TALES WITH A STING
THE GREY CELLS OF M. POIROT.
By AGATHA CHRISTIE, Author of "The Mysterious Affair at Styles," and "The Secret Adversary."
IX.—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 restaurants, 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 Esmé Farquhar," and Poirot, after diving under the table to retrieve a stray crumb, 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, M. Poirot," said the girl, giving me a pleasant bow as she seated herself. "I daresay 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, M. 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 setback 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 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. 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 Messrs. Hubbs. 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 vanish 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."
Philip Ridgeway was a pleasant-faced man of thirty-odd, with just a touch of greying hair at the temples. His face looked drawn and haggard. The theft of the bonds which had been placed in his charge had almost demoralised him, and he reproached himself vainly for not having exercised greater care. Over the excellent steak-and-kidney pudding of the establishment he confirmed his fiancée's story in every particular. Poirot then proceeded to question him.
"What led you to discover that the bonds had been stolen, M. Ridgeway?"
The man laughed rather bitterly.
"The thing stared me in the face, M. 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 got it unlocked somehow."
"Curious," said Poirot, his eyes beginning to flicker with the green light that I knew so well. "Very curious! They waste much time trying to prise it open, and then, sapristi! they find they have the key all the time—for each of Messrs. Hubbs' locks is unique!"
"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! You will see, 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 tooth-comb!"
"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 everyone was on the look-out. I was watching out myself for their being passed over to someone that way. My God, M. Poirot, this thing will drive me mad! People are beginning to say I stole them myself."
"But you also were searched on landing, were you not?" asked Poirot gently.
