The mystery of the Blue Train
"You mean that it was the maid who was the thief? No, Mademoiselle;
there is a very good reason against that."
"What?"
"The maid was left behind in Paris."
He turned to Poirot.
"I should like you to hear the conductor's story yourself," he murmured
confidentially. "It is very suggestive."
"Mademoiselle would doubtless like to hear it also," said Poirot. "You
do not object, Monsieur le Commissaire?"
"No," said the Commissary, who clearly did object very much. "No,
certainly, M. Poirot, if you say so. You have finished here?"
"I think so. One little minute."
He had been turning over the rugs, and now he took one to the window
and looked at it, picking something off it with his fingers.
"What is it?" demanded M. Caux sharply.
"Four auburn hairs." He bent over the dead woman. "Yes, they are from
the head of Madame."
"And what of it? Do you attach importance to them?"
Poirot let the rug drop back on the seat.
"What is important? What is not? One cannot say at this stage. But we
must note each little fact carefully."
They went back again into the first compartment, and in a minute or two
the conductor of the carriage arrived to be questioned.
"Your name is Pierre Michel?" said the Commissary.
"Yes, Monsieur le Commissaire."
"I should like you to repeat to this gentleman"--he indicated
Poirot--"the story that you told me as to what happened in Paris."
"Very good, Monsieur le Commissaire. It was after we had left the Gare
de Lyon. I came along to make the beds, thinking that Madame would be
at dinner, but she had a dinner basket in her compartment. She said
to me that she had been obliged to leave her maid behind in Paris, so
that I need make up only one berth. She took her dinner basket into the
adjoining compartment, and sat there while I made up the bed; then she
told me that she did not wish to be wakened early in the morning, that
she liked to sleep on. I told her I quite understood, and she wished me
'good-night.'"
"You yourself did not go into the adjoining compartment?"
"No, Monsieur."
"Then you did not happen to notice if a scarlet morocco case was
amongst the luggage there?"
"No, Monsieur, I did not."
"Would it have been possible for a man to have been concealed in the
adjoining compartment?"
The conductor reflected.
"The door was half open," he said. "If a man had stood behind that door
I should not have been able to see him, but he would, of course, have
been perfectly visible to Madame when she went in there."
"Quite so," said Poirot. "Is there anything more you have to tell us?"
"I think that is all, Monsieur. I can remember nothing else."
"And now this morning?" prompted Poirot.
"As Madame had ordered, I did not disturb her. It was not until just
before Cannes that I ventured to knock at the door. Getting no reply, I
opened it. The lady appeared to be in her bed asleep. I took her by the
shoulder to rouse her, and then--"
"And then you saw what had happened," volunteered Poirot. "_Très bien._
I think I know all I want to know."
"I hope, Monsieur le Commissaire, it is not that I have been guilty of
any negligence," said the man piteously. "Such an affair to happen on
the Blue Train! It is horrible."
"Console yourself," said the Commissary. "Everything will be done to
keep the affair as quiet as possible, if only in the interests of
justice. I cannot think you have been guilty of any negligence."
"And Monsieur le Commissaire will report as much to the Company?"
"But certainly, but certainly," said M. Caux impatiently. "That will do
now."
The conductor withdrew.
"According to the medical evidence," said the Commissary, "the lady
was probably dead before the train reached Lyons. Who then was the
murderer? From Mademoiselle's story, it seems clear that somewhere on
her journey she was to meet this man of whom she spoke. Her action in
getting rid of the maid seems significant. Did the man join the train
at Paris, and did she conceal him in the adjoining compartment? If so,
they may have quarrelled, and he may have killed her in a fit of rage.
That is one possibility. The other, and the more likely to my mind, is
that her assailant was a train robber travelling on the train; that
he stole along the corridor unseen by the conductor, killed her, and
went off with the red morocco case, which doubtless contained jewels of
some value. In all probability he left the train at Lyons, and we have
already telegraphed to the station there for full particulars of any
one seen leaving the train."
"Or he might have come on to Nice," suggested Poirot.
"He might," agreed the Commissary, "but that would be a very bold
course."
Poirot let a minute or two go by before speaking, and then he said:
"In the latter case you think the man was an ordinary train robber?"
The Commissary shrugged his shoulders.
"It depends. We must get hold of the maid. It is possible that she has
the red morocco case with her. If so, then the man of whom she spoke to
Mademoiselle may be concerned in the case, and the affair is a crime
of passion. I myself think the solution of a train robber is the more
probable. These bandits have become very bold of late."
Poirot looked suddenly across to Katherine.
"And you, Mademoiselle," he said, "you heard and saw nothing during the
night?"
"Nothing," said Katherine.
Poirot turned to the Commissary.
"We need detain Mademoiselle no longer, I think," he suggested.
The latter nodded.
"She will leave us her address?" he said.
Katherine gave him the name of Lady Tamplin's villa. Poirot made her a
little bow.
"You permit that I see you again, Mademoiselle?" he said. "Or have you
so many friends that your time will be all taken up?"
"On the contrary," said Katherine, "I shall have plenty of leisure, and
I shall be very pleased to see you again."
"Excellent," said Poirot, and gave her a little friendly nod. "This
shall be a _'roman policier' à nous_. We will investigate this affair
together."
12. At the Villa Marguerite
"Then you were really in the thick of it all!" said Lady Tamplin
enviously. "My dear, how thrilling!" She opened her china blue eyes
very wide and gave a little sigh.
"A real murder," said Mr. Evans gloatingly.
"Of course Chubby had no idea of anything of the kind," went on Lady
Tamplin; "he simply could _not_ imagine why the police wanted you. My
dear, what an opportunity! I think, you know--yes, I certainly think
something might be made out of this."
A calculating look rather marred the ingenuousness of the blue eyes.
Katherine felt slightly uncomfortable. They were just finishing lunch,
and she looked in turn at the three people sitting round the table.
Lady Tamplin, full of practical schemes; Mr. Evans, beaming with naïve
appreciation, and Lenox with a queer crooked smile on her dark face.
"Marvellous luck," murmured Chubby; "I wish I could have gone along
with you--and seen--all the exhibits."
His tone was wistful and childlike.
Katherine said nothing. The police had laid no injunctions of secrecy
upon her, and it was clearly impossible to suppress the bare facts or
try to keep them from her hostess. But she did rather wish it had been
possible to do so.
"Yes," said Lady Tamplin, coming suddenly out of her reverie, "I do
think something might be done. A little account, you know, cleverly
written up. An eye-witness, a feminine touch: '_How I chatted with the
dead woman, little thinking_--' that sort of thing, you know."
"Rot!" said Lenox.
"You have no idea," said Lady Tamplin in a soft, wistful voice, "what
newspapers will pay for a little titbit! Written, of course, by some
one of really unimpeachable social position. You would not like to do
it yourself, I dare say, Katherine dear, but just give me the bare
bones of it, and _I_ will manage the whole thing for you. Mr. de
Haviland is a special friend of mine. We have a little understanding
together. A most delightful man--not at all reporterish. How does the
idea strike you, Katherine?"
"I would much prefer to do nothing of the kind," said Katherine bluntly.
Lady Tamplin was rather disconcerted at this uncompromising refusal.
She sighed and turned to the elucidation of further details.
"A very striking-looking woman, you said? I wonder now who she could
have been. You didn't hear her name?"
"It was mentioned," Katherine admitted, "but I can't remember it. You
see, I was rather upset."
"I should think so," said Mr. Evans; "it must have been a beastly
shock."
It is to be doubted whether, even if Katherine had remembered the
name, she would have admitted the fact. Lady Tamplin's remorseless
cross-examination was making her restive. Lenox, who was observant in
her own way, noticed this, and offered to take Katherine upstairs to
see her room. She left her there, remarking kindly before she went:
"You mustn't mind Mother; she would make a few pennies' profit out of
her dying grandmother if she could."
Lenox went down again to find her mother and her step-father discussing
the newcomer.
"Presentable," said Lady Tamplin, "quite presentable. Her clothes are
all right. That grey thing is the same model that Gladys Cooper wore in
_Palm Trees in Egypt_."
"Have you noticed her eyes--what?" interposed Mr. Evans.
"Never mind her eyes, Chubby," said Lady Tamplin tartly; "we are
discussing the things that really matter."
"Oh, quite," said Mr. Evans, and retired into his shell.
"She doesn't seem to me very--malleable," said Lady Tamplin, rather
hesitating to choose the right word.
"She has all the instincts of a lady, as they say in books," said
Lenox, with a grin.
"Narrow-minded," murmured Lady Tamplin. "Inevitable under the
circumstances, I suppose."
"I expect you will do your best to broaden her," said Lenox, with a
grin, "but you will have your work cut out. Just now, you noticed, she
stuck down her fore feet and laid back her ears and refused to budge."
"Anyway," said Lady Tamplin hopefully, "she doesn't look to me at all
mean. Some people, when they come into money, seem to attach undue
importance to it."
"Oh, you'll easily touch her for what you want," said Lenox; "and,
after all, that is all that matters, isn't it? That is what she is here
for."
"She is my own cousin," said Lady Tamplin, with dignity.
"Cousin, eh?" said Mr. Evans, waking up again. "I suppose I call her
Katherine, don't I?"
"It is of no importance at all what you call her, Chubby," said Lady
Tamplin.
"Good," said Mr. Evans; "then I will. Do you suppose she plays tennis?"
he added hopefully.
"Of course not," said Lady Tamplin. "She has been a companion, I tell
you. Companions don't play tennis--or golf. They might possibly play
golf-croquet, but I have always understood that they wind wool and wash
dogs most of the day."
"O God!" said Mr. Evans; "do they really?"
Lenox drifted upstairs again to Katherine's room. "Can I help you?" she
asked rather perfunctorily.
On Katherine's disclaimer, Lenox sat on the edge of the bed and stared
thoughtfully at her guest.
"Why did you come?" she said at last. "To us, I mean. We're not your
sort."
"Oh, I am anxious to get into Society."
"Don't be an ass," said Lenox promptly, detecting the flicker of a
smile. "You know what I mean well enough. You are not a bit what I
thought you would be. I say, you _have_ got some decent clothes." She
sighed. "Clothes are no good to me. I was born awkward. It's a pity,
because I love them."
"I love them too," said Katherine, "but it has not been much use my
loving them up to now. Do you think this is nice?"
She and Lenox discussed several models with artistic fervour.
"I like you," said Lenox suddenly. "I came up to warn you not to be