The Mystery of the Blue Train - Agatha Christie [89]
“But this is an entirely new theory,” cried Knighton.
“Do you really believe all this rigmarole, Monsieur Poirot?” demanded the millionaire.
“The thing is not proved,” said Poirot quietly. “It is as yet only a theory, but I tell you this, Monsieur Van Aldin, the facts are worth investigating. You must come out with me to the south of France and go into the case on the spot.”
“You really think this is necessary—that I should go, I mean?”
“I thought it would be what you yourself would wish,” said Poirot.
There was a hint of reproach in his tone which was not lost upon the other.
“Yes, yes, of course,” he said. “When do you wish to start, Monsieur Poirot?”
“You are very busy at present, sir,” murmured Knighton.
But the millionaire had now made up his mind, and he waved the other’s objections aside.
“I guess this business comes first,” he said. “All right, Monsieur Poirot, tomorrow. What train?”
“We will go, I think, by the Blue Train,” said Poirot, and he smiled.
Thirty-four
THE BLUE TRAIN AGAIN
“The Millionaires’ Train,” as it is sometimes called, swung round a curve of line at what seemed a dangerous speed. Van Aldin, Knighton, and Poirot sat together in silence. Knighton and Van Aldin had two compartments connecting with each other, as Ruth Kettering and her maid had had on the fateful journey. Poirot’s own compartment was farther along the coach.
The journey was a painful one for Van Aldin, recalling as it did the most agonizing memories. Poirot and Knighton conversed occasionally in low tones without disturbing him.
When, however, the train had completed its slow journey round the ceinture and reached the Gare de Lyon, Poirot became suddenly galvanized into activity. Van Aldin realized that part of his object in travelling by the train had been to attempt to reconstruct the crime. Poirot himself acted every part. He was in turn the maid, hurriedly shut into her own compartment, Mrs. Kettering, recognizing her husband with surprise and a trace of anxiety, and Derek Kettering discovering that his wife was travelling on the train. He tested various possibilities, such as the best way for a person to conceal himself in the second compartment.
Then suddenly an idea seemed to strike him. He clutched at Van Aldin’s arm.
“Mon Dieu, but that is something I have not thought of! We must break our journey in Paris. Quick, quick, let us alight at once.”
Seizing suitcases he hurried from the train. Van Aldin and Knighton, bewildered but obedient, followed him. Van Aldin having once more formed his opinion of Poirot’s ability was slow to depart from it. At the barrier they were held up. Their tickets were in the charge of the conductor of the train, a fact which all three of them had forgotten.
Poirot’s explanations were rapid, fluent, and impassioned, but they produced no effect upon the stolid-faced official.
“Let us get quit of this,” said Van Aldin abruptly. “I gather you are in a hurry, Monsieur Poirot. For God’s sake pay the fares from Calais and let us get right on with whatever you have got on your mind.”
But Poirot’s flood of language had suddenly stopped dead, and he had the appearance of a man turned to stone. His arm, still outflung in an impassioned gesture, remained there as though stricken with paralysis.
“I have been an imbecile,” he said simply. “Ma foi, I lose my head nowadays. Let us return and continue our journey quietly. With reasonable luck the train will not have have gone.”
They were only just in time, the train moving off as Knighton, the last of the three, swung himself and his suitcase on board.
The conductor remonstrated with them feelingly and assisted them to carry their luggage back to their compartments. Van Aldin said nothing, but he was clearly disgusted at Poirot’s extraordinary conduct. Alone with Knighton for a moment, or two, he remarked:
“This is a wild-goose chase. The man has lost his grip on things. He has got brains up to a point, but any man who loses his head and scuttles round