Murder on the Orient Express

Agatha Christie 
™
 MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS 
40
happened. He changed his name and left America. Since then he has been a gentleman of leisure, 
travelling abroad and living on his 
rentes
.” 
“
Ah! quel animal
!” M. Bouc’s tone was redolent of heartfelt disgust. “I cannot regret that he 
is dead—not at all!” 
“I agree with you.” 
“
Tout de même
, it is not necessary that he should be killed on the Orient Express. There are 
other places.” 
Poirot smiled a little. He realised that M. Bouc was biased in the matter. 
“The question we have now to ask ourselves is this,” he said. “Is this murder the work of 
some rival gang whom Cassetti had double-crossed in the past, or is it an act of private 
vengeance?” 
He explained his discovery of the few words on the charred fragment of paper. 
“If I am right in my assumption, then, the letter was burnt by the murderer. Why? Because it 
mentioned the name ‘Armstrong,’ which is the clue to the mystery.” 
“Are there any members of the Armstrong family living?” 
“That, unfortunately, I do not know. I think I remember reading of a younger sister of Mrs. 
Armstrong’s.” 
Poirot went on to relate the joint conclusions of himself and Dr. Constantine. M. Bouc 
brightened at the mention of the broken watch. 
“That seems to give us the time of the crime very exactly.” 
“Yes,” said Poirot. “It is very convenient.” 
There was an indescribable something in his tone that made both the other two look at him 
curiously. 
“You say that you yourself heard Ratchett speak to the conductor at twenty minutes to one?” 
asked M. Bouc. 
Poirot related just what had occurred. 
“Well,” said M. Bouc, “that proves at least that Cassetti—or Ratchett, as I shall continue to 
call him—was certainly alive at twenty minutes to one.” 
“Twenty-three minutes to one, to be precise.” 
‘Then at twelve thirty-seven, to put it formally, Mr. Ratchett was alive. That is 
one
fact, at 
least.” 
Poirot did not reply. He sat looking thoughtfully in front of him. 
There was a tap on the door and the restaurant attendant entered. 
“The restaurant car is free now, Monsieur,” he said. 
“We will go there,” said M. Bouc, rising. 
“I may accompany you?” asked Constantine. 
“Certainly, my dear doctor. Unless M. Poirot has any objection?” 
“Not at all. Not at all,” said Poirot. 
After a little politeness in the matter of precedence—“
Après vous, Monsieur
”—“
Mais non, 
après vous
”—they left the compartment. 

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