Never before had I felt so fully the reality and the presence of Li Chang Yen as I did now when confronting his empty seat. Far away in China, he yet controlled and directed this malign organisation.
Madame Olivier gave a faint cry on seeing us. Ryland, more self-controlled, only shifted his cigar, and raised his grizzled eyebrows.
“M. Hercule Poirot,” said Ryland slowly. “This is a pleasant surprise. You put it over on us all right. We thought you were good and buried. No matter, the game is up now.”
There was a ring as of steel in his voice. Madame Olivier said nothing, but her eyes burned, and I disliked the slow way she smiled.
“Madame and messieurs, I wish you good-evening,” said Poirot quietly.
Something unexpected, something I had not been prepared to hear in his voice made me look at him. He seemed quite composed. Yet there was something about his whole appearance that was different.
Then there was a stir of draperies behind us, and the Countess Vera Rossakoff came in.
“Ah!” said Number Four. “Our valued and trusted lieutenant. An old friend of yours is here, my dear lady.”
