“He is still alive⁠—but he is not at the villa. Come, monsieur, I will make a bargain with you. Freedom for me⁠—and M. Halliday, alive and well, for you.”

“I accept,” said Poirot. “I was about to propose the same bargain myself. By the way, are the Big Four your employers, madame?”

Again I saw that deathly pallor creep over her face, but she left his question unanswered.

Instead, “You permit me to telephone?” she asked, and crossing to the instrument she rang up a number. “The number of the villa,” she explained, “where our friend is now imprisoned. You may give it to the police⁠—the nest will be empty when they arrive. Ah! I am through. Is that you, André? It is I, Inez. The little Belgian knows all. Send Halliday to the hotel, and clear out.”

She replaced the receiver, and came towards us, smiling.