The mystery of the Blue Train
He whipped out his pocket-book and extracted something from it which he
held between his finger and thumb.
"Do you remember, Mademoiselle? You saw me take these hairs from the
rug in the railway carriage."
Katherine leant forward, scrutinizing the hairs keenly.
Poirot nodded his head slowly several times.
"They suggest nothing to you, I see that, Mademoiselle. And yet--I
think somehow that you see a good deal."
"I have had ideas," said Katherine slowly, "curious ideas. That is why
I ask you what you were doing in Paris, Monsieur Poirot."
"When I wrote to you--"
"From the Ritz?"
A curious smile came over Poirot's face.
"Yes, as you say, from the Ritz. I am a luxurious person
sometimes--when a millionaire pays."
"The Russian Embassy," said Katherine, frowning. "No, I don't see where
that comes in."
"It does not come in directly, Mademoiselle. I went there to get
certain information. I saw a particular personage and I threatened
him--yes, Mademoiselle, I, Hercule Poirot, threatened him."
"With the police?"
"No," said Poirot drily, "with the Press--a much more deadly weapon."
He looked at Katherine and she smiled at him, just shaking her head.
"Are you not just turning back into an oyster again, Monsieur Poirot?"
"No, no! I do not wish to make mysteries. See, I will tell you
everything. I suspect this man of being the active party in the sale
of the jewels of Monsieur Van Aldin. I tax him with it, and in the end
I get the whole story out of him. I learn where the jewels were handed
over, and I learn, too, of the man who paced up and down outside in the
street--a man with a venerable head of white hair, but who walked with
the light, springy step of a young man--and I give that man a name in
my own mind--the name of 'Monsieur le Marquis.'"
"And now you have come to London to see Mr. Van Aldin?"
"Not entirely for that reason. I had other work to do. Since I have
been in London I have seen two more people--a theatrical agent and a
Harley Street doctor. From each of them I have got certain information.
Put these things together, Mademoiselle, and see if you can make of
them the same as I do."
"I?"
"Yes, you. I will tell you one thing, Mademoiselle. There has been a
doubt all along in my mind as to whether the robbery and the murder
were done by the same person. For a long time I was not sure--"
"And now?"
"And now I _know_."
There was a silence. Then Katherine lifted her head. Her eyes were
shining.
"I am not clever like you, Monsieur Poirot. Half the things that you
have been telling me don't seem to me to point anywhere at all. The
ideas that came to me came from such an entirely different angle--"
"Ah, but that is always so," said Poirot quietly. "A mirror shows the
truth, but every one stands in a different place for looking into the
mirror."
"My ideas may be absurd--they may be entirely different from yours,
but--"
"Yes?"
"Tell me, does this help you at all?"
He took a newspaper cutting from her outstretched hand. He read it and,
looking up, he nodded gravely.
"As I told you, Mademoiselle, one stands at a different angle for
looking into the mirror, but it is the same mirror and the same things
are reflected there."
Katherine got up. "I must rush," she said. "I have only just time to
catch my train. Monsieur Poirot--"
"Yes, Mademoiselle."
"It--it mustn't be much longer, you understand. I--I can't go on much
longer."
There was a break in her voice.
He patted her hand reassuringly.
"Courage, Mademoiselle, you must not fail now; the end is very near."
33. A New Theory
"Monsieur Poirot wants to see you, sir."
"Damn the fellow!" said Van Aldin.
Knighton remained sympathetically silent.
Van Aldin got up from his chair and paced up and down.
"I suppose you have seen the cursed newspapers this morning?"
"I have glanced at them, sir."
"Still at it hammer and tongs?"
"I am afraid so, sir."
The millionaire sat down again and pressed his hand to his forehead.
"If I had had an idea of this," he groaned. "I wish to God I had
never got that little Belgian to ferret out the truth. Find Ruth's
murderer--that was all I thought about."
"You wouldn't have liked your son-in-law to go scot free?"
Van Aldin sighed.
"I would have preferred to take the law into my own hands."
"I don't think that would have been a very wise proceeding, sir."
"All the same--are you sure the fellow wants to see me?"
"Yes, Mr. Van Aldin. He is very urgent about it."
"Then I suppose he will have to. He can come along this morning if he
likes."
It was a very fresh and debonair Poirot who was ushered in. He did
not seem to see any lack of cordiality in the millionaire's manner,
and chatted pleasantly about various trifles. He was in London, he
explained, to see his doctor. He mentioned the name of an eminent
surgeon.
"No, no, _pas la guerre_--a memory of my days in the police force, a
bullet of a rascally Apache."
He touched his left shoulder and winced realistically.
"I always consider you a lucky man, Monsieur Van Aldin; you are
not like our popular idea of American millionaires, martyrs to the
dyspepsia."
"I am pretty tough," said Van Aldin. "I lead a very simple life, you
know; plain fare and not too much of it."
"You have seen something of Miss Grey, have you not?" inquired Poirot,
innocently turning to the secretary.
"I--yes; once or twice," said Knighton.
He blushed slightly and Van Aldin exclaimed in surprise:
"Funny you never mentioned to me that you had seen her, Knighton?"
"I didn't think you would be interested, sir."
"I like that girl very much," said Van Aldin.
"It is a thousand pities that she should have buried herself once more
in St. Mary Mead," said Poirot.
"It is very fine of her," said Knighton hotly. "There are very
few people who would bury themselves down there to look after a
cantankerous old woman who has no earthly claim on her."
"I am silent," said Poirot, his eyes twinkling a little; "but all the
same I say it is a pity. And now, Messieurs, let us come to business."
Both the other men looked at him in some surprise.
"You must not be shocked or alarmed at what I am about to say.
Supposing, Monsieur Van Aldin, that, after all, Monsieur Derek
Kettering did not murder his wife?"
"What?"
Both men stared at him in blank surprise.
"Supposing, I say, that Monsieur Kettering did not murder his wife?"
"Are you mad, Monsieur Poirot?"
It was Van Aldin who spoke.
"No," said Poirot, "I am not mad. I am eccentric, perhaps--at least
certain people say so; but as regards my profession, I am very much, as
one says, 'all there.' I ask you, Monsieur Van Aldin, whether you would
be glad or sorry if what I tell you should be the case?"
Van Aldin stared at him.
"Naturally I should be glad," he said at last. "Is this an exercise in
suppositions, Monsieur Poirot, or are there any facts behind it?"
Poirot looked at the ceiling.
"There is an off-chance," he said quietly, "that it might be the Comte
de la Roche after all. At least I have succeeded in upsetting his
alibi."
"How did you manage that?"
Poirot shrugged his shoulders modestly.
"I have my own methods. The exercise of a little tact, a little
cleverness--and the thing is done."
"But the rubies," said Van Aldin, "these rubies that the Count had in
his possession were false."
"And clearly he would not have committed the crime except for the
rubies. But you are overlooking one point, Monsieur Van Aldin. Where
the rubies were concerned, some one might have been before him."
"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, to-morrow. What train?"
"We will go, I think, by the Blue Train," said Poirot, and he smiled.
34. The Blue Train Again
"The Millionaire's 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 further
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 suit-cases he hurried from the train. Van Aldin and Knighton,
bewildered but obedient, followed him. Van Aldin having once formed his
opinion of Poirot's ability was slow to part from it. At the barrier
they were held up. Their tickets were in 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 in 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 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 wildgoose 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 like a frightened rabbit is no earthly darned good."