"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 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.