Murder on the Orient Express

Agatha Christie 
™
 MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS 
99
“And yet, Mademoiselle, 
this
time your manner is quite different. You no longer betray the 
impatience. You are calm and philosophical.” 
Mary Debenham flushed and bit her lip. She no longer felt inclined to smile. 
“You do not answer, Mademoiselle?” 
“I am sorry. I did not know that there was anything to answer.” 
“Your change of attitude, Mademoiselle.” 
“Don’t you think that you are making rather a fuss about nothing, M. Poirot?” 
Poirot spread out his hands in an apologetic gesture. 
“It is perhaps a fault with us detectives. We expect the behaviour to be always consistent. We 
do not allow for changes of mood.” 
Mary Debenham made no reply. 
“You know Colonel Arbuthnot well, Mademoiselle?” 
He fancied that she was relieved by the change of subject. 
“I met him for the first time on this journey.” 
“Have you any reason to suspect that he may have known this man Ratchett?” 
She shook her head decisively. “I am quite sure he didn’t.” 
“Why are you sure?” 
“By the way he spoke.” 
“And yet, Mademoiselle, we found a pipe-cleaner on the floor of the dead man’s 
compartment. And Colonel Arbuthnot is the only man on the train who smokes a pipe.” 
He watched her narrowly, but she displayed neither surprise nor emotion, merely said: 
“Nonsense. It’s absurd. Colonel Arbuthnot is the last man in the world to be mixed up in a 
crime—especially a theatrical kind of crime like this.” 
It was so much what Poirot himself thought that he found himself on the point of agreeing 
with her. He said instead: 
“I must remind you that you do not know him very well, Mademoiselle.” 
She shrugged her shoulders. “I know the type well enough.” 
He said very gently: 
“You still refuse to tell me the meaning of those words: ‘When it’s behind us’?” 
She replied coldly, “I have nothing more to say.” 
“It does not matter,” said Hercule Poirot. “I shall find out.” 
He bowed and left the compartment, closing the door after him. 
“Was that wise, my friend?” asked M. Bouc. “You have put her on her guard—and through 
her, you have put the Colonel on his guard also.” 
“
Mon ami
, if you wish to catch a rabbit you put a ferret into the hole, and if the rabbit is 
there—he runs. That is all I have done.” 
They entered the compartment of Hildegarde Schmidt. 
The woman was standing in readiness, her face respectful but unemotional. 
Poirot took a quick glance through the contents of the small case on the seat. Then he 
motioned to the attendant to get down the bigger suitcase from the rack. 
“The keys?” he said. 
“It is not locked, Monsieur.” 
Poirot undid the hasps and lifted the lid. 
“Aha!” he said, and turning to M. Bouc, “You remember what I said? Look here a little 
moment!” 
On the top of the suitcase was a hastily rolled-up brown Wagon Lit uniform
. 

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