Murder on the Orient Express Read Online Free PDF Page A

not.”
    â€œIf you’re holding out for more, you won’t get it. I know what a thing’s worth to me.”
    â€œI also—M. Ratchett.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with my proposition?”
    Poirot rose.
    â€œIf you will forgive me for being personal—I do not like your face, M. Ratchett,” he said.
    And with that he left the restaurant car.

Four
A C RY IN THE N IGHT
    T he Simplon Orient Express arrived at Belgrade at a quarter to nine that evening. It was not due to depart again until 9:15, so Poirot descended to the platform. He did not, however, remain there long. The cold was bitter and though the platform itself was protected, heavy snow was falling outside. He returned to his compartment. The conductor, who was on the platform stamping his feet and waving his arms to keep warm, spoke to him.
    â€œYour valises have been moved, Monsieur, to the compartment No. 1, the compartment of M. Bouc.”
    â€œBut where is M. Bouc, then?”
    â€œHe has moved into the coach from Athens which has just been put on.”
    Poirot went in search of his friend. M. Bouc waved his protestations aside.
    â€œIt is nothing. It is nothing. It is more convenient like this. You are going through to England, so it is better that you should stay in the through coach to Calais. Me, I am very well here. It is mostpeaceful. This coach is empty save for myself and one little Greek doctor. Ah! my friend, what a night! They say there has not been so much snow for years. Let us hope we shall not be held up. I am not too happy about it, I can tell you.”
    At 9:15 punctually the train pulled out of the station, and shortly afterwards Poirot got up, said good night to his friend and made his way along the corridor back into his own coach which was in front next to the dining car.
    On this, the second day of the journey, barriers were breaking down. Colonel Arbuthnot was standing at the door of his compartment talking to MacQueen.
    MacQueen broke off something he was saying when he saw Poirot. He looked very surprised.
    â€œWhy,” he cried, “I thought you’d left us. You said you were getting off at Belgrade.”
    â€œYou misunderstood me,” said Poirot, smiling. “I remember now, the train started from Stamboul just as we were talking about it.”
    â€œBut, man, your baggage—it’s gone.”
    â€œIt has been moved into another compartment—that is all.”
    â€œOh, I see.”
    He resumed his conversation with Arbuthnot and Poirot passed on down the corridor.
    Two doors from his own compartment, the elderly American lady, Mrs. Hubbard, was standing talking to the sheep-like lady who was a Swede. Mrs. Hubbard was pressing a magazine on the other.
    â€œNo, do take it, my dear,” she said. “I’ve got plenty otherthings to read. My, isn’t the cold something frightful?” She nodded amicably to Poirot.
    â€œYou are most kind,” said the Swedish lady.
    â€œNot at all. I hope you’ll sleep well and that your head will be better in the morning.”
    â€œIt is the cold only. I make now myself a cup of tea.”
    â€œHave you got some aspirin? Are you sure, now? I’ve got plenty. Well, good night, my dear.”
    She turned to Poirot conversationally as the other woman departed.
    â€œPoor creature, she’s a Swede. As far as I can make out, she’s a kind of missionary—a teaching one. A nice creature, but doesn’t talk much English. She was most interested in what I told her about my daughter.”
    Poirot, by now, knew all about Mrs. Hubbard’s daughter. Everyone on the train who could understand English did! How she and her husband were on the staff of a big American college in Smyrna and how this was Mrs. Hubbard’s first journey to the East, and what she thought of the Turks and their slipshod ways and the condition of their roads.
    The door next to them opened and the thin, pale manservant