Murder on the Orient Express

Agatha Christie 
™
 MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS 
103
“Ah, it is that you want it given to you in words of one syllable. Well, here it is! 
M. Ratchett 
spoke no French
. Yet, when the conductor came in answer to his bell last night, it was a voice 
speaking in 
French
that told him that it was a mistake and that he was not wanted. It was, 
moreover, a perfectly idiomatic phrase that was used, not one that a man knowing only a few 
words of French would have selected. ‘
Ce n’est rien Je me suis trompé
.’ ” 
“It is true,” cried Constantine excitedly. “We should have seen that! I remember your laying 
stress on the words when you repeated them to us. Now I understand your reluctance to rely 
upon the evidence of the dented watch. Already, at twenty-three minutes to one, Ratchett was 
dead—” 
“And it was his murderer speaking!” finished M. Bouc impressively. 
Poirot raised a deprecating hand. 
“Let us not go too fast. And do not let us assume more than we actually know. It is safe, I 
think, to say that at that time—twenty-three minutes to one—
some other person 
was in 
Ratchett’s compartment, and that that person either was French or could speak the French 
language fluently.” 
“You are very cautious, 
mon vieux
—” 
“One should advance only a step at a time. We have no actual 
evidence
that Ratchett was dead 
at that time.” 
“There is the cry that awakened you.” 
“Yes, that is true.” 
“In one way,” said M. Bouc thoughtfully, “this discovery does not affect things very much. 
You heard someone moving about next door. That someone was not Ratchett, but the other man. 
Doubtless he is washing blood from his hands, clearing up after the crime, burning the 
incriminating letter. Then he waits till all is still, and, when he thinks it is safe and the coast is 
clear, he locks and chains Ratchett’s door on the inside, unlocks the communicating door through 
into Mrs. Hubbard’s compartment and slips out that way. In fact, it is exactly as we thought, 
with 
the difference that Ratchett was killed about half an hour earlier 
and the watch put on to a 
quarter past one to create an alibi.” 
“Not such a famous alibi,” said Poirot. “The hands of the watch pointed to 1.15—the exact 
time when the intruder actually left the scene of the crime.” 
“True,” said M. Bouc, a little confused. “What then does the watch convey to you?” 
“If the hands were altered—I say 
if
—then the time at which they were set 
must
have a 
significance. The natural reaction would be to suspect anyone who had a reliable alibi for the 
time indicated—in this case, 1.15.” 
“Yes, yes,” said the doctor. “That reasoning is good.” 
“We must also pay a little attention to the time the intruder 
entered
the compartment. When 
had he an opportunity of doing so? Unless we are to assume the complicity of the real conductor, 
there was only one time when he could have done so—during the time the train stopped at 
Vincovci. After the train left Vincovci the conductor was sitting facing the corridor, and whereas 
any one of the passengers would pay little attention to a Wagon Lit attendant, the 
one
person 
who 
would
notice an impostor is the real conductor. But during the halt at Vincovci the 
conductor is out on the platform. The coast is clear.” 
“And by our former reasoning, it 
must
be one of the passengers,” said M. Bouc. “We come 
back to where we were. Which of them?” 
Poirot smiled. 
“I have made a list,” he said. “If you like to see it, it will perhaps refresh your memory.” 

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