Poirot Investigates
her desperate little comedy.”
“It’s incredible,” I murmured, fascinated, “and yet——”
“And yet it is true. _Bien sur_, my friend, it is true. But to
bring that precious pair to justice, that is another matter. Well,
Japp must do what he can—I have written him fully—but I very much
fear, Hastings, that we shall be obliged to leave them to Fate, or
_le bon Dieu_, whichever you prefer.”
“The wicked flourish like a green bay tree,” I reminded him.
“But at a price, Hastings, always at a price, _croyez-moi!_”
Poirot’s forebodings were confirmed. Japp, though convinced of the
truth of his theory, was unable to get together the necessary
evidence to ensure a conviction.
Mr. Pace’s huge fortune passed into the hands of his murderers.
Nevertheless, Nemesis did overtake them, and when I read in the
paper that the Hon. Roger and Mrs. Havering were amongst those
killed in the crashing of the Air Mail to Paris I knew that Justice
was satisfied.
V
The Million Dollar Bond Robbery
“What a number of bond robberies there have been lately!” I observed
one morning, laying aside the newspaper. “Poirot, let us forsake
the science of detection, and take to crime instead!”
“You are on the—how do you say it?—get-rich-quick tack, eh, _mon
ami_?”
“Well, look at this last _coup_, the million dollars’ worth of
Liberty Bonds which the London and Scottish Bank were sending to
New York, and which disappeared in such a remarkable manner on
board the _Olympia_.”
“If it were not for the _mal de mer_, and the difficulty of
practising the so excellent method of Laverguier for a longer time
than the few hours of crossing the channel, I should delight to
voyage myself on one of these big liners,” murmured Poirot dreamily.
“Yes, indeed,” I said enthusiastically. “Some of them must be
perfect palaces; the swimming-baths, the lounges, the restaurant,
the palm courts—really, it must be hard to believe that one is on
the sea.”
“Me, I always know when I am on the sea,” said Poirot sadly. “And
all those bagatelles that you enumerate, they say nothing to me;
but, my friend, consider for a moment the geniuses that travel as
it were incognito! On board these floating palaces, as you so
justly call them, one would meet the élite, the _haute noblesse_
of the criminal world!”
I laughed.
“So that’s the way your enthusiasm runs! You would have liked to
cross swords with the man who sneaked the Liberty Bonds?”
The landlady interrupted us.
“A young lady as wants to see you, Mr. Poirot. Here’s her card.”
The card bore the inscription: Miss Esmée Farquhar, and Poirot,
after diving under the table to retrieve a stray crumb, and putting
it carefully in the waste-paper-basket, nodded to the landlady to
admit her.
In another minute one of the most charming girls I have ever seen
was ushered into the room. She was perhaps about five-and-twenty,
with big brown eyes and a perfect figure. She was well-dressed and
perfectly composed in manner.
“Sit down, I beg of you, mademoiselle. This is my friend, Captain
Hastings, who aids me in my little problems.”
“I am afraid it is a big problem I have brought you to-day, Monsieur
Poirot,” said the girl, giving me a pleasant bow as she seated
herself. “I dare say you have read about it in the papers. I am
referring to the theft of Liberty Bonds on the _Olympia_.” Some
astonishment must have shown itself in Poirot’s face, for she
continued quickly: “You are doubtless asking yourself what I have
to do with a grave institution like the London and Scottish Bank.
In one sense nothing, in another sense everything. You see, Monsieur
Poirot, I am engaged to Mr. Philip Ridgeway.”
“Aha! and Mr. Philip Ridgeway——”
“Was in charge of the bonds when they were stolen. Of course no
actual blame can attach to him, it was not his fault in any way.
Nevertheless, he is half distraught over the matter, and his uncle,
I know, insists that he must carelessly have mentioned having them
in his possession. It is a terrible set-back in his career.”
“Who is his uncle?”
“Mr. Vavasour, joint general manager of the London and Scottish
Bank.”
“Suppose, Miss Farquhar, that you recount to me the whole story?”
“Very well. As you know, the Bank wished to extend their credits
in America, and for this purpose decided to send over a million
dollars in Liberty Bonds. Mr. Vavasour selected his nephew, who
had occupied a position of trust in the Bank for many years and
who was conversant with all the details of the Bank’s dealings in
New York, to make the trip. The Olympia sailed from Liverpool on
the 23rd, and the bonds were handed over to Philip on the morning
of that day by Mr. Vavasour and Mr. Shaw, the two joint general
managers of the London and Scottish Bank. They were counted,
enclosed in a package, and sealed in his presence, and he then
locked the package at once in his portmanteau.”
“A portmanteau with an ordinary lock?”
“No, Mr. Shaw insisted on a special lock being fitted to it by
Hubbs’s. Philip, as I say, placed the package at the bottom of the
trunk. It was stolen just a few hours before reaching New York. A
rigorous search of the whole ship was made, but without result.
The bonds seemed literally to have vanished into thin air.”
Poirot made a grimace.
“But they did not vanish absolutely, since I gather that they were
sold in small parcels within half an hour of the docking of the
_Olympia_! Well, undoubtedly the next thing is for me to see Mr.
Ridgeway.”
“I was about to suggest that you should lunch with me at the
‘Cheshire Cheese.’ Philip will be there. He is meeting me, but does
not yet know that I have been consulting you on his behalf.”
We agreed to this suggestion readily enough, and drove there in a
taxi.
Mr. Philip Ridgeway was there before us, and looked somewhat
surprised to see his fiancée arriving with two complete strangers.
He was a nice-looking young fellow, tall and spruce, with a touch
of greying hair at the temples, though he could not have been much
over thirty.
Miss Farquhar went up to him and laid her hand on his arm.
“You must forgive my acting without consulting you, Philip,” she
said. “Let me introduce you to Monsieur Hercule Poirot, of whom
you must often have heard, and his friend, Captain Hastings.”
Ridgeway looked very astonished.
“Of course I have heard of you, Monsieur Poirot,” he said, as he
shook hands. “But I had no idea that Esmée was thinking of
consulting you about my—our trouble.”
“I was afraid you would not let me do it, Philip,” said Miss
Farquhar meekly.
“So you took care to be on the safe side,” he observed, with a
smile. “I hope Monsieur Poirot will be able to throw some light on
this extraordinary puzzle, for I confess frankly that I am nearly
out of my mind with worry and anxiety about it.”
Indeed, his face looked drawn and haggard and showed only too
clearly the strain under which he was labouring.
“Well, well,” said Poirot. “Let us lunch, and over lunch we will
put our heads together and see what can be done. I want to hear
Mr. Ridgeway’s story from his own lips.”
Whilst we discussed the excellent steak and kidney pudding of the
establishment, Philip Ridgeway narrated the circumstances leading
to the disappearance of the bonds. His story agreed with that of
Miss Farquhar in every particular. When he had finished, Poirot
took up the thread with a question.
“What exactly led you to discover that the bonds had been stolen,
Mr. Ridgeway?”
He laughed rather bitterly.
“The thing stared me in the face, Monsieur Poirot. I couldn’t have
missed it. My cabin trunk was half out from under the bunk and all
scratched and cut about where they’d tried to force the lock.”
“But I understood that it had been opened with a key?”
“That’s so. They tried to force it, but couldn’t. And, in the end,
they must have got it unlocked somehow or other.”
“Curious,” said Poirot, his eyes beginning to flicker with the
green light I knew so well. “Very curious! They waste much, much
time trying to prise it open, and then—_sapristi!_ they find that
they have the key all the time—for each of Hubbs’s locks are
unique.”
“That’s just why they couldn’t have had the key. It never left me
day or night.”
“You are sure of that?”
“I can swear to it, and besides, if they had had the key or a
duplicate, why should they waste time trying to force an obviously
unforceable lock?”
“Ah! there is exactly the question we are asking ourselves! I
venture to prophesy that the solution, if we ever find it, will
hinge on that curious fact. I beg of you not to assault me if I
ask you one more question: _Are you perfectly certain you did not
leave the trunk unlocked?_”
Philip Ridgeway merely looked at him, and Poirot gesticulated
apologetically.
“Ah, but these things can happen, I assure you! Very well, the
bonds were stolen from the trunk. What did the thief do with them?
How did he manage to get ashore with them?”
“Ah!” cried Ridgeway. “That’s just it. How? Word was passed to the
Customs authorities, and every soul that left the ship was gone
over with a toothcomb!”
“And the bonds, I gather, made a bulky package?”
“Certainly they did. They could hardly have been hidden on board—and
anyway we know they weren’t because they were offered for sale
within half an hour of the _Olympia’s_ arrival, long before I got
the cables going and the numbers sent out. One broker swears he
bought some of them even before the _Olympia_ got in. But you can’t
send bonds by wireless.”
“Not by wireless, but did any tug come alongside?”
“Only the official ones, and that was after the alarm was given
when every one was on the look-out. I was watching out myself for
their being passed over to some one that way. My God, Monsieur
Poirot, this thing will drive me mad! People are beginning to say
I stole them myself.”
“But you also were searched on landing, weren’t you?” asked Poirot
gently.
“Yes.”
The young man stared at him in a puzzled manner.
“You do not catch my meaning, I see,” said Poirot, smiling
enigmatically. “Now I should like to make a few inquiries at the
Bank.”
Ridgeway produced a card and scribbled a few words on it.
“Send this in and my uncle will see you at once.”
Poirot thanked him, bade farewell to Miss Farquhar, and together
we started out for Threadneedle Street and the head office of the
London and Scottish Bank. On production of Ridgeway’s card, we were
led through the labyrinth of counters and desks, skirting paying-in
clerks and paying-out clerks and up to a small office on the first
floor where the joint general managers received us. They were two
grave gentlemen, who had grown grey in the service of the Bank.
Mr. Vavasour had a short white beard, Mr. Shaw was clean shaven.
“I understand you are strictly a private inquiry agent?” said Mr.
Vavasour. “Quite so, quite so. We have, of course, placed ourselves
in the hands of Scotland Yard. Inspector McNeil has charge of the
case. A very able officer, I believe.”
“I am sure of it,” said Poirot politely. “You will permit a few
questions, on your nephew’s behalf? About this lock, who ordered
it from Hubbs’s?”
“I ordered it myself,” said Mr. Shaw. “I would not trust to any
clerk in the matter. As to the keys, Mr. Ridgeway had one, and the
other two are held by my colleague and myself.”
“And no clerk has had access to them?”
Mr. Shaw turned inquiringly to Mr. Vavasour. “I think I am correct
in saying that they have remained in the safe where we placed them
on the 23rd,” said Mr. Vavasour. “My colleague was unfortunately
taken ill a fortnight ago—in fact on the very day that Philip left
us. He has only just recovered.”
“Severe bronchitis is no joke to a man of my age,” said Mr. Shaw