cable instructions have notified police but no clue

as yet.

bronsen.

I waved Mrs. Pearson out of the room, and sat as

though stunned, reading the words over and over again.

Cinderella--kidnapped! In the hands of the infamous

Big Four! God, what could I do?

Poirot! I must have Poirot. He would advise me. He

would checkmate them somehow. In a few minutes

now, he would be back. I must wait patiently until then. But Cinderella--in the hands of the Big Four!

Another knock. Mrs. Pearson put her head in once

more.

"A note for you, captain--brought by a heathen

Chinaman. He's a-waiting downstairs."

I seized it from her. It was brief and to the point.

"If you ever wish to see your wife again, go with

the bearer of this note immediately. Leave no

message for your friend or she will suffer."

It was signed with a big 4.

What ought I to have done? What would you who

read have done in my place?

I had no time to think. I saw only one thing--Cinderella in the power of those devils. I must obey--I

dare not risk a hair of her head. I must go with this

Chinaman and follow whither he led. It was a trap, yes,

and it meant certain capture and possible death, but it

was baited with the person dearest to me in the whole

world, and I dared not hesitate.

What irked me most was to leave no word for Poirot.

Once set him on my track, and all might yet be well?

Dare I risk it? Apparently I was under no supervision,

but yet I hesitated. It would have been so easy for the

Chinaman to come up and assure himself that I was

keeping to the letter of the command. Why didn't he?

His very abstention made me more suspicious. I had

seen so much of the omnipotence of the Big Four that I

credited them with almost super-human powers. For all

I know, even the little bedraggled servant girl might be one of their agents.

No, I dared not risk it. But one thing I could do, leave the telegram. He would know then that Cinderella had

disappeared, and who was responsible for her disappearance.

All this passed through my head in less time than it

takes to tell, and I had clapped my hat on my head and

was descending the stairs to where my guide waited, in a little over a minute.

The bearer of the message was a tall impassive Chinaman, neatly but rather shabbily dressed. He bowed and

spoke to me. His English was perfect, but he spoke with

a slight sing-song intonation.

"You Captain Hastings?"

"Yes," I said.

"You give me note, please."

I had foreseen the request, and handed him over the

scrap of paper without a word. But that was not all.

"You have telegram to-day, yes? Come along just

now? From South America, yes?"

I realised anew the excellence of their espionage