Chapter 11 MURDER 

Katherine wakened the next morning to brilliant sunshine. She went along to breakfast early, but met none of her acquaintances of the day before. When she returned to her compartment it had just been restored to its daytime appearance by the conductor, a dark man with a drooping moustache and melancholy face. 

"Madame is fortunate," he said, "the sun shines. It is always a great disappointment to passengers when they arrive on a grey morning." 

"I should have been disappointed, certainly," said Katherine. 

The man prepared to depart. 

"We are rather late, Madame," he said. "I will let you know just before we get to Nice." 

Katherine nodded. She sat by the window; entranced by the sunlit panorama. The palid trees, the deep blue of the sea, the bright yellow mimosa came with all the charm of novelty to the woman who for fourteen years had known only the drab winters of England. 

When they arrived at Cannes, Katherine got out and walked up and down the platform. She was curious about the lady in the mink coat, and looked up at the windows of her compartment. The blinds were still drawn down - the only ones to be so on the whole train. Katherine wondered a little, and when she re-entered the train she passed along the corridor and noticed that these two compartments were still shuttered and closed. The lady of the mink coat was clearly no early riser. 

Presently the conductor came to her and told her that in a few minutes the train would arrive at Nice. Katherine handed him a tip; the man thanked her, but still lingered. 

There was something odd about him. Katherine, who had at first wondered whether the tip had not been big enough, was now convinced that something far more serious was amiss. His face was of a sickly pallor, he was shaking all over, and looked as if he had been frightened out of his life. He was eyeing her in a curious manner. Presently he said abruptly: "Madame will excuse me, but is she expecting friends to meet her at Nice?" 

"Probably," said Katherine. "Why?" 

But the man merely shook his head and murmured something that 

Katherine could not catch and moved away, not reappearing until the train came to rest at the station, when he started handing her belongings down from the window. 

Katherine stood for a moment or two on the platform rather at a loss, but a fair young man with an ingenuous face came up to her and said rather hesitatingly: 

"Miss Grey, is it not?" 

Katherine said that it was, and the young man beamed upon her seraphically and murmured: 

"I am Chubby, you know - Lady Tamplin's husband. I expect she mentioned me, but perhaps she forgot. Have you got your billet de bagages? I lost mine when I came out this year, and you would not believe the fuss they made about it. Regular French red tape!" 

Katherine produced it, and was just about to move off beside him when a very gentle and insidious voice murmured in her ear: 

"A little moment, Madame, if you please." 

Katherine turned to behold an individual who made up for insignificance of stature by a large quantity of gold lace and uniform. 

The individual explained. "There were certain formalities. Madame would perhaps be so kind as to accompany him. The regulations of the police -" He threw up his arms. "Absurd, doubtless, but there it was." 

Mr Chubby Evans listened with a very imperfect comprehension, his French being of a limited order. 

"So like the French," murmured Mr Evans. He was one of those staunch patriotic Britons who, having made a portion of a foreign country their own, strongly resent the original inhabitants of it. 

"Always up to some silly dodge or other. They've never tackled people on the station before, though. This is something quite new. I suppose you'll have to go." 

Katherine departed with her guide. Somewhat to her surprise, he led her towards a siding where a coach of the departed train had been shunted. He invited her to mount into this, and, preceding her down the corridor, held aside the door of one of the compartments. 

In it was a pompous-looking official personage, and with him a nondescript being who appeared to be a clerk. The pompous- looking personage rose politely, bowed to Katherine, and said: 

"You will excuse me, Madame, but there are certain formalities to be complied with. Madame speaks French, I trust?" 

"Sufficiently, I think, Monsieur," replied Katherine in that language. 

"That is good. Pray be seated, Madame. I am M. Caux, the Commissary of Police." 

He blew out his chest importantly, and Katherine tried to look sufficiently impressed. 

"You wish to see my passport?" she inquired. "Here it is." 

The Commissary eyed her keenly and gave a little grunt. 

"Thank you, Madame," he said, taking the passport from her. He cleared his throat. 

"But what I really desire is a little information." 

"Information?" 

The Commissary nodded his head slowly. 

"About a lady who has been a fellow-passenger of yours. You lunched with her yesterday." 

"I am afraid I can't tell you anything about her. We fell into conversation over our meal, but she is a complete stranger to me. I have never seen her before." 

"And yet," said the Commissary sharply, "you returned to her compartment with her after lunch and sat talking for some time?" 

"Yes," said Katherine, "that is true." 

The Commissary seemed to expect her to say something more. He 

looked at her encouragingly. 

"Yes, Madame?" 

"Well, Monsieur?" said Katherine. 

"You can, perhaps, give me some kind of idea of that conversation?" 

"I could," said Katherine, "but at the moment I see no reason to do so." 

In somewhat British fashion she felt annoyed. 

This foreign official seemed to her impertinent. 

"No reason?" cried the Commissary. "Oh yes, Madame, I can assure you that there is a reason." 

"Then perhaps you will give it to me." 

The Commissary rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a minute or two without speaking. 

"Madame," he said at last, "the reason is very simple. The lady in question was found dead in her compartment this morning." 

"Dead!" gasped Katherine. "What was it - heart failure?" 

"No," said the Commissary in a reflective voice. "No - she was murdered." 

"Murdered!" cried Katherine. 

"So you see, Madame, why we are anxious for any information we can possibly get." 

"But surely her maid -" 

"The maid has disappeared." 

"Oh!" Katherine paused to assemble her thoughts. 

"Since the conductor had seen you talking with her in her compartment, he quite naturally reported the fact to the police, and that is why, Madame, we have detained you, in the hope of gaining some information." 

"I am very sorry," said Katherine, "I don't even know her name." 

"Her name is Kettering. That we know from her passport and from the labels on her luggage. If we -" 

There was a knock on the compartment door. M. Caux frowned. He opened it about six inches. 

"What is the matter?" he said peremptorily. "I cannot be disturbed." 

The egg-shaped head of Katherine's dinner acquaintance showed 

itself in the aperture. On his face was a beaming smile. 

"My name," he said, "is Hercule Poirot." 

"Not," the Commissary stammered, "not the Hercule Poirot?" 

"The same," said Mr Poirot. "I remember meeting you once, M. Caux, at the S?reté in Paris, though doubtless you have forgotten me?" 

"Not at all, Monsieur, not at all," declared the Commissary heartily. "But enter, I pray of you. You know of this -" 

"Yes, I know," said Hercule Poirot. "I came to see if I might be of any assistance?" 

"We should be flattered," replied the Commissary promptly. "Let me present you, Mr Poirot, to -" he consulted the passport he still held in his hand - "to Madame - er - Mademoiselle Grey." 

Poirot smiled across at Katherine. 

"It is strange, is it not," he murmured, "that my words should have come true so quickly?" 

"Mademoiselle, alas! can tell us very little," said the Commissary. 

"I have been explaining," said Katherine, "that this poor lady was a complete stranger to me." 

Poirot nodded. 

"But she talked to you, did she not?" he said gently. "You formed an impression - is it not so?" 

"Yes," said Katherine thoughtfully. "I suppose I did. And that impression was -" 

"Yes, Mademoiselle -" the Commissary jerked himself forward - 

"let us by all means have your impressions." 

Katherine sat turning the whole thing over in her mind. She felt in a way as if she were betraying a confidence, but with that ugly word 'Murder' ringing in her ears she dared not keep anything back. Too much might hang upon it. So, as nearly as she could, she repeated word for word the conversation she had had with the dead woman. 

"That is interesting," said the Commissary, glancing at the other. 

"Eh, M. Poirot, that is interesting? Whether it has anything to do with the crime -" He left the sentence unfinished. 

"I suppose it could not be suicide," said Katherine, rather doubtfully. 

"No," said the Commissary, "it could not be suicide. She was strangled with a length of black cord." 

"Oh!" Katherine shivered. M. Caux spread out his hands apologetically. "It is not nice - no. I think that our train robbers are more brutal than they are in your country." 

"It is horrible." 

"Yes, yes -" he was soothing and apologetic - "but you have great courage, Mademoiselle. At once, as soon as I saw you, I said to myself, 'Mademoiselle has great courage.' That is why I am going to ask you to do something more - something distressing, but I assure you very necessary." 

Katherine looked at him apprehensively. 

He spread out his hands apologetically. 

"I am going to ask you, Mademoiselle, to be so good as to accompany me to the next compartment." 

"Must I?" asked Katherine in a low voice. 

"Someone must identify her," said the Commissary, "and since the maid has disappeared -" he coughed significantly - "you appear to be the person who has seen most of her since she joined the train." 

"Very well," said Katherine quietly, "if it is necessary -" 

She rose. Poirot gave her a little nod of approval. 

"Mademoiselle is sensible," he said. "May I accompany you, M. Caux?" 

"Enchanted, my dear M. Poirot." 

They went out into the corridor, and M. Caux unlocked the door of the dead woman's compartment. The blinds on the far side had been drawn half-way up to admit light. The dead woman lay on the berth to their left, in so natural a posture that one could have thought her asleep. The bedclothes were drawn up over her, and her head was turned to the wall, so that only the red auburn curls showed. Very gently M. Caux laid a hand on her shoulder and turned the body back so that the face came into view. Katherine flinched a little and dug her nails into her palms. A heavy blow had disfigured the features almost beyond recognition. Poirot gave a sharp exclamation. 

"When was that done, I wonder?" he demanded. "Before death or after?" 

"The doctor says after," said M. Caux. 

"Strange," said Poirot, drawing his brows together. 

He turned to Katherine. "Be brave, Mademoiselle, look at her well. Are you sure that this is the woman you talked to in the train yesterday?" 

Katherine had good nerves. She steeled herself to look long and earnestly at the recumbent figure. Then she leaned forward and took up the dead woman's hand. 

"I am quite sure," she replied at length. "The face is too disfigured to recognize, but the build and carriage and hair are exact, and besides I noticed this -" she pointed to a tiny mole on the dead woman's wrist - "while I was talking to her." 

"Bon," approved Poirot. "You are an excellent witness, Mademoiselle. There is then no question as to the identity, but it is strange, all the same." He frowned down on the dead woman in perplexity. 

M. Caux shrugged his shoulders. 

"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 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 suitcases. 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," said the Commissary. 

"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 only need make up 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 

'goodnight.'" 

"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 anyone 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' a nous. We will investigate this affair together." 

第十一章 谋杀

    当卡泰丽娜第二天早晨醒来的时候，阳光照射着包厢的窗口。她准时进了餐车，但没有遇上一个新结识的熟人。当她回到自己包厢的时候，看到一个男乘务员。他留着一把刷子似的胡须，愁容满面，好象刚梳洗完毕。

    “女士真是幸运！”他说，“明媚的阳光。如果火车到达时是一个昏暗的早晨，旅客们总是很扫兴的。”

    “是的，如果是那样，会使我很扫兴。”

    “女士，我们这列车有些晚点。”乘务员继续说道。“到了尼扎我会叫您的。”

    卡泰丽娜点了一下头，又坐在窗口边，欣赏着迷人的大自然风光。棕榈树，深蓝色的海洋，金色的合欢树强烈地吸引着她。同英国雾茫茫的冬天比较起来，真是天壤之别。

    火车到达戛纳的时候，卡泰丽娜到站台上散了一会儿步。她非常好奇地注意着穿皮大衣的女士到底在干什么。女士那个包厢的窗帘还没有拉开，这是整个列车唯一的一个还挂着窗帘的包厢。当卡泰丽娜回到车厢的时候，发现女士那个包厢朝走廊的那一面窗子也挂着窗帘，使她感到格外惊奇。她想穿皮大衣的女士肯定是个贪睡的人。

    这时，乘务员通知卡泰丽娜说，几分钟后就要到尼扎了。卡泰丽娜给了他小费，他道了谢，可是没有离去。卡泰丽娜以为是小费给得太少了，他可能不满意。可是，她又发现他似乎有什么要紧事要说。他的脸煞白，而且全身都在颤抖。

    乘务员仔细端详了她一会儿，突然说道：“请原谅，女士，到尼扎后有人到车站接您吗？”

    “也许有人接，”卡泰丽娜说，“怎么？”

    这个人摇了摇头，吞吞吐吐地说了几句，卡泰丽娜一句也没听清，然后他就离开了，以便到站台上从窗口接卡泰丽娜的箱子。

    卡泰丽娜在站台上停留了一会儿，这时走过来一个男人，犹豫地向她问道：

    “您是格蕾女士，是吗？”

    卡泰丽娜点了一下头。年轻人爽朗的笑着说：

    “我叫丘比，坦普林女士的丈夫。她也许在信中提起过我，也可能没提，反正都一样。您有行李吗？我到这里来的时候把行李丢了。您简直无法想象这些法国人多么官僚和教条，找了我好大的麻烦。”

    卡泰丽娜把领取行李牌交给了他，正想走，突然听到一个很客气的声音：

    “请等一会儿，女士！”

    卡泰丽娜回头一看，见到一个身着黄色警装的人，这个人说道：

    “还要办理一下手续。如果女士能跟我去一趟，我将非常荣幸。这是警察局里的规定……”

    这个人做着礼仪性的抱歉的样子。“当然，这看起来很麻烦，但总得照章办事。”

    丘比·艾万斯先生想说说请，免去这些手续，但是他那蹩脚的法语使他无能为力。

    “这正是法国佬的作风。”他嘟哝着说。他属于那种爱国的英国人，他们在一切外国人面前把自己看成老爷，而对自己同胞却恨得要命。

    “这帮家伙总要制造一些麻烦！否则到这里来旅行的人就没有这么多不愉快的事了。

总是想点新花招来折腾折腾你！”

    卡泰丽娜被人领走。使她感到惊奇的是她被带到另外一条铁路线上来。到一节车厢旁边。这节车厢是从刚来的那趟列车上摘下来的。她被请到车厢里，打开了一间包厢，里面有一名警官，看他的装束仿佛象头豹子。他旁边站着一个香气扑鼻的女记录员。警官彬彬有礼地站起来，向卡泰丽娜鞠了一躬，然后说道：

    “请您原谅，女士，有些手续还没办完。女士，您讲法语，对吗？”

    “懂一点，先生。”卡泰丽娜用法语回答道。

    “太好了，请坐，女士，我叫科，警察局长。”

    卡泰丽娜表示知道了。局长先生的尊严给她留下了应得的印象。

    “您可能想看看我的护照，这就是。”

    “谢谢，女士。”局长说着接过护照，干咳了一声。“我要您提供一些情况。”

    “情况？”

    局长点了一下头，表示肯定。“是关于您的旅伴的事，您昨天同她一起吃过午饭。”

    “我想，我并不能对您提供关于这位女士的什么情况。我们只是谈过话。另外，她对我来说，完全是陌生人。在这之前我们从未见过面。”

    “可是，”局长严肃地说，“用过饭之后，您陪她回到了她的包厢里，而且你们谈了很久。”

    “是的，”卡泰丽娜回答道，“您说得对。”

    局长似乎还等着她说点什么。他以鼓励的眼光看着卡泰丽娜。

    “怎么，女士？”

    “怎么，先生？”卡泰丽娜反问道。

    “您可以把你们谈话的内容告诉我吗？”

    “非常愿意。”卡泰丽娜说，“但是我认为没有什么理由要这样做。”她似乎感到这位警官有些厚颜无耻。

    “您看不出有某种理由吗？”局长问道，“我可以向你保证这种理由是合理的。”

    “那么您是否可以告诉我呢？”

    局长摸着自己的下巴，思索了一会儿。

    “女士，”他终于开口了，“理由很简单。那位女士今晨死在她的包厢里了！”

    “死了！”卡泰丽娜尖叫了一声。“为什么？是心脏病吗？”

    “不，”局长用沉着而悲伤的语调回答说，“不是，她被暗杀了。”

    “暗杀？”卡泰丽娜又是一声喊叫。

    “您可以看到，女士，我们完全有理由向您了解有关情况的细节。”

    “可是她的女仆人在……”

    “女仆已经失踪。”

    “上帝啊！”卡泰丽娜这才严肃认真起来。

    “乘务员看到，您在她的包厢里同她谈过话，当然他把这个情况报告给警官了。就是由于这个原因，我们才把您留下了，女士，并希望从您这里了解一些新情况。”

    “可惜的是，”卡泰丽娜说，“我还不知道她到底姓甚名谁。”

    “她姓凯特林。这是我们从她的护照和皮箱上的地址知道的。如果我们……”

    有人敲门。科摸了一下额头。顺手把门打开。

    “什么事？希望不要打扰我的工作！”

    卡泰丽娜在餐车上遇见的那位蛋壳脑袋的人，满面笑容地在门口闪了一下。

    “我叫赫库勒·波洛。”他说道。

    “是吗？”局长结结巴巴地问道，“您真是赫库勒·波洛？”

    “当然是真的。”赫库勒·波洛说，“科先生，我记得咱们在巴黎保险公司见过面。

您可能已经把我忘记了。”

    “没有，完全没有忘记，先生。”局长非常高兴地欢迎他。“请进，您可能已经知道这……”

    “对，我知道了。”波洛回答道。“我只是想晓得我对此案是否可以尽些力。”

    “那简直是我的荣幸。”局长立即回答说，“波洛先生，请允许我为您……”他向护照看了一眼，把护照放在格蕾的手里。“介绍一下格蕾女士，请原谅，格蕾女士。”

    波洛向卡泰丽娜微微一笑。

    “这不是罕见的事嘛。”他说道。“我的话这样快就应验了。”

    “可惜这位小姐只能帮点小忙。”局长说道。

    “我已经告诉局长先生了。”卡泰丽娜说道。“我说这位女士对我来说完全是陌生的。”

    “可是您同她谈过话，对吗？”他温和地问道。

    “谈过话您会有一定的印象──或者？”

    “是的。”卡泰丽娜深思地说道。

    “那么这种印象怎样的？”

    “非常对，小姐！”局长走到前面，“请您对我们说说，您得到什么样的印象呢？”

    卡泰丽娜把同那女士的谈话又回忆了一遍。她本来感到不便透露全部真情，但是那个可怕的字眼“谋杀”却使她不敢隐瞒任何细节。因为她所说的一切同“谋杀”一词关系甚为重大。因此她把同死者的谈话的详细经过都叙述了一遍。

    “非常有意思。”局长说道，“是吧，波洛先生？非常有意思！至于是否与罪行有关……”他没有把话说完。

    “是否完全排除是自杀呢？”卡泰丽娜问道。

    “当然。”局长说，“完全排除。她是被人用一条黑绳子勒死的。”

    “太可怕了，太狠毒了！”卡泰丽娜战栗着说道。

    局长遗憾地摊开双手说道：

    “当然，这是一起极其不愉快的案件。我相信我们列车上的凶杀案比起贵国更为残忍。”

    “太可怕了。”

    “是的，是的。”局长想安慰她几句。“但您要有勇气，小姐。我一见到您，我就暗自思忖着：这小姐有勇气。因此我才敢于向您询问一些问题。当然，有些问题使人很不愉快，甚至使人痛苦，但令人遗憾的是，它们还是必要的。”

    卡泰丽娜胆怯地望着他。

    “小姐，劳您的驾，陪我到另外一个包厢里去一趟。”

    “这还要我去吗？”卡泰丽娜胆怯地问道。

    “有人想证实一下。”局长说，“因为那位女士的佣人失踪了。”他意味深长地咳嗽一下。“同她一起旅行的人中，只有您和她接触的时间最多。”

    “好吧！”卡泰丽娜平静地说，“如果需要这样的话。”

    她站起身来，波洛安详地向她点了下头。

    “小姐很通情达理。”波洛说，“允许我陪小姐去吗？科先生！”

    “这将是我的荣幸，波洛先生。”

    科打开死者包厢的门，把朝外的窗帘拉开了半边，透进了一点亮光。死者躺在床上，十分安详，象是睡着了似的。她身上盖着床单，面部朝墙，只是那有些发红的金发看得清清楚楚。科温和地把手伸向死者的肩膀，把尸体翻了个身，以便让人看到她的脸部。

卡泰丽娜情不自禁地退了一步，双手紧紧地捏在一起。死者的脸部受到了可怕的一击，从而得难以辨认。

    “这一击是在死亡之后打的。”科说道。

    “妙极了！”波洛说着转向卡泰丽娜。

    “您要大胆地看一看，小姐，仔细地看一看，您是否可以保证，这位妇女就是昨天在火车上和您谈话的那位。”

    卡泰丽娜的神经还很正常。她认识到案件的严重性，便鼓起勇气看了看尸体。然后弯下腰拉起死者的手。

    “我完全可以保证。”她终于说道。“脸面虽然有些难以辨认，但从身段和头发看，我可以肯定她就是同我谈过话的那个妇女。另外，我还注意到了我的旅伴的这一特征。”

    她指给大家看手腕上的一个黑痣。

    “好！”波洛肯定地说，“您是一位极好的证人，小姐。死者就是她，这是毫无疑问的了。虽然如此，这个案件也是很罕见的。”

    科耸了一下肩膀。

    “很明显，凶手是在一种非常激动和气愤的情况下作的案。”他说道。

    “如果凶手是用凶器打死她的话，脸部会是很容易辨认的。”波洛自言自语地说，“但是这个凶手是从后面偷偷溜进来把她勒死的。而死者在此之前毫无察觉。可能在事情发生时她喊叫了一声，短促的一声，这非常可能。然后凶手又拚命打了她这一下，这是为什么？有什么必要？凶手可能想不让别人辨认出她的模样，或者是出于极度的仇恨，以致不能控制自己的感情，把她打成这样，尽管她已经死去？”

    卡泰丽娜战栗着，波洛很和善地转向她说道：

    “您最好站远一些，这一切对您来说是意外的，可怕的，对我来说早已司空见惯了。

请稍等一下。”

    波洛走到隔壁的包厢里，卡泰丽娜同死者的女仆曾在这里坐过。卧铺根本就没人睡过，三四个垫子零乱地放在那里。还有一个施行包，一个帽盒。他突然对卡泰丽娜说道：

    “您昨天在这儿呆过吗？您是否察觉到有什么变化？缺少什么东西？”

    卡泰丽娜仔细地看了下周围环境。

    “是的，”她回答道，“有的东西不见了──一只红色的手提包。上面有R·K·的字样的标签。这可能是一只小手提包，也可能是一个首饰盒。女仆一直把它拿在手里。”

    “很有意思。”波洛说道。

    “我──我当然不懂这些事。但是我可以明确的说，这里缺少了女仆和首饰盒。”

    “您认为女仆是个小偷？不，小姐。有理由说明这一点。”科说道。

    “什么理由？”

    “女仆被留在了巴黎。”

    “我想您可以亲自听听乘务员的叙述，波洛先生。”科情绪很坏地说道。

    “您是一个明察秋毫的人。”

    “小姐，您可能也很想听听。”波洛说，“局长先生，您是否反对这样做？”

    “不反对。”但从他的眼神里可以看出，这并不是发自内心的话。

    “如果您认为有必要的话。您在这里的事情办完了吗？”

    “再等一下！”他弯下腰把枕头拿到了窗口，仔细看了一会儿，拿起一点什么东西端详起来。

    “您找到了什么？”科好奇地问道。

    “四根金黄色的头发。”他低下头看了下死者。“对，毫无疑问这是死者的头发。”

    “这是什么？这有什么可以值得重视的？”

    “在现在的情况下，谁也不能断定什么值得重视，什么不值得重视。”

    他们又回到了询问卡泰丽娜的那个包厢里，这时局长已经把乘务员找来了。

    “您叫皮埃尔·米歇尔？”科问道。

    “是的，局长先生。”

    “我想让您向这位先生讲一讲火车在巴黎时的情形以及在那里发生的事情。”

    “可以，局长先生。火车刚离开里昂站时，我就进来整理床铺，我那时以为，女士可能在餐厅里。可是她自己却订了饭盒。她对我说，只铺一个床就可以了，她已经把女仆留在了巴黎。在我铺床的时候，她拿着饭盒到了隔壁的包厢里。她还对我说，天亮的时候不要过早地叫醒她，她要多睡一会儿。”

    “您没有到隔壁的包厢里去过吗？”

    “没有，先生。”

    “那您没有偶尔看到，她的行李当中有一只红色皮革的小提包？”

    “不知道，先生，没看到。”

    “您看在隔壁有可能藏着一个男人吗？”

    乘务员想了一会儿。

    “门是半开着的。”他说，“如果有人有门后藏着，那我是看不见的。但是，当这位死去的女士走进包厢里时，她肯定还会发现的。”

    “完全正确。”波洛说，“您 还能给我们提供过一步的情况吗？”

    “我相信，以上就是我知道的全部情况。其它情况我就记不得了。”

    “今天早晨呢？”波洛问道。

    “我没有叫醒她，因为她一再嘱咐不要过早地叫醒她。只是当火车到达戛纳的时候，我才进去敲她的门。因为我没有听到答应声，所以就走进去了。女士似乎还有铺上还没有睡醒。我去摇她的肩膀想叫醒她，可是以后……。”

    “以后您就看到所发生的一切了。”波洛补充说。“我不需要进一步的情况了。”

    “我希望，局长先生，不会由于我的疏忽而产生不良的后果。”乘务员很真诚地说。

“这种事发生在‘蓝色特快’上，真是太可怕了？！”

    “请您放心，”局长说，“我们想竭力避免引起大的震动。另外，据我看，您并没有疏忽大意，您是尽了职的。”

    “那么，局长先生，您也会以同样的看法向我们铁路部门的上级汇报了？”

    “那当然。”局长有些不耐烦地说。“您可以走了。”

    乘务员离去了。

    “医生的意见是，”局长说，“火车到达里昂之前，这位女士就死了。谁是凶手呢？按小姐的说法，那是很清楚的，在火车运行的时候死者想同一个男人会面，并企图同他谈话。女士把她的仆人留在了巴黎，这一点很特别。是否在巴黎有个男人上了车，并藏在隔壁的包厢里，这一点并不排除。这样，可能两人争吵了起来，男的出于气愤而突然失手打死了女的。这是一种可能性。第二种可能是：有一个职业铁路盗窃犯，偷偷地扒上了火车，打死了她，偷去了手提包，当然，手提包里有许多贵重的钻石首饰之类的物品。非常可能，这个人在里昂下了车，我们已经给里昂城火车站发了电报，扣住了在那里下车的那些可疑的男乘客。”

    “或者他同大家一起到了尼扎。”波洛插话说道。

    “这也可能。”局第同意这一点，“但这对他来说是非常危险的。”

    波洛思虑了下问道：

    “您想这是铁路上职业小偷作的案？”

    局长耸耸肩。

    “很难说。另外，我们应该拘留那个女仆人。很可能那个红色小手提包不在她那里。

如果是这种情况，那个想同女士谈话的人就是凶手，可能是情杀案，出于嫉妒。我自己认为，也不排除是偷窃暗杀，出于嫉妒。我自己认为，也不排除是偷窃暗杀。最近铁道盗窃匪帮越来越肆无忌惮了。”

    波洛突然看了卡泰丽娜一眼。

    “那么小姐您，在这一夜里没有看到或者听到其它可疑的情况吗？”

    “没有。”卡泰丽娜回答说。

    “我认为，我们没有理由再打扰这位小姐了。”波洛向局长说道。

    局长点头表示同意。

    “您是否愿意把您的地址留下？”

    卡泰丽娜把坦普林女士别墅的地址留下。波洛微微地弯了一下腰。

    “能允许我到贵处拜访您吗？”他探询地说。“也许您的客人非常多，日程已经排满了？”

    “不是这样。”卡泰丽娜说，“我的时间很充裕，并非常高兴接待您。”

    “太好了！”波洛友好地点了下头。“这部侦探小说是属于我们两个人。我们将共同来调查这个案子。”