Murder on the Orient Express

Agatha Christie 
™
 MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS 
73
9 
THE EVIDENCE OF MR. HARDMAN 
The last of the first-class passengers to be interviewed, Mr. Hardman, was the big flamboyant 
American who had shared a table with the Italian and the valet. 
He wore a somewhat loud check suit, a pink shirt, and a flashy tie-pin, and was rolling 
something round his tongue as he entered the dining-car. He had a big, fleshy, coarse-featured 
face, with a good-humoured expression. 
“Morning, gentlemen,” he said. “What can I do for you?” 
“You have heard of this murder, Mr.—er—Hardman?” 
“Sure.” He shifted the chewing gum deftly. 
“We are of necessity interviewing all the passengers on the train.” 
“That’s all right by me. Guess that’s the only way to tackle the job.” 
Poirot consulted the passport lying in front of him. 
“You are Cyrus Bethman Hardman, United States subject, forty-one years of age, travelling 
salesman for typewriting ribbons?” 
“O.K. That’s me.” 
you are travelling from Stamboul to Paris?” 
“That’s so.” 
“Reason?” 
“Business.” 
“Do you always travel first-class, Mr. Hardman?” 
“Yes, sir. The firm pays my travelling expenses. “ He winked. 
“Now, Mr. Hardman, we come to the events of last night.” 
The American nodded. 
“What can you tell us about the matter?” 
“Exactly nothing at all.” 
“Ah, that is a pity. Perhaps, Mr. Hardman, you will tell us exactly what you did last night 
from dinner onwards?” 
For the first time the American did not seem ready with his reply. At last he said: “Excuse me, 
gentlemen, but just who are you? Put me wise.” 
“This is M. Bouc, a director of the Compagnie des Wagons Lits. This gentleman is the doctor 
who examined the body.” 
“And you yourself?” 
“I am Hercule Poirot. I am engaged by the company to investigate this matter.” 
“I’ve heard of you,” said Mr. Hardman. He reflected a minute or two longer. “Guess I’d better 
come clean.” 
“It will certainly be advisable for you to tell us all you know,” said Poirot drily. 
“You’d have said a mouthful if there was anything I 
did
know. But I don’t. I know nothing at 
all—just as I said. But I 
ought
to know something. That’s what makes me sore. I 
ought
to.” 
“Please explain, Mr. Hardman.” 

---