rien. Je me suis trompé.”
about 1.17 Mrs. Hubbard thinks man is in her carriage. Rings for conductor.
M. Bouc nodded approval.
“That is very clear,” he said.
“There is nothing there that strikes you as at all odd?”
“No, it seems all quite clear and aboveboard. It seems quite plain that the crime was committed at 1.15. The evidence of the watch shows us that, and Mrs. Hubbard’s story fits in. For my mind, I will make a guess at the identity of the murderer. I say, my friend, that it is the big Italian. He comes fromAmerica -fromChicago -and remember an Italian’s weapon is the knife, and he stabs not once but several times.”
“That is true.”
“Without a doubt, that is the solution of the mystery. Doubtless he and this Ratchett were in this kidnapping business together. Cassetti is an Italian name. In some way Ratchett did on him what they call the double-cross. The Italian tracks him down, sends him warning letters first, and finally revenges himself upon him in a brutal way. It is all quite simple.”
Poirot shook his head doubtfully.
“It is hardly so simple as that, I fear,” he murmured.
“Me, I am convinced it is the truth,” said M. Bouc, becoming more and more enamoured of his theory.
“And what about the valet with the toothache who swears that the Italian never left the compartment?”
“That is the difficulty.”
Poirot twinkled.
“Yes, it is annoying, that. Unlucky for your theory, and extremely lucky for our Italian friend that M. Ratchett’s valet should have had the toothache.”
“It will be explained,” said M. Bouc with magnificent certainty.
Poirot shook his head again.
“No, it is hardly so simple as that,” he murmured again.
Murder on the Orient Express
6
THE EVIDENCE OF THE RUSSIAN PRINCESS
“Let us hear what Pierre Michel has to say about this button,” he said.
The Wagon Lit conductor was recalled. He looked at them inquiringly.
M. Bouc cleared his throat.
“Michel,” he said, “here is a button from your tunic. It was found in the American lady’s compartment. What have you to say for yourself about it?”
The conductor’s hand went automatically to his tunic. “I have lost no button, Monsieur,” he said. “There must be some mistake.”
“That is very odd.”
“I cannot account for it, Monsieur.” The man seemed astonished, but not in any way guilty or confused.
M. Bouc said meaningly: “Owing to the circumstances in which it was found, it seems fairly certain that this button was dropped by the man who was in Mrs. Hubbard’s compartment last night when she rang the bell.”
“But, Monsieur, there was no one there. The lady must have imagined it.”
“She did not imagine it, Michel. The assassin of M. Ratchett passed that way-and dropped that button.”
As the significance of M. Bouc’s words became plain to him, Pierre Michel flew into a violent state of agitation.
“It is not true, Monsieur; it is not true!” he cried. “You are accusing me of the crime. Me, I am innocent. I am absolutely innocent! Why should I want to kill a Monsieur whom I have never seen before?”
“Where were you when Mrs. Hubbard’s bell rang?”
“I told you, Monsieur, in the next coach talking to my colleague.”
“We will send for him.”
“Do so, Monsieur, I implore you, do so.”
The conductor of the next coach was summoned. He immediately confirmed Pierre Michel’s statement. He added that the conductor from the Bucharest coach had also been there. The three of them had been discussing the situation caused by the snow. They had been talking some ten minutes when Michel fancied he heard a bell. As he opened the doors connecting the two coaches, they had all heard it plainly-a bell ringing repeatedly. Michel had run post-haste to answer it.
“So you see, Monsieur, I am not guilty,” cried Michel anxiously.
“And this button from a Wagon Lit tunic, how do you explain it?”
“I cannot, Monsieur. It is a mystery to me. All
about 1.17 Mrs. Hubbard thinks man is in her carriage. Rings for conductor.
M. Bouc nodded approval.
“That is very clear,” he said.
“There is nothing there that strikes you as at all odd?”
“No, it seems all quite clear and aboveboard. It seems quite plain that the crime was committed at 1.15. The evidence of the watch shows us that, and Mrs. Hubbard’s story fits in. For my mind, I will make a guess at the identity of the murderer. I say, my friend, that it is the big Italian. He comes fromAmerica -fromChicago -and remember an Italian’s weapon is the knife, and he stabs not once but several times.”
“That is true.”
“Without a doubt, that is the solution of the mystery. Doubtless he and this Ratchett were in this kidnapping business together. Cassetti is an Italian name. In some way Ratchett did on him what they call the double-cross. The Italian tracks him down, sends him warning letters first, and finally revenges himself upon him in a brutal way. It is all quite simple.”
Poirot shook his head doubtfully.
“It is hardly so simple as that, I fear,” he murmured.
“Me, I am convinced it is the truth,” said M. Bouc, becoming more and more enamoured of his theory.
“And what about the valet with the toothache who swears that the Italian never left the compartment?”
“That is the difficulty.”
Poirot twinkled.
“Yes, it is annoying, that. Unlucky for your theory, and extremely lucky for our Italian friend that M. Ratchett’s valet should have had the toothache.”
“It will be explained,” said M. Bouc with magnificent certainty.
Poirot shook his head again.
“No, it is hardly so simple as that,” he murmured again.
Murder on the Orient Express
6
THE EVIDENCE OF THE RUSSIAN PRINCESS
“Let us hear what Pierre Michel has to say about this button,” he said.
The Wagon Lit conductor was recalled. He looked at them inquiringly.
M. Bouc cleared his throat.
“Michel,” he said, “here is a button from your tunic. It was found in the American lady’s compartment. What have you to say for yourself about it?”
The conductor’s hand went automatically to his tunic. “I have lost no button, Monsieur,” he said. “There must be some mistake.”
“That is very odd.”
“I cannot account for it, Monsieur.” The man seemed astonished, but not in any way guilty or confused.
M. Bouc said meaningly: “Owing to the circumstances in which it was found, it seems fairly certain that this button was dropped by the man who was in Mrs. Hubbard’s compartment last night when she rang the bell.”
“But, Monsieur, there was no one there. The lady must have imagined it.”
“She did not imagine it, Michel. The assassin of M. Ratchett passed that way-and dropped that button.”
As the significance of M. Bouc’s words became plain to him, Pierre Michel flew into a violent state of agitation.
“It is not true, Monsieur; it is not true!” he cried. “You are accusing me of the crime. Me, I am innocent. I am absolutely innocent! Why should I want to kill a Monsieur whom I have never seen before?”
“Where were you when Mrs. Hubbard’s bell rang?”
“I told you, Monsieur, in the next coach talking to my colleague.”
“We will send for him.”
“Do so, Monsieur, I implore you, do so.”
The conductor of the next coach was summoned. He immediately confirmed Pierre Michel’s statement. He added that the conductor from the Bucharest coach had also been there. The three of them had been discussing the situation caused by the snow. They had been talking some ten minutes when Michel fancied he heard a bell. As he opened the doors connecting the two coaches, they had all heard it plainly-a bell ringing repeatedly. Michel had run post-haste to answer it.
“So you see, Monsieur, I am not guilty,” cried Michel anxiously.
“And this button from a Wagon Lit tunic, how do you explain it?”
“I cannot, Monsieur. It is a mystery to me. All
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