Murder On The Orient Express Page #9

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are you not?

All my ladies have said so. I...

If you are a lady's maid,

your ladies never have a chance

of discovering if you are a good cook.

As good a cook as

Hildegarde Schmidt must have been

to the Armstrong household.

Enfin.

Who do we now

have here in this car...

...that could have known

or could have been involved

with the Armstrong household?

We have, one, Mr. McQueen,

who became boyishly

devoted to Mrs. Armstrong

at the time of the kidnapping.

Two, the Princess Dragomiroff,

who was Mrs. Armstrong's

devoted godmother.

Three, the Countess Andrenyi,

who was Mrs. Armstrong's

devoted younger sister.

Four, the Count Andrenyi,

who is Helena's devoted husband

and Mrs. Armstrong's

devoted brother-in-law.

Five, Hildegarde Schmidt, who was

Mrs. Armstrong's devoted cook.

Five, Hildegarde Schmidt, who was

Mrs. Armstrong's devoted cook.

Six, Mary Debenham, who was

Mrs. Armstrong's devoted secretary.

Miss Debenham's inclusion

is pure conjecture.

I did not have to ask Miss Debenham

if she had ever lived in America,

because during her

interrogation, she said...

I can always call my lawyers

long-distance.

An Englishwoman who had never

lived in America would have said,

"I can always make a trunk call

to my solicitors."

Tout de m?e, I must thank

the pipe-smoking Colonel Arbuthnott,

for a remark which finally resolved

all my confusions about this...

This extraordinary case.

I prefer to set aside the fact

that he denied ever having spoken

to Colonel Armstrong in India.

And yet he remembered

in great detail

the decorations which

Colonel Armstrong had won

years earlier in France.

I prefer to remember his views

on the British jury system.

Trial by 12 good men and true

is a sound system.

The iron tongue of midnight

hath told 12.

Suddenly...

...the number 12 began to ring

in my head like a great bell.

Twelve.

Doctor, how many wounds

were there in Ratchett's body?

- Twelve.

- Mr. McQueen,

how many capital letters,

each inscribed by a different hand,

were contained in each

of the two threatening messages

you showed me on Ratchett's

correspondence file?

Twelve. Twelve.

Colonel Arbuthnott,

how many persons in a jury?

Twelve.

Pierre Paul Michel,

how many passengers

in the Calais coach,

excluding myself

and the murdered man?

Twelve, monsieur.

- Show me your wallet.

- No!

Mr. Hardman,

you may not speak.

Ratchett never asked you to be

his bodyguard, he asked me.

And I, perhaps to

my discredit, refused.

Before you joined Pinkerton's

as a private detective,

you were an ordinary policeman,

were you not?

A cop...

...who, as is customary with cops,

fell in love with

a pretty housemaid

on his beat.

Yes, and would have

married her...

...if...

Your daughter, Paulette,

never died of scarlet fever, did she?

No, she killed herself

when falsely accused

of complicity

in the kidnapping and killing

of little Daisy Armstrong.

They...

They could not have done it

without you, could they?

You.

The procurer of this disguise for

the mysterious member of the Mafia,

who never existed

any more than the owner

of this kimono existed

as a real character and not as a red

herring to confuse and deceive me.

Although I think

that I was not deceived.

I have, how shall I put it,

an eye for the...

For the figure

of a receding woman.

Countess, your cosmopolitan accent

showed an inherited ability...

...from your actress mother.

But God knows

from what implausible source

Miss Greta Ohlsson...

...learned her English vocabulary,

too ludicrous to be credited.

I was born backwards.

That is why I work in Africa

as missionary,

teaching little brown babies

more backwards than myself.

You coined words like "bed gown",

and yet you understand

words like "emolument".

I truly believe you did look after

little brown babies at your mission

in Shimoga, which is in India,

by the way, you know.

It's not Africa.

But I believe you

were covering up

for once, years earlier,

when you were in America,

having looked after a little

white baby called Daisy...

...whose death, though you

could do nothing to prevent it,

so preyed on your mind that you

sought refuge in a vision of Jesus.

And your future as a missionary,

looking after little brown babies,

was sealed.

You. You were lucky

only to be bound and gagged,

not crushed like the manservant.

- Mr. Beddoes.

- Sir.

You served with the

British army in Scotland.

Colonel Armstrong

was in the Royal Scots.

Would you kindly give Dr. Constantine

your deepest butler's bow?

Yes, there is an old contusion.

The result of a slight fracas

in the mess, sir,

with regard to the quality of a pudding

known as spotted dick.

Thank you, but I think

you've been spotted too.

Mr. Foscarelli is very knowledgeable

about automobiles.

I suspected that perhaps he had

once been Armstrong's chauffeur.

I asked if he had ever

been in private service.

No.

I think Mr. Foscarelli's

appalling English is more genuine

than Miss Ohlsson's,

but I think he meant yes.

- Think, monsieur?

- Think, think. Yes, think!

What else can be done on a train

isolated by a snowdrift?

If all these people are not

implicated in the crime,

then why have they all told me,

under interrogation,

stupid and often unnecessary lies?

Why? Why? Why? Why?

Doubtless, Monsieur Poirot,

because they did not expect you

to be on the train. They had no

time to concert their cover story.

I was hoping someone

other than myself would say that.

Ladies and gentlemen,

we now come

to my own reconstruction

of the night of the murder...

...or the night of the red herrings.

I only wish...

I only wish I could describe it...

...with the incomparable panache...

...the consummate verve,

the enthralling cadences,

the delicate gestures,

the evocative expressions of

America's greatest tragic actress,

Harriet Belinda.

Miss Linda Arden.

I've always heard she wanted

to play comedy parts,

but her husband

wouldn't have it.

Which husband?

Your second husband, Mr. Hubbard?

Which husband?

Your second husband, Mr. Hubbard?

Or your first husband,

Mr. Grunwald?

Linda Arden, the actress,

never played as difficult a role

as Mrs. Hubbard, the organizer

of this extraordinary revenge.

Dare I deduce that the great

Linda Arden has been cured

of her incurable disease

and is no longer bedridden?

It is I who should be committed

to a bed in a mental home.

It is I who need a cure

for being so slow

to notice the tricks

that were being played on me

with regard to the time

of the murder.

- Will there be anything more, sir?

- There will.

Tell Mr. McQueen

I wanna see him, now.

Very good, sir.

"And six beakers, stop.

"Only five, repeat,

five beakers were delivered.

"One, repeat, one badly chipped,

"which will be returned

on receipt of replacement

"to my Paris address.

"Signed, Ratchett."

OK, Hector, that's all.

Good night, Mr. Ratchett.

Good night, Hector.

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