Chapter 6 Chapter 6 The Woman on the Stairs

That's all we got from Mrs. Halliday.We hurried back to London, and the next day we were already on our way to the mainland.Poirot said sadly: "The Big Four have animated me, my friend. I've been running all over the place, like our old friend 'Human Hound'." "Perhaps you'll meet him in Paris," I said, knowing that he was referring to a man named Gino, the most trusted of the French secret police, whom Poirot had known on his last visit to Paris. Poirot grimaced. "I hope not. That guy doesn't like me." "Wouldn't it be a tough job?" I asked. "Going to investigate what an Englishman we don't know did one night two months ago."

"Finding a needle in a haystack, my friend. But, as you know, difficulties fill Hercule Poirot's heart with joy." "Do you think the Four Great Devils hijacked him?" Poirot nodded. Our visits had to be repeated, but found nothing but what Mrs. Halliday had told us in the first place.Poirot had a long conversation with Professor Bugnot, hoping to know whether Halliday had mentioned his plans for that evening, but we were disappointed. Our next source of information is the famous Madame Olivier.When we stepped up the balcony ladder of her villa in Bath, my heart was full of excitement.To me, it's extraordinary that a woman can do so well in science, and I've always felt that men's brains are up for this kind of work.

The person who opened the door was a boy about seventeen years old. His attitude was very restrained, which reminded me of the little novice monk in the monastery.Poirot knew that Mrs. Olivier was immersed in research work all day, and she would not meet without an appointment with her in advance, so he took pains to arrange this meeting in advance. We were shown into a small drawing room, where the hostess met us shortly afterwards.Madame Olivier was tall, heightened by the long white smock she wore, and a nun's kerchief covering her head.She had a long, pale face, and wonderful black eyes that seemed to burn with an almost fanatical fire.She looked less like a modern Frenchwoman than an ancient missionary.She had a scar on one cheek, spoiling her good looks.I remembered that her husband's collaborator was killed in a laboratory explosion three years ago, and she herself was severely burned. Since then, she has kept away from the outside world and devoted all her energy to scientific research.She received us coldly and politely.

"The police have called me many times, sir. I have been of no use to them, and therefore I don't think I can help you." "Madam, I will not ask you the same question again. First, I would like to ask you, what did you talk about when you met? You and Mr. Halliday." She seemed a little taken aback. "Just his job! His job—and mine." "Has he mentioned the theory in a paper he recently read to the British Academy?" "Of course it did. That's what we were talking about." "Is his theory bordering on delusional?" "Some people think that, but I don't agree."

"Do you think those theories can be put into practice?" "That's right. My own research is somewhat similar to his, though I'm not yet sure that I'll have the same results. I've been studying gamma rays emitted by a type of radium-C commonly called radium-C, which is In the course of my experiments, I stumbled upon some very interesting magnetic phenomena. Seriously, I have a theory about the nature of what we call 'magnetism', but it is not yet possible to make this discovery public. I am very interested in Mr. Halliday's experiments and ideas."

Poirot nodded.Later, he asked a question that surprised me. "Madam, where are you talking about these subjects? Here?" "No, sir, in the laboratory." "May I go over there and have a look?" "of course can." She took us out the door she came in, and there was a small passage outside.We passed two doors, leading to a laboratory lined with beakers, crucibles, and nearly a hundred other utensils whose names I can't even name.There were two people busy doing experiments there.Madame Olivier introduced them. "Miss Cloud, my assistant." A tall, serious young girl nodded to us. "Mr. Henry, a trustworthy old friend."

The young man was short and dark, and made a quick salute. Poirot looked around. There were two other doors besides the one through which we had entered.The host explained that one led to the garden, and the other to the smaller room, which was also used for research. After visiting these places, Poirot said that he was going back to the drawing room. "Madam, did you and Mr. Halliday speak alone?" "Yes, sir. My two assistants are in the adjoining cubicle." "Is there any possibility that your conversations could be tapped - them or someone else?" Madame thought for a moment, then shook her head.

"I don't think it's possible. I'm almost certain it's not possible. At the time, the doors were closed." "Is it possible that someone is hiding in the room?" "There's a big cupboard around the corner—but the idea is absurd." "Not necessarily, ma'am, and one more thing, did Mr. Halliday mention that he had plans for that evening?" "He didn't say anything off topic, sir." "Thank you, ma'am. I'm sorry to disturb you. You needn't trouble—we'll get out ourselves." We went down the passage and a lady came in just by the front door.She ran up the steps quickly, and I had the impression that she was a French widow in mourning.

"A most unusual type of woman, the lady," said Poirot as we left. "Madame Olivier? Yes, she—" "No, not Madame Olivier. She is different, of course! I don't mean her, I mean another lady—the woman who went up the stairs." "I didn't see her face." I replied with a glare. "I don't think you can see her face. She didn't look at us at all." "That's why I said she was an unusual type of woman," said Poirot quietly. "A woman enters her house—because she has a key to the door, so I assume it is hers— She ran up the stairs without even looking to see who the two strangers in the passage were, a very unusual woman--in fact, something was wrong. There was thunder! What was that?"

He pulled me back--in time.A tree clattered onto the sidewalk, but it didn't hit us.Poirot stared at it palely and distressedly. "What a close call! But, I'm really ashamed—for I didn't notice it—almost not. It's a good thing I have quick eyes, cat's eyes, otherwise Hercule Poirot might have been beaten to powder—a dreadful scourge for the whole world. And so are you, my friend—although not so much an international scourge as if I were dead.” "Thank you for the compliment," I said dryly. "Now, what shall we do." "Do?" cried Poirot. "We want to. Yes, we are going to put our little gray cells into motion now. Now, let's talk about this Mr. Halliday. Has he really been to Paris? Really." Been here, because Monsieur Buguenot, who knew him, had seen him and had a meeting with him."

"What the hell are you thinking?" I yelled. "It was Friday morning. He was last seen at eleven o'clock on Friday night--but did anyone actually see him then?" "concierge--" "A night porter—he hadn't seen Halliday before. A man came in who looked very much like Halliday—we're sure it was Number Four—queried the mail, went upstairs, packed a small suitcase— Slipped out the next morning. No one saw Halliday—no, because he had already fallen into enemy hands. So, was it really Halliday himself that Madame Olivier received? It should be, because although she Haven't met him in person, but there's no way an imposter could fool her on a subject she specializes in. He's been here, seen her, gone! What happened next?" Poirot took my arm and pulled me back to the villa. "Now, my friend, let's say it's the day after the disappearance, and we're following tracks. You like tracks, don't you? Look--found, tracks of a man, Mr. Halliday's . . . Turning sharply to the right, he walked briskly—ah! Another set of tracks followed—quickly—small tracks—a woman's track. See, she overtook him—a young, slender A woman with a widow's black veil. 'Excuse me, Monsieur, Madame Olivier wants me to tell you to go back.' He stopped and turned. Now, how do you think that young woman will take him? She doesn't want anyone else Saw them walking together. Is it possible that she just overtook him in the narrow alley between the two gardens? She led him along the narrow alley. 'Come closer, sir.' On the right is the garden of Madame Olivier's villa, To the left is the garden of another villa—that garden with fallen trees, I remind you—that almost hit us. The garden doors on both sides lead into this narrow alley. The ambush is there. People rushed Come out, knock him down, and take him into that strange villa." "Oh! Poirot," I cried, "you think you really see everything?" "I see everything with my mind's eye, my friend. So, and only so, will this happen. Come, let us go back to the house." "You want to see Madame Olivier again." Poirot gave me an odd smile. "No, Hastings, I want to see the face of the woman who just came upstairs." "Who do you think she is? A relative of Madame Olivier?" "It's more likely to be the secretary—a secretary hired not long ago." The same friendly boy opened the door for us. "Can you tell me," said Poirot, "the name of the woman, the widow, who came in just now?" "Madame Froneau? Madame's secretary?" "That's her. Please ask her to come out and talk to us." The young man disappeared and reappeared in an instant. "I'm sorry. Madame Froneau must be out again." "No," said Poirot calmly. "You tell her my name, Mr. Hercule Poirot. And, tell her that this is very important. I am going to the police station now. I must see you immediately." she." Our messenger is gone again.This time, the lady came down.She went into the living room.We follow her in.She turned and lifted the veil.I was startled to recognize her as our old rival, the Countess Ruskoff, a Russian countess who had been the mastermind of a particularly cunning robbery in London. "When I saw you on the passage, I was worried that bad luck was coming." She said pitifully. "My dear Countess Ruskoff—" She shook her head. "Now Ine Frollo," she whispered, "a Spaniard married to a Frenchman. What do you want now, Monsieur Poirot? You are a terrible man. Before, you drove me out." Out of London. Now, I think you're going to tell us kind Madame Olivier about my past and drive me out of Paris? We poor Russians, you know, we have to survive." "This is more important than that, ma'am," said Parrow, looking at her. "I want to go into the next house and release Mr. Halliday, if he's alive. I know everything, you know." Her face suddenly turned pale.She bit her lip, and said with determination. "He's alive--but not in the cottage. Let's make a deal, then, sir. My liberty--in exchange for Mr. Halliday, safe and sound." "I accept," said Poirot. "I was just about to make the deal. Oh, by the way, is your client the Big Four?" Her face was as pale as death, but she did not answer this question. Instead, "Let me make a call, please?" she begged, walking to the phone and dialing a number. "The number of the cottage," she explained. "Now, our friend is locked up there. You can give the number to the police—the place will be empty when they arrive. Ah! I'm done. Is that you? Ender Lie? It's me, Ennie. The little Belgian knows everything. Take Halliday to the hotel and leave immediately." She hung up the microphone and walked towards us with a smile. "You come with us to the hotel, ma'am." "No problem. I was going." I hailed a taxi and we got in together.I could see from Poirot's face that he was still a little suspicious.This matter can be said to be too easy to solve.We arrive at the hotel.The porter came forward. "A gentleman has arrived. He's in your room. Looks weak. A nurse was supposed to come with him, but she's gone." "Never mind," said Poirot, "he is our friend." We go upstairs together.There was a haggard, exhausted young man sitting in a chair by the window.Poirot came up to him. "Are you John Halliday?" the man nodded. "Let me see your left arm. John Halliday has a mole under his left elbow." The man held out his arm, and the mole was there.Poirot saluted the countess.She turned and left the room. A glass of brandy cheered Halliday up. "God!" he murmured, "I feel like I've come out of hell—hell...those thugs are demons incarnate. My wife, who is she? What would she think? They told me she would believe— —would believe—” "She has not," said Poirot firmly. "Her confidence in you has never wavered. She is waiting for you—her and your child." "Thank God, I can't believe I'm free again." "You are better now, sir. I should like to hear the whole story." Halliday looked at him with an indescribable expression. "I—I can't remember anything," he said. "what?" "Have you ever heard of the 'Four Devils'?" "I've heard some of it," said Poirot dryly. "You don't know all that I know. They are powerful. If I keep silent, I can live in peace—if I reveal a word, not only myself, but even my closest and loved ones will be punished." Unspeakable torture, I know it's no use arguing with you. I know. . . . I—I can't remember anything." He stood up and walked out. There was a perplexed expression on Poirot's face. "That's it! Humph!" he whispered. "The Big Four have won another battle. What have you got? Hastings?" I pass it to him. "Written before the Countess left." I explained. he read. "Goodbye.—I.V." "She signs her initials—I.V. Perhaps it's just a coincidence. It's also the Roman four. I can't figure it out, Hastings, I can't figure it out."