Vintage Murder Mysteries - Ultimate Anthology. Эдгар Аллан По

anyone above suspicion."

      "Très bien. Now I understand, milor, that the Prime Minister would, as a matter of course, be under vigilant police protection, which ought to render any assault upon him an impossibility?"

      Lord Estair bowed his head. "That is so. The Prime Minister's car was closely followed by another car containing detectives in plain clothes. Mr. MacAdam knew nothing of these precautions. He is personally a most fearless man, and would be inclined to sweep them away arbitrarily. But, naturally, the police make their own arrangements. In fact, the Premier's chauffeur, O'Murphy, is a C.I.D. man."

      "O'Murphy? That is a name of Ireland, is it not so?"

      "Yes, he is an Irishman."

      "From what part of Ireland?"

      "County Clare, I believe."

      "Tiens! But proceed, Milor."

      "The Premier started for London. The car was a closed one. He and Captain Daniels sat inside. The second car followed as usual. But, unluckily, for some unknown reason, the Prime Minister's car deviated from the main road——"

      "At a point where the road curves?" interrupted Poirot.

      "Yes—but how did you know?"

      "Oh! C'est évident! Continue!"

      "For some unknown reason," continued Lord Estair, "the Premier's car left the main road. The police car, unaware of the deviation, continued to keep to the high road. At a short distance down the unfrequented lane, the Prime Minister's car was suddenly held up by a band of masked men. The chauffeur——"

      "That brave O'Murphy!" murmured Poirot thoughtfully.

      "The chauffeur, momentarily taken aback, jammed on the brakes. The Prime Minister put his head out of the window. Instantly a shot rang out—then another. The first one grazed his cheek, the second, fortunately, went wide. The chauffeur, now realising the danger, instantly forged straight ahead, scattering the band of men."

      "A near escape," I ejaculated, with a shiver.

      "Mr. MacAdam refused to make any fuss over the slight wound he had received. He declared it was only a scratch. He stopped at a local cottage hospital, where it was dressed and bound up—he did not, of course reveal his identity. He then drove, as per schedule, straight to Charing Cross, where a special train for Dover was awaiting him, and after a brief account of what had happened had been given to the anxious police by Captain Daniels, he duly departed for France. At Dover, he went on board the waiting destroyer. At Boulogne, as you know, the bogus car was waiting for him, carrying the Union Jack, and correct in every detail."

      "That is all you have to tell me?"

      "Yes."

      "There is no other circumstance that you have omitted, milor?"

      "Well, there is one rather peculiar thing."

      "Yes?"

      "The Prime Minister's car did not return home after leaving the Prime Minister at Charing Cross. The police were anxious to interview O'Murphy, so a search was instituted at once. The car was discovered standing outside a certain unsavoury little restaurant in Soho, which is well known as a meeting-place of German agents."

      "And the chauffeur?"

      "The chauffeur was nowhere to be found. He, too, had disappeared."

      "So," said Poirot thoughtfully. "There are two disappearances: the Prime Minister in France, and O'Murphy in London."

      He looked keenly at Lord Estair, who made a gesture of despair.

      "I can only tell you, M. Poirot, that if anyone had suggested to me yesterday that O'Murphy was a traitor, I should have laughed in his face."

      "And to-day?"

      "To-day I do not know what to think."

      Poirot nodded gravely. He looked at his turnip of a watch again.

      "I understand that I have carte blanche, Messieurs—in every way, I mean? I must be able to go where I choose, and how I choose."

      "Perfectly. There is a special train leaving for Dover in an hour's time, with a further contingent from Scotland Yard. You shall be accompanied by a Military officer and a C.I.D. man, who will hold themselves at your disposal in every way. Is that satisfactory?"

      "Quite. One more question before you leave, Messieurs. What made you come to me? I am unknown, obscure, in this great London of yours."

      "We sought you out on the express recommendation and wish of a very great man of your own country."

      "Comment? My old friend the Préfet—?"

      Lord Estair shook his head.

      "One higher than the Préfet. One whose word was once law in Belgium—and shall be again! That England has sworn!"

      Poirot's hand flew swiftly to a dramatic salute. "Amen to that! Ah! but my Master does not forget.…Messieurs, I, Hercule Poirot, will serve you faithfully. Heaven only send that it will be in time. But this is dark—dark.…I cannot see."

      The Million Dollar Bond Robbery

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      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