the original house I had entered. There they took me into a ground floor room. The windows were shuttered, but one could see through the cracks into the street. An old ragged man was shuffling along the opposite side of the road, and when I saw him make a sign to the window, I understood that he was one of the gang on watch.

  "It is well," said my Chinese friend. "Hercule Poirot has fallen into the trap. He approaches now-and alone ?H | except for the boy who guides him. Now, Captain Hastings, you have still one more part to play. Unless you show yourself he will not enter the house. When he arrives opposite, you must go out on the step and beckon him in."

  "What?" I cried, revolted.

  "You play that part alone. Remember the price of failure. If Hercule Poirot suspects anything is amiss and does not enter the house, your wife dies by the Seventy lingering Deaths! Ah! Here he is."

  With a beating heart, and a feeling of deathly sickness.

  I looked through the crack in the shutters. In the figure walking along the opposite side of the street I recognised my friend at once, though his coat collar was turned up and an immense yellow muffler hid the bottom part of his face. But there was no mistaking that walk, and the poise of that egg-shaped head.

  It was Poirot, coming to my aid in all good faith, suspecting nothing amiss. By his side ran a typical London urchin, grimy of face and ragged of apparel.

  Poirot paused, looking across at the house, whilst the boy spoke to him eagerly and pointed. It was the time for me to act. I went out in the hall. At a sign from the tall Chinaman, one of the servants unlatched
the door.

  "Remember the price of failure," said my enemy in a low voice.

  I was outside on the steps. I beckoned to Poirot. He hastened across.

  "Aha! So all is well with you, my friend. I was beginning to be anxious. You managed to get inside? Is the house empty, then?"

  "Yes," I said, in a voice I strove to make natural.

  "There must be a secret way out of it somewhere. Come in and let us look for it.

  I stepped back across the threshold. In all innocence Poirot prepared to follow me.

  And then something seemed to snap in my head. I saw only too clearly the part I was playing-the part of Judas.

  "Back, Poirot!" I cried. "Back for your life. It's a trap. Never mind me. Get away at once."

  Even as I spoke-or rather shouted my warning hands gripped me like a vice. One of the Chinese servants sprang past me to grab Poirot.

  I saw the latter spring back, his arm raised, then suddenly a dense volume of smoke was rising round me, choking me-killing me-I felt myself falling-suffocating-this was death-I came to myself slowly and painfully-all my senses dazed. The first thing I saw was Poirot's face. He was sitting opposite me watching me with an anxious face.

  He gave a cry of joy when he saw me looking at him.

  "Ah, you revive-you return to yourself. All is well!

  My friend-my poor friend!"

  "Where am I?" I said painfully.

  "Where? But chez vous"

  I looked round me. True enough, I was in the old familiar surroundings. And in the grate were the identical four knobs of coal I had carefully spilt there.

  Poirot had followed my glance.

  "But yes, that was a famous idea of yours-that and the books. See you, if they should say to me any time, 'That friend of yours, that Hastings, he has not the great brain, is it not so?' I shall reply to them: 'You are in error.' It was an idea magnificent and superb that occurred to you there."

  "You understood their meaning then?"

  "Am I an imbecile? Of course I understood. It gave me just the warning I needed, and the time to mature my plans. Somehow or other the Big Four had carried you off. With what object? Clearly not for your beaux yeux- equally clearly not because they feared you and wanted to get you out of the way. No, their object was plain. You would be used as a decoy to get the great Hercule Poirot into their clutches. I have long been prepared for something of the kind. I make my little preparations, and presently, sure enough, the messenger arrives-such an innocent little street urchin. Me, I swallow everything, and hasten away with him, and, very fortunately, they permit you to come out on the doorstep. That was my one fear, that I should have to dispose of them before I had reached the place where you were concealed, and that I should have to search for you-perhaps in vain-afterwards."