Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online

then—well, I have faith in you! I am assured that it is no idle boast of yours. Lie back and think—use (as I have heard you say so often) the little grey cells of the mind—and you will know! ”
    He leaned forward, looking affectionately at his friend.
    â€œYour faith touches me, my friend,” said Poirot emotionally. “As you say, this cannot be a difficult case. I myself, last night—but we will not speak of that now. In truth, this problem intrigues me. I was reflecting, not half an hour ago, that many hours of boredom lay ahead whilst we are stuck here. And now—a problem lies ready to my hand.”
    â€œYou accept then?” said M. Bouc eagerly.
    â€œ C’est entendu. You place the matter in my hands.”
    â€œGood—we are all at your service.”
    â€œTo begin with, I should like a plan of the Istanbul-Calais coach, with a note of the people who occupied the several compartments, and I should also like to see their passports and their tickets.”
    â€œMichel will get you those.”
    The Wagon Lit conductor left the compartment.
    â€œWhat other passengers are there on the train?” asked Poirot.
    â€œIn this coach Dr. Constantine and I are the only travellers. In the coach from Bucharest is an old gentleman with a lame leg. He is well known to the conductor. Beyond that are the ordinary carriages, but these do not concern us, since they were locked after dinner had been served last night. Forward of the Istanbul-Calais coach there is only the dining car.”
    â€œThen it seems,” said Poirot slowly, “as though we must look for our murderer in the Istanbul-Calais coach.” He turned to the doctor. “That is what you were hinting, I think?”
    The Greek nodded.
    â€œAt half an hour after midnight we ran into the snowdrift. No one can have left the train since then.”
    M. Bouc said solemnly.
    â€œThe murderer is with us—on the train now….”

Six
A W OMAN?
    F irst of all,” said Poirot, “I should like a word or two with young M. MacQueen. He may be able to give us valuable information.”
    â€œCertainly,” said M. Bouc.
    He turned to the chef de train .
    â€œGet M. MacQueen to come here.”
    The chef de train left the carriage.
    The conductor returned with a bundle of passports and tickets. M. Bouc took them from him.
    â€œThank you, Michel. It would be best now, I think, if you were to go back to your post. We will take your evidence formally later.”
    â€œVery good, Monsieur.”
    Michel in his turn left the carriage.
    â€œAfter we have seen young MacQueen,” said Poirot, “perhaps M. le docteur will come with me to the dead man’s carriage.”
    â€œCertainly.”
    â€œAfter we have finished there—”
    But at this moment the chef de train returned with Hector MacQueen.
    M. Bouc rose.
    â€œWe are a little cramped here,” he said pleasantly. “Take my seat, M. MacQueen. M. Poirot will sit opposite you—so.”
    He turned to the chef de train.
    â€œClear all the people out of the restaurant car,” he said, “and let it be left free for M. Poirot. You will conduct your interviews there, mon cher? ”
    â€œIt would be the most convenient, yes,” agreed Poirot.
    MacQueen had stood looking from one to the other, not quite following the rapid flow of French.
    â€œQu’est ce qu’il y a?” he began laboriously. “Pourquoi—?”
    With a vigorous gesture Poirot motioned him to the seat in the corner. He took it and began once more.
    â€œPourquoi—?” then, checking himself and relapsing into his own tongue, “What’s up on the train? Has anything happened?”
    He looked from one man to another.
    Poirot nodded.
    â€œExactly. Something has happened. Prepare yourself for a shock. Your employer, M. Ratchett, is dead! ”
    MacQueen’s mouth pursed itself in a whistle. Except