Murder On The Orient Express Page #8

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- Excuse me, sir.

- Yes.

Enfin, doctor?

This blood is human.

This dagger could,

in two different hands,

have inflicted all of the wounds.

And you know

who inflicted them?

Our last interrogation

will be something of a gamble.

But if it succeeds...

...we'll know.

Come in, come in.

Please be seated.

You are Cyrus B. Hardman,

a theatrical agent.

No.

I mean, I'm...

I'm not a theatrical agent.

That's a phony, issued to me

under license by Pinkerton's.

- The detective agency?

- Stamboul branch.

Ratchett asked them for an

American bodyguard, they sent me.

I... didn't do so hot.

Can you prove this was

the reason for your journey?

- It's Paulette.

- Paulette.

Paulette Michel.

Now I can stop pretending

to be anything.

Ladies and gentlemen,

may I have your attention, please.

May I respectfully suggest

that there should be no talking

while Monsieur Poirot addresses you.

If anyone wishes to make a statement,

he or she can do so

at the meeting's end.

Thank you.

Ladies and gentlemen, you are

all aware that a repulsive murderer

has himself been repulsively

and perhaps deservedly murdered.

How and why?

Here is the simple answer.

There is evidence

supporting the theory

that the murderer

was a stranger to us all.

Mrs. Hubbard was conscious

of a man in her compartment

soon after 1:
15 a.m.

She later found near her bedside

the button of a wagon-lit conductor.

Fr?lein Schmidt discovered,

planted in her suitcase,

the uniform of a conductor,

which could not possibly

have fitted Pierre,

and from which, in fact,

there was a button missing.

And in the trouser

pocket of the uniform

was a conductor's passkey.

Later still, Mrs. Hubbard discovered

this bloodstained dagger,

which Dr. Constantine confirms

could have been

the murderer's weapon.

The obvious implication

is that the murderer,

disguised as a conductor,

boarded the train at Belgrade,

made his way by means

of the convenient passkey

to Ratchett's compartment,

stabbed him to death,

planted the dagger

and the uniform,

and then departed, since the train

was now halted in a snowdrift.

Who was he?

I am inclined to agree

with Mr. Foscarelli,

who believes that he was

a rival member of the Mafia,

exacting private vengeance

for a vendetta

whose precise nature the Yugoslav

police will undoubtedly identify.

But...

...is that all?

- No. No, no, no, no.

...is that all?

- No. No, no, no, no.

No, it is not.

I said, here is the simple answer.

There is also a more...

...complex one.

But remember

my first solution when I...

When you've heard my second.

Let us, for the moment, assume

what is perfectly plausible,

that the mysterious

stranger did not exist.

The murder must then have been

committed by some person or persons

in the Calais coach and therefore

are present in this dining car.

Let us not, for the moment,

ask the question "how"

but the question "why",

which will tell us how.

I was not surprised

that every single one of you

should have heard of

the notorious Armstrong case.

But I confess to a mild surprise when

the first passenger I interrogated,

Mr. McQueen...

...admitted, under emotional stress,

that he had actually known

Mrs. Armstrong, albeit very slightly.

She was gentle and frightened.

But not too frightened to take

an interest in a young man

who wanted to go on the stage.

Was Mr. McQueen lying

when he denied ever having

known that Ratchett

was Cassetti?

Or did he become

Ratchett's secretary

as part of a deliberate plan to avenge

Mrs. Armstrong's death?

Only by interrogating

the other passengers

could I hope to see the light.

But when I began

to question them,

the light, as Macbeth

would have said, thickened.

When I told the Princess

Dragomiroff that I knew she was

Mrs. Armstrong's godmother,

her answers to my subsequent

questions smelled strongly

of inaccuracy and evasion.

Even I knew more from reading

the newspaper reports

than she from her frequent visits.

Was there not a chauffeur?

There was, monsieur, but I had

my own. I never used him.

Evasion. What was the name of

Mrs. Armstrong's personal maid?

I always travel with

my own maid, monsieur.

There was no need to speak

with Mrs. Armstrong's.

Evasion. I asked for particulars

of the manservant.

He was, I think, the colonel's Indian,

how you would say, orderly.

Inaccuracy.

Colonel Armstrong was an officer

of the British army in India.

He would have had a British

batman, like Private Beddoes,

to serve his personal needs.

Only officers of the Indian army,

like Colonel Arbuthnott,

have Indian orderlies.

I asked her the name of

Mrs. Armstrong's younger sister.

I do not recall her name.

Unbelievable evasion.

I asked her the name

of Mrs. Armstrong's secretary.

Yes, a Miss Freebody.

Non, c'est impossible ?

The princess, it seems,

is playing the psychological game

of word association.

Freebody is the name

of the junior partner

of one of London's most famous

and most opulent ladies' stores

of the sort perhaps patronized

by the princess herself.

The name of the senior partner

is Debenham.

Debenham and Freebody.

Was the princess covering

up for our Miss Debenham,

who taught shorthand

in Baghdad?

Can she tell us the name

of Mrs. Armstrong's younger sister?

Then I will tell you her

Christian and her maiden name.

When I asked the Princess

Dragomiroff if she could tell me

the maiden name of her

goddaughter, Mrs. Armstrong,

she could not possibly,

as a godmother,

plead ignorance of this.

She replied...

Greenwood.

Grunwald is the German

for Greenwood.

The princess's hesitation

persuades me

that Grunwald was

the true maiden name

of her goddaughter,

Mrs. Armstrong.

And that the Countess Andrenyi

is Mrs. Armstrong's

surviving younger sister.

Her Christian name is Helena.

Not Elena. No, no, no.

But Helena.

And where did she lose

her Christian name's initial H?

She lost it under a convenient grease

spot in her husband's passport.

And why was the grease

spot purposely applied?

Because she and her

husband were afraid

that this handkerchief,

bearing the initial H...

...might lead me to suspect her

of complicity in the murder.

I swear before God and on my

word of honor as a gentleman,

that this handkerchief

does not belong to my wife.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

Not at...

No. No.

No. No. No.

It does not.

No. Nor does it belong

to Mrs. Harriet Belinda Hubbard.

Nor to Fr?lein Hildegarde Schmidt,

whose finest quality is her loyalty.

The initial is wrong.

What is the princess's first name?

Natalia, mein Herr.

It is a Russian name.

In the Russian, or Cyrillic, alphabet,

their capital N

is written like our capital H.

Madame la Princess,

should this costly handkerchief

cease to remain an exhibit,

it will be returned to your

loyal maid for laundering.

Or is Hildegarde Schmidt

really your maid?

I have, perhaps, a nose for the aura

of fine food and laid a trap.

You are a good cook,

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