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One
AN IMPORTANT PASSENGER ON THE TAURUS EXPRESS
It was five o’clock on a winter’s side the platforuides as the Taurus Express It consisted of a kitchen and dining car, a sleeping car and two local coaches
By the step leading up into the sleeping car stood a young French lieutenant, resplendent in unifor with a s was visible but a pink-tipped nose and the two points of an upward curled moustache
It was freezingly cold, and this job of seeing off a distinguished stranger was not one to be envied, but Lieutenant Dubosc performed his part manfully Graceful phrases fell from his lips in polished French Not that he knehat it was all about There had been rumours, of course, as there alere in such cases The General—his General’s—teroorse and worse And then there had coland, it seemed There had been a week—a week of curious tensity And then certain things had happened A very distinguished officer had coned—anxious faces had suddenly lost their anxiety, certain military precautions were relaxed And the General—Lieutenant Dubosc’s own particular General—had suddenly looked ten years younger
Dubosc had overheard part of a conversation between hier “You have saved us, reat whiteas he spoke “You have saved the honour of the French Army—you have avertedto my request? To have come so far—”
To which the stranger (by na the phrase, “But indeed do I not remember that once you savedreply to that disclai any merit for that past service, and with lory, of honour and of such kindred things they had embraced each other heartily and the conversation had ended
As to what it had all been about, Lieutenant Dubosc was still in the dark, but to hi off M Poirot by the Taurus Express, and he was carrying it out with all the zeal and ardour befitting a young officer with a pro career ahead of him
“Today is Sunday,” said Lieutenant Dubosc “To, you will be in Stamboul”
It was not the first time he had made this observation Conversations on the platform, before the departure of a train, are apt to be somewhat repetitive in character
“That is so,” agreed M Poirot
“And you intend to remain there a few days, I think?”
“Mais oui Stamboul, it is a city I have never visited It would be a pity to pass through—co presses—I shall remain there as a tourist for a few days”
“La Sainte Sophie, it is very fine,” said Lieutenant Dubosc, who had never seen it
A cold wind ca down the platfored to cast a surreptitious glance at his watch Five minutes to five—only five minutes more!
Fancying that the other lance, he hastened once more into speech
“There are few people travelling this ti up at the s of the sleeping car above them
“That is so,” agreed M Poirot
“Let us hope you will not be snowed up in the Taurus!”
“That happens?”
“It has occurred, yes Not this year, as yet”
“Let us hope, then,” said M Poirot “The weather reports from Europe, they are bad”
“Very bad In the Balkans there is much snow”
“In Germany too, I have heard”
“Eh bien,” said Lieutenant Dubosc hastily as another pause see at seven-forty you will be in Constantinople”
“Yes,” said M Poirot, and went on desperately, “La Sainte Sophie, I have heard it is very fine”
“Magnificent, I believe”
Above their heads the blind of one of the sleeping car co woman looked out
Mary Debenha Thursday Neither in the train to Kirkuk, nor in the Rest House at Mosul, nor last night on the train had she slept properly Noeary of lying wakeful in the hot stuffiness of her overheated coot up and peered out
This , poor-lighted platfor on so French One was a French officer, the other was a little man with enormous moustaches She smiled faintly She had never seen anyone quite so heavily muffled up It must be very cold outside That hy they heated the train so terribly She tried to force the n lower, but it would not go
The Wagon Lit conductor had come up to the two men The train was about to depart, he said Monsieur had better -shaped head he had In spite of her preoccupations Mary Debenha little man The sort of little man one could never take seriously
Lieutenant Dubosc was saying his parting speech He had thought it out beforehand and had kept it till the last minute It was a very beautiful, polished speech
Not to be outdone, M Poirot replied in kind
“En voiture, Monsieur,” said the Wagon Lit conductor
With an air of infinite reluctance M Poirot climbed
aboard the train The conductor climbed after him M Poirot waved his hand Lieutenant Dubosc came to the salute The train, with a terrific jerk, moved slowly forward
“Enfin!” murmured M Hercule Poirot
“Brrrrr,” said Lieutenant Dubosc, realizing to the full how cold he was…
II
“Voilà, Monsieur” The conductor displayed to Poirot with a dra coe “The little valise of Monsieur, I have placed it here”
His outstretched hand was suggestive Hercule Poirot placed in it a folded note
“Merci, Monsieur” The conductor became brisk and businesslike “I have the tickets of Monsieur I will also take the passport, please Monsieur breaks his journey in Stamboul, I understand?”
M Poirot assented
“There are not ine?” he said
“No, Monsieur I have only two other passengers—both English A Colonel frohdad Monsieur requires anything?”
Monsieur demanded a small bottle of Perrier
Five o’clock in theis an aard time to board a train There was still two hours before dawn Conscious of an inadequate night’s sleep, and of a delicate mission successfully accomplished, M Poirot curled up in a corner and fell asleep
When he awoke it was half-past nine, and he sallied forth to the restaurant car in search of hot coffee
There was only one occupant at the lish lady referred to by the conductor She was tall, slie There was a kind of cool efficiency in the way she was eating her breakfast and in the way she called to the attendant to bring her e of the world and of travelling She wore a dark-coloured travelling dress of some thin material eminently suitable for the heated atmosphere of the train
M Hercule Poirot, having nothing better to do, a to do so
She was, he judged, the kind of young woman who could take care of herself with perfect ease wherever she went She had poise and efficiency He rather liked the severe regularity of her features and the delicate pallor of her skin He liked the burnished black head with its neat waves of hair, and her eyes, cool, irey But she was, he decided, just a little too efficient to be what he called “jolie femme”
Presently another person entered the restaurant car This was a tall ure, brown of skin, with hair slightly grizzled round the temples
“The colonel from India,” said Poirot to himself
The newcoirl
“Morning, Miss Debenham”
“Good , Colonel Arbuthnot”
The Colonel was standing with a hand on the chair opposite her
“Any objection?” he asked
“Of course not Sit down”
“Well, you know, breakfast isn’t always a chatty meal”