"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
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