Murder on the Orient Express

Agatha Christie 
™
 MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS 
81
“I told you just now: I don’t know. I woke up this morning about five o’clock with the feeling 
that the train had been standing still for a long time. I opened the door and looked out into the 
corridor, thinking we might be at a station. I saw someone in a scarlet kimono some way down 
the corridor.” 
“And you don’t know who it was? Was she fair, or dark, or grey-haired?” 
“I can’t say. She had on a shingle cap and I only saw the back of her head.” 
“And in build?” 
“Tallish and slim, I should judge, but it’s difficult to say. The kimono was embroidered with 
dragons.” 
“Yes, yes, that is right—dragons.” He was silent a minute. He murmured to himself. “I cannot 
understand. I cannot understand. None of this makes sense.” 
Then, looking up, he said: “I need not keep you further, Mademoiselle.” 
“Oh!” She seemed rather taken aback but rose promptly. 
In the doorway, however, she hesitated a minute and then came back. 
“The Swedish lady—Miss Ohlsson, is it?—seems rather worried. She says you told her she 
was the last person to see this man alive. She thinks, I believe, that you suspect her on that 
account. Can’t I tell her that she has made a mistake? Really, you know, she is the kind of 
creature who wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She smiled a little as she spoke. 
“What time was it that she went to fetch the aspirin from Mrs. Hubbard?” 
“Just after half-past ten.” 
“She was away—how long?” 
“About five minutes.” 
“Did she leave the compartment again during the night?” 
“No.” 
Poirot turned to the doctor. “Could Ratchett have been killed as early as that?” 
The doctor shook his head. 
“Then I think you can reassure your friend, Mademoiselle.” 
“Thank you.” She smiled suddenly at him, a smile that invited sympathy. “She’s like a sheep, 
you know. She gets anxious and bleats.” 
She turned and went out. 

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