to the window, I understood that he was one of the gang

on watch.

"It is well," said my Chinese friend. "Hercule Poirot has fallen into the trap. He approaches now--and alone

except for the boy who guides him. Now, Captain Hastings, you have still one more part to play. Unless you

show yourself he will not enter the house. When he arrives opposite, you must go out on the step and beckon

him in."

"What?" I cried, revolted.

"You play that part alone. Remember the price of

failure. If Hercule Poirot suspects anything is amiss and does not enter the house, your wife dies by the Seventy

lingering Deaths! Ah! Here he is."

With a beating heart, and a feeling of deathly sickness. I looked through the crack in the shutters. In the

figure walking along the opposite side of the street I recognised my friend at once, though his coat collar was

turned up and an immense yellow muffler hid the bottom

part of his face. But there was no mistaking that

walk, and the poise of that egg-shaped head.

It was Poirot, coming to my aid in all good faith, suspecting nothing amiss. By his side ran a typical London

urchin, grimy of face and ragged of apparel.

Poirot paused, looking across at the house, whilst the

boy spoke to him eagerly and pointed. It was the time

for me to act. I went out in the hall. At a sign from the tall Chinaman, one of the servants unlatched the door.

"Remember the price of failure," said my enemy in a low voice.

I was outside on the steps. I beckoned to Poirot. He

hastened across.

"Aha! So all is well with you, my friend. I was beginning to be anxious. You managed to get inside? Is the

house empty, then?"

"Yes," I said, in a voice I strove to make natural.

"There must be a secret way out of it somewhere. Come in and let us look for it."

I stepped back across the threshold. In all innocence

Poirot prepared to follow me.

And then something seemed to snap in my head. I saw

only too clearly the part I was playing--the part of

Judas.

"Back, Poirot!" I cried. "Back for your life. It's a trap. Never mind me. Get away at once."

Even as I spoke--or rather shouted my warning

hands gripped me like a vice. One of the Chinese servants sprang past me to grab Poirot.

I saw the latter spring back, his arm raised, then suddenly a dense volume of smoke was rising round me,

choking me--killing me-I felt myself falling--suffocating--this was death-I came to myself slowly and painfully--all my senses dazed. The first thing I saw was Poirot's face. He was

sitting opposite me watching me with an anxious face.

He gave a cry of joy when he saw me looking at him.

"Ah, you revive--you return to yourself. All is well!

My friend--my poor friend!"

"Where am I?" I said painfully.