AgathaChristie
MurderontheOrientExpressAHerculePoirotMystery
ToM.E.L.M.Arpachiya,1933
Contents
Cover
TitlePage
Dedication
PartOne:TheFacts
1.AnImportantPassengerontheTaurusExpress
2.TheTokatlianHotel3.PoirotRefusesaCase
4.ACryintheNight
5.TheCrime
6.AWoman?7.TheBody
8.TheArmstrongKidnappingCase
PartTwo:TheEvidence1.TheEvidenceoftheWagonLitConductor
2.TheEvidenceoftheSecretary
3.TheEvidenceoftheValet
4.TheEvidenceoftheAmericanLady5.TheEvidenceoftheSwedishLady
6.TheEvidenceoftheRussianPrincess
7.TheEvidenceofCountandCountessAndrenyi
8.TheEvidenceofColonelArbuthnot
9.TheEvidenceofMr.Hardman
10.TheEvidenceoftheItalian
11.TheEvidenceofMissDebenham12.TheEvidenceoftheGermanLady’sMaid
13.SummaryofthePassengers’Evidence
14.TheEvidenceoftheWeapon
15.TheEvidenceofthePassengers’Luggage
PartThree:HerculePoirotSitsBackandThinks
1.WhichofThem?
2.TenQuestions3.CertainSuggestivePoints
4.TheGreaseSpotonaHungarianPassport
5.TheChristianNameofPrincessDragomiroff
6.ASecondInterviewwithColonelArbuthnot7.TheIdentityofMaryDebenham
8.FurtherSurprisingRevelations
9.PoirotPropoundsTwoSolutions
AbouttheAuthor
OtherBooksbyAgathaChristie
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
PARTONE
THEFACTS
One
ANIMPORTANTPASSENGERONTHETAURUSEXPRESS
Itwasfiveo’clockonawinter’smorninginSyria.AlongsidetheplatformatAleppostoodthetraingrandlydesignatedinrailwayguidesastheTaurusExpress.Itconsistedofakitchenanddiningcar,asleepingcarandtwolocalcoaches.
BythestepleadingupintothesleepingcarstoodayoungFrenchlieutenant,resplendentinuniform,conversingwithasmallleanman,muffleduptotheears,ofwhomnothingwasvisiblebutapink-tippednoseandthetwopointsofanupwardcurledmoustache.
Itwasfreezinglycold,andthisjobofseeingoffadistinguishedstrangerwasnotonetobeenvied,butLieutenantDuboscperformedhispartmanfully.GracefulphrasesfellfromhislipsinpolishedFrench.Notthatheknewwhatitwasallabout.Therehadbeenrumours,ofcourse,astherealwayswereinsuchcases.TheGeneral—hisGeneral’s—temperhadgrownworseandworse.AndthentherehadcomethisBelgianstranger—allthewayfromEngland,itseemed.Therehadbeenaweek—aweekofcurioustensity.Andthencertainthingshadhappened.Averydistinguishedofficerhadcommittedsuicide,anotherhadresigned—anxiousfaceshadsuddenlylosttheiranxiety,certainmilitaryprecautionswererelaxed.AndtheGeneral—LieutenantDubosc’sownparticularGeneral—hadsuddenlylookedtenyearsyounger.
Duboschadoverheardpartofaconversationbetweenhimandthestranger.“Youhavesavedus,moncher,”saidtheGeneralemotionally,hisgreatwhitemoustachetremblingashespoke.“YouhavesavedthehonouroftheFrenchArmy—youhaveavertedmuchbloodshed!HowcanIthankyouforaccedingtomyrequest?Tohavecomesofar—”
Towhichthestranger(bynameM.HerculePoirot)hadmadeafittingreplyincludingthephrase,“ButindeeddoInotrememberthatonceyousavedmylife?”AndthentheGeneralhadmadeanotherfittingreplytothatdisclaiminganymeritforthatpastservice,andwithmorementionofFrance,ofBelgium,ofglory,ofhonourandofsuchkindredthingstheyhadembracedeachotherheartilyandtheconversationhadended.
Astowhatithadallbeenabout,LieutenantDuboscwasstillinthedark,buttohimhadbeendelegatedthedutyofseeingoffM.PoirotbytheTaurusExpress,andhewascarryingitoutwithallthezealandardourbefittingayoungofficerwithapromisingcareeraheadofhim.
“TodayisSunday,”saidLieutenantDubosc.“Tomorrow,Mondayevening,youwillbeinStamboul.”
Itwasnotthefirsttimehehadmadethisobservation.Conversationsontheplatform,beforethedepartureofatrain,areapttobesomewhatrepetitiveincharacter.
“Thatisso,”agreedM.Poirot.“Andyouintendtoremainthereafewdays,Ithink?”“Maisoui.Stamboul,itisacityIhavenevervisited.Itwouldbeapityto
passthrough—commeça.”Hesnappedhisfingersdescriptively.“Nothingpresses—Ishallremainthereasatouristforafewdays.”
“LaSainteSophie,itisveryfine,”saidLieutenantDubosc,whohadneverseenit.
Acoldwindcamewhistlingdowntheplatform.Bothmenshivered.LieutenantDuboscmanagedtocastasurreptitiousglanceathiswatch.Fiveminutestofive—onlyfiveminutesmore!
Fancyingthattheothermanhadnoticedhissurreptitiousglance,hehastenedoncemoreintospeech.
“Therearefewpeopletravellingthistimeofyear,”hesaid,glancingupatthewindowsofthesleepingcarabovethem.
“Thatisso,”agreedM.Poirot.“LetushopeyouwillnotbesnowedupintheTaurus!”“Thathappens?”“Ithasoccurred,yes.Notthisyear,asyet.”“Letushope,then,”saidM.Poirot.“TheweatherreportsfromEurope,they
arebad.”“Verybad.IntheBalkansthereismuchsnow.”“InGermanytoo,Ihaveheard.”“Ehbien,”saidLieutenantDuboschastilyasanotherpauseseemedtobe
abouttooccur.“Tomorroweveningatseven-fortyyouwillbeinConstantinople.”
“Yes,”saidM.Poirot,andwentondesperately,“LaSainteSophie,Ihavehearditisveryfine.”
“Magnificent,Ibelieve.”Abovetheirheadstheblindofoneofthesleepingcarcompartmentswas
pushedasideandayoungwomanlookedout.
MaryDebenhamhadhadlittlesleepsincesheleftBaghdadontheprecedingThursday.NeitherinthetraintoKirkuk,norintheRestHouseatMosul,norlastnightonthetrainhadshesleptproperly.Now,wearyoflyingwakefulinthehotstuffinessofheroverheatedcompartment,shegotupandpeeredout.
ThismustbeAleppo.Nothingtosee,ofcourse.Justalong,poor-lightedplatformwithloudfuriousaltercationsinArabicgoingonsomewhere.TwomenbelowherwindowweretalkingFrench.OnewasaFrenchofficer,theotherwasalittlemanwithenormousmoustaches.Shesmiledfaintly.Shehadneverseenanyonequitesoheavilymuffledup.Itmustbeverycoldoutside.Thatwaswhytheyheatedthetrainsoterribly.Shetriedtoforcethewindowdownlower,butitwouldnotgo.
TheWagonLitconductorhadcomeuptothetwomen.Thetrainwasabouttodepart,hesaid.Monsieurhadbettermount.Thelittlemanremovedhishat.Whatanegg-shapedheadhehad.InspiteofherpreoccupationsMaryDebenhamsmiled.Aridiculous-lookinglittleman.Thesortoflittlemanonecouldnevertakeseriously.
LieutenantDuboscwassayinghispartingspeech.Hehadthoughtitoutbeforehandandhadkeptittillthelastminute.Itwasaverybeautiful,polishedspeech.
Nottobeoutdone,M.Poirotrepliedinkind.“Envoiture,Monsieur,”saidtheWagonLitconductor.WithanairofinfinitereluctanceM.Poirotclimbedaboardthetrain.The
conductorclimbedafterhim.M.Poirotwavedhishand.LieutenantDubosccametothesalute.Thetrain,withaterrificjerk,movedslowlyforward.
“Enfin!”murmuredM.HerculePoirot.“Brrrrr,”saidLieutenantDubosc,realizingtothefullhowcoldhewas….
II
“Voilà,Monsieur.”TheconductordisplayedtoPoirotwithadramaticgesturethebeautyofhissleepingcompartmentandtheneatarrangementofhisluggage.“ThelittlevaliseofMonsieur,Ihaveplacedithere.”
Hisoutstretchedhandwassuggestive.HerculePoirotplacedinitafoldednote.
“Merci,Monsieur.”Theconductorbecamebriskandbusinesslike.“IhavetheticketsofMonsieur.Iwillalsotakethepassport,please.MonsieurbreakshisjourneyinStamboul,Iunderstand?”
M.Poirotassented.“Therearenotmanypeopletravelling,Iimagine?”hesaid.
“No,Monsieur.Ihaveonlytwootherpassengers—bothEnglish.AColonelfromIndia,andayoungEnglishladyfromBaghdad.Monsieurrequiresanything?”
MonsieurdemandedasmallbottleofPerrier.Fiveo’clockinthemorningisanawkwardtimetoboardatrain.Therewas
stilltwohoursbeforedawn.Consciousofaninadequatenight’ssleep,andofadelicatemissionsuccessfullyaccomplished,M.Poirotcurledupinacornerandfellasleep.
Whenheawokeitwashalf-pastnine,andhesalliedforthtotherestaurantcarinsearchofhotcoffee.
Therewasonlyoneoccupantatthemoment,obviouslytheyoungEnglishladyreferredtobytheconductor.Shewastall,slimanddark—perhapstwenty-eightyearsofage.Therewasakindofcoolefficiencyinthewayshewaseatingherbreakfastandinthewayshecalledtotheattendanttobringhermorecoffee,whichbespokeaknowledgeoftheworldandoftravelling.Sheworeadark-colouredtravellingdressofsomethinmaterialeminentlysuitablefortheheatedatmosphereofthetrain.
M.HerculePoirot,havingnothingbettertodo,amusedhimselfbystudyingherwithoutappearingtodoso.
Shewas,hejudged,thekindofyoungwomanwhocouldtakecareofherselfwithperfecteasewherevershewent.Shehadpoiseandefficiency.Heratherlikedthesevereregularityofherfeaturesandthedelicatepallorofherskin.Helikedtheburnishedblackheadwithitsneatwavesofhair,andhereyes,cool,impersonalandgrey.Butshewas,hedecided,justalittletooefficienttobewhathecalled“joliefemme.”
Presentlyanotherpersonenteredtherestaurantcar.Thiswasatallmanofbetweenfortyandfifty,leanoffigure,brownofskin,withhairslightlygrizzledroundthetemples.
“ThecolonelfromIndia,”saidPoirottohimself.Thenewcomergavealittlebowtothegirl.“Morning,MissDebenham.”“Goodmorning,ColonelArbuthnot.”TheColonelwasstandingwithahandonthechairoppositeher.“Anyobjection?”heasked.“Ofcoursenot.Sitdown.”“Well,youknow,breakfastisn’talwaysachattymeal.”“Ishouldhopenot.ButIdon’tbite.”TheColonelsatdown.“Boy,”hecalledinperemptoryfashion.
Hegaveanorderforeggsandcoffee.HiseyesrestedforamomentonHerculePoirot,buttheypassedon
indifferently.Poirot,readingtheEnglishmindcorrectly,knewthathehadsaidtohimself,“Onlysomedamnedforeigner.”
Truetotheirnationality,thetwoEnglishpeoplewerenotchatty.Theyexchangedafewbriefremarks,andpresentlythegirlroseandwentbacktohercompartment.
Atlunchtimetheothertwoagainsharedatableandagaintheybothcompletelyignoredthethirdpassenger.Theirconversationwasmoreanimatedthanatbreakfast.ColonelArbuthnottalkedofthePunjab,andoccasionallyaskedthegirlafewquestionsaboutBaghdadwhereitbecameclearthatshehadbeeninapostasgoverness.Inthecourseofconversationtheydiscoveredsomemutualfriendswhichhadtheimmediateeffectofmakingthemmorefriendlyandlessstiff.TheydiscussedoldTommySomebodyandJerrySomeoneElse.TheColonelinquiredwhethershewasgoingstraightthroughtoEnglandorwhethershewasstoppinginStamboul.
“No,I’mgoingstraighton.”“Isn’tthatratherapity?”“IcameoutthiswaytwoyearsagoandspentthreedaysinStamboulthen.”“Oh,Isee.Well,ImaysayI’mverygladyouaregoingrightthrough,
becauseIam.”Hemadeakindofclumsylittlebow,flushingalittleashedidso.“Heissusceptible,ourColonel,”thoughtHerculePoirottohimselfwith
someamusement.“Thetrain,itisasdangerousasaseavoyage!”MissDebenhamsaidevenlythatthatwouldbeverynice.Hermannerwas
slightlyrepressive.TheColonel,HerculePoirotnoticed,accompaniedherbacktoher
compartment.LatertheypassedthroughthemagnificentsceneryoftheTaurus.AstheylookeddowntowardstheCilicianGates,standinginthecorridorsidebyside,asighcamesuddenlyfromthegirl.Poirotwasstandingnearthemandheardhermurmur:
“It’ssobeautiful!Iwish—Iwish—”“Yes?”“Iwish,Icouldenjoyit!”Arbuthnotdidnotanswer.Thesquarelineofhisjawseemedalittlesterner
andgrimmer.“IwishtoHeavenyouwereoutofallthis,”hesaid.“Hush,please.Hush.”“Oh!it’sallright.”HeshotaslightlyannoyedglanceinPoirot’sdirection.
Thenhewenton:“ButIdon’tliketheideaofyourbeingagoverness—atthebeckandcalloftyrannicalmothersandtheirtiresomebrats.”
Shelaughedwithjustahintofuncontrolinthesound.“Oh!youmustn’tthinkthat.Thedowntroddengovernessisquitean
explodedmyth.Icanassureyouthatit’stheparentswhoareafraidofbeingbulliedbyme.”
Theysaidnomore.Arbuthnotwas,perhaps,ashamedofhisoutburst.“RatheranoddlittlecomedythatIwatchhere,”saidPoirottohimself
thoughtfully.Hewastorememberthatthoughtofhislater.TheyarrivedatKonyathatnightabouthalf-pasteleven.ThetwoEnglish
travellersgotouttostretchtheirlegs,pacingupanddownthesnowyplatform.M.Poirotwascontenttowatchtheteemingactivityofthestationthrougha
windowpane.Afterabouttenminutes,however,hedecidedthatabreathofairwouldnotperhapsbeabadthing,afterall.Hemadecarefulpreparations,wrappinghimselfinseveralcoatsandmufflersandencasinghisneatbootsingoloshes.Thusattiredhedescendedgingerlytotheplatformandbegantopaceitslength.Hewalkedoutbeyondtheengine.
Itwasthevoiceswhichgavehimthecluetothetwoindistinctfiguresstandingintheshadowofatrafficvan.Arbuthnotwasspeaking.
“Mary—”Thegirlinterruptedhim.“Notnow.Notnow.Whenit’sallover.Whenit’sbehindus—then—”DiscreetlyM.Poirotturnedaway.Hewondered.Hewouldhardlyhaverecognizedthecool,efficientvoiceofMiss
Debenham….“Curious,”hesaidtohimself.Thenextdayhewonderedwhether,perhaps,theyhadquarrelled.They
spokelittletoeachother.Thegirl,hethought,lookedanxious.Thereweredarkcirclesunderhereyes.
Itwasabouthalf-pasttwointheafternoonwhenthetraincametoahalt.Headswerepokedoutofwindows.Alittleknotofmenwereclusteredbythesideofthelinelookingandpointingatsomethingunderthediningcar.
PoirotleanedoutandspoketotheWagonLitconductorwhowashurryingpast.ThemanansweredandPoirotdrewbackhisheadand,turning,almostcollidedwithMaryDebenhamwhowasstandingjustbehindhim.
“Whatisthematter?”sheaskedratherbreathlesslyinFrench.“Whyarewestopping?”
“Itisnothing,Mademoiselle.Itissomethingthathascaughtfireunderthe
diningcar.Nothingserious.Itisputout.Theyarenowrepairingthedamage.Thereisnodanger,Iassureyou.”
Shemadealittleabruptgesture,asthoughshewerewavingtheideaofdangerasideassomethingcompletelyunimportant.
“Yes,yes,Iunderstandthat.Butthetime!”“Thetime?”“Yes,thiswilldelayus.”“Itispossible—yes,”agreedPoirot.“Butwecan’tafforddelay!Thetrainisdueinat6:55andonehastocross
theBosphorusandcatchtheSimplonOrientExpresstheothersideatnineo’clock.Ifthereisanhourortwoofdelayweshallmisstheconnection.”
“Itispossible,yes,”headmitted.Helookedathercuriously.Thehandthatheldthewindowbarwasnotquite
steady,herlipstooweretrembling.“Doesitmattertoyouverymuch,Mademoiselle?”heasked.“Yes.Yes,itdoes.I—Imustcatchthattrain.”SheturnedawayfromhimandwentdownthecorridortojoinColonel
Arbuthnot.Heranxiety,however,wasneedless.Tenminuteslaterthetrainstartedagain.
ItarrivedatHaydapassaronlyfiveminuteslate,havingmadeuptimeonthejourney.
TheBosphoruswasroughandM.Poirotdidnotenjoythecrossing.Hewasseparatedfromhistravellingcompanionsontheboat,anddidnotseethemagain.
OnarrivalattheGalataBridgehedrovestraighttotheTokatlianHotel.
Two
THETOKATLIANHOTEL
AttheTokatlian,HerculePoirotaskedforaroomwithbath.Thenhesteppedovertotheconcierge’sdeskandinquiredforletters.
Therewerethreewaitingforhimandatelegram.Hiseyebrowsrosealittleatthesightofthetelegram.Itwasunexpected.
Heopeneditinhisusualneat,unhurriedfashion.Theprintedwordsstoodoutclearly.
“DevelopmentyoupredictedinKassnerCasehascomeunexpectedlypleasereturnimmediately.”
“Voilàcequiestembêtant,”murmuredPoirotvexedly.Heglancedupattheclock.
“Ishallhavetogoontonight,”hesaidtotheconcierge.“AtwhattimedoestheSimplonOrientleave?”
“Atnineo’clock,Monsieur.”“Canyougetmeasleeper?”“Assuredly,Monsieur.Thereisnodifficultythistimeofyear.Thetrainsare
almostempty.First-classorsecond?”“First.”“Trèsbien,Monsieur.Howfarareyougoing?”“ToLondon.”“Bien,Monsieur.IwillgetyouatickettoLondonandreserveyoursleeping
caraccommodationintheStamboul-Calaiscoach.”Poirotglancedattheclockagain.Itwastenminutestoeight.“Ihavetimetodine?”“Butassuredly,Monsieur.”ThelittleBelgiannodded.Hewentoverandcancelledhisroomorderand
crossedthehalltotherestaurant.Ashewasgivinghisordertothewaiterahandwasplacedonhisshoulder.“Ah!monvieux,butthisisanunexpectedpleasure,”saidavoicebehind
him.Thespeakerwasashort,stoutelderlyman,hishaircutenbrosse.Hewas
smilingdelightedly.Poirotsprangup.“M.Bouc.”“M.Poirot.”M.BoucwasaBelgian,adirectoroftheCompagnieInternationaledes
WagonsLits,andhisacquaintancewiththeformerstaroftheBelgianPoliceForcedatedbackmanyyears.
“Youfindyourselffarfromhome,moncher,”saidM.Bouc.“AlittleaffairinSyria.”“Ah!Andyoureturnhome—when?”“Tonight.”“Splendid!I,too.Thatistosay,IgoasfarasLausanne,whereIhaveaffairs.
YoutravelontheSimplon-Orient,Ipresume?”“Yes.Ihavejustaskedthemtogetmeasleeper.Itwasmyintentionto
remainheresomedays,butIhavereceivedatelegramrecallingmetoEnglandonimportantbusiness.”
“Ah!”sighedM.Bouc.“Lesaffaires—lesaffaires!Butyou—youareatthetopofthetreenowadays,monvieux!”
“SomelittlesuccessIhavehad,perhaps.”HerculePoirottriedtolookmodestbutfailedsignally.
Bouclaughed.“Wewillmeetlater,”hesaid.HerculePoirotaddressedhimselftothetaskofkeepinghismoustachesout
ofthesoup.Thatdifficulttaskaccomplished,heglancedroundhimwhilstwaitingfor
thenextcourse.Therewereonlyabouthalfadozenpeopleintherestaurant,andofthosehalf-dozentherewereonlytwothatinterestedHerculePoirot.
Thesetwosatatatablenotfaraway.Theyoungerwasalikeable-lookingmanofthirty,clearlyanAmerican.Itwas,however,nothebuthiscompanionwhohadattractedthelittledetective’sattention.
Hewasamanofbetweensixtyandseventy.Fromalittledistancehehadtheblandaspectofaphilanthropist.Hisslightlybaldhead,hisdomedforehead,thesmilingmouththatdisplayedaverywhitesetoffalseteeth,allseemedtospeakofabenevolentpersonality.Onlytheeyesbeliedthisassumption.Theyweresmall,deepsetandcrafty.Notonlythat.Astheman,makingsomeremarktohisyoungcompanion,glancedacrosstheroom,hisgazestoppedonPoirotforamoment,andjustforthatsecondtherewasastrangemalevolence,andunnaturaltensityintheglance.
Thenherose.
“Paythebill,Hector,”hesaid.Hisvoicewasslightlyhuskyintone.Ithadaqueer,soft,dangerousquality.WhenPoirotrejoinedhisfriendinthelounge,theothertwomenwerejust
leavingthehotel.Theirluggagewasbeingbroughtdown.Theyoungerwassupervisingtheprocess.Presentlyheopenedtheglassdoorandsaid:
“Quitereadynow,Mr.Ratchett.”Theeldermangruntedanassentandpassedout.“Ehbien,”saidPoirot.“Whatdoyouthinkofthosetwo?”“TheyareAmericans,”saidM.Bouc.“AssuredlytheyareAmericans.Imeantwhatdidyouthinkoftheir
personalities?”“Theyoungmanseemedquiteagreeable.”“Andtheother?”“Totellyouthetruth,myfriend,Ididnotcareforhim.Heproducedonme
anunpleasantimpression.Andyou?”HerculePoirotwasamomentbeforereplying.“Whenhepassedmeintherestaurant,”hesaidatlast,“Ihadacurious
impression.Itwasasthoughawildanimal—ananimalsavage,butsavage!youunderstand—hadpassedmeby.”
“Andyethelookedaltogetherofthemostrespectable.”“Précisément!Thebody—thecage—iseverythingofthemostrespectable—
butthroughthebars,thewildanimallooksout.”“Youarefanciful,monvieux,”saidM.Bouc.“Itmaybeso.ButIcouldnotridmyselfoftheimpressionthatevilhad
passedmebyveryclose.”“ThatrespectableAmericangentleman?”“ThatrespectableAmericangentleman.”“Well,”saidM.Bouccheerfully.“Itmaybeso.Thereismuchevilinthe
world.”Atthatmomentthedooropenedandtheconciergecametowardsthem.He
lookedconcernedandapologetic.“Itisextraordinary,Monsieur,”hesaidtoPoirot.“Thereisnotonefirst-class
sleepingberthtobehadonthetrain.”“Comment?”criedM.Bouc.“Atthistimeofyear?Ah,withoutdoubtthere
issomepartyofjournalists—ofpoliticians—?”“Idon’tknow,sir,”saidtheconcierge,turningtohimrespectfully.“But
that’showitis.”“Well,well,”M.BoucturnedtoPoirot.“Havenofear,myfriend.Wewill
arrangesomething.Thereisalwaysonecompartment—theNo.16,whichisnot
engaged.Theconductorseestothat!”Hesmiled,thenglancedupattheclock.“Come,”hesaid,“itistimewestarted.”
AtthestationM.Boucwasgreetedwithrespectfulempressementbythebrown-uniformedWagonLitconductor.
“Goodevening,Monsieur.YourcompartmentistheNo.1.”Hecalledtotheportersandtheywheeledtheirloadhalf-wayalongthe
carriageonwhichthetinplatesproclaimeditsdestination:
ISTANBULTRIESTECALAIS
“Youarefulluptonight,Ihear?”“Itisincredible,Monsieur.Alltheworldelectstotraveltonight!”“Allthesame,youmustfindroomforthisgentlemanhere.Heisafriendof
mine.HecanhavetheNo.16.”“Itistaken,Monsieur.”“What?TheNo.16?”Aglanceofunderstandingpassedbetweenthem,andtheconductorsmiled.
Hewasatall,sallowmanofmiddleage.“Butyes,Monsieur.AsItoldyou,wearefull—full—everywhere.”“Butwhatpassesitself?”demandedM.Boucangrily.“Thereisaconference
somewhere?Itisaparty?”“No,Monsieur.Itisonlychance.Itjusthappensthatmanypeoplehave
electedtotraveltonight.”M.Boucmadeaclickingsoundofannoyance.“AtBelgrade,”hesaid,“therewillbetheslipcoachfromAthens.Therewill
alsobetheBucharest-Pariscoach—butwedonotreachBelgradeuntiltomorrowevening.Theproblemisfortonight.Thereisnosecond-classberthfree?”
“Thereisasecond-classberth,Monsieur—”“Well,then—”“Butitisalady’sberth.ThereisalreadyaGermanwomaninthe
compartment—alady’smaid.”“Là,là,thatisawkward,”saidM.Bouc.“Donotdistressyourself,myfriend,”saidPoirot.“Imusttravelinan
ordinarycarriage.”“Notatall.Notatall.”Heturnedoncemoretotheconductor.“Everyonehas
arrived?”“Itistrue,”saidtheman,“thatthereisonepassengerwhohasnotyet
arrived.”
Hespokeslowlywithhesitation.“Butspeakthen?”“No.7berth—asecond-class.Thegentlemanhasnotyetcome,anditisfour
minutestonine.”“Whoisit?”“AnEnglishman,”theconductorconsultedhislist.“AM.Harris.”“Anameofgoodomen,”saidPoirot.“IreadmyDickens.M.Harris,hewill
notarrive.”“PutMonsieur’sluggageinNo.7,”saidM.Bouc.“IfthisM.Harrisarrives
wewilltellhimthatheistoolate—thatberthscannotberetainedsolong—wewillarrangethematteronewayoranother.WhatdoIcareforaM.Harris?”
“AsMonsieurpleases,”saidtheconductor.HespoketoPoirot’sporter,directinghimwheretogo.ThenhestoodasidethestepstoletPoirotenterthetrain.“Toutàfaitau
bout,Monsieur,”hecalled.“Theendcompartmentbutone.”Poirotpassedalongthecorridor,asomewhatslowprogress,asmostofthe
peopletravellingwerestandingoutsidetheircarriages.Hispolite“Pardons”wereutteredwiththeregularityofclockwork.Atlast
hereachedthecompartmentindicated.Insideit,reachinguptoasuitcase,wasthetallyoungAmericanoftheTokatlian.
HefrownedasPoirotentered.“Excuseme,”hesaid.“Ithinkyou’vemadeamistake.”Then,laboriouslyin
French,“Jecroisquevousavezunerreur.”PoirotrepliedinEnglish.“YouareMr.Harris?”“No,mynameisMacQueen.I—”ButatthatmomentthevoiceoftheWagonLitconductorspokefromover
Poirot’sshoulder.Anapologetic,ratherbreathlessvoice.“Thereisnootherberthonthetrain,Monsieur.Thegentlemanhastocome
inhere.”Hewashaulingupthecorridorwindowashespokeandbegantoliftin
Poirot’sluggage.Poirotnoticedtheapologyinhistonewithsomeamusement.Doubtlessthe
manhadbeenpromisedagoodtipifhecouldkeepthecompartmentforthesoleuseoftheothertraveller.However,eventhemostmunificentoftipslosetheireffectwhenadirectorofthecompanyisonboardandissueshisorders.
Theconductoremergedfromthecompartment,havingswungthesuitcasesupontotheracks.
“VoilàMonsieur,”hesaid.“Allisarranged.Yoursistheupperberth,the
number7.Westartinoneminute.”Hehurriedoffdownthecorridor.Poirotreenteredthecompartment.“AphenomenonIhaveseldomseen,”hesaidcheerfully.“AWagonLit
conductorhimselfputsuptheluggage!Itisunheardof!”Hisfellowtravellersmiled.Hehadevidentlygotoverhisannoyance—had
probablydecidedthatitwasnogoodtotakethematterotherthanphilosophically.
“Thetrain’sremarkablyfull,”hesaid.Awhistleblew,therewasalong,melancholycryfromtheengine.Bothmen
steppedoutintothecorridor.Outsideavoiceshouted.“Envoiture.”“We’reoff,”saidMacQueen.Buttheywerenotquiteoff.Thewhistleblewagain.“Isay,sir,”saidtheyoungmansuddenly,“ifyou’dratherhavethelower
berth—easier,andallthat—well,that’sallrightbyme.”“No,no,”protestedPoirot.“Iwouldnotdepriveyou—”“That’sallright—”“Youaretooamiable—”Politeprotestsonbothsides.“Itisforonenightonly,”explainedPoirot.“AtBelgrade—”“Oh,Isee.You’regettingoutatBelgrade—”“Notexactly.Yousee—”Therewasasuddenjerk.Bothmenswungroundtothewindow,lookingout
atthelong,lightedplatformasitslidslowlypastthem.TheOrientExpresshadstartedonitsthree-days’journeyacrossEurope.
Three
POIROTREFUSESACASE
M.HerculePoirotwasalittlelateinenteringtheluncheon-caronthefollowingday.Hehadrisenearly,breakfastedalmostalone,andhadspentthemorninggoingoverthenotesofthecasethatwasrecallinghimtoLondon.Hehadseenlittleofhistravellingcompanion.
M.Bouc,whowasalreadyseated,gesticulatedagreetingandsummonedhisfriendtotheemptyplaceoppositehim.Poirotsatdownandsoonfoundhimselfinthefavouredpositionofthetablewhichwasservedfirstandwiththechoicestmorsels.Thefood,too,wasunusuallygood.
ItwasnottilltheywereeatingadelicatecreamcheesethatM.Boucallowedhisattentiontowandertomattersotherthannourishment.Hewasatthestageofamealwhenonebecomesphilosophic.
“Ah!”hesighed.“IfIhadbutthepenofaBalzac!Iwoulddepictthisscene.”
Hewavedhishand.“Itisanidea,that,”saidPoirot.“Ah,youagree?Ithasnotbeendone,Ithink?Andyet—itlendsitselfto
romance,myfriend.Allaroundusarepeople,ofallclasses,ofallnationalities,ofallages.Forthreedaysthesepeople,thesestrangerstooneanother,arebroughttogether.Theysleepandeatunderoneroof,theycannotgetawayfromeachother.Attheendofthreedaystheypart,theygotheirseveralways,never,perhaps,toseeeachotheragain.”
“Andyet,”saidPoirot,“supposeanaccident—”“Ahno,myfriend—”“Fromyourpointofviewitwouldberegrettable,Iagree.Butnevertheless
letusjustforonemomentsupposeit.Then,perhaps,alltheseherearelinkedtogether—bydeath.”
“Somemorewine,”saidM.Bouc,hastilypouringitout.“Youaremorbid,moncher.Itis,perhaps,thedigestion.”
“Itistrue,”agreedPoirot,“thatthefoodinSyriawasnot,perhaps,quitesuitedtomystomach.”
Hesippedhiswine.Then,leaningback,heranhiseyethoughtfullyroundthediningcar.Therewerethirteenpeopleseatedthereand,asM.Bouchadsaid,ofallclassesandnationalities.Hebegantostudythem.
Atthetableoppositethemwerethreemen.Theywere,heguessed,singletravellersgradedandplacedtherebytheunerringjudgmentoftherestaurantattendants.Abig,swarthyItalianwaspickinghisteethwithgusto.Oppositehimaspare,neatEnglishmanhadtheexpressionlessdisapprovingfaceofthewell-trainedservant.NexttotheEnglishmanwasabigAmericaninaloudsuit—possiblyacommercialtraveller.
“You’vegottoputitoverbig,”hewassayinginaloudnasalvoice.TheItalianremovedhistoothpicktogesticulatewithitfreely.“Sure,”hesaid.“ThatwhattaIsayalladetime.”TheEnglishmanlookedoutofthewindowandcoughed.Poirot’seyepassedon.Atasmalltable,sittingveryupright,wasoneoftheugliestoldladieshehad
everseen.Itwasanuglinessofdistinction—itfascinatedratherthanrepelled.Shesatveryupright.Roundherneckwasacollarofverylargepearlswhich,improbablethoughitseemed,werereal.Herhandswerecoveredwithrings.Hersablecoatwaspushedbackonhershoulders.Averysmallexpensiveblacktoquewashideouslyunbecomingtotheyellow,toad-likefacebeneathit.
Shewasspeakingnowtotherestaurantattendantinaclear,courteousbutcompletelyautocratictone.
“Youwillbesufficientlyamiabletoplaceinmycompartmentabottleofmineralwaterandalargeglassoforangejuice.YouwillarrangethatIshallhavechickencookedwithoutsaucesfordinnerthisevening—alsosomeboiledfish.”
Theattendantrepliedrespectfullythatitshouldbedone.Shegaveaslightgraciousnodoftheheadandrose.Herglancecaught
Poirot’sandsweptoverhimwiththenonchalanceoftheuninterestedaristocrat.“ThatisPrincessDragomiroff,”saidM.Boucinalowtone.“Sheisa
Russian.HerhusbandrealizedallthismoneybeforetheRevolutionandinvesteditabroad.Sheisextremelyrich.Acosmopolitan.”
Poirotnodded.HehadheardofPrincessDragomiroff.“Sheisapersonality,”saidM.Bouc.“Uglyassin,butshemakesherself
felt.Youagree?”Poirotagreed.AtanotherofthelargetablesMaryDebenhamwassittingwithtwoother
women.Oneofthemwasatallmiddle-agedwomaninaplaidblouseandtweedskirt.Shehadamassoffadedyellowhairunbecominglyarrangedinalargebun,woreglasses,andhadalong,mild,amiablefaceratherlikeasheep.Shewas
listeningtothethirdwoman,astout,pleasant-faced,elderlywomanwhowastalkinginaslowclearmonotonewhichshowednosignsofpausingforbreathorcomingtoastop.
“…Andsomydaughtersaid,‘Why,’shesaid‘youjustcan’tapplyAmurricanmethodsinthiscountry.It’sjustnaturaltothefolksheretobeindolent,’shesaid.‘Theyjusthaven’tgotanyhustleinthem.’Butallthesameyou’dbesurprisedtoknowwhatourcollegethereisdoing.They’vegottenafinestaffofteachers.Iguessthere’snothinglikeeducation.We’vegottoapplyourWesternidealsandteachtheEasttorecognizethem.Mydaughtersays—”
Thetrainplungedintoatunnel.Thecalmmonotonousvoicewasdrowned.Atthenexttable,asmallone,satColonelArbuthnot—alone.Hisgazewas
fixeduponthebackofMaryDebenham’shead.Theywerenotsittingtogether.Yetitcouldeasilyhavebeenmanaged.Why?
Perhaps,Poirotthought,MaryDebenhamhaddemurred.Agovernesslearnstobecareful.Appearancesareimportant.Agirlwithherlivingtogethastobediscreet.
Hisglanceshiftedtotheothersideofthecarriage.Atthefarend,againstthewall,wasamiddle-agedwomandressedinblackwithabroadexpressionlessface.GermanorScandinavian,hethought.ProbablyaGermanlady’smaid.
Afterhercameacoupleleaningforwardandtalkinganimatedlytogether.ThemanworeEnglishclothesofloosetweed—buthewasnotEnglish.ThoughonlythebackofhisheadwasvisibletoPoirot,theshapeofitandthesetoftheshouldersbetrayedhim.Abigman,wellmade.HeturnedhisheadsuddenlyandPoirotsawhisprofile.Averyhandsomemanofthirtyoddwithabigfairmoustache.
Thewomanoppositehimwasameregirl—twentyataguess.Atight-fittinglittleblackcoatandskirt,whitesatinblouse,smallchicblacktoqueperchedatthefashionableoutrageousangle.Shehadabeautifulforeign-lookingface,deadwhiteskin,largebrowneyes,jet-blackhair.Shewassmokingacigaretteinalongholder.Hermanicuredhandshaddeeprednails.Sheworeonelargeemeraldsetinplatinum.Therewascoquetryinherglanceandvoice.
“Elleestjolie—etchic,”murmuredPoirot.“Husbandandwife—eh?”M.Boucnodded.“HungarianEmbassy,Ibelieve,”hesaid.“Ahandsomecouple.”Therewereonlytwomorelunchers—Poirot’sfellowtravellerMacQueen
andhisemployerMr.Ratchett.ThelattersatfacingPoirot,andforthesecondtimePoirotstudiedthatunprepossessingface,notingthefalsebenevolenceofthebrowandthesmall,crueleyes.
DoubtlessM.Boucsawachangeinhisfriend’sexpression.
“Itisatyourwildanimalyoulook?”heasked.Poirotnodded.Ashiscoffeewasbroughttohim,M.Boucrosetohisfeet.Havingstarted
beforePoirot,hehadfinishedsometimeago.“Ireturntomycompartment,”hesaid.“Comealongpresentlyandconverse
withme.”“Withpleasure.”Poirotsippedhiscoffeeandorderedaliqueur.Theattendantwaspassing
fromtabletotablewithhisboxofmoney,acceptingpaymentforbills.TheelderlyAmericanlady’svoiceroseshrillandplaintive.
“Mydaughtersaid,‘Takeabookoffoodticketsandyou’llhavenotrouble—notroubleatall.’Now,thatisn’tso.Seemstheyhavetohaveatenpercenttip,andthenthere’sthatbottleofmineralwater—andaqueersortofwatertoo.Theyhadn’tgotanyEvianorVichy,whichseemsqueertome.”
“Itis—theymust—howyousay—servethewaterofthecountry,”explainedthesheep-facedlady.
“Well,itseemsqueertome.”Shelookeddistastefullyattheheapofsmallchangeonthetableinfrontofher.“Lookatallthispeculiarstuffhe’sgivenme.Dinarsorsomething.Justalotofrubbish,itlooks.Mydaughtersaid—”
MaryDebenhampushedbackherchairandleftwithaslightbowtotheothertwo.ColonelArbuthnotgotupandfollowedher.Gatheringupherdespisedmoney,theAmericanladyfollowedsuit,followedbytheladylikeasheep.TheHungarianshadalreadydeparted.TherestaurantcarwasemptysaveforPoirotandRatchettandMacQueen.
Ratchettspoketohiscompanion,whogotupandleftthecar.Thenherosehimself,butinsteadoffollowingMacQueenhedroppedunexpectedlyintotheseatoppositePoirot.
“Canyouobligemewithalight?”hesaid.Hisvoicewassoft—faintlynasal.“MynameisRatchett.”
Poirotbowedslightly.Heslippedhishandintohispocketandproducedamatchboxwhichhehandedtotheotherman,whotookitbutdidnotstrikealight.
“Ithink,”hewenton,“thatIhavethepleasureofspeakingtoM.HerculePoirot.Isthatso?”
Poirotbowedagain.“Youhavebeencorrectlyinformed,Monsieur.”Thedetectivewasconsciousofthosestrangeshrewdeyessumminghimup
beforetheotherspokeagain.“Inmycountry,”hesaid,“wecometothepointquickly.Mr.Poirot,Iwant
youtotakeonajobforme.”HerculePoirot’seyebrowswentupatrifle.“Myclientèle,Monsieur,islimitednowadays.Iundertakeveryfewcases.”“Why,naturally,Iunderstandthat.Butthis,Mr.Poirot,meansbigmoney.”
Herepeatedagaininhissoft,persuasivevoice,“Bigmoney.”HerculePoirotwassilentaminuteortwo,thenhesaid:“Whatisityouwishmetodoforyou,M.—er—Ratchett?”“Mr.Poirot,Iamarichman—averyrichman.Meninthatpositionhave
enemies.Ihaveanenemy.”“Onlyoneenemy?”“Justwhatdoyoumeanbythatquestion?”askedRatchettsharply.“Monsieur,inmyexperiencewhenamanisinapositiontohave,asyousay,
enemies,thenitdoesnotusuallyresolveitselfintooneenemyonly.”RatchettseemedrelievedbyPoirot’sanswer.Hesaidquickly:“Why,yes,Iappreciatethatpoint.Enemyorenemies—itdoesn’tmatter.
Whatdoesmatterismysafety.”“Safety?”“Mylifehasbeenthreatened,Mr.Poirot.Now,I’mamanwhocantake
prettygoodcareofhimself.”Fromthepocketofhiscoathishandbroughtasmallautomaticintosightforamoment.Hecontinuedgrimly.“Idon’tthinkI’mthekindofmantobecaughtnapping.ButasIlookatitImightaswellmakeassurancedoublysure.Ifancyyou’rethemanformymoney,Mr.Poirot.Andremember—bigmoney.”
Poirotlookedathimthoughtfullyforsomeminutes.Hisfacewascompletelyexpressionless.Theothercouldhavehadnoclueastowhatthoughtswerepassinginthatmind.
“Iregret,Monsieur,”hesaidatlength.“Icannotobligeyou.”Theotherlookedathimshrewdly.“Nameyourfigure,then,”hesaid.Poirotshookhishead.“Youdonotunderstand,Monsieur.Ihavebeenveryfortunateinmy
profession.Ihavemadeenoughmoneytosatisfybothmyneedsandmycaprices.Itakenowonlysuchcasesas—interestme.”
“You’vegotaprettygoodnerve,”saidRatchett.“Willtwentythousanddollarstemptyou?”
“Itwillnot.”“Ifyou’reholdingoutformore,youwon’tgetit.Iknowwhatathing’s
worthtome.”“Ialso—M.Ratchett.”
“What’swrongwithmyproposition?”Poirotrose.“Ifyouwillforgivemeforbeingpersonal—Idonotlikeyourface,M.
Ratchett,”hesaid.Andwiththathelefttherestaurantcar.
Four
ACRYINTHENIGHT
TheSimplonOrientExpressarrivedatBelgradeataquartertoninethatevening.Itwasnotduetodepartagainuntil9:15,soPoirotdescendedtotheplatform.Hedidnot,however,remaintherelong.Thecoldwasbitterandthoughtheplatformitselfwasprotected,heavysnowwasfallingoutside.Hereturnedtohiscompartment.Theconductor,whowasontheplatformstampinghisfeetandwavinghisarmstokeepwarm,spoketohim.
“Yourvaliseshavebeenmoved,Monsieur,tothecompartmentNo.1,thecompartmentofM.Bouc.”
“ButwhereisM.Bouc,then?”“HehasmovedintothecoachfromAthenswhichhasjustbeenputon.”Poirotwentinsearchofhisfriend.M.Boucwavedhisprotestationsaside.“Itisnothing.Itisnothing.Itismoreconvenientlikethis.Youaregoing
throughtoEngland,soitisbetterthatyoushouldstayinthethroughcoachtoCalais.Me,Iamverywellhere.Itismostpeaceful.ThiscoachisemptysaveformyselfandonelittleGreekdoctor.Ah!myfriend,whatanight!Theysaytherehasnotbeensomuchsnowforyears.Letushopeweshallnotbeheldup.Iamnottoohappyaboutit,Icantellyou.”
At9:15punctuallythetrainpulledoutofthestation,andshortlyafterwardsPoirotgotup,saidgoodnighttohisfriendandmadehiswayalongthecorridorbackintohisowncoachwhichwasinfrontnexttothediningcar.
Onthis,theseconddayofthejourney,barrierswerebreakingdown.ColonelArbuthnotwasstandingatthedoorofhiscompartmenttalkingtoMacQueen.
MacQueenbrokeoffsomethinghewassayingwhenhesawPoirot.Helookedverysurprised.
“Why,”hecried,“Ithoughtyou’dleftus.YousaidyouweregettingoffatBelgrade.”
“Youmisunderstoodme,”saidPoirot,smiling.“Iremembernow,thetrainstartedfromStambouljustasweweretalkingaboutit.”
“But,man,yourbaggage—it’sgone.”“Ithasbeenmovedintoanothercompartment—thatisall.”
“Oh,Isee.”HeresumedhisconversationwithArbuthnotandPoirotpassedondownthe
corridor.Twodoorsfromhisowncompartment,theelderlyAmericanlady,Mrs.
Hubbard,wasstandingtalkingtothesheep-likeladywhowasaSwede.Mrs.Hubbardwaspressingamagazineontheother.
“No,dotakeit,mydear,”shesaid.“I’vegotplentyotherthingstoread.My,isn’tthecoldsomethingfrightful?”ShenoddedamicablytoPoirot.
“Youaremostkind,”saidtheSwedishlady.“Notatall.Ihopeyou’llsleepwellandthatyourheadwillbebetterinthe
morning.”“Itisthecoldonly.Imakenowmyselfacupoftea.”“Haveyougotsomeaspirin?Areyousure,now?I’vegotplenty.Well,good
night,mydear.”SheturnedtoPoirotconversationallyastheotherwomandeparted.“Poorcreature,she’saSwede.AsfarasIcanmakeout,she’sakindof
missionary—ateachingone.Anicecreature,butdoesn’ttalkmuchEnglish.ShewasmostinterestedinwhatItoldheraboutmydaughter.”
Poirot,bynow,knewallaboutMrs.Hubbard’sdaughter.EveryoneonthetrainwhocouldunderstandEnglishdid!HowsheandherhusbandwereonthestaffofabigAmericancollegeinSmyrnaandhowthiswasMrs.Hubbard’sfirstjourneytotheEast,andwhatshethoughtoftheTurksandtheirslipshodwaysandtheconditionoftheirroads.
Thedoornexttothemopenedandthethin,palemanservantsteppedout.InsidePoirotcaughtaglimpseofMr.Ratchettsittingupinbed.HesawPoirotandhisfacechanged,darkeningwithanger.Thenthedoorwasshut.
Mrs.HubbarddrewPoirotalittleaside.“Youknow,I’mdeadscaredofthatman.Oh,notthevalet—theother—his
master.Master,indeed!There’ssomethingwrongaboutthatman.MydaughteralwayssaysI’mveryintuitive.‘WhenMommagetsahunch,she’sdeadright,’that’swhatmydaughtersays.AndI’vegotahunchaboutthatman.He’snextdoortome,andIdon’tlikeit.Iputmygripsagainstthecommunicatingdoorlastnight.IthoughtIheardhimtryingthehandle.Doyouknow,Ishouldn’tbesurprisedifthatmanturnsouttobeamurderer—oneofthesetrainrobbersyoureadabout.IdaresayI’mfoolish,butthereitis.I’mdownrightscaredoftheman!MydaughtersaidI’dhaveaneasyjourney,butsomehowIdon’tfeelhappyaboutit.Itmaybefoolish,butIfeelanythingmighthappen.Anythingatall.AndhowthatniceyoungfellowcanbeartobehissecretaryIcan’tthink.”
ColonelArbuthnotandMacQueenwerecomingtowardsthemdownthe
corridor.“Comeintomycarriage,”MacQueenwassaying.“Itisn’tmadeupforthe
nightyet.NowwhatIwanttogetrightaboutyourpolicyinIndiaisthis—”ThemenpassedandwentondownthecorridortoMacQueen’scarriage.Mrs.HubbardsaidgoodnighttoPoirot.“IguessI’llgorighttobedandread,”shesaid.“Goodnight.”“Goodnight,Madame.”Poirotpassedintohisowncompartment,whichwasthenextonebeyond
Ratchett’s.Heundressedandgotintobed,readforabouthalfanhourandthenturnedoutthelight.
Heawokesomehourslater,andawokewithastart.Heknewwhatitwasthathadwakenedhim—aloudgroan,almostacry,somewherecloseathand.Atthesamemomentthetingofabellsoundedsharply.
Poirotsatupandswitchedonthelight.Henoticedthatthetrainwasatastandstill—presumablyatastation.
Thatcryhadstartledhim.HerememberedthatitwasRatchettwhohadthenextcompartment.HegotoutofbedandopenedthedoorjustastheWagonLitconductorcamehurryingalongthecorridorandknockedonRatchett’sdoor.Poirotkepthisdooropenacrackandwatched.Theconductortappedasecondtime.Abellrangandalightshowedoveranotherdoorfartherdown.Theconductorglancedoverhisshoulder.
Atthesamemomentavoicefromwithinthenext-doorcompartmentcalledout:
“Cen’estrien.Jemesuistrompé.”“Bien,Monsieur.”Theconductorscurriedoffagain,toknockatthedoor
wherethelightwasshowing.Poirotreturnedtobed,hismindrelieved,andswitchedoffthelight.He
glancedathiswatch.Itwasjusttwenty-threeminutestoone.
Five
THECRIME
Hefounditdifficulttogotosleepagainatonce.Foronething,hemissedthemotionofthetrain.Ifitwasastationoutsideitwascuriouslyquiet.Bycontrast,thenoisesonthetrainseemedunusuallyloud.HecouldhearRatchettmovingaboutnextdoor—aclickashepulleddownthewashbasin,thesoundofthetaprunning,asplashingnoise,thenanotherclickasthebasinshuttoagain.Footstepspassedupthecorridoroutside,theshufflingfootstepsofsomeoneinbedroomslippers.
HerculePoirotlayawakestaringattheceiling.Whywasthestationoutsidesosilent?Histhroatfeltdry.Hehadforgottentoaskforhisusualbottleofmineralwater.Helookedathiswatchagain.Justafteraquarterpastone.Hewouldringfortheconductorandaskhimforsomemineralwater.Hisfingerwentouttothebell,buthepausedasinthestillnessheheardating.Themancouldn’tanswereverybellatonce.
Ting…ting…ting…Itsoundedagainandagain.Wherewastheman?Somebodywasgetting
impatient.Ting…Whoeveritwaswaskeepingtheirfingersolidlyonthepush.Suddenlywitharush,hisfootstepsechoinguptheaisle,themancame.He
knockedatadoornotfarfromPoirot’sown.Thencamevoices—theconductor’s,deferential,apologetic,andawoman’s
—insistentandvoluble.Mrs.Hubbard.Poirotsmiledtohimself.Thealtercation—ifitwasone—wentonforsometime.It’sproportionswere
ninetypercentofMrs.Hubbard’stoasoothingtenpercentoftheconductor’s.Finallythematterseemedtobeadjusted.Poirothearddistinctly:
“Bonnenuit,Madame,”andaclosingdoor.Hepressedhisownfingeronthebell.Theconductorarrivedpromptly.Helookedhotandworried.
“Del’eauminerale,s’ilvousplait.”“Bien,Monsieur.”PerhapsatwinkleinPoirot’seyeledhimtounburden
himself.“LaDameAmericaine—”“Yes?”Hewipedhisforehead.“ImaginetoyourselfthetimeIhavehadwithher!Sheinsists—butinsists—
thatthereisamaninhercompartment!Figuretoyourself,Monsieur.Inaspaceofthissize.”Hesweptahandround.“Wherewouldheconcealhimself?Iarguewithher.Ipointoutthatitisimpossible.Sheinsists.Shewokeupandtherewasamanthere.Andhow,Iask,didhegetoutandleavethedoorboltedbehindhim?Butshewillnotlistentoreason.Asthough,therewerenotenoughtoworryusalready.Thissnow—”
“Snow?”“Butyes,Monsieur.Monsieurhasnotnoticed?Thetrainhasstopped.We
haverunintoasnowdrift.Heavenknowshowlongweshallbehere.Irememberoncebeingsnowedupforsevendays.”
“Wherearewe?”“BetweenVincoviandBrod.”“Làlà,”saidPoirotvexedly.Themanwithdrewandreturnedwiththewater.“Bonsoir,Monsieur.”Poirotdrankaglassofwaterandcomposedhimselftosleep.Hewasjustdroppingoffwhensomethingagainwokehim.Thistimeitwas
asthoughsomethingheavyhadfallenwithathudagainstthedoor.Hesprangup,openeditandlookedout.Nothing.Buttohisrightsomeway
downthecorridorawomanwrappedinascarletkimonowasretreatingfromhim.Attheotherend,sittingonhislittleseat,theconductorwasenteringupfiguresonlargesheetsofpaper.Everythingwasdeathlyquiet.
“DecidedlyIsufferfromthenerves,”saidPoirotandretiredtobedagain.Thistimeheslepttillmorning.
Whenheawokethetrainwasstillatastandstill.Heraisedablindandlookedout.Heavybanksofsnowsurroundedthetrain.
Heglancedathiswatchandsawthatitwaspastnineo’clock.Ataquartertoten,neat,spruce,anddandifiedasever,hemadehiswayto
therestaurantcar,whereachorusofwoewasgoingon.Anybarrierstheremighthavebeenbetweenthepassengershadnowquite
brokendown.Allwereunitedbyacommonmisfortune.Mrs.Hubbardwasloudestinherlamentations.
“Mydaughtersaiditwouldbetheeasiestwayintheworld.JustsitinthetrainuntilIgottoParrus.Andnowwemaybeherefordaysanddays,”shewailed.“Andmyboatsailsthedayaftertomorrow.HowamIgoingtocatchitnow?Why,Ican’tevenwiretocancelmypassage.Ifeeltoomadtotalkaboutit.”
TheItaliansaidthathehadurgentbusinesshimselfinMilan.ThelargeAmericansaidthatthatwas“toobad,Ma’am,”andsoothinglyexpressedahopethatthetrainmightmakeuptime.
“Mysister—herchildrenwaitme,”saidtheSwedishladyandwept.“Igetnowordtothem.Whattheythink?Theywillsaybadthingshavehappentome.”
“Howlongshallwebehere?”demandedMaryDebenham.“Doesn’tanybodyknow?”
Hervoicesoundedimpatient,butPoirotnotedthattherewerenosignsofthatalmostfeverishanxietywhichshehaddisplayedduringthechecktotheTaurusExpress.
Mrs.Hubbardwasoffagain.“Thereisn’tanybodyknowsathingonthistrain.Andnobody’stryingtodo
anything.Justapackofuselessforeigners.Why,ifthiswereathome,there’dbesomeoneatleasttryingtodosomething.”
ArbuthnotturnedtoPoirotandspokeincarefulBritishFrench.“Vousêtesundirecteurdelaligne,jecrois,Monsieur.Vouspouveznous
dire—”SmilingPoirotcorrectedhim.“No,no,”hesaidinEnglish.“ItisnotI.Youconfoundmewithmyfriend
M.Bouc.”“Oh!I’msorry.”“Notatall.Itismostnatural.Iamnowinthecompartmentthathehad
formerly.”M.Boucwasnotpresentintherestaurantcar.Poirotlookedabouttonotice
whoelsewasabsent.PrincessDragomiroffwasmissingandtheHungariancouple.AlsoRatchett,
hisvalet,andtheGermanlady’smaid.TheSwedishladywipedhereyes.“Iamfoolish,”shesaid.“Iambabytocry.Allforthebest,whatever
happen.”ThisChristianspirit,however,wasfarfrombeingshared.“That’sallverywell,”saidMacQueenrestlessly.“Wemaybeherefordays.”“Whatisthiscountryanyway?”demandedMrs.Hubbardtearfully.
OnbeingtolditwasYugo-Slaviashesaid:“Oh!oneoftheseBalkanthings.Whatcanyouexpect?”“Youaretheonlypatientone,Mademoiselle,”saidPoirottoMiss
Debenham.Sheshruggedhershouldersslightly.“Whatcanonedo?”“Youareaphilosopher,Mademoiselle.”“Thatimpliesadetachedattitude.Ithinkmyattitudeismoreselfish.Ihave
learnedtosavemyselfuselessemotion.”Shewasnotevenlookingathim.Hergazewentpasthim,outofthewindow
towherethesnowlayinheavymasses.“Youareastrongcharacter,Mademoiselle,”saidPoirotgently.“Youare,I
think,thestrongestcharacteramongstus.”“Oh,no.No,indeed.IknowonefarfarstrongerthanIam.”“Andthatis—?”Sheseemedsuddenlytocometoherself,torealizethatshewastalkingtoa
strangerandaforeignerwithwhom,untilthismorning,shehadonlyexchangedhalfadozensentences.
Shelaughedapolitebutestranginglaugh.“Well—thatoldlady,forinstance.Youhaveprobablynoticedher.Avery
uglyoldlady,butratherfascinating.Shehasonlytoliftalittlefingerandaskforsomethinginapolitevoice—andthewholetrainruns.”
“ItrunsalsoformyfriendM.Bouc,”saidPoirot.“Butthatisbecauseheisadirectoroftheline,notbecausehehasamasterfulcharacter.”
MaryDebenhamsmiled.Themorningworeaway.Severalpeople,Poirotamongstthem,remainedin
thediningcar.Thecommunallifewasfelt,atthemoment,topassthetimebetter.HeheardagooddealmoreaboutMrs.Hubbard’sdaughterandheheardthelifelonghabitsofMr.Hubbard,deceased,fromhisrisinginthemorningandcommencingbreakfastwithacerealtohisfinalrestatnightinthebedsocksthatMrs.Hubbardherselfhadbeeninthehabitofknittingforhim.
ItwaswhenhewaslisteningtoaconfusedaccountofthemissionaryaimsoftheSwedishladythatoneoftheWagonLitconductorscameintothecarandstoodathiselbow.
“Pardon,Monsieur.”“Yes?”“ThecomplimentsofM.Bouc,andhewouldbegladifyouwouldbeso
kindastocometohimforafewminutes.”Poirotrose,utteredexcusestotheSwedishladyandfollowedthemanoutof
thediningcar.Itwasnothisownconductor,butabigfairman.Hefollowedhisguidedownthecorridorofhisowncarriageandalongthe
corridorofthenextone.Themantappedatadoor,thenstoodasidetoletPoirotenter.
ThecompartmentwasnotM.Bouc’sown.Itwasasecond-classone—chosenpresumablybecauseofitsslightlylargersize.Itcertainlygavetheimpressionofbeingcrowded.
M.Bouchimselfwassittingonthesmallseatintheoppositecorner.Inthecornernextthewindowfacinghimwasasmall,darkmanlookingoutatthesnow.StandingupandquitepreventingPoirotfromadvancinganyfartherwasabigmaninblueuniform(thechefdetrain)andhisownWagonLitconductor.
“Ah,mygoodfriend,”criedM.Bouc.“Comein.Wehaveneedofyou.”Thelittlemaninthewindowshiftedalongtheseat,Poirotsqueezedpastthe
othertwomenandsatdownfacinghisfriend.TheexpressiononM.Bouc’sfacegavehim,ashewouldhaveexpressedit,
furiouslytothink.Itwasclearthatsomethingoutofthecommonhadhappened.“Whathasoccurred?”heasked.“Youmaywellaskthat.Firstthissnow—thisstoppage.Andnow—”Hepaused—andasortofstrangledgaspcamefromtheWagonLit
conductor.“Andnowwhat?”“Andnowapassengerliesdeadinhisberth—stabbed.”M.Boucspokewithakindofcalmdesperation.“Apassenger?Whichpassenger?”“AnAmerican.Amancalled—called—”heconsultedsomenotesinfrontof
him.“Ratchett—thatisright—Ratchett?”“Yes,Monsieur,”theWagonLitmangulped.Poirotlookedathim.Hewasaswhiteaschalk.“Youhadbetterletthatmansitdown,”hesaid.“Hemayfaintotherwise.”ThechefdetrainmovedslightlyandtheWagonLitmansankdowninthe
cornerandburiedhisfaceinhishands.“Brr!”saidPoirot.“Thisisserious!”“Certainlyitisserious.Tobeginwith,amurder—thatbyitselfisacalamity
ofthefirstwater.Butnotonlythat,thecircumstancesareunusual.Hereweare,broughttoastandstill.Wemaybehereforhours—andnotonlyhours—days!Anothercircumstance.Passingthroughmostcountrieswehavethepoliceofthatcountryonthetrain.ButinYugoslavia—no.Youcomprehend?”
“Itisapositionofgreatdifficulty,”saidPoirot.
“Thereisworsetocome.Dr.Constantine—Iforgot,Ihavenotintroducedyou—Dr.Constantine,M.Poirot.”
ThelittledarkmanbowedandPoirotreturnedit.“Dr.Constantineisoftheopinionthatdeathoccurredatabout1a.m.”“Itisdifficulttosayexactlyinthesematters,”saidthedoctor,“butIthinkI
cansaydefinitelythatdeathoccurredbetweenmidnightandtwointhemorning.”
“WhenwasthisM.Ratchettlastseenalive?”askedPoirot.“Heisknowntohavebeenaliveatabouttwentyminutestoone,whenhe
spoketotheconductor,”saidM.Bouc.“Thatisquitecorrect,”saidPoirot.“Imyselfheardwhatpassed.Thatisthe
lastthingknown?”“Yes.”Poirotturnedtowardthedoctor,whocontinued:“ThewindowofM.Ratchett’scompartmentwasfoundwideopen,leading
onetosupposethatthemurdererescapedthatway.Butinmyopinionthatopenwindowisablind.Anyonedepartingthatwaywouldhaveleftdistincttracesinthesnow.Therewerenone.”
“Thecrimewasdiscovered—when?”askedPoirot.“Michel!”TheWagonLitconductorsatup.Hisfacestilllookedpaleandfrightened.“Tellthisgentlemanexactlywhatoccurred,”orderedM.Bouc.Themanspokesomewhatjerkily.“ThevaletofthisM.Ratchett,hetappedseveraltimesatthedoorthis
morning.Therewasnoanswer.Then,halfanhourago,therestaurantcarattendantcame.HewantedtoknowifMonsieurwastakingdéjeuner.Itwaseleveno’clock,youcomprehend.
“Iopenthedoorforhimwithmykey.Butthereisachain,too,andthatisfastened.Thereisnoansweranditisverystillinthere,andcold—butcold.Withthewindowopenandsnowdriftingin.Ithoughtthegentlemanhadhadafit,perhaps.Igotthechefdetrain.Webrokethechainandwentin.Hewas—Ah!c’étaitterrible!”
Heburiedhisfaceinhishandsagain.“Thedoorwaslockedandchainedontheinside,”saidPoirotthoughtfully.
“Itwasnotsuicide—eh?”TheGreekdoctorgaveasardoniclaugh.“Doesamanwhocommitssuicidestabhimselfinten—twelve—fifteen
places?”heasked.Poirot’seyesopened.
“Thatisgreatferocity,”hesaid.“Itisawoman,”saidthechefdetrain,speakingforthefirsttime.“Depend
uponit,itwasawoman.Onlyawomanwouldstablikethat.”Dr.Constantinescreweduphisfacethoughtfully.“Shemusthavebeenaverystrongwoman,”hesaid.“Itisnotmydesireto
speaktechnically—thatisonlyconfusing—butIcanassureyouthatoneortwooftheblowsweredeliveredwithsuchforceastodrivethemthroughhardbeltsofboneandmuscle.”
“Itwasnot,clearly,ascientificcrime,”saidPoirot.“Itwasmostunscientific,”saidDr.Constantine.“Theblowsseemtohave
beendeliveredhaphazardandatrandom.Somehaveglancedoff,doinghardlyanydamage.Itisasthoughsomebodyhadshuttheireyesandtheninafrenzystruckblindlyagainandagain.”
“C’estunefemme,”saidthechefdetrainagain.“Womenarelikethat.Whentheyareenragedtheyhavegreatstrength.”Henoddedsosagelythateveryonesuspectedapersonalexperienceofhisown.
“Ihave,perhaps,somethingtocontributetoyourstoreofknowledge,”saidPoirot.“M.Ratchettspoketomeyesterday.Hetoldme,asfarasIwasabletounderstandhim,thathewasindangerofhislife.”
“‘Bumpedoff’—thatistheAmericanexpression,isitnot?”saidM.Bouc.“Thenitisnotawoman.Itisa‘Gangster’ora‘gunman.’”
Thechefdetrainlookedpainedathistheoryhavingcometonaught.“Ifso,”saidPoirot,“itseemstohavebeendoneveryamateurishly.”Histoneexpressedprofessionaldisapproval.“ThereisalargeAmericanonthetrain,”saidM.Bouc,pursuinghisidea
—“acommon-lookingmanwithterribleclothes.HechewsthegumwhichIbelieveisnotdoneingoodcircles.YouknowwhomImean?”
TheWagonLitconductortowhomhehadappealednodded.“Oui,Monsieur,theNo.16.Butitcannothavebeenhe.Ishouldhaveseen
himenterorleavethecompartment.”“Youmightnot.Youmightnot.Butwewillgointothatpresently.The
questionis,whattodo?”HelookedatPoirot.Poirotlookedbackathim.“Come,myfriend,”saidM.Bouc.“YoucomprehendwhatIamabouttoask
ofyou.Iknowyourpowers.Takecommandofthisinvestigation!No,no,donotrefuse.See,tousitisserious—IspeakfortheCompagnieInternationaledesWagonsLits.BythetimetheYugo-Slavianpolicearrive,howsimpleifwecanpresentthemwiththesolution!Otherwisedelays,annoyances,amillionandoneinconveniences.Perhaps,whoknows,seriousannoyancetoinnocentpersons.
Instead—yousolvethemystery!Wesay,‘Amurderhasoccurred—thisisthecriminal!’”
“AndsupposeIdonotsolveit?”“Ah!moncher.”M.Bouc’svoicebecamepositivelycaressing.“Iknowyour
reputation.Iknowsomethingofyourmethods.Thisistheidealcaseforyou.Tolookuptheantecedentsofallthesepeople,todiscovertheirbonafides—allthattakestimeandendlessinconvenience.ButhaveInotheardyousayoftenthattosolveacaseamanhasonlytoliebackinhischairandthink?Dothat.Interviewthepassengersonthetrain,viewthebody,examinewhatcluesthereareandthen—well,Ihavefaithinyou!Iamassuredthatitisnoidleboastofyours.Liebackandthink—use(asIhaveheardyousaysooften)thelittlegreycellsofthemind—andyouwillknow!”
Heleanedforward,lookingaffectionatelyathisfriend.“Yourfaithtouchesme,myfriend,”saidPoirotemotionally.“Asyousay,
thiscannotbeadifficultcase.Imyself,lastnight—butwewillnotspeakofthatnow.Intruth,thisproblemintriguesme.Iwasreflecting,nothalfanhourago,thatmanyhoursofboredomlayaheadwhilstwearestuckhere.Andnow—aproblemliesreadytomyhand.”
“Youacceptthen?”saidM.Bouceagerly.“C’estentendu.Youplacethematterinmyhands.”“Good—weareallatyourservice.”“Tobeginwith,IshouldlikeaplanoftheIstanbul-Calaiscoach,withanote
ofthepeoplewhooccupiedtheseveralcompartments,andIshouldalsoliketoseetheirpassportsandtheirtickets.”
“Michelwillgetyouthose.”TheWagonLitconductorleftthecompartment.“Whatotherpassengersarethereonthetrain?”askedPoirot.“InthiscoachDr.ConstantineandIaretheonlytravellers.Inthecoachfrom
Bucharestisanoldgentlemanwithalameleg.Heiswellknowntotheconductor.Beyondthataretheordinarycarriages,butthesedonotconcernus,sincetheywerelockedafterdinnerhadbeenservedlastnight.ForwardoftheIstanbul-Calaiscoachthereisonlythediningcar.”
“Thenitseems,”saidPoirotslowly,“asthoughwemustlookforourmurdererintheIstanbul-Calaiscoach.”Heturnedtothedoctor.“Thatiswhatyouwerehinting,Ithink?”
TheGreeknodded.“Athalfanhouraftermidnightweranintothesnowdrift.Noonecanhave
leftthetrainsincethen.”M.Boucsaidsolemnly.
“Themurdereriswithus—onthetrainnow….”
Six
AWOMAN?
Firstofall,”saidPoirot,“IshouldlikeawordortwowithyoungM.MacQueen.Hemaybeabletogiveusvaluableinformation.”
“Certainly,”saidM.Bouc.Heturnedtothechefdetrain.“GetM.MacQueentocomehere.”Thechefdetrainleftthecarriage.Theconductorreturnedwithabundleofpassportsandtickets.M.Bouctook
themfromhim.“Thankyou,Michel.Itwouldbebestnow,Ithink,ifyouweretogobackto
yourpost.Wewilltakeyourevidenceformallylater.”“Verygood,Monsieur.”Michelinhisturnleftthecarriage.“AfterwehaveseenyoungMacQueen,”saidPoirot,“perhapsM.ledocteur
willcomewithmetothedeadman’scarriage.”“Certainly.”“Afterwehavefinishedthere—”ButatthismomentthechefdetrainreturnedwithHectorMacQueen.M.Boucrose.“Wearealittlecrampedhere,”hesaidpleasantly.“Takemyseat,M.
MacQueen.M.Poirotwillsitoppositeyou—so.”Heturnedtothechefdetrain.“Clearallthepeopleoutoftherestaurantcar,”hesaid,“andletitbeleftfree
forM.Poirot.Youwillconductyourinterviewsthere,moncher?”“Itwouldbethemostconvenient,yes,”agreedPoirot.MacQueenhadstoodlookingfromonetotheother,notquitefollowingthe
rapidflowofFrench.“Qu’estcequ’ilya?”hebeganlaboriously.“Pourquoi—?”WithavigorousgesturePoirotmotionedhimtotheseatinthecorner.He
tookitandbeganoncemore.“Pourquoi—?”then,checkinghimselfandrelapsingintohisowntongue,
“What’suponthetrain?Hasanythinghappened?”Helookedfromonemantoanother.Poirotnodded.“Exactly.Somethinghashappened.Prepareyourselfforashock.Your
employer,M.Ratchett,isdead!”MacQueen’smouthpurseditselfinawhistle.Exceptthathiseyesgrewa
shadebrighter,heshowednosignsofshockordistress.“Sotheygothimafterall,”hesaid.“Whatexactlydoyoumeanbythatphrase,M.MacQueen?”MacQueen
hesitated.“Youareassuming,”saidPoirot,“thatM.Ratchettwasmurdered?”“Wasn’the?”ThistimeMacQueendidshowsurprise.“Why,yes,”hesaid
slowly.“That’sjustwhatIdidthink.Doyoumeanhejustdiedinhissleep?Why,theoldmanwasastoughas—astough—”
Hestopped,atalossforasimile.“No,no,”saidPoirot.“Yourassumptionwasquiteright.Mr.Ratchettwas
murdered.Stabbed.ButIshouldliketoknowwhyyouweresosureitwasmurder,andnotjust—death.”
MacQueenhesitated.“Imustgetthisclear,”hesaid.“Whoexactlyareyou?Andwheredoyou
comein?”“IrepresenttheCompagnieInternationaledesWagonsLits.”Hepaused,
thenadded,“Iamadetective.MynameisHerculePoirot.”Ifheexpectedaneffecthedidnotgetone.MacQueensaidmerely,“Oh,
yes?”andwaitedforhimtogoon.“Youknowthename,perhaps.”“Why,itdoesseemkindoffamiliar—onlyIalwaysthoughtitwasa
woman’sdressmaker.”HerculePoirotlookedathimwithdistaste.“Itisincredible!”hesaid.“What’sincredible?”“Nothing.Letusadvancewiththematterinhand.Iwantyoutotellme,M.
MacQueen,allthatyouknowaboutthedeadman.Youwerenotrelatedtohim?”“No.Iam—was—hissecretary.”“Forhowlonghaveyouheldthatpost?”“Justoverayear.”“Pleasegivemealltheinformationyoucan.”“Well,ImetMr.RatchettjustoverayearagowhenIwasinPersia—”Poirotinterrupted.
“Whatwereyoudoingthere?”“IhadcomeoverfromNewYorktolookintoanoilconcession.Idon’t
supposeyouwanttohearallaboutthat.MyfriendsandIhadbeenletinratherbadlyoverit.Mr.Ratchettwasinthesamehotel.Hehadjusthadarowwithhissecretary.HeofferedmethejobandItookit.Iwasatalooseend,andgladtofindawell-paidjobreadymade,asitwere.”
“Andsincethen?”“We’vetravelledabout.Mr.Ratchettwantedtoseetheworld.Hewas
hamperedbyknowingnolanguages.Iactedmoreasacourierthanasasecretary.Itwasapleasantlife.”
“Nowtellmeasmuchasyoucanaboutyouremployer.”Theyoungmanshruggedhisshoulders.Aperplexedexpressionpassedover
hisface.“That’snotsoeasy.”“Whatwashisfullname?”“SamuelEdwardRatchett.”“HewasanAmericancitizen?”“Yes.”“WhatpartofAmericadidhecomefrom?”“Idon’tknow.”“Well,tellmewhatyoudoknow.”“Theactualtruthis,Mr.Poirot,thatIknownothingatall!Mr.Ratchett
neverspokeofhimself,orofhislifeinAmerica.”“Whydoyouthinkthatwas?”“Idon’tknow.Iimaginedthathemighthavebeenashamedofhis
beginnings.Somemenare.”“Doesthatstrikeyouasasatisfactorysolution?”“Frankly,itdoesn’t.”“Hasheanyrelations?”“Henevermentionedany.”Poirotpressedthepoint.“Youmusthaveformedsometheory,M.MacQueen.”“Well,yes,Idid.Foronething,Idon’tbelieveRatchettwashisrealname.I
thinkheleftAmericadefinitelyinordertoescapesomeoneorsomething.Ithinkhewassuccessful—untilafewweeksago.”
“Andthen?”“Hebegantogetletters—threateningletters.”“Didyouseethem?”“Yes.Itwasmybusinesstoattendtohiscorrespondence.Thefirstletter
cameafortnightago.”“Weretheselettersdestroyed?”“No,IthinkI’vegotacouplestillinmyfiles—oneIknowRatchetttoreup
inarage.ShallIgetthemforyou?”“Ifyouwouldbesogood.”MacQueenleftthecompartment.Hereturnedafewminuteslaterandlaid
downtwosheetsofratherdirtynotepaperbeforePoirot.Thefirstletterranasfollows:
“Thoughtyou’ddoublecrossusandgetawaywithit,didyou?Notonyourlife.We’reouttoGETyou,Ratchett,andweWILLgetyou!”
Therewasnosignature.Withnocommentbeyondraisedeyebrows,Poirotpickedupthesecond
letter.
“We’regoingtotakeyouforaride,Ratchett.Sometimesoon.We’regoingtoGETyou,see?”
Poirotlaidtheletterdown.“Thestyleismonotonous!”hesaid.“Moresothanthehandwriting.”MacQueenstaredathim.“Youwouldnotobserve,”saidPoirotpleasantly.“Itrequirestheeyeofone
usedtosuchthings.Thisletterwasnotwrittenbyoneperson,M.MacQueen.Twoormorepersonswroteit—eachwritingaletterofawordatatime.Also,thelettersareprinted.Thatmakesthetaskofidentifyingthehandwritingmuchmoredifficult.”
Hepaused,thensaid:“DidyouknowthatM.Ratchetthadappliedforhelptome?”“Toyou?”MacQueen’sastonishedtonetoldPoirotquitecertainlythattheyoungman
hadnotknownofit.Henodded.“Yes.Hewasalarmed.Tellme,howdidheactwhenhereceivedthefirst
letter?”MacQueenhesitated.“It’sdifficulttosay.He—he—passeditoffwithalaughinthatquietwayof
his.Butsomehow”—hegaveaslightshiver—“Ifeltthattherewasagooddeal
goingonunderneaththequietness.”Poirotnodded.Thenheaskedanunexpectedquestion.“Mr.MacQueen,willyoutellme,quitehonestly,exactlyhowyouregarded
youremployer?Didyoulikehim?”HectorMacQueentookamomentortwobeforereplying.“No,”hesaidatlast.“Ididnot.”“Why?”“Ican’texactlysay.Hewasalwaysquitepleasantinhismanner.”He
paused,thensaid,“I’lltellyouthetruth,Mr.Poirot.Idislikedanddistrustedhim.Hewas,Iamsure,acruelandadangerousman.Imustadmit,though,thatIhavenoreasonstoadvanceformyopinion.”
“Thankyou,M.MacQueen.Onefurtherquestion—whendidyoulastseeM.Ratchettalive?”
“Lasteveningabout”—hethoughtforaminute—“teno’clock,Ishouldsay.Iwentintohiscompartmenttotakedownsomememorandafromhim.”
“Onwhatsubject?”“SometilesandantiquepotterythatheboughtinPersia.Whatwasdelivered
wasnotwhathehadpurchased.Therehasbeenalong,vexatiouscorrespondenceonthesubject.”
“AndthatwasthelasttimeM.Ratchettwasseenalive?”“Yes,Isupposeso.”“DoyouknowwhenM.Ratchettreceivedthelastthreateningletter?”“OnthemorningofthedayweleftConstantinople.”“ThereisonemorequestionImustaskyou,M.MacQueen:wereyouon
goodtermswithyouremployer?”Theyoungman’seyestwinkledsuddenly.“ThisiswhereI’msupposedtogoallgoosefleshydowntheback.Inthe
wordsofabestseller,‘You’venothingonme.’RatchettandIwereonperfectlygoodterms.”
“Perhaps,M.MacQueen,youwillgivemeyourfullnameandyouraddressinAmerica.”
MacQueengavehisname—HectorWillardMacQueen,andanaddressinNewYork.
Poirotleanedbackagainstthecushions.“Thatisallforthepresent,M.MacQueen,”hesaid.“Ishouldbeobligedif
youwouldkeepthematterofM.Ratchett’sdeathtoyourselfforalittletime.”“Hisvalet,Masterman,willhavetoknow.”“Heprobablyknowsalready,”saidPoirotdryly.“Ifsotrytogethimtohold
histongue.”
“Thatoughtn’ttobedifficult.He’saBritisher,anddoeswhathecalls‘Keepshimselftohimself.’He’salowopinionofAmericansandnoopinionatallofanyothernationality.”
“Thankyou,M.MacQueen.”TheAmericanleftthecarriage.“Well?”demandedM.Bouc.“Youbelievewhathesays,thisyoungman?”“Heseemshonestandstraightforward.Hedidnotpretendtoanyaffection
forhisemployerasheprobablywouldhavedonehadhebeeninvolvedinanyway.ItistrueM.Ratchettdidnottellhimthathehadtriedtoenlistmyservicesandfailed,butIdonotthinkthatisreallyasuspiciouscircumstance.IfancyM.Ratchettwasagentlemanwhokepthisowncounseloneverypossibleoccasion.”
“Soyoupronounceonepersonatleastinnocentofthecrime,”saidM.Boucjovially.
Poirotcastonhimalookofreproach.“Me,Isuspecteverybodytillthelastminute,”hesaid.“Allthesame,Imust
admitthatIcannotseethissober,long-headedMacQueenlosinghisheadandstabbinghisvictimtwelveorfourteentimes.Itisnotinaccordwithhispsychology—notatall.”
“No,”saidMr.Boucthoughtfully.“Thatistheactofamandrivenalmostcrazywithafrenziedhate—itsuggestsmoretheLatintemperament.Orelseitsuggests,asourfriendthechefdetraininsisted,awoman.”
Seven
THEBODY
FollowedbyDr.Constantine,Poirotmadehiswaytothenextcoachandthecompartmentoccupiedbythemurderedman.Theconductorcameandunlockedthedoorforthemwithhiskey.
Thetwomenpassedinside.Poirotturnedinquiringlytohiscompanion.“Howmuchhasbeendisarrangedinthiscompartment?”“Nothinghasbeentouched.Iwascarefulnottomovethebodyinmaking
myexamination.”Poirotnodded.Helookedroundhim.Thefirstthingthatstruckthesenseswastheintensecold.Thewindowwas
pusheddownasfarasitwouldgoandtheblindwasdrawnup.“Brrr,”observedPoirot.Theothersmiledappreciatively.“Ididnotliketocloseit,”hesaid.Poirotexaminedthewindowcarefully.“Youareright,”heannounced.“Nobodyleftthecarriagethisway.Possibly
theopenwindowwasintendedtosuggestthefact,but,ifso,thesnowhasdefeatedthemurderer’sobject.”
Heexaminedtheframeofthewindowcarefully.Takingasmallcasefromhispocketheblewalittlepowderoverit.
“Nofingerprintsatall,”hesaid.“Thatmeansithasbeenwiped.Well,iftherehadbeenfingerprintsitwouldhavetoldusverylittle.TheywouldhavebeenthoseofM.Ratchettorhisvaletortheconductor.Criminalsdonotmakemistakesofthatkindnowadays.
“Andthatbeingso,”headdedcheerfully,“wemightaswellshutthewindow.Positivelyitisthecoldstorageinhere!”
Hesuitedtheactiontothewordandthenturnedhisattentionforthefirsttimetothemotionlessfigurelyinginthebunk.
Ratchettlayonhisback.Hispyjamajacket,stainedwithrustypatches,hadbeenunbuttonedandthrownback.
“Ihadtoseethenatureofthewounds,yousee,”explainedthedoctor.
Poirotnodded.Hebentoverthebody.Finallyhestraightenedhimselfwithaslightgrimace.
“Itisnotpretty,”hesaid.“Someonemusthavestoodthereandstabbedhimagainandagain.Howmanywoundsarethereexactly?”
“Imakeittwelve.Oneortwoaresoslightastobepracticallyscratches.Ontheotherhand,atleastthreewouldbecapableofcausingdeath.”
Somethinginthedoctor’stonecaughtPoirot’sattention.Helookedathimsharply.ThelittleGreekwasstandingstaringdownatthebodywithapuzzledfrown.
“Somethingstrikesyouasodd,doesitnot?”heaskedgently.“Speak,myfriend.Thereissomethingherethatpuzzlesyou?”
“Youareright,”acknowledgedtheother.“Whatisit?”“Yousee,thesetwowounds—hereandhere,”—hepointed.“Theyaredeep,
eachcutmusthaveseveredbloodvessels—andyet—theedgesdonotgape.Theyhavenotbledasonewouldhaveexpected.”
“Whichsuggests?”“Thatthemanwasalreadydead—somelittletimedead—whentheywere
delivered.Butthatissurelyabsurd.”“Itwouldseemso,”saidPoirotthoughtfully.“Unlessourmurdererfigured
tohimselfthathehadnotaccomplishedhisjobproperlyandcamebacktomakequitesure;butthatismanifestlyabsurd!Anythingelse?”
“Well,justonething.”“Andthat?”“Youseethiswoundhere—undertherightarm—neartherightshoulder.
Takethispencilofmine.Couldyoudeliversuchablow?”Poirotraisedhishand.“Précisément,”hesaid.“Isee.Withtherighthanditisexceedinglydifficult
—almostimpossible.Onewouldhavetostrikebackhanded,asitwere.Butiftheblowwerestruckwiththelefthand—”
“Exactly,M.Poirot.Thatblowwasalmostcertainlystruckwiththelefthand.”
“Sothatourmurdererisleft-handed?No,itismoredifficultthanthat,isitnot?”
“Asyousay,M.Poirot.Someoftheseotherblowsarejustasobviouslyright-handed.”
“Twopeople.Wearebackattwopeopleagain,”murmuredthedetective.Heaskedabruptly:
“Wastheelectriclighton?”
“Itisdifficulttosay.Youseeitisturnedoffbytheconductoreverymorningaboutteno’clock.”
“Theswitcheswilltellus,”saidPoirot.Heexaminedtheswitchofthetoplightandalsotherollbackbed-headlight.
Theformerwasturnedoff.Thelatterwasclosed.“Ehbien,”hesaidthoughtfully.“WehavehereahypothesisoftheFirstand
SecondMurderer,asthegreatShakespearewouldputit.TheFirstMurdererstabbedhisvictimandleftthecompartment,turningoffthelight.TheSecondMurderercameininthedark,didnotseethathisorherworkhadbeendoneandstabbedatleasttwiceatadeadbody.Quepensezvousdeça?”
“Magnificent,”saidthelittledoctorwithenthusiasm.Theother’seyestwinkled.“Youthinkso?Iamglad.Itsoundedtomealittlelikethenonsense.”“Whatotherexplanationcantherebe?”“ThatisjustwhatIamaskingmyself.Havewehereacoincidenceorwhat?
Arethereanyotherinconsistencies,suchaswouldpointtotwopeoplebeingconcerned?”
“IthinkIcansayyes.Someoftheseblows,asIhavealreadysaid,pointtoaweakness—alackofstrengthoralackofdetermination.Theyarefeebleglancingblows.Butthisonehere—andthisone—”Againhepointed.“Greatstrengthwasneededforthoseblows.Theyhavepenetratedthemuscle.”
“Theywere,inyouropinion,deliveredbyaman?”“Mostcertainly.”“Theycouldnothavebeendeliveredbyawoman?”“Ayoung,vigorous,athleticwomanmighthavestruckthem,especiallyif
shewereinthegripofastrongemotion,butitisinmyopinionhighlyunlikely.”Poirotwassilentamomentortwo.Theothersaidanxiously.“Youunderstandmypoint?”“Perfectly,”saidPoirot.“Thematterbeginstoclearitselfupwonderfully!
Themurdererwasamanofgreatstrength,hewasfeeble,itwasawoman,itwasaright-handedperson,itwasaleft-handedperson—Ah!c’estrigolo,toutça!”
Hespokewithsuddenanger.“Andthevictim—whatdoeshedoinallthis?Doeshecryout?Doeshe
struggle?Doeshedefendhimself?”Heslippedhishandunderthepillowanddrewouttheautomaticpistol
whichRatchetthadshownhimthedaybefore.“Fullyloaded,yousee,”hesaid.Theylookedroundthem.Ratchett’sdayclothingwashangingfromthe
hooksonthewall.Onthesmalltableformedbythelidofthewashingbasinwerevariousobjects—falseteethinaglassofwater;anotherglass,empty;abottleofmineralwater,alargeflaskandanashtraycontainingthebuttofacigarandsomecharredfragmentsofpaper;alsotwoburntmatches.
Thedoctorpickeduptheemptyglassandsniffedit.“Hereistheexplanationofthevictim’sinertia,”hesaidquietly.“Drugged?”“Yes.”Poirotnodded.Hepickedupthetwomatchesandscrutinizedthemcarefully.“Youhaveacluethen?”demandedthelittledoctoreagerly.“Thosetwomatchesareofadifferentshape,”saidPoirot.“Oneisflatter
thantheother.Yousee?”“Itisthekindyougetonatrain,”saidthedoctor,“inpapercovers.”PoirotwasfeelinginthepocketsofRatchett’sclothing.Presentlyhepulled
outaboxofmatches.Hecomparedthemcarefully.“TherounderoneisamatchstruckbyMr.Ratchett,”hesaid.“Letusseeif
hehadalsotheflatterkind.”Butafurthersearchshowednoothermatches.Poirot’seyesweredartingaboutthecompartment.Theywerebrightand
sharplikeabird’s.Onefeltthatnothingcouldescapetheirscrutiny.Withalittleexclamationhebentandpickedupsomethingfromthefloor.Itwasasmallsquareofcambric,verydainty.“Ourfriendthechefdetrain
wasright.Thereisawomanconcernedinthis.”“Andmostconvenientlysheleavesherhandkerchiefbehind!”saidPoirot.
“Exactlyasithappensinthebooksandonthefilms—andtomakethingseveneasierforusitismarkedwithaninitial.”
“Whatastrokeofluckforus!”exclaimedthedoctor.“Isitnot?”saidPoirot.Somethinginhistonesurprisedthedoctor.Butbeforehecouldaskforelucidation,Poirothadmadeanotherdiveonto
thefloor.Thistimeheheldoutonthepalmofhishand—apipecleaner.“ItisperhapsthepropertyofM.Ratchett?”suggestedthedoctor.“Therewasnopipeinanyofhispockets,andnotobaccoortobaccopouch.”“Thenitisaclue.”“Oh!decidedly.Andagaindroppedmostconveniently.Amasculinecluethis
time,younote!Onecannotcomplainofhavingnocluesinthiscase.Thereareclueshereinabundance.Bytheway,whathaveyoudonewiththeweapon?”
“Therewasnosignofanyweapon.Themurderermusthavetakenitaway
withhim.”“Iwonderwhy,”musedPoirot.“Ah!”Thedoctorhadbeendelicatelyexploringthepyjamapocketsofthe
deadman.“Ioverlookedthis,”hesaid.“Iunbuttonedthejacketandthrewitstraight
back.”Fromthebreastpockethebroughtoutagoldwatch.Thecasewasdented
savagely,andthehandspointedtoaquarterpastone.“Yousee?”criedConstantineeagerly.“Thisgivesusthehourofthecrime.It
agreeswithmycalculations.BetweenmidnightandtwointhemorningiswhatIsaid,andprobablyaboutoneo’clock,thoughitisdifficulttobeexactinthesematters.Ehbien,hereisconfirmation.Aquarterpastone.Thatwasthehourofthecrime.”
“Itispossible,yes.Itiscertainlypossible.”Thedoctorlookedathimcuriously.“Youwillpardonme,M.Poirot,butIdonotquiteunderstandyou.”“Idonotunderstandmyself,”saidPoirot.“Iunderstandnothingatall,and,
asyouperceive,itworriesme.”Hesighedandbentoverthelittletable,examiningthecharredfragmentof
paper.Hemurmuredtohimself.“WhatIneedatthismomentisanold-fashionedwoman’shatbox.”Dr.Constantinewasatalosstoknowwhattomakeofthissingularremark.
Inanycase,Poirotgavehimnotimeforquestions.Openingthedoorintothecorridor,hecalledfortheconductor.
Themanarrivedatarun.“Howmanywomenarethereinthiscoach?”Theconductorcountedonhisfingers.“One,two,three—six,Monsieur.TheoldAmericanlady,aSwedishlady,
theyoungEnglishlady,theCountessAndrenyiandMadamelaPrincessDragomiroffandhermaid.”
Poirotconsidered.“Theyallhavehatboxes,yes?”“Yes,Monsieur.”“Thenbringme—letmesee—yes,theSwedishlady’sandthatofthelady’s
maid.Thosetwoaretheonlyhope.Youwilltellthemitisacustomsregulation—something—anythingthatoccurstoyou.”
“ThatwillbeallrightMonsieur.Neitherladyisinhercompartmentatthemoment.”
“Thenbequick.”
Theconductordeparted.Hereturnedwiththetwohatboxes.Poirotopenedthatofthelady’smaidandtosseditaside.ThenheopenedtheSwedishlady’sandutteredanexclamationofsatisfaction.Removingthehatscarefully,hedisclosedroundhumpsofwirenetting.
“Ah,hereiswhatweneed.Aboutfifteenyearsagohatboxesweremadelikethis.Youskeweredthroughthehatwithahatpinontothishumpofwirenetting.”
Ashespokehewasskilfullyremovingtwooftheattachments.Thenherepackedthehatboxandtoldtheconductortoreturnthembothwheretheybelonged.
Whenthedoorwasshutoncemoreheturnedtohiscompanion.“Seeyou,mydeardoctor,me,Iamnotonetorelyupontheexpert
procedure.ItisthepsychologyIseek,notthefingerprintorthecigaretteash.ButinthiscaseIwouldwelcomealittlescientificassistance.Thiscompartmentisfullofclues,butcanIbesurethatthosecluesarereallywhattheyseemtobe?”
“Idonotquiteunderstandyou,M.Poirot.”“Well,togiveyouanexample—wefindawoman’shandkerchief.Dida
womandropit?Ordidaman,committingthecrime,saytohimself‘Iwillmakethislooklikeawoman’scrime.Iwillstabmyenemyanunnecessarynumberoftimes,makingsomeoftheblowsfeebleandineffective,andIwilldropthishandkerchiefwherenoonecanmissit.’Thatisonepossibility.Thenthereisanother.Didawomankillhimanddidshedeliberatelydropapipecleanertomakeitlooklikeaman’swork?Orareweseriouslytosupposethattwopeople—amanandawoman—wereseparatelyconcerned,andthateachwassocarelessastodropacluetotheiridentity?Itisalittletoomuchofacoincidence,that!”
“Butwheredoesthehatboxcomein?”askedthedoctor,stillpuzzled.“Ah!I’mcomingtothat.AsIsay,theseclues,thewatchstoppedataquarter
pastone,thehandkerchief,thepipecleaner,theymaybegenuine,ortheymaybefake.AstothatIcannotyettell.ButthereisoneclueherewhichIbelieve—thoughagainImaybewrong—hasnotbeenfaked.Imeanthisflatmatch,M.ledocteur.Ibelievethatthatmatchwasusedbythemurderer,notbyM.Ratchett.Itwasusedtoburnanincriminatingpaperofsomekind.Possiblyanote.Ifso,therewassomethinginthatnote,somemistake,someerror,thatleftapossiblecluetotheassailant.Iamgoingtoendeavourtoresurrectwhatthatsomethingwas.”
Hewentoutofthecompartmentandreturnedafewmomentslaterwithasmallspiritstoveandapairofcurlingtongs.
“Iusethemforthemoustaches,”hesaid,referringtothelatter.Thedoctorwatchedhimwithgreatinterest.Heflattenedoutthetwohumps
ofwire,andwithgreatcarewriggledthecharredscrapofpaperontooneofthem.Heclappedtheotherontopofitandthen,holdingbothpiecestogetherwiththetongs,heldthewholethingovertheflameofthespiritlamp.
“Itisaverymakeshiftaffair,this,”hesaidoverhisshoulder.“Letushopethatitwillansweritspurpose.”
Thedoctorwatchedtheproceedingsattentively.Themetalbegantoglow.Suddenlyhesawfaintindicationsofletters.Wordsformedthemselvesslowly—wordsoffire.
Itwasaverytinyscrap.Onlythreewordsandapartofanothershowed.
“—memberlittleDaisyArmstrong.”
“Ah!”Poirotgaveasharpexclamation.“Ittellsyousomething?”askedthedoctor.Poirot’seyeswereshining.Helaiddownthetongscarefully.“Yes,”hesaid.“Iknowthedeadman’srealname.Iknowwhyhehadto
leaveAmerica.”“Whatwashisname?”“Cassetti.”“Cassetti.”Constantineknittedhisbrows.“Itbringsbacktomesomething.
Someyearsago.Icannotremember…ItwasacaseinAmerica,wasitnot?”“Yes,”saidPoirot.“AcaseinAmerica.”FurtherthanthatPoirotwasnotdisposedtobecommunicative.Helooked
roundhimashewenton:“Wewillgointoallthatpresently.Letusfirstmakesurethatwehaveseen
allthereistobeseenhere.”Quicklyanddeftlyhewentoncemorethroughthepocketsofthedeadman’s
clothesbutfoundnothingthereofinterest.Hetriedthecommunicatingdoorwhichledthroughtothenextcompartment,butitwasboltedontheotherside.
“ThereisonethingthatIdonotunderstand,”saidDr.Constantine.“Ifthemurdererdidnotescapethroughthewindow,andifthiscommunicatingdoorwasboltedontheotherside,andifthedoorintothecorridorwasnotonlylockedontheinsidebutchained,howthendidthemurdererleavethecompartment?”
“Thatiswhattheaudiencesayswhenapersonboundhandandfootisshutintoacabinet—anddisappears.”
“Youmean—”“Imean,”explainedPoirot,“thatifthemurdererintendedustobelievethat
hehadescapedbywayofthewindowhewouldnaturallymakeitappearthattheothertwoexitswereimpossible.Likethe‘disappearingperson’inthecabinet—itisatrick.Itisourbusinesstofindouthowthetrickisdone.”
Helockedthecommunicatingdoorontheirside.“Incase,”hesaid,“theexcellentMrs.Hubbardshouldtakeitintoherhead
toacquirefirst-handdetailsofthecrimetowritetoherdaughter.”Helookedroundoncemore.“Thereisnothingmoretodohere,Ithink.LetusrejoinM.Bouc.”
Eight
THEARMSTRONGKIDNAPPINGCASE
TheyfoundM.Boucfinishinganomelet.“Ithoughtitbesttohavelunchservedimmediatelyintherestaurantcar,”he
said.“AfterwardsitwillbeclearedandM.Poirotcanconducthisexaminationofthepassengersthere.InthemeantimeIhaveorderedthemtobringusthreesomefoodhere.”
“Anexcellentidea,”saidPoirot.Neitheroftheothertwomenwashungry,andthemealwassooneaten,but
nottilltheyweresippingtheircoffeedidM.Boucmentionthesubjectthatwasoccupyingalltheirminds.
“Ehbien?”heasked.“Ehbien,Ihavediscoveredtheidentityofthevictim.Iknowwhyitwas
imperativeheshouldleaveAmerica.”“Whowashe?”“DoyourememberreadingoftheArmstrongbaby?Thisisthemanwho
murderedlittleDaisyArmstrong—Cassetti.”“Irecallitnow.Ashockingaffair—thoughIcannotrememberthedetails.”“ColonelArmstrongwasanEnglishman—aV.C.HewashalfAmerican,as
hismotherwasadaughterofW.K.VanderHalt,theWallStreetmillionaire.HemarriedthedaughterofLindaArden,themostfamoustragicAmericanactressofherday.TheylivedinAmericaandhadonechild—agirl—whomtheyidolized.Whenshewasthreeyearsoldshewaskidnapped,andanimpossiblyhighsumdemandedasthepriceofherreturn.Iwillnotwearyyouwithalltheintricaciesthatfollowed.Iwillcometothemoment,when,afterhavingpaidovertheenormoussumoftwohundredthousanddollars,thechild’sdeadbodywasdiscovered,ithavingbeendeadatleastafortnight.Publicindignationrosetofeverpoint.Andtherewasworsetofollow.Mrs.Armstrongwasexpectinganotherchild.Followingtheshockofthediscovery,shegavebirthtoadeadchildbornprematurely,andherselfdied.Herbroken-heartedhusbandshothimself.”
“MonDieu,whatatragedy.Iremembernow,”saidM.Bouc.“Therewas
alsoanotherdeath,ifIrememberrightly?”“Yes—anunfortunateFrenchorSwissnursemaid.Thepolicewere
convincedthatshehadsomeknowledgeofthecrime.Theyrefusedtobelieveherhystericaldenials.Finally,inafitofdespair,thepoorgirlthrewherselffromawindowandwaskilled.Itwasprovedafterwardsthatshewasabsolutelyinnocentofanycomplicityinthecrime.”
“Itisnotgoodtothinkof,”saidM.Bouc.“Aboutsixmonthslater,thismanCassettiwasarrestedastheheadofthe
gangwhohadkidnappedthechild.Theyhadusedthesamemethodsinthepast.Ifthepoliceseemedlikelytogetontheirtrail,theyhadkilledtheirprisoner,hiddenthebody,andcontinuedtoextractasmuchmoneyaspossiblebeforethecrimewasdiscovered.
“Now,Iwillmakecleartoyouthis,myfriend.Cassettiwastheman!Butbymeansoftheenormouswealthhehadpiledupandbythesecretholdhehadovervariouspersons,hewasacquittedonsometechnicalinaccuracy.Notwithstandingthat,hewouldhavebeenlynchedbythepopulacehadhenotbeencleverenoughtogivethemtheslip.Itisnowcleartomewhathappened.HechangedhisnameandleftAmerica.Sincethenhehasbeenagentlemanofleisure,travellingabroadandlivingonhisrentes.”
“Ah!quelanimal!”M.Bouc’stonewasredolentofheartfeltdisgust.“Icannotregretthatheisdead—notatall!”
“Iagreewithyou.”“Toutdemême,itisnotnecessarythatheshouldbekilledontheOrient
Express.Thereareotherplaces.”Poirotsmiledalittle.HerealizedthatM.Boucwasbiasedinthematter.“Thequestionwehavenowtoaskourselvesisthis,”hesaid.“Isthismurder
theworkofsomerivalgangwhomCassettihaddouble-crossedinthepast,orisitanactofprivatevengeance?”
Heexplainedhisdiscoveryofthefewwordsonthecharredfragmentofpaper.
“IfIamrightinmyassumption,thentheletterwasburntbythemurderer.Why?Becauseitmentionedtheword‘Armstrong,’whichisthecluetothemystery.”
“ArethereanymembersoftheArmstrongfamilyliving?”“That,unfortunately,Idonotknow.IthinkIrememberreadingofayounger
sisterofMrs.Armstrong’s.”PoirotwentontorelatethejointconclusionsofhimselfandDr.Constantine.
M.Boucbrightenedatthementionofthebrokenwatch.“Thatseemstogiveusthetimeofthecrimeveryexactly.”
“Yes,”saidPoirot.“Itisveryconvenient.”Therewasanindescribablesomethinginhistonethatmadeboththeother
twolookathimcuriously.“YousaythatyouyourselfheardRatchettspeaktotheconductorattwenty
minutestoone?”Poirotrelatedjustwhathadoccurred.“Well,”saidM.Bouc,“thatprovesatleastthatCassetti—orRatchett,asI
shallcontinuetocallhim—wascertainlyaliveattwentyminutestoone.”“Twenty-threeminutestoone,tobeprecise.”“Thenattwelvethirty-seven,toputitformally,M.Ratchettwasalive.That
isonefact,atleast.”Poirotdidnotreply.Hesatlookingthoughtfullyinfrontofhim.Therewasataponthedoor,andtherestaurantattendantentered.“Therestaurantcarisfreenow,Monsieur,”hesaid.“Wewillgothere,”saidM.Bouc,rising.“Imayaccompanyyou?”askedConstantine.“Certainly,mydeardoctor.UnlessM.Poirothasanyobjection?”“Notatall.Notatall,”saidPoirot.Afteralittlepolitenessinthematterofprocedure,“Aprèsvous,Monsieur.”
“Maisnon,aprèsvous,”theyleftthecompartment.
PARTTWO
THEEVIDENCE
One
THEEVIDENCEOFTHEWAGONLITCONDUCTOR
Intherestaurantcarallwasinreadiness.PoirotandM.Boucsattogetherononesideofatable.Thedoctorsatacross
theaisle.OnthetableinfrontofPoirotwasaplanoftheIstanbul-Calaiscoachwith
thenamesofthepassengersmarkedininredink.Thepassportsandticketswereinapileatoneside.Therewaswritingpaper,
ink,penandpencils.“Excellent,”saidPoirot.“WecanopenourCourtofInquirywithoutmore
ado.First,Ithink,weshouldtaketheevidenceoftheWagonLitconductor.Youprobablyknowsomethingabouttheman.Whatcharacterhashe?Isheamaninwhosewordyouwouldplacereliance?”
“Ishouldsaysomostassuredly.PierreMichelhasbeenemployedbythecompanyforoverfifteenyears.HeisaFrenchman—livesnearCalais.Thoroughlyrespectableandhonest.Not,perhaps,remarkableforbrains.”
Poirotnoddedcomprehendingly.“Good,”hesaid.“Letusseehim.”PierreMichelhadrecoveredsomeofhisassurance,buthewasstill
extremelynervous.“IhopeMonsieurwillnotthinkthattherehasbeenanynegligenceonmy
part,”hesaidanxiously,hiseyesgoingfromPoirottoM.Bouc.“Itisaterriblethingthathashappened.IhopeMonsieurdoesnotthinkthatitreflectsonmeinanyway?”
Havingsoothedtheman’sfears,Poirotbeganhisquestions.HefirstelicitedMichel’snameandaddress,hislengthofservice,andthelengthoftimehehadbeenonthisparticularroute.Theseparticularshealreadyknew,buttheroutinequestionsservedtoputthemanathisease.
“Andnow,”wentonPoirot,“letuscometotheeventsoflastnight.M.Ratchettretiredtobed—when?”
“Almostimmediatelyafterdinner,Monsieur.ActuallybeforeweleftBelgrade.Sohedidonthepreviousnight.Hehaddirectedmetomakeupthe
bedwhilehewasatdinner,andIdidso.”“Didanybodygointohiscompartmentafterwards?”“Hisvalet,Monsieur,andtheyoungAmericangentlemanhissecretary.”“Anyoneelse?”“No,Monsieur,notthatIknowof.”“Good.Andthatisthelastyousaworheardofhim?”“No,Monsieur.Youforget,heranghisbellabouttwentytoone—soonafter
wehadstopped.”“Whathappenedexactly?”
“Iknockedatthedoor,buthecalledoutandsaidhehadmadeamistake.”“InEnglishorinFrench?”“InFrench.”“Whatwerehiswordsexactly?”“Cen’estrien.Jemesuistrompé.”“Quiteright,”saidPoirot.“ThatiswhatIheard.Andthenyouwentaway?”“Yes,Monsieur.”“Didyougobacktoyourseat?”“No,Monsieur,Iwentfirsttoansweranotherbellthathadjustrung.”“Now,Michel,Iamgoingtoaskyouanimportantquestion.Wherewere
youataquarterpastone?”“I,Monsieur?Iwasatmylittleseatattheend—facingupthecorridor.”“Youaresure?”“Maisoui—atleast—”“Yes?”“Iwentintothenextcoach,theAthenscoach,tospeaktomycolleague
there.Wespokeaboutthesnow.Thatwasatsometimesoonafteroneo’clock.Icannotsayexactly.”
“Andyoureturned—when?”“Oneofmybellsrang,Monsieur—Iremember—Itoldyou.Itwasthe
Americanlady.Shehadrungseveraltimes.”“Irecollect,”saidPoirot.“Andafterthat?”“Afterthat,Monsieur?Iansweredyourbellandbroughtyousomemineral
water.Then,abouthalfanhourlater,Imadeupthebedinoneoftheothercompartments—thatoftheyoungAmericangentleman,M.Ratchett’ssecretary.”
“WasM.MacQueenaloneinhiscompartmentwhenyouwenttomakeuphisbed?”
“TheEnglishColonelfromNo.15waswithhim.Theyhadbeensittingtalking.”
“WhatdidtheColoneldowhenheleftM.MacQueen?”“Hewentbacktohisowncompartment.”“No.15—thatisquiteclosetoyourseat,isitnot?”“Yes,Monsieur,itisthesecondcompartmentfromthatendofthecorridor.”“Hisbedwasalreadymadeup?”“Yes,Monsieur.Ihadmadeitupwhilehewasatdinner.”“Whattimewasallthis?”“Icouldnotsayexactly,Monsieur.Notlaterthantwoo’clock,certainly.”“Andafterthat?”
“Afterthat,Monsieur,Isatinmyseattillmorning.”“YoudidnotgoagainintotheAthenscoach?”“No,Monsieur.”“Perhapsyouslept?”“Idonotthinkso,Monsieur.Thetrainbeingatastandstillpreventedme
fromdozingoffasIusuallydo.”“Didyouseeanyofthepassengersmovingupordownthecorridor?”Themanreflected.“Oneoftheladieswenttothetoiletatthefarend,Ithink.”“Whichlady?”“Idonotknow,Monsieur.Itwasfardownthecorridor,andshehadherback
tome.Shehadonakimonoofscarletwithdragonsonit.”Poirotnodded.“Andafterthat?”“Nothing,Monsieur,untilthemorning.”“Youaresure?”“Ah,pardon,youyourself,Monsieur,openedyourdoorandlookedoutfora
second.”“Good,myfriend,”saidPoirot.“Iwonderedwhetheryouwouldremember
that.Bytheway,Iwasawakenedbywhatsoundedlikesomethingheavyfallingagainstmydoor.Haveyouanyideawhatthatcouldhavebeen?”
Themanstaredathim.“Therewasnothing,Monsieur.Nothing,Iampositiveofit.”“ThenImusthavehadthecauchemar,”saidPoirotphilosophically.“Unless,”saidM.Bouc,“itwassomethinginthecompartmentnextdoor
thatyouheard.”Poirottooknonoticeofthesuggestion.Perhapshedidnotwishtobeforethe
WagonLitconductor.“Letuspasstoanotherpoint,”hesaid.“Supposingthatlastnightanassassin
joinedthetrain.Itisquitecertainthathecouldnothaveleftitaftercommittingthecrime?”
PierreMichaelshookhishead.“Northathecanbeconcealedonitsomewhere?”“Ithasbeenwellsearched,”saidM.Bouc.“Abandonthatidea,myfriend.”“Besides,”saidMichel,“noonecouldgetontothesleepingcarwithoutmy
seeingthem.”“Whenwasthelaststop?”“Vincovci.”“Whattimewasthat?”
“Weshouldhaveleftthereat11:58.Butowingtotheweatherweweretwentyminuteslate.”
“Someonemighthavecomealongfromtheordinarypartofthetrain?”“No,Monsieur.Aftertheserviceofdinnerthedoorbetweentheordinary
carriagesandthesleepingcarsi