Murder on the Orient Express

Agatha Christie 
™
 MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS 
96
“In your case, yes.” 
“And yet I knew and loved Sonia Armstrong. What do you think, then? That I would not soil 
my hands with killing such 
canaille
as that man Cassetti? Well, perhaps you are right.” 
She was silent a minute or two. Then she said: 
“With such a man as that, do you know what I should have liked to do? I should have liked to 
call to my servants: ‘Flog this man to death and fling him out on the rubbish heap!’ That is the 
way things were done when I was young, Monsieur.” 
Still he did not speak, just listened attentively. 
She looked at him with a sudden impetuosity. “You do not say anything, M. Poirot. What is it 
that you are thinking, I wonder?” 
He looked at her with a very direct glance. “I think, Madame, that your strength is in your 
will—not in your arm.” 
She glanced down at her thin, black-clad arms ending in those claw-like yellow hands with 
the rings on the fingers. 
“It is true,” she said. “I have no strength in these—none. I do not know whether I am sorry or 
glad.” 
Then she turned abruptly back towards her carriage where the maid was busily packing up the 
cases. 
The Princess cut short M. Bouc’s apologies. 
“There is no need for you to apologise, Monsieur,” she said. “A murder has been committed. 
Certain actions have to be performed. That is all there is to it.” 
“
Vous êtes bien aimable, Madame
.” 
She inclined her head slightly as they departed. 
The doors of the next two carriages were shut. M. Bouc paused and scratched his head. 
“
Diable
!” he said. “This may be awkward. These are diplomatic passports. Their luggage is 
exempt.” 
“From customs examination, yes. But a murder is different.” 
“I know. All the same—we do not want to have complications.” 
“Do not distress yourself, my friend. The Count and Countess will be reasonable. See how 
amiable Princess Dragomiroff was about it.” 
“She is truly 
grande dame
. These two are also of the same position, but the Count impressed 
me as a man of somewhat truculent disposition. He was not pleased when you insisted on 
questioning his wife. And this will annoy him still further. Suppose—eh?—we omit them. After 
all, they can have nothing to do with the matter. Why should I stir up needless trouble for 
myself?” 
“I do not agree with you,” said Poirot. “I feel sure that Count Andrenyi will be reasonable. At 
any rate let us make the attempt.” 
And before M. Bouc could reply, he rapped sharply on the door of No. 13. 
A voice from within cried “
Entrez
!” 
The Count was sitting in the corner near the door reading a newspaper. The Countess was 
curled up in the opposite corner near the window. There was a pillow behind her head and she 
seemed to have been asleep. 
“Pardon, Monsieur le Comte,” began Poirot. “pray forgive this intrusion. It is that we are 
making a search of all the baggage on the train. In most cases a mere formality. But it has to be 
done. M. Bouc suggests that, as you have a diplomatic passport, you might reasonably claim to 
be exempt from such a search.” 

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