Murder on the Orient Express

Agatha Christie 
™
 MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS 
136
mother—an artist was needed. But there 
was
an artist connected with the Armstrong family: Mrs. 
Armstrong’s mother—Linda Arden, the actress . ...” 
He stopped. 
Then in a soft rich dreamy voice, quite unlike the one she had used throughout the journey, 
Mrs. Hubbard said: 
“I always fancied myself in comedy parts.” 
She went on, still dreamily: 
“That slip about the sponge-bag was silly. It shows that you should always rehearse property. 
We tried it on the way out—I was in an even-number compartment then, I suppose. I never 
thought of the bolts being in different places.” 
She shifted her position a little and looked straight at Poirot. 
“You know all about it, M. Poirot. You’re a very wonderful man. But even you can’t quite 
imagine what it was like—that awful day in New York. I was just crazy with grief; so were the 
servants. And Colonel Arbuthnot was there too. He was John Armstrong’s best friend.” 
“He saved my life in the War,” said Arbuthnot. 
“We decided then and there (perhaps we were mad—I don’t know) that the sentence of death 
that Cassetti had escaped had got to be carried out. There were twelve of us—or rather eleven; 
Susanne’s father was over in France, of course. First we thought we’d draw lots as to who should 
do it, but in the end we decided on this way. It was the chauffeur, Antonio, who suggested it. 
Mary worked out all the details later with Hector MacQueen. He’d always adored Sonia—my 
daughter—and it was he who explained to us exactly how Cassetti’s money had managed to get 
him off. 
“It took a long time to perfect our plan. We had first to track Ratchett down. Hardman 
managed that in the end. Then we had to try and get Masterman and Hector into his 
employment—or at any rate one of them. Well, we managed that. Then we had a consultation 
with Susanne’s father. Colonel Arbuthnot was very keen on having twelve of us. He seemed to 
think it made it more in order. He didn’t like the stabbing idea much, but he agreed that it did 
solve most of our difficulties. Well, Susanne’s father was willing. Susanne had been his only 
child. We knew from Hector that Ratchett would be coming back from the East sooner or later 
by the Orient Express. With Pierre Michel actually working on that train, the chance was too 
good to be missed. Besides, it would be a good way of not incriminating any outsiders. 
“My daughter’s husband had to know, of course, and he insisted on coming on the train with 
her. Hector wangled it so that Ratchett selected the right day for travelling, when Michel would 
be on duty. We meant to engage every carriage in the Stamboul-Calais coach, but unfortunately 
there was one carriage we couldn’t get. It had been reserved long beforehand for a director of the 
company. ‘Mr. Harris,’ of course, was a myth. But it would have been awkward to have any 
stranger in Hector’s compartment. And then, at the last minute, 
you
came. ...” 
She stopped. 
“Well,” she said, “you know everything now, M. Poirot. What are you going to do about it? If 
it must all come out, can’t you lay the blame upon me and me only? I would have stabbed that 
man twelve times willingly. It wasn’t only that he was responsible for my daughter’s death and 
her child’s and that of the other child who might have been alive and happy now. It was more 
than that: there had been other children kidnapped before Daisy, and there might be others in the 
future. Society had condemned him—we were only carrying out the sentence. But it’s 
unnecessary to bring all these others into it. All these good faithful souls—and poor Michel-and 
Mary and Colonel Arbuthnot—they love each other. ...” 

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