Murder on the Orient Express

Agatha Christie 
™
 MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS 
63
“You can write it,” she said. “There is nothing difficult. Natalia Dragomiroff, 17 Avenue 
Kléber, Paris.” 
“You are travelling home from Constantinople, Madame?” 
“Yes. I have been staying at the Austrian Embassy. My maid is with me.” 
“Would you be so good as to give me a brief account of your movements last night from 
dinner onwards?” 
“Willingly. I directed the conductor to make up my bed whilst I was in the dining-car. I 
retired to bed immediately after dinner. I read until the hour of eleven, when I turned out my 
light. I was unable to sleep owing to certain rheumatic pains from which I suffer. At about a 
quarter to one I rang for my maid. She massaged me and then read aloud till I felt sleepy. I 
cannot say exactly, when she left me. It may have been half an hour afterward, it may have been 
later.” 
“The train had stopped then?” 
“The train had stopped.” 
“You heard nothing—nothing unusual during the time, Madame?” 
“I heard nothing unusual.” 
“What is your maids name?” 
“Hildegarde Schmidt.” 
“She has been with you long?” 
“Fifteen years.” 
“You consider her trustworthy?” 
“Absolutely. Her people come from an estate of my late husband’s in Germany.” 
“You have been in America, I presume, Madame?” 
The abrupt change of subject made the old lady raise her eyebrows. “Many times.” 
“Were you at any time acquainted with a family of the name of Armstrong—a family in 
which a tragedy occurred?” 
With some emotion in her voice the old lady said: “You speak of friends of mine, Monsieur.” 
“You knew Colonel Armstrong well, then?” 
“I knew him slightly, but his wife, Sonia Armstrong, was my god-daughter. I was on terms of 
friendship with her mother, the actress, Linda Arden. Linda Arden was a great genius, one of the 
greatest tragic actresses in the world. As Lady Macbeth, as Magda, there was no one to touch 
her. I was not only an admirer of her art, I was a personal friend.” 
“She is dead?” 
“No, no, she is alive, but she lives in complete retirement. Her health is very delicate, and she 
has to lie on a sofa most of the time.” 
“There was, I think, a second daughter?” 
“Yes, much younger than Mrs. Armstrong.” 
“And she is alive?” 
“Certainly.” 
“Where is she?” 
The old woman bent an acute glance at him. 
“I must ask you the reason for these questions. What have they to do with the matter in 
hand—the murder on this train?” 
“They are connected in this way, Madame: the man who was murdered was the man 
responsible for the kidnapping and murder of Mrs. Armstrong’s child.” 
“Ah!” 

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