Poirot Investigates hp-3

by Agatha Christie

  From Mrs Havering we elicited all the facts we could: "I engaged her about three weeks ago when Mrs Emery, our former housekeeper, left. She came to me from Mrs Selbourne's Agency in Mount Street – a very well-known place. I get all my servants from there. They sent several women to see me, but this Mrs Middleton seemed much the nicest, and had splendid references. I engaged her on the spot, and notified the Agency of the fact. I can't believe that there was anything wrong with her. She was such a nice quiet woman."

  The thing was certainly a mystery. Whilst it was clear that the woman herself could not have committed the crime, since at the moment the shot was fired Mrs Havering was with her in the hall, nevertheless she must have some connection with the murder, or why should she suddenly take to her heels and bolt?

  I wired the latest development to Poirot and suggested returning to London and making enquiries at Selbourne's Agency.

  Poirot's reply was prompt:

  "Useless to enquire at agency they will never have heard of her find out what vehicle took her up to hunters lodge when she first arrived there."

  Though mystified, I was obedient. The means of transport in Elmer's Dale were limited. The local garage had two battered Ford cars, and there were two station flies.

  None of these had been requisitioned on the date in question. Questioned, Mrs Havering explained that she had given the woman the money for her fare down to Derbyshire and sufficient to hire a car or fly to take her up to Hunter's Lodge. There was usually one of the Fords at the station on the chance of its being required. Taking into consideration the further fact that nobody at the station had noticed the arrival of a stranger, black-bearded or otherwise, on the fatal evening, everything seemed to point to the conclusion that the murderer had come to the spot in a car, which had been waiting near at hand to aid his escape, and that the same car had brought the mysterious housekeeper to her new post. I may mention that enquiries at the Agency in London bore out Poirot's prognostication. No such woman as "Mrs Middleton" had ever been on their books. They had received the Hon Mrs Havering's application for a housekeeper, and had sent her various applicants for the post. When she sent them the engagement fee, she omitted to mention which woman she had selected.

  Somewhat crestfallen, I returned to London. I found Poirot established in an arm-chair by the fire in a garish silk dressing-gown. He greeted me with much affection.

  "Mon ami Hastings! But how glad I am to see you. Veritably I have for you a great affection! And you have enjoyed yourself? You have run to and fro with the good Japp? You have interrogated and investigated to your heart's content?"

  "Poirot," I cried, "the thing's a dark mystery! It will never be solved."

  "It is true that we are not likely to cover ourselves with glory over it."

  "No, indeed. It's a hard nut to crack."

  "Oh, as far as that goes, I am very good at cracking the nuts! A veritable squirrel! It is not that which embarrasses me. I know well enough who killed Mr Harrington Pace."

  "You know? How did you find out?"

  "Your illuminating answers to my wires supplied me with the truth. See here, Hastings, let us examine the facts methodically and in order. Mr Harrington Pace is a man with a considerable fortune which at his death will doubtless pass to his nephew. Point No.1. His nephew is known to be desperately hard up. Point No.2. His nephew is also known to be – shall we say a man of rather loose moral fibre? Point No.3."

  "But Roger Havering is proved to have journeyed straight up to London."

  "Précisément – and therefore, as Mr Havering left Elmer's Dale at 6:15, and since Mr Pace cannot have been killed before he left, or the doctor would have spotted the time of the crime as being given wrongly when he examined the body, we conclude quite rightly, that Mr Havering did not shoot his uncle. But there is a Mrs Havering, Hastings."

  "Impossible! The housekeeper was with her when the shot was fired."

  "Ah, yes, the housekeeper. But she has disappeared."

  "She will be found."

  "I think not. There is something peculiarly elusive about that housekeeper, don't you think so, Hastings? It struck me at once."

  "She played her part, I suppose, and then got out in the nick of time."

  "And what was her part?"

  "Well, presumably to admit her confederate, the black-bearded man."

  "Oh, no, that was not her part! Her part was what you have just mentioned, to provide an alibi for Mrs Havering at the moment the shot was fired. And no one will ever find her, mon ami, because she does not exist! 'There's no sech person,' as your so great Shakespeare says."

  "It was Dickens," I murmured, unable to suppress a smile. "But what do you mean, Poirot?"

  "I mean that Zoe Havering was an actress before her marriage, that you and Japp only saw the housekeeper in a dark hall, a dim middle-aged figure in black with a faint subdued voice, and finally that neither you nor Japp, nor the local police whom the housekeeper fetched, ever saw Mrs Middleton and her mistress at one and the same time. It was child's play for that clever and daring woman. On the pretext of summoning her mistress, she runs upstairs, slips on a bright jumper and a hat with black curls attached which she jams down over the grey transformation. A few deft touches and the makeup is removed, a slight dusting of rouge, and the brilliant Zoe Havering comes down with her clear ringing voice. Nobody looks particularly at the housekeeper. Why should they? There is nothing to connect her with the crime. She, too, has an alibi."

  "But the revolver that was found at Eating? Mrs, Havering could not have placed it there?"

  "No, that was Roger Havering's job – but it was a mistake on their part. It put me on the right track. A man who has committed a murder with a revolver which he found on the spot would fling it away at once, he would not carry it up to London with him. No, the motive was clear, the criminals wished to focus the interest of the police on a spot far removed from Derbyshire; they were anxious to get the police away as soon as possible from the vicinity of Hunter's Lodge. Of course the revolver found at Ealing was not the one with which Mr Pace was shot. Roger Havering discharged one shot from it, brought it up to London, went straight to his club to establish his alibi, then went quickly out to Ealing by the district, a matter of about twenty minutes only, placed the parcel where it was found and so back to town. That charming creature, his wife, quietly shoots Mr Pace after dinner – you remember he was shot from behind? Another significant point, that! – reloads the revolver and puts it back in its place, and then starts off with her desperate little comedy."

  "It's incredible," I murmured, fascinated, "and yet -"

  "And yet it is true. Bien sur, my friend, it is true. But to bring that precious pair to justice, that is another matter. Well, Japp must do what he can – I have written him fully – but I very much fear, Hastings, that we shall be obliged to leave them to Fate, or le bon Dieu, whichever you prefer."

  "The wicked flourish like a green bay tree," I reminded him.

  "But at a price, Hastings, always at a price, croyez-moi!"

  Poirot's forebodings were confirmed. Japp, though convinced of the truth of his theory, was unable to get together the necessary evidence to ensure a conviction.

  Mr Pace's huge fortune passed into the hands of his murderers. Nevertheless, Nemesis did overtake them, and when I read in the paper that the Hon Roger and Mrs Havering were amongst those killed in the crashing of the Air Mail to Paris I knew that Justice was satisfied.

  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 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 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, 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 set-back 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 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'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 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 my 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 that 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 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 toothcomb!"

  "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 every one was on the lookout. I w
as watching out myself for their being passed over to some one that way. My God, Monsieur Poirot, this thing will drive me mad! People are beginning to say I stole them myself."

  "But you also were searched on landing, weren't you?" 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 enquiries 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 enquiry 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 Hubbs's?"

  "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 23rd," said Mr Vavasour. "My colleague was unfortunately taken ill a fortnight ago – in fact on the very day that Philip left us. He has only just recovered."