Murder on the Orient Express

Agatha Christie 
™
 MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS 
100
The stolidity of the German woman underwent a sudden change. 
“
Ach
!” she cried. “That is not mine. I did not put it there. I have never looked in that case 
since we left Stamboul. Indeed, indeed, it is true!” She looked from one to another of the men 
pleadingly. 
Poirot took her gently by the arm and soothed her. 
“No, no, all is well. We believe you. Do not be agitated. I am sure you did not hide the 
uniform there as I am sure that you are a good cook. See. You 
are
a good cook, are you not?” 
Bewildered, the woman smiled in spite of herself, “Yes, indeed, all my ladies have said so. 
I—” 
She stopped, her mouth open, looking frightened again. 
“No, no,” said Poirot. “I assure you all is well. See, I will tell you how this happened. This 
man, the man you saw in Wagon Lit uniform, comes out of the dead man’s compartment. He 
collides with you. That is bad luck for him. He has hoped that no one will see him. What to do 
next? He must get rid of his uniform. It is now not a safeguard, but a danger.” 
His glance went to M. Bow and Dr. Constantine, who were listening attentively. 
“There is the snow, you see. The snow which confuses all his plans. Where can he hide these 
clothes? All the compartments are full. No, he passes one whose door is open, showing it to be 
unoccupied. It must be the one belonging to the woman with whom he has just collided. He slips 
in, removes the uniform and jams it hurriedly into a suitcase on the rack. It may be some time 
before it is discovered.” 
“And then?” said M. Bouc. 
“That we must discuss,” Poirot said with a warning glance. 
He held up the tunic. A button, the third down, was missing. Poirot slipped his hand into the 
pocket and took out a conductor’s pass-key, used to unlock the doors of the compartments. 
“Here is the explanation of how one man was able to pass through locked doors,” said M. 
Bouc. “Your questions to Mrs. Hubbard were unnecessary. Locked or not locked, the man could 
easily get through the communicating door. After all, if a Wagon Lit uniform, why not a Wagon 
Lit key?” 
“Why not indeed?” returned Poirot. 
“We might have known it, really. You remember that Michel said that the door into the 
corridor of Mrs. Hubbard’s compartment was locked when he came in answer to her bell.” 
“That is so, Monsieur,” said the conductor. “That is why I thought the lady must have been 
dreaming.” 
“But now it is easy,” continued M. Bouc. “Doubtless he meant to relock the communicating 
door, also, but perhaps he heard some movement from the bed and it startled him.” 
“We have now,” said Poirot, “only to find the scarlet kimono.” 
“True. And these last two compartments are occupied by men.” 
“We will search all the same.” 
“Oh! assuredly. Besides, I remember what you said.” 
Hector MacQueen acquiesced willingly in the search. “I’d just as soon you did,” he said with 
a rueful smile. “I feel I’m definitely the most suspicious character on the train. You’ve only got 
to find a will in which the old man left me all his money, and that’ll just about fix things.” 
M. Bouc bent a suspicious glance upon him. 
“That’s only my fun,” added MacQueen hastily. “He’d never have left me a cent, really. I was 
just useful to him—languages and so on. You’re likely to be out of luck, you know, if you don’t 

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