“You are wrong. There is one way we can escape, and, like Samson of old, destroy our enemies at the same time. What do you say, my friends?”
Ryland was staring at Achille Poirot.
“Suppose he’s lying,” he said hoarsely.
The other shrugged his shoulders.
“In an hour it will be dawn. Then you can see for yourself the truth of my words. Already they should have traced me to the entrance in the Felsenlabyrynth.”
Even as he spoke, there was a far off reverberation, and a man ran in shouting incoherently. Ryland sprang up and went out. Madame Olivier moved to the end of the room and opened a door that I had not noticed. Inside I caught a glimpse of a perfectly equipped laboratory which reminded me of the one in Paris. Number Four also sprang up and went out. He returned with Poirot’s revolver which he gave to the countess.
“There is no danger of their escaping,” he said grimly. “But still you had better have this.”
Then he went out again.
The countess came over to us and surveyed my companion attentively for some time. Suddenly she laughed.
