The mystery of the Blue Train

"Pray be seated, Monsieur le Comte," said the Examining Magistrate politely. "It is the affair of the death of Madame Kettering that we are investigating." "The death of Madame Kettering? I do not understand." "You were--ahem!--acquainted with the lady, I believe, Monsieur le Comte?" "Certainly I was acquainted with her. What has that to do with the matter?" Sticking an eyeglass in his eye, he looked coldly round the room, his glance resting longest on Poirot, who was gazing at him with a kind of simple, innocent admiration which was most pleasing to the Count's vanity. M. Carrège leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. "You do not perhaps know, Monsieur le Comte"--he paused--"that Madame Kettering was murdered?" "Murdered? _Mon Dieu_, how terrible!" The surprise and the sorrow were excellently done--so well done, indeed, as to seem wholly natural. "Madame Kettering was strangled between Paris and Lyons," continued M. Carrège, "and her jewels were stolen." "It is iniquitous!" cried the Count warmly; "the police should do something about these train bandits. Nowadays no one is safe." "In Madame's handbag," continued the Judge, "we found a letter to her from you. She had, it seemed, arranged to meet you?" The Count shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. "Of what use are concealments," he said frankly. "We are all men of the world. Privately and between ourselves, I admit the affair." "You met her in Paris and travelled down with her, I believe?" said M. Carrège. "That was the original arrangement, but by Madame's wish it was changed. I was to meet her at Hyères." "You did not meet her on the train at the Gare de Lyon on the evening of the 14th?" "On the contrary, I arrived in Nice on the morning of that day, so what you suggest is impossible." "Quite so, quite so," said M. Carrège. "As a matter of form, you would perhaps give me an account of your movements during the evening and night of the 14th." The Count reflected for a minute. "I dined in Monte Carlo at the Café de Paris. Afterwards I went to the Le Sporting. I won a few thousand francs," he shrugged his shoulders. "I returned home at perhaps one o'clock." "Pardon me, Monsieur, but how did you return home?" "In my own two-seater car." "No one was with you?" "No one." "You could produce witnesses in support of this statement?" "Doubtless many of my friends saw me there that evening. I dined alone." "Your servant admitted you on your return to your villa?" "I let myself in with my own latch-key." "Ah!" murmured the Magistrate. Again he struck the bell on the table with his hand. The door opened, and a messenger appeared. "Bring in the maid, Mason," said M. Carrège. "Very good, Monsieur le Juge." Ada Mason was brought in. "Will you be so good, Mademoiselle, as to look at this gentleman. To the best of your ability was it he who entered your mistress's compartment in Paris?" The woman looked long and searchingly at the Count, who was, Poirot fancied, rather uneasy under this scrutiny. "I could not say, sir, I am sure," said Mason at last. "It might be and again it might not. Seeing as how I only saw his back, it's hard to say. I rather think it _was_ the gentleman." "But you are not sure?" "No--o," said Mason unwillingly; "n--no, I am not sure." "You have seen this gentleman before in Curzon Street?" Mason shook her head. "I should not be likely to see any visitors that come to Curzon Street," she explained, "unless they were staying in the house." "Very well, that will do," said the Examining Magistrate sharply. Evidently he was disappointed. "One moment," said Poirot. "There is a question I would like to put to Mademoiselle, if I may?" "Certainly, M. Poirot--certainly, by all means." Poirot addressed himself to the maid. "What happened to the tickets?" "The tickets, sir?" "Yes; the tickets from London to Nice. Did you or your mistress have them?" "The mistress had her own Pullman ticket, sir; the others were in my charge." "What happened to them?" "I gave them to the conductor on the French train, sir; he said it was usual. I hope I did right, sir?" "Oh, quite right, quite right. A mere matter of detail." Both M. Caux and the Examining Magistrate looked at him curiously. Mason stood uncertainly for a minute or two, and then the Magistrate gave her a brief nod of dismissal, and she went out. Poirot scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it across to M. Carrège. The latter read it and his brow cleared. "Well, gentlemen," demanded the Count haughtily, "am I to be detained further?" "Assuredly not, assuredly not," M. Carrège hastened to say, with a great deal of amiability. "Everything is now cleared up as regards your own position in this affair. Naturally, in view of Madame's letter, we were bound to question you." The Count rose, picked up his handsome stick from the corner, and, with rather a curt bow, left the room. "And that is that," said M. Carrège. "You were quite right, M. Poirot--much better to let him feel he is not suspected. Two of my men will shadow him night and day, and at the same time we will go into the question of the alibi. It seems to me rather--er--a fluid one." "Possibly," agreed Poirot thoughtfully. "I asked M. Kettering to come here this morning," continued the Magistrate, "though really I doubt if we have much to ask him, but there are one or two suspicious circumstances--" He paused, rubbing his nose. "Such as?" asked Poirot. "Well"--the Magistrate coughed--"this lady with whom he is said to be travelling--Mademoiselle Mirelle. She is staying at one hotel and he at another. That strikes me--er--as rather odd." "It looks," said M. Caux, "as though they were being careful." "Exactly," said M. Carrège triumphantly; "and what should they have to be careful about?" "An excess of caution is suspicious, eh?" said Poirot. "_Précisément._" "We might, I think," murmured Poirot, "ask M. Kettering one or two questions." The Magistrate gave instructions. A moment or two later, Derek Kettering, debonair as ever, entered the room. "Good morning, Monsieur," said the Judge politely. "Good morning," said Derek Kettering curtly. "You sent for me. Has anything fresh turned up?" "Pray sit down, Monsieur." Derek took a seat and flung his hat and stick on the table. "Well?" he asked impatiently. "We have, so far, no fresh data," said M. Carrège cautiously. "That's very interesting," said Derek drily. "Did you send for me here in order to tell me that?" "We naturally thought, Monsieur, that you would like to be informed of the progress of the case," said the Magistrate severely. "Even if the progress was non-existent." "We also wished to ask you a few questions." "Ask away." "You are quite sure that you neither saw nor spoke with your wife on the train?" "I've answered that already. I did not." "You had, no doubt, your reasons." Derek stared at him suspiciously. "I--did--not--know--she--was--on--the--train," he explained, spacing his words elaborately, as though to some one dull of intellect. "That is what you say, yes," murmured M. Carrège. A frown suffused Derek's face. "I should like to know what you're driving at. Do you know what I think, M. Carrège?" "What do you think, Monsieur?" "I think the French police are vastly overrated. Surely you must have some data as to these gangs of train robbers. It's outrageous that such a thing could happen on a _train de luxe_ like that, and that the French police should be helpless to deal with the matter." "We are dealing with it, Monsieur, never fear." "Madame Kettering, I understand, did not leave a will," interposed Poirot suddenly. His fingertips were joined together, and he was looking intently at the ceiling. "I don't think she ever made one," said Kettering. "Why?" "It is a very pretty little fortune that you inherit there," said Poirot--"a very pretty little fortune." Although his eyes were still on the ceiling, he managed to see the dark flush that rose to Derek Kettering's face. "What do you mean, and who are you?" Poirot gently uncrossed his knees, withdrew his gaze from the ceiling, and looked the young man full in the face. "My name is Hercule Poirot," he said quietly, "and I am probably the greatest detective in the world. You are quite sure that you did not see or speak to your wife on that train?" "What are you getting at? Do you--do you mean to insinuate that I--I killed her?" He laughed suddenly. "I mustn't lose my temper; it's too palpably absurd. Why, if I killed her I should have had no need to steal her jewels, would I?" "That is true," murmured Poirot, with a rather crestfallen air. "I did not think of that." "If ever there were a clear case of murder and robbery, this is it," said Derek Kettering. "Poor Ruth, it was those damned rubies did for her. It must have got about she had them with her. There has been murder done for those same stones before now, I believe." Poirot sat up suddenly in his chair. A very faint green light glowed in his eyes. He looked extraordinarily like a sleek, well-fed cat. "One more question, M. Kettering," he said. "Will you give me the date when you last saw your wife?" "Let me see," Kettering reflected. "It must have been--yes over three weeks ago. I am afraid I can't give you the date exactly." "No matter," said Poirot drily; "that is all I wanted to know." "Well," said Derek Kettering impatiently, "anything further?" He looked towards M. Carrège. The latter sought inspiration from Poirot, and received it in a very faint shake of the head. "No, M. Kettering," he said politely; "no, I do not think we need trouble you any further. I wish you good morning." "Good morning," said Kettering. He went out, banging the door behind him. Poirot leaned forward and spoke sharply, as soon as the young man was out of the room. "Tell me," he said peremptorily, "when did you speak of these rubies to M. Kettering?" "I have not spoken of them," said M. Carrège. "It was only yesterday afternoon that we learnt about them from M. Van Aldin." "Yes; but there was a mention of them in the Comte's letter." M. Carrège looked pained. "Naturally I did not speak of that letter to M. Kettering," he said in a shocked voice. "It would have been most indiscreet at the present juncture of affairs." Poirot leaned forward and tapped the table. "_Then how did he know about them?_" he demanded softly. "Madame could not have told him, for he has not seen her for three weeks. It seems unlikely that either M. Van Aldin or his secretary would have mentioned them; their interviews with him have been on entirely different lines, and there has not been any hint or reference to them in the newspapers." He got up and took his hat and stick. "And yet," he murmured to himself, "our gentleman knows all about them. I wonder now, yes, I wonder!" 18. Derek Lunches Derek Kettering went straight to the Negresco, where he ordered a couple of cocktails and disposed of them rapidly; then he stared moodily out over the dazzling blue sea. He noted the passers-by mechanically--a damned dull crowd, badly dressed, and painfully uninteresting; one hardly ever saw anything worth while nowadays. Then he corrected this last impression rapidly, as a woman placed herself at a table a little distance away from him. She was wearing a marvellous confection of orange and black, with a little hat that shaded her face. He ordered a third cocktail; again he stared out to sea, and then suddenly he started. A well-known perfume assailed his nostrils, and he