Murder on the Orient Express

“That’s quite easy. I went back to my compartment, read a bit, got out on the platform at Belgrade, decided it was too cold, and got in again. I talked for a while to a young English lady who is in the compartment next to mine. Then I fell into conversation with that Englishman, Colonel Arbuthnot – as a matter of fact I think you passed us as we were talking. Then I went in to Mr. Ratchett and, as I told you, took down some memoranda of letters he wanted written. I said good tight to him and left him. Colonel Arbuthnot was still standing in the corridor. His compartment was already made up for the night, so I suggested that he should come along to mine. I ordered a couple of drinks and we got right down to it. Discussed world politics and the Government of India and our own troubles with Prohibition and the Wall Street crisis. I don’t as a rule cotton to Britishers – they’re a stiff-necked lot – but I liked this one.”

“Do you know what time it was when he left you?”

“Pretty late. Nearly two o’clock, I should say.”

“You noticed that the train had stopped?”

‘Oh, yes. We wondered a bit. Looked out and saw the snow lying very thick, but we didn’t think it was serious.”

“What happened when Colonel Arbuthnot finally said good night?”

“He went along to his compartment and I called to the conductor to make up my bed.”

“Where were you whilst he was making it?”

“Standing just outside the door in the corridor smoking a cigarette.”

“And then?”

“And then I went to bed and slept till morning.”

“During the evening did you leave the train at all?”

“Arbuthnot and I thought we’d get out at – what was the name of the place? – Vincovci – to stretch our legs a bit. But it was bitterly cold – a blizzard on. We soon hopped back again.”

“By which door did you leave the train?”

“By the one nearest to our compartment.”

“The one next to the dining-car?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember if it was bolted?”

MacQueen considered.

“Why, yes, I seem to remember it was. At least there was a kind of bar that fitted across the handle. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes. On getting back into the train did you replace that bar?”

“Why, no – I don’t think I did. I got in last. No, I don’t seem to remember doing so.” He added suddenly, “Is that an important point?”

“It may be. Now, I presume, Monsieur, that while you and Colonel Arbuthnot were sitting talking the door of your compartment into the corridor was open?”

Hector MacQueen nodded.

“I want you, if you can, to tell me if anyone passed along that corridor after the train left Vincovci up to the time you parted company for the night.”

MacQueen drew his brows together.

“I think the conductor passed along once,” he said, “coming from the direction of the dining-car. And a woman passed the other way, going towards it.”

“Which woman?”

“I couldn’t say. I didn’t really notice. You see I was arguing a point with Arbuthnot. I just seem to remember a glimpse of some scarlet silk affair passing the door. I didn’t look, and anyway I wouldn’t have seen the person’s face. As you know, my carriage faces the dining-car end of the train, so a woman going along the corridor in that direction would have her back to me as soon as she’d passed.”

Poirot nodded. “She was going to the toilet, I presume?”

“I suppose so.”

“And you saw her return?”

“Well, no, now that you mention it, I didn’t notice her returning but I suppose she must have done so.”

“One more question. Do you smoke a pipe, Mr. MacQueen?”

“No, sir, I do not.”

Poirot paused a moment. “I think that is all at present. I should now like to see the valet of Mr. Ratchett. By the way, did both you and he always travel second-class?”

“He did. But I usually went first – if possible in the compartment adjoining Mr. Ratchett’s. Then he had most of his baggage put in my compartment and yet could get at both it and me easily whenever he chose. But on this occasion all the first-class berths were booked except the one that he took.”

“I comprehend. Thank you, Mr. MacQueen.”

3. The Evidence of the Valet

The American was succeeded by the pale Englishman with the inexpressive face whom Poirot had already noticed on the day before. He stood waiting very correctly. Poirot motioned to him to sit down.

“You are, I understand, the valet of M. Ratchett.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your name?”

“Edward Henry Masterman.”

“Your age?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“And your home address?”

“21 Friar Street, Clerkenwell.”

“You have heard that your master has been murdered?”

“Yes, sir. A very shocking occurrence.”

“Will you now tell me, please, at what hour you last saw M. Ratchett?”

The valet considered.

“It must have been aboutnine o’clock, sir, last night. That or a little after.”

“Tell me in your own words exactly what happened.”

“I went in to Mr. Ratchett as usual, sir, and attended to his wants.”

“What were your duties exactly?”

“To fold or hang up his clothes, sir, put his dental plate in water and see that he had everything he wanted for the night.”

“Was his manner much the same as usual?”

The valet considered a moment.