英语小说网

Poirot and M. Bouc sat together on one side of a table. The doctor sat across the aisle.

In the restaurant car all was in readiness.

The passports and tickets were in a pile at one side. There was writing paper, ink, pen and pencils.

"Excellent," said Poirot. "We can open our Court of Inquiry without more ado. First, I think, we should take the evidence of the Wagon Lit conductor. You probably know something about the man. What character has he? Is he a man in whose word you would place reliance?"

"I should say so most assuredly. Pierre Michel has been employed by the company for over fifteen years. He is a Frenchman -- lives near Calais. Thoroughly respectable and honest. Not, perhaps, remarkable for brains."

Poirot nodded comprehendingly. "Good," he said. "Let us see him."

On the table in front of Poirot was a plan of the Istanbul-Calais coach with the names of the passengers marked in in red ink.

Pierre Michel had recovered some of his assurance, but he was still extremely nervous.

"Almost immediately after dinner, Monsieur. Actually before we left Belgrade. So he did on the previous night. He had directed me to make up the bed while he was at dinner, and I did so."

Having soothed the man's fears, Poirot began his questions. He first elicited Michel's name and address, his length of service, and the length of time he had been on this particular route. These particulars he already knew, but the routine questions served to put the man at his ease.

"And now," went on Poirot, "let us come to the events of last night. M. Ratchett retired to bed -- when?"

"No, Monsieur, not that I know of."

"I hope Monsieur will not think that there has been any negligence on my part," he said anxiously, his eyes going from Poirot to M. Bouc. "It is a terrible thing that has happened. I hope Monsieur does not think that it reflects on me in any way?"

"His valet, Monsieur, and the young American gentleman his secretary."

"Did anybody go into his compartment afterwards?"

"Good. And that is the last you saw or heard of him?"

"Anyone else?"

"Mais oui -- at least --"

"Ce n'est rien. Je me suis trompé."

"Did you go back to your seat?"

"I knocked at the door, but he called out and said he had made a mistake."

"No, Monsieur, I went first to answer another bell that had just rung."

"One of my bells rang, Monsieur -- I remember -- I told you. It was the American lady. She had rung several times."

"I went into the next coach, the Athens coach, to speak to my colleague there. We spoke about the snow. That was at some time soon after one o'clock. I cannot say exactly."

"Yes, Monsieur."

"I, Monsieur? I was at my little seat at the end -- facing up the corridor."

"Yes?"

"No, Monsieur. You forget, he rang his bell about twenty to one -- soon after we had stopped."

"Now, Michel, I am going to ask you an important question. Where were you at a quarter past one?"

"You are sure?"

"Quite right," said Poirot. "That is what I heard. And then you went away?"

"In English or in French?"

"In French."

"And you returned -- when?"

"What happened exactly?"

"What were his words exactly?"

"I could not say exactly, Monsieur. Not later than two o'clock, certainly."

"Perhaps you slept?"

"I recollect," said Poirot. "And after that?"

"After that, Monsieur, I sat in my seat till morning."

"What time was all this?"

"He went back to his own compartment."

"Yes, Monsieur, it is the second compartment from that end of the corridor."

"I do not think so, Monsieur. The train being at a standstill prevented me from dozing off as I usually do."

"What did the Colonel do when he left M. MacQueen?"

"His bed was already made up?"

"And after that?"

"After that, Monsieur? I answered your bell and brought you some mineral water. Then, about half an hour later, I made up the bed in one of the other compartments -- that of the young American gentleman, M. Ratchett's secretary."

"No. 15-- that is quite close to your seat, is it not?"

"No, Monsieur."

"The English Colonel from No. 15 was with him. They had been sitting talking."

"You did not go again into the Athens coach?"

"Yes, Monsieur. I had made it up while he was at dinner."

"Was M. MacQueen alone in his compartment when you went to make up his bed?"

"You are sure?"

Poirot nodded. "And after that?"

"I do not know, Monsieur. It was far down the corridor, and she had her back to me. She had on a kimono of scarlet with dragons on it."

"Which lady?"

"Nothing, Monsieur, until the morning."

"Good, my friend," said Poirot. "I wondered whether you would remember that. By the way, I was awakened by what sounded like something heavy falling against my door. Have you any idea what that could have been?"

Poirot took no notice of the suggestion. Perhaps he did not wish to before the Wagon Lit conductor.

The man reflected. "One of the ladies went to the toilet at the far end, I think."

"Ah, pardon, you yourself, Monsieur, opened your door and looked out for a second."

"Unless," said M. Bouc, "it was something in the compartment next door that you heard."

The man stared at him. "There was nothing, Monsieur. Nothing, I am positive of it."

"Did you see any of the passengers moving up or down the corridor?"

"Then I must have had the cauchemar," said Poirot philosophically.

"Nor that he can be concealed on it somewhere?"

"Besides," said Michel, "no one could get on to the sleeping car without my seeing them."

"Let us pass to another point," he said. "Supposing that last night an assassin joined the train. It is quite certain that he could not have left it after committing the crime?"

"We should have left there at 11:58. But owing to the weather we were twenty minutes late."

Pierre Michael shook his head.

"Vincovci."

"What about the forward door? The one near the restaurant car?"

"What time was that?"

"When was the last stop?"

"It has been well searched," said M. Bouc. "Abandon that idea, my friend."

"Did you yourself descend from the train at Vincovci?"

"No, Monsieur. After the service of dinner the door between the ordinary carriages and the sleeping cars is locked."

"Someone might have come along from the ordinary part of the train?"

"Yes, Monsieur. I got down on to the platform as usual and stood by the step up into the train. The other conductors did the same."

Poirot studied the plan in front of him thoughtfully. Then he inclined his head.

"Thank you, Monsieur."

He tapped thoughtfully on the table for a minute or two.

"It is always fastened on the inside."

Poirot smiled on him kindly.

"Yes, Monsieur."

"It was the bell of Madame la Princesse Dragomiroff. She desired me to summon her maid."

"Monsieur does not blame me?" said the man timidly.

"You have had the evil chance, my friend," he said. "Ah! One other point while I remember it. You said that another bell rang just as you were knocking at M. Ratchett's door. In fact, I heard it myself. Whose was it?"

"It is not so fastened now."

"Probably," said Poirot.

"That is all," he said, "for the moment."

"And you did so?"

The man rose. He looked at M. Bouc.

The man looked surprised, then his face cleared. "Doubtless one of the passengers has opened it to look out on the snow."

"Do not distress yourself," said the latter kindly. "I cannot see that there has been any negligence on your part."

Gratified, Pierre Michel left the compartment.