"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.
"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 Messrs. Hubbs?"
"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 twenty-third," said Mr. Vavasour, and then added: "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 ruefully. "But I am afraid Mr. Vavasour has suffered from the hard work entailed by my absence, especially with this unexpected worry coming on top of everything."
Poirot asked a few more questions. I judged that he was endeavouring to gauge the exact amount of intimacy between uncle and nephew. Mr. Vavasour's answers were brief and punctilious. His nephew was a trusted official of the Bank, and had no debts or money difficulties that he knew of. He had been entrusted with similar missions in the past. Finally we were politely bowed out.
"I am disappointed," said Poirot as we emerged into the street.
"You hoped to discover more? They are such stodgy old men."
"It is not their stodginess which disappoints me, mon ami. I do not expect to find in a bank manager a 'keen financier with an eagle glance,'