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 Four, who stood facing us with mocking triumph in his face, we were searched and every article was removed from our pockets, including Poirot’s little automatic pistol.

A pang smote me as it was tossed down on the table. We were defeated—hopelessly defeated and outnumbered. It was the end.

“Welcome to the headquarters of the Big Four, M. Hercule Poirot,” said Number Four in a mocking tone. “To meet you again is an unexpected pleasure. But was it worth while returning from the grave only for this?”

Poirot did not reply. I dared not look at him.

“Come this way,” continued Number Four. “Your arrival will be somewhat of a surprise to my colleagues.”

He indicated a narrow doorway in the wall. We passed through and found ourselves in another chamber. At the very end of it was a table behind which four chairs were placed. The end chair was empty, but was draped with a mandarin’s cape. On the second, smoking a cigar, sat Mr. Abe Ryland. Leaning back in the third chair, with her burning eyes and her nun’s face, was Madame Olivier. Number Four took his seat on the fourth chair.

We were in the presence of the Big Four.