"You will oblige me by refraining from talking so much, Hastings. I can assure you that our friend will not shoot until I give the word."
"Youse sure o' dat, eh?" said the Italian, leering unpleasantly.
It was more than I was, but the woman turned to Poirot like a flash.
"What is it you want?"
Poirot bowed.
"I do not think it is necessary to insult Miss Elsa Hardt's intelligence by telling her."
With a swift movement, the woman snatched up a big black velvet cat which served as a cover for the telephone.
"They are stitched in the lining of that."
"Clever," murmured Poirot appreciatively. He stood aside from the door. "Good evening, madame. I will detain your friend from New York whilst you make your getaway."
"Whatta fool!" roared the big Italian, and raising the revolver he fired point-blank at the woman's retreating figure just as I flung myself upon him.
But the weapon merely clicked harmlessly and Poirot's voice rose in mild reproof.
"Never will you trust your old friend, Hast-
