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 Carrezza. 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 Mr. 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 enquiries—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 organization 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.”
“Do you seriously believe all this, Poirot?—What about the armies and general machinery of civilization?”
“What about it in Russia, Hastings? This will be Russia on an infinitely larger scale—and with this additional menace—that Madame Olivier’s experiments have proceeded further than she has ever given out. I believe that she has, to a certain extent, succeeded in liberating atomic energy and harnessing it to her purpose. Her experiments with the nitrogen of the air have been very remarkable, and she has also experimented in the concentration of wireless energy, so that a beam of great intensity can be focused upon some given spot. Exactly how far she has progressed, nobody knows, but it is certain that it is much farther than has ever been given out. She is a genius, that woman—the Curies were as nothing to her. Add to her genius the powers of Ryland’s almost unlimited wealth, and, with the brain of Li Chang Yen, the finest criminal brain ever known, to direct and plan—eh bien, it will not be, as you say, all jam for civilization.”
His words made me very thoughtful. Although Poirot was given at times to exaggeration of language, he was not really an alarmist. For the first time I realized what a desperate struggle it was upon which we were engaged.
Harvey soon rejoined us and the journey went on.
We arrived at Bolzano about midday. From there the journey on was by motor. Several big blue motorcars were waiting in the central square of the town, and we three got into one of them. Poirot, notwithstanding the heat of the day, was muffled to the eyes in greatcoat and scarf. His eyes and the tips of his ears were all that could be seen of him.
I did not know whether this was due to precaution or merely his exaggerated fear of catching a chill. The motor journey took a couple of hours. It was a really wonderful drive. For the first part of the way we wound in and out of huge cliffs, with a trickling waterfall on one hand. Then we emerged into a fertile valley, which continued for some miles, and then, still winding steadily upwards, the bare rock peaks began to show with dense clustering pinewoods at their base. The whole place was wild and lovely. Finally a series of abrupt curves, with the road running through the pinewoods on either side, and we came suddenly upon a big hotel and found we had arrived.
Our rooms had been reserved for us, and under Harvey’s guidance we went straight up to them. They looked straight out over the rocky peaks and the long slopes of pinewoods leading up to them. Poirot made a gesture towards them.
“It is there?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes,” replied Harvey. “There is a place called the Felsenlabyrynth—all big boulders piled about in a most fantastic way—a path winds through them. The quarrying is to the right of that, but we think that the entrance is probably in the Felsenlabyrynth.”
Poirot nodded.
“Come, mon ami,” he said to me. “Let us go down and sit upon the terrace and enjoy the sunlight.”
“You think that wise?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
The sunlight was marvellous—in fact the glare was almost too great for me. We had some creamy coffee instead of tea, then went upstairs and unpacked our few belongings. Poirot was in his most unapproachable mood, lost in a kind of reverie. Once or twice he shook his head and sighed.
I had been rather intrigued by
