Hercule Poirot: The Complete Short Stories. Агата Кристи

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 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 today, 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 on Poirot’s face, for she continued quickly: ‘You are doubtless asking yourself what have I 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 setback to 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. 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 me 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 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