"Mon Cher Ami (it began),
"When you receive this I shall be no more. Do not shed tears about me, but follow my orders. Immediately upon receipt of this, return to South America. Do not be pig-headed about this. It is not for sentimental reasons that I bid you undertake the journey. It is necessary. It is part of the plan of Hercule Poirot! To say more is unnecessary, to any one who has the acute intelligence of my friend Hastings.
"A bas the Big Four! I salute you, my friend, from beyond the grave.
"Ever thine,
"Hercule Poirot."
I read and re-read this astonishing communication. One thing was evident. This amazing man had so provided for every eventuality that even his own death did not upset the sequence of his plans! Mine was to be the active part - his the directing genius. Doubtless I should find full instructions awaiting me beyond the seas. In the meantime my enemies, convinced that I was obeying their warning, would cease to trouble their heads about me. I could return, unsuspected, and work havoc in their midst.
There was now nothing to hinder my immediate departure.
I sent off cables, booked my passage, and one week later found me embarking in the Ansonia en route for Buenos Ayres.
Just as the boat left the quay, a steward brought me a note. It had been given him, so he explained, by a big gentleman in a fur coat who had left the boat last thing before the gangway planks were lifted.
I opened it. It was terse and to the point.
"You are wise," it ran. It was signed with a big figure 4.
I could afford to smile to myself!
The sea was not too choppy. I enjoyed a passable dinner, made up my mind as to the majority of my fellow passengers, and had a rubber or two of Bridge. Then I turned in and slept like a log as I always do on board ship.
I was awakened by feeling myself persistently shaken.
Dazed and bewildered, I saw that one of the ship's officers was standing over me. He gave a sigh of relief as I sat up.
"Thank the Lord I've got you awake at last. I've had no end of a job. Do you always sleep like that?"
"What's the matter?" I asked, still bewildered and not fully awake. "Is there anything wrong with the ship?"
"I expect you know what's the matter better than I do," he replied dryly. "Special instructions from the Admiralty. There's a destroyer waiting to take you off."
"What?" I cried. "In mid-ocean?"
"It seems a most mysterious affair, but that's not my business. They've sent a young fellow aboard who is to take your place, and we are all sworn to secrecy. Will you get up and dress?"
Utterly unable to conceal my amazement I did as I was told. A boat was lowered, and I was conveyed aboard the destroyer. There I was received courteously, but got no further information. The commander's instructions were to land me at a certain spot on the Belgian coast. There his knowledge and responsibility ended.
The whole thing was like a dream. The one idea I held to firmly was that all this must be part of Poirot's plan. I must simply go forward blindly, trusting in my dead friend.
I was duly landed at the spot indicated. There a motor was waiting, and soon I was rapidly whirling along across the flat Flemish plains. I slept that night at a small hotel in Brussels. The next day we went on again.
The country became wooded and hilly. I realised that we were penetrating into the Ardennes, and I suddenly remembered Poirot's saying that he had a brother who lived at Spa.
But we did not go to Spa itself. We left the main road and wound into the leafy fastnesses of the hills, till we reached a little hamlet, and an isolated white villa high on the hill-side. Here the car stopped in front of the green door of the villa.
The door opened as I alighted. An elderly man-servant stood in the doorway bowing.
"M. le Capitaine Hastings?" he said in French. "Monsieur le Capitaine is expected. If he will follow me."
He led the way across the hall, and flung open a door at the back, standing aside to let me pass in.
I blinked a little, for the room faced west and the afternoon sun was pouring in. Then my vision cleared and I saw a figure waiting to welcome me with outstretched hands.
It was - oh, impossible, it couldn't be - but yes!
"Poirot!" I cried, and for once did not attempt to evade the embrace with which he overwhelmed me.
"But yes, but yes, it is indeed I! Not so easy to kill Hercule Poirot!"
"But Poirot - why?"
"A ruse de guerre, my friend, a ruse de guerre. All is now ready for our grand coup."
"But you might have told me!"
"No, Hastings, I could not. Never, never, in a thousand years, could you have acted the part at the funeral. As it was, it was perfect. It could not fail to carry conviction to the Big Four."
"But what I've been through -"
"Do not think me too unfeeling. I carried out the deception partly for your sake. I was willing to risk my own life, but I had qualms about continually risking yours. So, after the explosion, I have an idea of great brilliancy. The good Ridgeway, he enables me to carry it out. I am dead, you will return to South America. But, mon ami, that is just what you would not do. In the end I have to arrange a solicitor's letter, and a long rigmarole. But, at all events, here you are - that is the great thing. And now we lie here - perdu - till the moment comes for the last grand coup - the final overthrowing of the Big Four."
Chapter 17
NUMBER FOUR WINS A TRICK
From our quiet retreat in the Ardennes we watched the progress of affairs in the great world. We were plentifully supplied with newspapers, and every day Poirot received a bulky envelope, evidently containing some kind of report. He never showed these reports to me, but I could usually tell from his manner whether its contents had been satisfactory or otherwise. He never wavered in his belief that our present plan was the only one likely to be crowned by success.
"As a minor point, Hastings," he remarked one day, "I was in continual fear of your death lying at my door. And that rendered me nervous - like a cat upon the jumps, as you say. But now I am well satisfied. Even if they discover that the Captain Hastings who landed in South America is an imposter (and I do not think they will discover it, they are not likely to send an agent out there who knows you personally), they will only believe that you are trying to circumvent them in some clever manner of your own, and will pay no serious attention to discovering your whereabouts. Of the one vital fact, my supposed death, they are thoroughly convinced. They will go ahead and mature their plans."
"And then?" I asked eagerly.
"And then, mon ami, grand resurrection of Hercule Poirot! At the eleventh hour I reappear, throw all into confusion, and achieve the supreme victory in my own unique manner!"
I realised that Poirot's vanity was of the case-hardened variety which could withstand all attacks. I reminded him that once or twice the honours of the game had lain with our adversaries. But I might have known that it was impossible to diminish Hercule Poirot's enthusiasm for his own methods.
"See you, Hastings, it is like the little trick that you play with the cards. You have seen it without doubt? You take the four knaves, you divide them, one on top of the pack, one underneath, and so on - you cut and you shuffle, and there they are all together again. That is my object. So far I have been contending, now against one of the Big Four, now against another. But let me get them all together, like the four knaves in the pack of cards, and then, with one coup, I destroy them all!"
"And how do you propose to get them all together?" I asked.
"By awaiting the supreme moment. By lying perdu until they are ready to strike."
"That may mean a long wait," I grumbled.
"Always impatient, the good Hastings! But no, it will not be so long. The one man they were afraid of - myself - is out of the way. I give them two or three months at most."
His speaking of some one being got out of the way reminded me of Ingles and his tragic death, and I remembered that I had never told Poirot about the dying Chinaman in St. Giles' Hospital.
He listened with keen attention to my story.
"Ingles' servant, eh? And the few words he uttered were in Italian? Curious."
"That's why I suspected it might have been a plant on the part of the Big Four."
"Your reasoning is at fault, Hastings. Employ the little gray cells. If your enemies wished to deceive you they would assuredly have seen to it that the Chinaman spoke in intelligible pigeon English. No, the message was genuine. Tell me again all that you heard?"
"First of all he made a reference to Handel's Largo, and then he said something that sounded like 'carrozza' - that's a carriage, isn't it?"
"Nothing else?"
"Well, just at the end he murmured something like 'Cara' somebody or other - some woman's name. Zia, I think. But I don't suppose that that had any bearing on the rest of it."
"You would not suppose so, Hastings. Cara Zia is very important, very important indeed."
"I don't see -"
"My dear friend, you never see - and anyway the English know no geography."
"Geography?" I cried. "What has geography got to do with it?"
"I dare say M. Thomas Cook would be more to the point."
As usual, Poirot refused to say anything more - a most irritating trick of his. But I noticed that his manner became extremely cheerful, as though he had scored some point or other.
The days went on, pleasant if a trifle monotonous. There was a large quantity of books, and, in the surroundings, wonderful places for outings. But sometimes I was restless about our forced inactivity, and I wondered about Poirot's placid contentment. Nothing happened to disturb our quiet existence, and it wasn't until the end of June that we heard from the Big Four.
One morning, very early, a car arrived. It was such an uncommon occurence that I went out running to satisfy my curiosity. I found Poirot talking to a young man of pleasant features, about my age.
We were introduced.
"This is Captain Harvey, Hastings, one of the most famous members of the Secret Service."
"I fear I am not in the least famous," said the young captain, pleasantly smiling.
"I should have said famous only for those in the know. Most of Captain Harvey's friends and acquaintances consider him a nice but idle youth, devoted only to fox-trot, or whatever this dance is called."
We all laughed.
"Well, now for the business," said Poirot. "You think the time has come, don't you?"
"We are convinced of it, sir. Yesterday China was politically isolated from the rest of the world. Nobody knows what is going on there. No kind of news has been released - a complete break, total silence!"
"Li Chang Yen has shown us his power. And the others?"
"Abe Ryland arrived in England a week ago and departed yesterday for the continent."
"And Madame Olivier?"
"Madame Olivier left Paris last night."
"For Italy?"
"For Italy, sir. As far as we can judge, they are both making for the resort you indicated - though how you knew that -"
"Ah, that is not the cap with the feather for me! That was the work of Hastings here. He conceals his intelligence, you comprehend, but it is profound for all that."
Harvey looked at me with due appreciation, and I felt rather uncomfortable.
"All is in train, then," said Poirot. He was pale now, and completely serious. "The time has come. The arrangements are all made?"
"Everything you ordered has been carried out. The governments of Italy, France and England are behind you, and are all working harmoniously together."
"It is, in fact, a new Entente," observed Poirot dryly. "I am glad that Desjardeaux is convinced at last. Eh bien, then, we will start - or rather, I will start. You, Hastings, will remain here - yes, I pray of you. In verity, my friend. I am serious."
I believed him, but it was not likely that I should consent to being left behind in that fashion. Our argument was short but decisive.
It was not until we were in the train, speeding towards Paris that he admitted that he was secretly glad of my decision.
"For you have a part to play, Hastings. An important part! Without you, I might well fail. Nevertheless, I felt that it was my duty to urge you to remain behind."
"There is danger, then?"
"Mon ami, where there is the Big Four there is always danger."
On arrival in Paris, we drove across to the Gare de l'Est, and Poirot at last announced our destination. We were bound for Bolzano and Italian Tyrol.
During Harvey's absence from our carriage I took the opportunity of asking Poirot why he had said that the discovery of the rendezvous was my work.
"Because it was, my friend. How Ingles managed to get hold of the information I do not know, but he did, and he sent it to us by his servant. We are bound, mon ami, for Karersee, the new Italian name for which is Lago di Carezza. You see now where your 'Cara Zia' comes in and also your 'Carrozza' and 'Largo' - the Handel was supplied by your own imagination. Possibly some reference to the information coming from the hand of M. Ingles started the train of association."
"Karersee?" I queried. "I never heard of it."
"I always tell you that the English know no geography. But as a matter of fact it is a well-known and very beautiful summer resort, four thousand feet up, in the heart of the Dolomites."
"And it is in this out of the way spot that the Big Four have their rendezvous?"
"Say rather their headquarters. The signal has been given, and it is their intention to disappear from the world and issue orders from their mountain fastness. I have made the inquiries - a lot of quarrying of stone and mineral deposits is done there, and the company, apparently a small Italian firm, is in reality controlled by Abe Ryland. I am prepared to swear that a vast subterranean dwelling has been hollowed out in the very heart of the mountain, secret and inaccessible. From there the leaders of the organisation will issue by wireless their orders to their followers who are numbered by thousands in every country. And from that crag in the Dolomites the dictators of the world will emerge. That is to say - they would emerge were it not for Hercule Poirot."
