Murder on the Orient Express

Agatha Christie 
™
 MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS 
57
“Well, now, that’s funny, but it’s certainly not mine. Mine are marked C.M.H., and they’re 
sensible things—not expensive Paris fallals. What good is a handkerchief like that to anybody’s 
nose?” 
None of the three men seemed to have an answer to this question and Mrs. Hubbard sailed out 
triumphantly. 

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Agatha Christie 
™
 MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS 
58
5 
THE EVIDENCE OF THE SWEDISH LADY 
M. Bouc was handling the button that Mrs. Hubbard had left behind her. 
“This button. I cannot understand it. Does it mean that after all, Pierre Michel is involved in 
some way?” he asked. He paused, then continued, as Poirot did not reply. “What have you to say, 
my friend?” 
“That button, it suggests possibilities,” said Poirot thoughtfully. “Let us interview next the 
Swedish lady before we discuss the evidence that we have heard.” 
He sorted through the pile of passports in front of him. “Ah! here we are. Greta Ohlsson, age 
forty-nine.” 
M. Bouc gave directions to the restaurant attendant, and presently the lady with the yellowish 
grey bun of hair and the long, mild, sheep-like face was ushered in. She peered short-sightedly at 
Poirot through her glasses, but was quite calm. 
It transpired that she understood and spoke French, so the conversation took place in that 
language. Poirot first asked her the questions to which he already knew the answers—her name, 
age, and address. He then asked her her occupation. 
She was, she told him, matron in a missionary school near Stamboul. She was a trained nurse. 
“You know, of course, of what took place last night, Mademoiselle?” 
“Naturally. It is very dreadful. And the American lady tells me that the murderer was actually 
in her compartment.” 
“I hear, Mademoiselle, that you were the last person to see the murdered man alive?” 
“I do not know. It may be so. I opened the door of his compartment by mistake. I was much 
ashamed. It was a most awkward mistake.” 
“You actually saw him?” 
“Yes. He was reading a book. I apologised quickly and withdrew.” 
“Did he say anything to you?” 
A slight flush showed on the worthy lady’s cheek. 
“He laughed and said a few words. I—I did not quite catch them.” 
“And what did you do after that, Mademoiselle?” asked Poirot, passing from the subject 
tactfully. 
“I went in to the American lady, Mrs. Hubbard. I asked her for some aspirin and she gave it to 
me.” 
“Did she ask you whether the communicating door between her compartment and that of Mr. 
Ratchett was bolted?” 
“Yes.” 
“And was it?” 
“Yes.” 
“And after that?” 
“After that I went back to my compartment, took the aspirin, and lay down.” 
“What time was all this?” 
“When I got into bed it was five minutes to eleven. I know because I looked at my watch 
before I wound it up.” 

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