Big Four - Agatha Christie [73]
‘So you are a magician!’
‘You can call me so if you like.’
The countess suddenly dropped her jesting manner. She spoke with passionate bitterness.
‘Fool! My heart’s desire! Can you give me revenge upon my enemies? Can you give me back youth and beauty and a gay heart? Can you bring the dead to life again?’
Achille Poirot was watching her very curiously.
‘Which of the three, Madame? Make your choice.’
She laughed sardonically.
‘You will send me the Elixir of Life, perhaps? Come, I will make a bargain with you. Once, I had a child. Find my child for me—and you shall go free.’
‘Madame, I agree. It is a bargain. Your child shall be restored to you. On the faith of—on the faith of Hercule Poirot himself.’
Again that strange woman laughed—this time long and unrestrainedly.
‘My dear M. Poirot, I am afraid I laid a little trap for you. It is very kind of you to promise to find my child for me, but, you see, I happen to know that you would not succeed, and so that would be a very one-sided bargain, would it not?’
‘Madame, I swear to you by the Holy Angels that I will restore your child to you.’
‘I asked you before, M. Poirot, could you restore the dead to life?’
‘Then the child is—’
‘Dead? Yes.’
He stepped forward and took her wrist.
‘Madame, I—I who speak to you, swear once more. I will bring the dead back to life.’
She stared at him as though fascinated.
‘You do not believe me. I will prove my words. Get my pocketbook which they took from me.’
She went out of the room, and returned with it in her hand. Throughout all she retained her grip on the revolver. I felt that Achille Poirot’s chances of bluffing her were very slight. The Countess Vera Rossakoff was no fool.
‘Open it, madame. The flap on the left-hand side. That is right. Now take out that photograph and look at it.’
Wonderingly, she took out what seemed to be a small snapshot. No sooner had she looked at it than she uttered a cry and swayed as though about to fall. Then she almost flew at my companion.
‘Where? Where? You shall tell me. Where?’
‘Remember your bargain, madame.’
‘Yes, yes, I will trust you. Quick, before they come back.’
Catching him by the hand, she drew him quickly and silently out of the room. I followed. From the outer room she led us into the tunnel by which we had first entered, but a short way along this forked, and she turned off to the right. Again and again the passage divided, but she led us on, never faltering or seeming to doubt her way, and with increasing speed.
‘If only we are in time,’ she panted. ‘We must be out in the open before the explosion occurs.’
Still we went on. I understood that this tunnel led right through the mountain and that we should finally emerge on the other side, facing a different valley. The sweat streamed down my face, but I raced on.
And then, far away, I saw a gleam of daylight. Nearer and nearer. I saw green bushes growing. We forced them aside, pushed our way through. We were in the open again, with the faint light of dawn making everything rosy.
Poirot’s cordon was a reality. Even as we emerged, three men fell upon us, but released us again with a cry of astonishment.
‘Quick,’ cried my companion. ‘Quick—there is no time to lose—’
But he was not destined to finish. The earth shook and trembled under our feet, there was a terrific roar and the whole mountain seemed to dissolve. We were flung headlong through the air.
I came to myself at last. I was in a strange bed and a strange room. Someone was sitting by the window. He turned and came and stood by me.
It was Achille Poirot—or, stay, was it—
The well-known ironical voice dispelled any doubts I might have had.
‘But yes, my friend, it is. Brother Achille has gone home again—to the land of myths. It was I all the time. It is not only Number Four who can act a part. Belladonna in the eyes, the sacrifice of the moustaches, and a real scar the inflicting of which caused me much pain two months ago—but I could not risk a fake beneath the eagle eyes of Number Four. And the final