“That seems to give us the time of the crime very exactly.”
“Yes,” said Poirot. “It is very convenient.” There was an indescribable something in his tone that made both the other two look at him curiously.
“You say that you yourself heard Ratchett speak to the conductor at twenty minutes to one?” asked M. Bouc.
Poirot related just what had occurred.
“Well,” said M. Bouc, “that proves at least that Cassetti – or Ratchett, as I shall continue to call him – was certainly alive at twenty minutes to one.”
“Twenty-three minutes to one, to be precise.”
‘Then at twelve thirty-seven, to put it formally, Mr. Ratchett was alive.
That is one fact, at least.”
Poirot did not reply.
He sat looking thoughtfully in front of him.
There was a tap on the door and the restaurant attendant entered.
“The restaurant car is free now, Monsieur,” he said.
“We will go there,” said M. Bouc, rising.
“I may accompany you?” asked Constantine.
“Certainly, my dear doctor.
Unless M. Poirot has any objection?”
“Not at all.
Not at all,” said Poirot.
After a little politeness in the matter of precedence –
“Apres vous, Monsieur” –
“Mais non, apres vous” – they left the compartment.
Part II.
The Evidence
1.
The Evidence of the Wagon Lit Conductor
In the restaurant car all was in readiness.
Poirot and M. Bouc sat together on one side of a table.
The doctor sat across the aisle.
On the table in front of Poirot was a plan of the Istanbul-Calais coach with the names of the passengers marked in red ink.
The passports and tickets were in a pile at one side.
There was writing paper, ink, pen, and pencils.
“Excellent,” said Poirot. “We can open our Court of Inquiry without more ado.
First, I think, we should take the evidence of the Wagon Lit conductor.
You probably know something about the man.
What character has he?
Is he a man on whose word you would place reliance?”
“I should say so, most assuredly.
Pierre Michel has been employed by the company for over fifteen years.
He is a Frenchman – lives near Calais.
Thoroughly respectable and honest.
Not, perhaps, remarkable for brains.”
Poirot nodded comprehendingly.
“Good,” he said.
“Let us see him.”
Pierre Michel had recovered some of his assurance, but he was still extremely nervous.
“I hope Monsieur will not think that there has been any negligence on my part,” he said anxiously, his eyes going from Poirot to M. Bouc. “It is a terrible thing that has happened.
I hope Monsieur does not think that it reflects on me in any way?”
Having soothed the man’s fears, Poirot began his questions.
He first elicited Michel’s name and address, his length of service, and the length of time he had been on this particular route.
These particulars he already knew, but the routine questions served to put the man at his ease.