“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 Reneral 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 Olimpia 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’s. 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 Olimpia! 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 some- what 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 devoured 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.”