Murder on the Orient Express - Agatha Christie [77]
‘That’s so,’ said Mrs Hubbard, nodding her head.
‘He thrust the dagger he had used into Mrs Hubbard’s sponge-bag in passing. Without knowing it, he lost a button of his uniform. Then he slipped out of the compartment and along the corridor. He hastily thrust the uniform into a suitcase in an empty compartment, and a few minutes later, dressed in ordinary clothes, he left the train just before it started off. Again using the same means of egress—the door near the dining-car.’
Everybody gasped.
‘What about that watch?’ demanded Mr Hardman.
‘There you have the explanation of the whole thing. Mr Ratchett had ommitted to put his watch back an hour as he should have done at Tzaribrod. His watch still registered Eastern European time, which is one hour ahead of Central European time. It was a quarter-past twelve when Mr Ratchett was stabbed—not a quarter-past one.’
‘But it is absurd, that explanation,’ cried M. Bouc. ‘What of the voice that spoke from the compartment at twenty-three minutes to one. It was either the voice of Ratchett—or else of his murderer.’
‘Not necessarily. It might have been—well—a third person. One who had gone in to speak to Ratchett and found him dead. He rang the bell to summon the conductor, then, as you express it, the wind rose in him—he was afraid of being accused of the crime and he spoke pretending to be Ratchett.’
‘C’est possible,’ admitted M. Bouc grudgingly.
Poirot looked at Mrs Hubbard.
‘Yes, Madame, you were going to say—?’
‘Well, I don’t quite know what I was going to say. Do you think I forgot to put my watch back too?’
‘No, Madame. I think you heard the man pass through—but unconsciously; later you had a nightmare of a man being in your compartment and woke up with a start and rang for the conductor.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s possible,’ admitted Mrs Hubbard.
Princess Dragomiroff was looking at Poirot with a very direct glance.
‘How do you explain the evidence of my maid, Monsieur?’
‘Very simply, Madame. Your maid recognized the handkerchief I showed her as yours. She somewhat clumsily tried to shield you. She did encounter the man—but earlier—while the train was at Vincovci station. She pretended to have seen him at a later hour with a confused idea of giving you a watertight alibi.’
The Princess bowed her head.
‘You have thought of everything, Monsieur. I—I admire you.’
There was a silence.
Then everyone jumped as Dr Constantine suddenly hit the table a blow with his fist.
‘But no,’ he said. ‘No, no, and again no! That is an explanation that will not hold water. It is deficient in a dozen minor points. The crime was not committed so—M. Poirot must know that perfectly well.’
Poirot turned a curious glance on him.
‘I see,’ he said, ‘that I shall have to give my second solution. But do not abandon this one too abruptly. You may agree with it later.’
He turned back again to face the others.
‘There is another possible solution of the crime. This is how I arrived at it.
‘When I had heard all the evidence, I leaned back and shut my eyes and began to think. Certain points presented themselves to me as worthy of attention. I enumerated these points to my two colleagues. Some I have already elucidated—such as a grease-spot on a passport, etc. I will run over the points that remain. The first and most important is a remark made to me by M. Bouc in the restaurant-car at lunch on the first day after leaving Stamboul—to the effect that the company assembled was interesting because it was so varied—representing as it did all classes and nationalities.
‘I agreed with him, but when this particular point came into my mind, I tried to imagine whether such an assembly were ever likely to be collected under any other conditions. And the answer I made to myself was—only in America. In America there might be a household composed of just such varied nationalities— an Italian chauffeur, and English