The mystery of the Blue Train
reason for the disfigured face. The chief danger that Ada Mason ran was
that Katherine Grey might visit her compartment after the train left
Paris, and she provided against that difficulty by ordering a dinner
basket and by locking herself in her compartment."
"But who killed Ruth--and when?"
"First, bear it in mind that the crime was planned and undertaken by
the two of them--Knighton and Ada Mason, working together. Knighton
was in Paris that day on your business. He boarded the train somewhere
on its way round the _ceinture_. Mrs. Kettering would be surprised,
but she would be quite unsuspicious. Perhaps he draws her attention to
something out the window, and as she turns to look he slips the cord
round her neck--and the whole thing is over in a second or two. The
door of the compartment is locked, and he and Ada Mason set to work.
They strip off the dead woman's outer clothes. Mason and Knighton
roll the body up in a rug and put it on the seat in the adjoining
compartment amongst the bags and suit-cases. Knighton drops off the
train, taking the jewel-case containing the rubies with him. Since the
crime is not supposed to have been committed until nearly twelve hours
later he is perfectly safe, and his evidence and the supposed Mrs.
Kettering's words to the conductor will provide a perfect alibi for his
accomplice.
"At the Gare de Lyon Ada Mason gets a dinner basket, and shutting
herself into the toilet compartment she quickly changes into her
mistress's clothes, adjusts two false bunches of auburn curls, and
generally makes up to resemble her as closely as possible. When the
conductor comes to make up the bed, she tells him the prepared story
about having left her maid behind in Paris; and whilst he is making up
the berth, she stands looking out of the window, so that her back is
towards the corridor and people passing along there. That was a wise
precaution, because, as we know, Miss Grey was one of those passing,
and she, among others, was willing to swear that Mrs. Kettering was
still alive at that hour."
"Go on," said Van Aldin.
"Before getting to Lyons, Ada Mason arranged her mistress's body in
the bunk, folded up the dead woman's clothes neatly on the end of it,
and herself changed into a man's clothes and prepared to leave the
train. When Derek Kettering entered his wife's compartment, and, as
he thought, saw her asleep in her berth, the scene had been set, and
Ada Mason was hidden in the next compartment waiting for the moment to
leave the train unobserved. As soon as the conductor had swung himself
down on to the platform at Lyons, she follows, slouching along as
though just taking a breath of air. At a moment when she is unobserved,
she hurriedly crosses to the other platform, and takes the first train
back to Paris and the Ritz Hotel. Her name has been registered there as
taking a room the night before by one of Knighton's female accomplices.
She has nothing to do but wait there placidly for your arrival. The
jewels are not, and never have been, in her possession. No suspicion
attaches to him, and, as your secretary, he brings them to Nice
without the least fear of discovery. Their delivery there to Monsieur
Papopolous is already arranged for and they are entrusted to Mason at
the last moment to hand over to the Greek. Altogether a very neatly
planned coup, as one would expect from a master of the game such as the
Marquis."
"And you honestly mean that Richard Knighton is a well-known criminal,
who has been at this business for years?"
Poirot nodded.
"One of the chief assets of the gentleman called the Marquis was
his plausible, ingratiating manner. You fell a victim to his charm,
Monsieur Van Aldin, when you engaged him as a secretary on such a
slight acquaintanceship."
"I could have sworn that he never angled for the post," cried the
millionaire.
"It was very astutely done--so astutely done that it deceived a man
whose knowledge of other men is as great as yours is."
"I looked up his antecedents too. The fellow's record was excellent."
"Yes, yes; that was part of the game. As Richard Knighton his life
was quite free from reproach. He was well born, well connected, did
honourable service in the War, and seemed altogether above suspicion;
but when I came to glean information about the mysterious Marquis,
I found many points of similarity. Knighton spoke French like a
Frenchman, he had been in America, France, and England at much the
same time as the Marquis was operating. The Marquis was last heard
of as engineering various jewel robberies in Switzerland, and it was
in Switzerland that you had come across Major Knighton; and it was at
precisely that time that the first rumours were going round of your
being in treaty for the famous rubies."
"But why murder?" murmured Van Aldin brokenly. "Surely a clever thief
could have stolen the jewels without running his head into a noose."
Poirot shook his head. "This is not the first murder that lies to the
Marquis's charge. He is a killer by instinct; he believes, too, in
leaving no evidence behind him. Dead men and women tell no tales.
"The Marquis had an intense passion for famous and historical jewels.
He laid his plans far beforehand by installing himself as your
secretary and getting his accomplice to obtain the situation of maid
with your daughter, for whom he guessed the jewels were destined.
And, though this was his matured and carefully thought-out plan, he
did not scruple to attempt a shortcut by hiring a couple of Apaches
to waylay you in Paris on the night you bought the jewels. That plan
failed, which hardly surprised him, I think. This plan was, so he
thought, completely safe. No possible suspicion could attach to Richard
Knighton. But like all great men--and the Marquis was a great man--he
had his weaknesses. He fell genuinely in love with Miss Grey, and
suspecting her liking for Derek Kettering, he could not resist the
temptation to saddle him with the crime when the opportunity presented
itself. And now, Monsieur Van Aldin, I am going to tell you something
very curious. Miss Grey is not a fanciful woman by any means, yet she
firmly believes that she felt your daughter's presence beside her one
day in the Casino Gardens at Monte Carlo, just after she had been
having a long talk with Knighton. She was convinced, she says, that the
dead woman was urgently trying to tell her something, and it suddenly
came to her that what the dead woman was trying to say was that
Knighton was her murderer! The idea seemed so fantastic at the time
that Miss Grey spoke of it to no one. But she was so convinced of its
truth that she acted on it--wild as it seemed. She did not discourage
Knighton's advances, and she pretended to him that she was convinced of
Derek Kettering's guilt."
"Extraordinary," said Van Aldin.
"Yes, it is very strange. One cannot explain these things. Oh, by the
way, there is one little point that baffled me considerably. Your
secretary has a decided limp--the result of a wound that he received
in the War. Now the Marquis most decidedly did not limp. That was a
stumbling-block. But Miss Lenox Tamplin happened to mention one day
that Knighton's limp had been a surprise to the surgeons who had
been in charge of the case in her mother's hospital. That suggested
camouflage. When I was in London I went to the surgeon in question, and
I got several technical details from him which confirmed me in that
belief. I mentioned the name of that surgeon in Knighton's hearing the
day before yesterday. The natural thing would have been for Knighton to
mention that he had been attended by him during the War, but he said
nothing--and that little point, if nothing else, gave me the last final
assurance that my theory of the crime was correct. Miss Grey, too,
provided me with a cutting, showing that there had been a robbery at
Lady Tamplin's hospital during the time that Knighton had been there.
She realized that I was on the same track as herself when I wrote to
her from the Ritz in Paris.
"I had some trouble in my inquiries there, but I got what I
wanted--evidence that Ada Mason arrived on the morning after the crime
and not on the evening of the day before."
There was a long silence, then the millionaire stretched out a hand to
Poirot across the table.
"I guess you know what this means to me, Monsieur Poirot," he said
huskily. "I am sending you round a cheque in the morning, but no cheque
in the world will express what I feel about what you have done for me.
You are the goods, Monsieur Poirot. Every time, you are the goods."
Poirot rose to his feet; his chest swelled.
"I am only Hercule Poirot," he said modestly, "yet, as you say, in my
own way I am a big man, even as you also are a big man. I am glad and
happy to have been of service to you. Now I go to repair the damages
caused by travel. Alas! my excellent Georges is not with me."
In the lounge of the hotel he encountered a friend--the venerable
Monsieur Papopolous, his daughter Zia beside him.
"I thought you had left Nice, Monsieur Poirot," murmured the Greek as
he took the detective's affectionately proffered hand.
"Business compelled me to return, my dear Monsieur Papopolous."
"Business?"
"Yes, business. And talking of business, I hope your health is better,
my dear friend?"
"Much better. In fact, we are returning to Paris to-morrow."
"I am enchanted to hear such good news. You have not completely ruined
the Greek ex-Minister, I hope."
"I?"
"I understand you sold him a very wonderful ruby which--strictly _entre
nous_--is being worn by Mademoiselle Mirelle, the dancer?"
"Yes," murmured Monsieur Papopolous; "yes, that is so."
"A ruby not unlike the famous 'Heart of Fire'."
"It has points of resemblance, certainly," said the Greek casually.
"You have a wonderful hand with jewels, Monsieur Papopolous. I
congratulate you. Mademoiselle Zia, I am desolate that you are
returning to Paris so speedily. I had hoped to see some more of you now
that my business is accomplished."
"Would one be indiscreet if one asked what that business was?" asked
Monsieur Papopolous.
"Not at all, not at all. I have just succeeded in laying the Marquis by
the heels."
A far-away look came over Monsieur Papopolous' noble countenance.
"The Marquis?" he murmured; "now why does that seem familiar to me?
No--I cannot recall it."
"You would not, I am sure," said Poirot. "I refer to a very notable
criminal and jewel robber. He has just been arrested for the murder of
the English lady, Madame Kettering."
"Indeed? How interesting these things are!"
A polite exchange of farewells followed, and when Poirot was out of
earshot, Monsieur Papopolous turned to his daughter.
"Zia," he said, with feeling, "that man is the devil!"
"I like him."
"I like him myself," admitted Monsieur Papopolous. "But he is the
devil, all the same."
36. By the Sea
The mimosa was nearly over. The scent of it in the air was faintly
unpleasant. There were pink geraniums twining along the balustrade of
Lady Tamplin's villa, and masses of carnations below sent up a sweet,
heavy perfume. The Mediterranean was at its bluest. Poirot sat on the
terrace with Lenox Tamplin. He had just finished telling her the same
story he had told to Van Aldin two days before. Lenox had listened to
him with absorbed attention, her brows knitted and her eyes sombre.
When he had finished she said simply:
"And Derek?"
"He was released yesterday."
"And he has gone--where?"
"He left Nice last night."
"For St. Mary Mead?"
"Yes, for St. Mary Mead."
There was a pause.
"I was wrong about Katherine," said Lenox. "I thought she did not care."
"She is very reserved. She trusts no one."