“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. I will bring the dead back to life. ”
She stared at him as though fascinated.
“You do not believe me. I will prove my words. Get my pocketbook 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 almost flew at my companion.
“Where? Where? You shall tell me. Where?”
“Remember your bargain, madame.”
“Yes, yes, I will trust you. Quick, before they come back.”
Catching him by the hand, she drew him quickly and silently out of the room. I followed. From the outer room she led us into the tunnel by