Murder on the Orient Express - Agatha Christie [58]
‘Mon ami, if you wish to catch a rabbit you put a ferret into the hole, and if the rabbit is there he runs. That is all I have done.’
They entered the compartment of Hildegarde Schmidt.
The woman was standing in readiness, her face respectful but unemotional.
Poirot took a quick glance through the contents of the small case on the seat. Then he motioned to the attendant to get down the bigger suitcase from the rack.
‘The keys?’ he said.
‘It is not locked, Monsieur.’
Poirot undid the hasps and lifted the lid.
‘Aha!’ he said, and turning to M. Bouc, ‘You remember what I said? Look here a little moment!’
On the top of the suitcase was a hastily rolled up brown Wagon Lit uniform.
The stolidity of the German woman underwent a sudden change.
‘Ach!’ she cried. ‘That is not mine. I did not put it there. I have never looked in that case since we left Stamboul. Indeed, indeed, it is true.’
She looked from one to another pleadingly.
Poirot took her gently by the arm and soothed her.
‘No, no all is well. We believe you. Do not be agitated. I am as sure you did not hide the uniform there as I am sure that you are a good cook. See. You are a good cook, are you not?’
Bewildered, the woman smiled in spite of herself.
‘Yes, indeed, all my ladies have said so. I—’
She stopped, her mouth open, looking frightened again.
‘No, no,’ said Poirot. ‘I assure you all is well. See, I will tell you how this happened. This man, the man you saw in Wagon Lit uniform, comes out of the dead man’s compartment. He collides with you. That is bad luck for him. He has hoped that no one will see him. What to do next? He must get rid of his uniform. It is now not a safeguard, but a danger.’
His glance went to M. Bouc and Dr Constantine, who were listening attentively.
‘There is the snow, you see. The snow which confuses all his plans. Where can he hide these clothes? All the compartments are full. No, he passes one where the door is open and shows it to be unoccupied. It must be the one belonging to the woman with whom he has just collided. He slips in, removes the uniform and jams it hurriedly into a suitcase on the rack. It may be some time before it is discovered.’
‘And then?’ said M. Bouc.
‘That we must discuss,’ said Poirot with a warning glance.
He held up the tunic. A button, the third down, was missing. Poirot slipped his hand into the pocket and took out a conductor’s pass key, used to unlock the doors of the compartments.
‘Here is the explanation of how our man was able to pass through locked doors,’ said M. Bouc. ‘Your questions to Mrs Hubbard were unnecessary. Locked or not locked, the man could easily get through the communicating door. After all, if a Wagon Lit uniform, why not a Wagon Lit key?’
‘Why not, indeed,’ said Poirot.
‘We might have known it, really. You remember Michel said that the door into the corridor of Mrs Hubbard’s compartment was locked when he came in answer to her bell.’
‘That is so, Monsieur,’ said the conductor. ‘That is why I thought the lady must have been dreaming.’
‘But now it is easy,’ continued M. Bouc. ‘Doubtless he meant to relock the communicating door also, but perhaps he heard some movement from the bed and it startled him.’
‘We have now,’ said Poirot, ‘only to find the scarlet kimono.’
‘True. And these last two compartments are occupied by men.’
‘We will search all the same.’
‘Oh! assuredly. Besides, I remember what you said.’
Hector MacQueen acquiesced willingly in the search.
‘I’d just as soon you did,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘I feel I’m just definitely the most suspicious character on the train. You’ve only got to find a will in which the old man left me all his money, and that’ll just about fix things.’
M. Bouc bent a suspicious glance upon him.
‘That’s just my fun,’ said MacQueen hastily. ‘He’d never have left me a cent, really. I was just useful to him—languages and so on. You’re apt to be done down,