"If you ever wish to see your wife again, go with the bearer of this
note immediately. Leave no message for your friend or she will suffer."
It was signed with a big 4.
What ought I to have done? What would you who read have done in my
place?
I had no time to think. I saw only one thing--Cinderella in the power
of those devils. I must obey--I dare not risk a hair of her head. I
must go with this Chinaman and follow whither he led. It was a trap,
yes, and it meant certain capture and possible death, but it was baited
with the person dearest to me in the whole world, and I dared not
hesitate.
What irked me most was to leave no word for Poirot. Once set him on
my track, and all might yet be well? Dare I risk it? Apparently I was
under no supervision, but yet I hesitated. It would have been so easy
for the Chinaman to come up and assure himself that I was keeping to
the letter of the command. Why didn't he? His very abstention made me
more suspicious. I had seen so much of the omnipotence of the Big Four
that I credited them with almost super-human powers. For all I know,
even the little bedraggled servant girl might be one of their agents.
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
of which 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 narrow 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."