“All the same, Madame, she may have made an error.
You see what I mean.” Poirot seemed anxious to explain. “The bolt is just a projection of metal – so.
When it is turned to the right, the door is locked. When it is left straight, the door is unlocked.
Possibly she merely tried the door, and as it was locked on the other side she may have assumed that it was locked on your side.”
“Well, I guess that would be rather stupid of her.”
“Madame, the most kind, the most amiable, are not always the cleverest.”
“That’s so, of course.”
“By the way, Madame, did you travel out to Smyrna this way?”
“No. I sailed right to Stamboul, and a friend of my daughter’s, Mr. Johnson (a perfectly lovely man, I’d like to have you know him), met me and showed me all round Stamboul.
But it was a very disappointing city – all tumbling down; and as for those mosques, and putting on those great shuffling things over your shoes – where was I?”
“You were saying that Mr. Johnson met you.”
“That’s so, and he saw me on board a French Messageries boat for Smyrna, and my daughter’s husband was waiting right on the quay.
What he’ll say when he hears about all this!
My daughter said this would be just the safest, easiest way imaginable.
‘You just sit in your carriage,’ she said, ‘and you land right in Parrus, and there the American Express will meet you.’
And, oh, dear, what am I to do about cancelling my steamship passage?
I ought to let them know. I can’t possibly make it now.
This is just too terrible–” Mrs. Hubbard showed signs of tears once more.
Poirot, who had been fidgeting slightly, seized his opportunity.
“You have had a shock, Madame.
The restaurant attendant shall be instructed to bring you along some tea and some biscuits.”
“I don’t know that I’m so set on tea,” said Mrs. Hubbard tearfully. “That’s more an English habit.”
“Coffee, then, Madame.
You need some stimulant–”
“That cognac’s made my head feel mighty funny.
I think I would like some coffee.”
“Excellent.
You must revive your forces.”
“My, what a funny expression!”
“But first, Madame, a little matter of routine.
You permit that I make a search of your baggage!”
“What for?”
“We are about to commence a search of all the passengers’ luggage.
I do not want to remind you of an unpleasant experience, but your sponge-bag – remember.”
“Mercy! Perhaps you’d better!
I just couldn’t bear to get any more surprises of that kind.”
The examination was quickly over.
Mrs. Hubbard was travelling with the minimum of luggage – a hat-box, a cheap suitcase, and a well-burdened travelling bag.
The contents of all three were simple and straightforward, and the examination would not have taken more than a couple of minutes had not Mrs. Hubbard delayed matters by insisting on due attention being paid to photographs of “my daughter” and of two rather ugly children – “my daughter’s children. Aren’t they cunning?”
15.
The Evidence of the Passengers’ Luggage
Having delivered himself of various polite insincerities, and having told Mrs. Hubbard that he would order coffee to be brought to her, Poirot was able to take his leave accompanied by his two friends.
“Well, we have made a start and drawn, a blank,” observed M. Bouc. “Whom shall we attack next?”
“It would be simplest, I think, just to proceed along the train, carriage by carriage.
That means that we start with No. 16 – the amiable Mr. Hardman.”
Mr. Hardman, who was smoking a cigar, welcomed them affably.
“Come right in, gentlemen. That is, if it’s humanly possible.
It’s just a mite cramped in here for a party.”
M. Bouc explained the object of their visit, and the big detective nodded comprehendingly.
“That’s O.K.