"The murderer was carried away by rage, doubtless," he suggested.
"If she had been struck down, it would have been comprehensible," mused
Poirot, "but the man who strangled her slipped up behind and caught
her unawares. A little choke--a little gurgle--that is all that would
be heard, and then afterwards--that smashing blow on her face. Now
why? Did he hope that if the face were unrecognizable she might not
be identified? Or did he hate her so much that he could not resist
striking that blow even after she was dead?"
Katherine shuddered, and he turned at once to her kindly.
"You must not let me distress you, Mademoiselle," he said. "To you this
is all very new and terrible. To me, alas! it is an old story. One
moment, I pray of you both."
They stood against the door watching him as he went quickly round the
compartment. He noted the dead woman's clothes neatly folded on the
end of the berth, the big fur coat that hung from a hook, and the
little red lacquer hat tossed up on the rack. Then he passed through
into the adjoining compartment, that in which Katherine had seen the
maid sitting. Here the berth had not been made up. Three or four rugs
were piled loosely on the seat; there was a hat-box and a couple of
suit-cases. He turned suddenly to Katherine.
"You were in here yesterday," he said. "Do you see anything changed,
anything missing?"
Katherine looked carefully round both compartments.
"Yes," she said, "there is something missing--a scarlet morocco case.
It had the initials 'R. V. K.' on it. It might have been a small
dressing-case or a big jewel-case. When I saw it, the maid was holding
it."
"Ah!" said Poirot.
"But, surely," said Katherine. "I--of course, I don't know anything
about such things, but surely it is plain enough, if the maid and the
jewel-case are missing?"
"You mean that it was the maid who was the thief? No, Mademoiselle;
there is a very good reason against that."
"What?"
"The maid was left behind in Paris."
He turned to Poirot.
"I should like you to hear the conductor's story yourself," he murmured
confidentially. "It is very suggestive."
"Mademoiselle would doubtless like to hear it also," said Poirot. "You
do not object, Monsieur le Commissaire?"
"No," said the Commissary, who clearly did object very much. "No,
certainly, M. Poirot, if you say so. You have finished here?"
"I think so. One little minute."
He had been turning over the rugs, and now he took one to the window
and looked at it, picking something off it with his fingers.
"What is it?" demanded M. Caux sharply.
"Four auburn hairs." He bent over the dead woman. "Yes, they are from
the head of Madame."
"And what of it? Do you attach importance to them?"
Poirot let the rug drop back on the seat.
"What is important? What is not? One cannot say at this stage. But we
must note each little fact carefully."
They went back again into the first compartment, and in a minute or two
the conductor of the carriage arrived to be questioned.
"Your name is Pierre Michel?" said the Commissary.
"Yes, Monsieur le Commissaire."
"I should like you to repeat to this gentleman"--he indicated
Poirot--"the story that you told me as to what happened in Paris."
"Very good, Monsieur le Commissaire. It was after we had left the Gare
de Lyon. I came along to make the beds, thinking that Madame would be
at dinner, but she had a dinner basket in her compartment. She said
to me that she had been obliged to leave her maid behind in Paris, so
that I need make up only one berth. She took her dinner basket into the
adjoining compartment, and sat there while I made up the bed; then she
told me that she did not wish to be wakened early in the morning, that
she liked to sleep on. I told her I quite understood, and she wished me
'good-night.'"
"You yourself did not go into the adjoining compartment?"
"No, Monsieur."
"Then you did not happen to notice if a scarlet morocco case was
amongst the luggage there?"
"No, Monsieur, I did not."
"Would it have been possible for a man to have been concealed in the
adjoining compartment?"
The conductor reflected.
"The door was half open," he said. "If a man had stood behind that door
I should not have been able to see him, but he would, of course, have
been perfectly visible to Madame when she went in there."
"Quite so," said Poirot. "Is there anything more you have to tell us?"
"I think that is all, Monsieur. I can remember nothing else."
"And now this morning?" prompted Poirot.
"As Madame had ordered, I did not disturb her. It was not until just
before Cannes that I ventured to knock at the door. Getting no reply, I
opened it. The lady appeared to be in her bed asleep. I took her by the
shoulder to rouse her, and then--"
"And then you saw what had happened," volunteered Poirot. "_Très bien._
I think I know all I want to know."
"I hope, Monsieur le Commissaire, it is not that I have been guilty of
any negligence," said the man piteously. "Such an affair to happen on
the Blue Train! It is horrible."
"Console yourself," said the Commissary. "Everything will be done to
keep the affair as quiet as possible, if only in the interests of
justice. I cannot think you have been guilty of any negligence."
"And Monsieur le Commissaire will report as much to the Company?"
"But certainly, but certainly," said M. Caux impatiently. "That will do
now."
The conductor withdrew.
"According to the medical evidence," said the Commissary, "the lady
was probably dead before the train reached Lyons. Who then was the
murderer? From Mademoiselle's story, it seems clear that somewhere on
her journey she was to meet this man of whom she spoke. Her action in
getting rid of the maid seems significant. Did the man join the train
at Paris, and did she conceal him in the adjoining compartment? If so,
they may have quarrelled, and he may have killed her in a fit of rage.
That is one possibility. The other, and the more likely to my mind, is
that her assailant was a train robber travelling on the train; that
he stole along the corridor unseen by the conductor, killed her, and
went off with the red morocco case, which doubtless contained jewels of
some value. In all probability he left the train at Lyons, and we have
already telegraphed to the station there for full particulars of any
one seen leaving the train."
"Or he might have come on to Nice," suggested Poirot.
"He might," agreed the Commissary, "but that would be a very bold
course."
Poirot let a minute or two go by before speaking, and then he said:
"In the latter case you think the man was an ordinary train robber?"
The Commissary shrugged his shoulders.
"It depends. We must get hold of the maid. It is possible that she has
the red morocco case with her. If so, then the man of whom she spoke to
Mademoiselle may be concerned in the case, and the affair is a crime
of passion. I myself think the solution of a train robber is the more
probable. These bandits have become very bold of late."
Poirot looked suddenly across to Katherine.
"And you, Mademoiselle," he said, "you heard and saw nothing during the
night?"
"Nothing," said Katherine.
Poirot turned to the Commissary.
"We need detain Mademoiselle no longer, I think," he suggested.
The latter nodded.
"She will leave us her address?" he said.
Katherine gave him the name of Lady Tamplin's villa. Poirot made her a
little bow.
"You permit that I see you again, Mademoiselle?" he said. "Or have you
so many friends that your time will be all taken up?"
"On the contrary," said Katherine, "I shall have plenty of leisure, and
I shall be very pleased to see you again."
"Excellent," said Poirot, and gave her a little friendly nod. "This
shall be a _'roman policier' à nous_. We will investigate this affair
together."