“I think so, Monsieur.”
Poirot murmured something in M. Bouc’s ear.
The latter got up and went to the door to give an order.
Poirot was continuing his questions in an easy, friendly manner.
“Have you ever been to America, Fraulein Schmidt?”
“Never, Monsieur.
It must be a fine country.”
“You have heard, perhaps, who this man who was killed really was – that he was responsible for the death of a little child?”
“Yes, I have heard, Monsieur.
It was abominable – wicked.
The good God should not allow such things.
We are not so wicked as that inGermany.”
Tears had come into the woman’s eyes. Her strong, motherly soul was moved.
“It was an abominable crime,” said Poirot gravely.
He drew a scrap of cambric from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Is this your handkerchief, Fraulein Schmidt?”
There was a moment’s silence as the woman examined it.
She looked up after a minute.
The colour had mounted a little in her face.
“Ah! no, indeed.
It is not mine, Monsieur.”
“It has the initial H, you see. That is why I thought it was yours.”
“Ah! Monsieur, it is a lady’s handkerchief, that.
A very expensive handkerchief.
Embroidered by hand.
It comes from Paris, I should say.”
“It is not yours and you do not know whose it is?”
“I?
Oh! no, Monsieur.”
Of the three listening, only Poirot caught the nuance of hesitation in the reply.
M. Bouc whispered in his ear.
Poirot nodded and said to the woman: “The three sleeping-car attendants are coming in. Will you be so kind as to tell me which is the one you met last night as you were going with the rug to the Princess?”
The three men entered. Pierre Michel, the big blond conductor of the Athens-Paris coach, and the stout burly conductor of the Bucharest one.
Hildegarde Schmidt looked at them and immediately shook her head.
“No, Monsieur,” she said. “None of these is the man I saw last night.”
“But these are the only conductors on the train.
You must be mistaken.”
“I am quite sure, Monsieur.
These are all tall, big men. The one I saw was small and dark. He had a little moustache.
His voice when he said ‘Pardon’ was weak, like a woman’s.
Indeed, I remember him very well, Monsieur.”
13.
Summary of the Passengers’ Evidence
“A small dark man with a womanish voice,” said M. Bouc.
The three conductors and Hildegarde Schmidt had been dismissed.
M. Bouc made a despairing gesture.
“But I understand nothing – but nothing, of all of this!
The enemy that this Ratchett spoke of, he was then on the train after all?
But where is he now?
How can he have vanished into thin air?