Then he went out again.

The countess came over to us and surveyed my companion

attentively for some time. Suddenly she laughed.

"You are very clever, M. Achille Poirot," she said mockingly. ""Madame, let us talk business. It is fortunate that they have left us alone together. What is your price?"

"I do not understand. What price?"

"Madame, you can aid us to escape. You know the

f ^i

THE BIG POUR 211

secret ways out of this retreat. I ask you, what is your price?"

She laughed again.

"More than you could pay, little man! Why, all the

money in the world would not buy me!"

"Madame, I did not speak of money. I am a man of

intelligence. Nevertheless, this is a true fact--every one has his price! In exchange for life and liberty, I offer you your heart's desire."

"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 sell 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

212 Agatha Christie

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.

/ w<7/ bring the dead to life."

She stared at him as though fascinated.

"You do not believe me. I will prove my words. Get

my pocket-book 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