Murder on the Orient Express

Agatha Christie 
™
 MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS 
75
pretty good strategic position. There was only the dining-car in front of the Stamboul sleeping-
car, and the door onto the platform at the front end was barred at night. The only way a thug 
could come was through the rear-end door to the platform, or along the train from the rear, and in 
either case he’d have to pass right by my compartment.” 
“You had no idea, I suppose, of the identity of the possible assailant?” 
“Well, I knew what he looked like. Mr. Ratchett described him to me.” 
“What?” 
All three men leaned forward eagerly. 
Hardman went on. 
“A small man—dark—with a womanish kind of voice. That’s what the old man said. Said, 
too, that he didn’t think it would be the first night out, More likely the second or third.” 
“He knew something,” said M. Bouc. 
“He certainly knew more than he told his secretary,” commented Poirot thoughtfully. “Did he 
tell you anything about this enemy of his? Did he, for instance, say 
why
his life was threatened?” 
“No, he was kinda reticent about that part of it. just said the fellow-was out for his blood and 
meant to get it.” 
“A small man—dark—with a womanish voice,” repeated Poirot thoughtfully. Then, fixing a 
sharp glance on Hardman, he asked: “You knew who he really was, of course?” 
“Which, Mister?” 
“Ratchett. You recognised him?” 
“I don’t get you.” 
“Ratchett was Cassetti, the Armstrong murderer.” 
Mr. Hardman gave vent to a prolonged whistle. 
“That certainly is some surprise!” he said. “Yes, 
sir
! No, I didn’t recognise him. I was away 
out West when that case came on. I suppose I saw photos of him in the papers, but I wouldn’t 
recognise my own mother when a newspaper photographer got through with her. Well, I don’t 
doubt that a few people had it in for Cassetti all right.” 
Do you know of anyone connected with the Armstrong case who answers to that description: 
small—dark—womanish voice?” 
Hardman reflected a minute or two. “It’s hard to say. Pretty nearly everyone connected with 
that case is dead.” 
“There was the girl who threw herself out of the window, remember.” 
“Sure. That’s a good point, that. She was a foreigner of some kind. Maybe she had some Wop 
relations. But you’ve got to remember that there were other cases besides the Armstrong one. 
Cassetti had been running this kidnapping stunt for some time. You can’t concentrate on that 
only.” 
Ah, but we have reason to believe that this crime 
is
connected with the Armstrong case.” 
Mr. Hardman cocked an inquiring eye. Poirot did not respond. The American shook his head. 
“I can’t call to mind anybody answering that description in the Armstrong case,” he said 
slowly. “But of course I wasn’t in it and didn’t know much about it.” 
“Well, continue your narrative, Mr. Hardman.” 
“There’s very little to tell. I got my sleep in the daytime and stayed awake on the watch at 
night. Nothing suspicious happened the first night. Last night was the same, as far as I was 
concerned. I had my door a little ajar and watched. No stranger passed.” 
“You are sure of that, Mr. Hardman?” 

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