Free The Big Four by Agatha Christie

Claude and Monsieur Henri, is it not?—particularly not a word to them.”
    Poirot left the villa rubbing his hands in great satisfaction.
    â€œWhat are we going to do now?” I asked.
    â€œNow, Hastings, we are about to leave Paris—for England.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWe will pack our effects, have lunch, and drive to the Gare du Nord.”
    â€œBut the radium?”
    â€œI said we were going to leave for England—I did not say we were going to arrive there. Reflect a moment, Hastings. It is quite certain that we are being watched and followed. Our enemies must believe that we are going back to England, and they certainly will not believe that unless they see us get on board the train and start.”
    â€œDo you mean we are to slip off again at the last minute?”
    â€œNo, Hastings. Our enemies will be satisfied with nothing less than a bona fide departure.”
    â€œBut the train doesn’t stop until Calais?”
    â€œIt will stop if it is paid to do so.”
    â€œOh, come now, Poirot—surely you can’t pay an express to stop—they’d refuse.”
    â€œMy dear friend, have you never remarked the little handle—the signal d’arrêt —penalty for improper use, 100 francs, I think?”
    â€œOh! you are going to pull that?”
    â€œOr rather a friend of mine, Pierre Combeau, will do so. Then, while he is arguing with the guard, and making a big scene, and all the train is agog with interest, you and I will fade quietly away.”
    We duly carried out Poirot’s plan. Pierre Combeau, an old crony of Poirot’s, and who evidently knew my little friend’s methods pretty well, fell in with the arrangements. The communication cord was pulled just as we got to the outskirts of Paris. Combeau “made a scene” in the most approved French fashion, and Poirot and I were able to leave the train without anyone being interested in our departure. Our first proceeding was to make a considerable change in our appearance. Poirot had brought the materials for this with him in a small case. Two loafers in dirty blue blouses were the result. We had dinner in an obscure hostelry, and started back to Paris afterwards.
    It was close on eleven o’clock when we found ourselves once more in the neighbourhood of Madame Olivier’s villa. We looked up and down the road before slipping into the alleyway. The whole place appeared to be perfectly deserted. One thing we could be quite certain of, no one was following us.
    â€œI do not expect them to be here yet,” whispered Poirot to me. “Possibly they may not come until tomorrow night, but they know perfectly well that there are only two nights on which the radium will be there.”
    Very cautiously we turned the key in the garden door. It opened noiselessly and we stepped into the garden.
    And then, with complete unexpectedness, the blow fell. In a minute we were surrounded, gagged, and bound. At least ten men must have been waiting for us. Resistance was useless. Like two helpless bundles we were lifted up and carried along. To my intense astonishment, they took us towards the house and not away from it. With a key they opened the door into the laboratory and carried us into it. One of the men stooped down before a big safe. The door of it swung open. I felt an unpleasant sensation down my spine. Were they going to bundle us into it, and leave us there to asphyxiate slowly?
    However, to my amazement, I saw that from the inside of the safe steps led down beneath the floor. We were thrust down this narrow way and eventually came out into a big subterranean chamber. A woman stood there, tall and imposing, with a black velvet mask covering her face. She was clearly in command of the situation by her gestures of authority. The men slung us down on the floor and left us—alone with the mysterious creature in the mask. I had no doubt who she was. This was the unknown