I must have lost consciousness again for a minute or two. I awoke to
find Poirot forcing some brandy between my lips.
"What is it, _mon ami_? But what is it--then? Tell me." Word by
word, I got the thing told, shuddering as I did so. Poirot uttered a
cry.
"My friend! My friend! But what you must have suffered! And I who knew
nothing of all this! But reassure yourself! All is well!"
"You will find her, you mean? But she is in South America. And by the
time we get there--long before, she will be dead--and God knows how and
in what horrible way she will have died."
"No, no, you do not understand. She is safe and well. She has never
been in their hands for one instant."
"But I got a cable from Bronsen?"
"No, no, you did not. You may have got a cable from South America
signed Bronsen--that is a very different matter. Tell me, has it never
occurred to you that an organisation of this kind, with ramifications
all over the world, might easily strike at us through that little girl,
Cinderella, whom you love so well?"
"No, never," I replied.
"Well, it did to me. I said nothing to you because I did not want to
upset you unnecessarily--but I took measures of my own. Your wife's
letters all seem to have been written from the ranch, but in reality
she has been in a place of safety devised by me for over three months."