“But the device has succeeded! I have opened my door and looked out. I have actually heard the French phrase used. If I am so unbelievably dense as not to realise the significance of that phrase, it must be brought to my attention. If necessary, MacQueen can come right out in the open. He can say, ‘Excuse me, M. Poirot, that can’t have been Mr. Ratchett speaking. He couldn’t speak French.’
“Now, what was the real time of the crime? And who killed him?
“In my opinion – and this is only an opinion – Ratchett was killed at some time very close upon two o’clock, the latest hour the doctor gives us as possible.
“As to who killed him–”
He paused, looking at his audience. He could not complain of any lack of attention. Every eye was fixed upon him. In the stillness you could have heard a pin drop.
He went on slowly:
“I was particularly struck by the extraordinary difficulty of proving a case against any one person on the train, and by the rather curious coincidence that in each case the testimony giving an alibi came from what I might describe as an ‘unlikely’ person. Thus, Mr. MacQueen and Colonel Arbuthnot provided alibis for each other – two persons between whom it seemed most unlikely there should have been any prior acquaintanceship. The same thing happened with the English valet and the Italian, and with the Swedish lady and the English girl. I said to myself: This is extraordinary – they cannot all be in it!
“And then, Messieurs, I saw light. They were all in it. For so many people connected with the Armstrong case to be travelling by the same train through coincidence was not only unlikely: it was impossible. It must be not chance, but design. I remembered a remark of Colonel Arbuthnot’s about trial by jury. A jury is composed of twelve people-there were twelve passengers – Ratchett was stabbed twelve times. And the thing that had worried me all along – the extraordinary crowd travelling in the Stamboul-Calais coach at a slack time of year – this was explained.
“Ratchett had escaped justice in America. There was no question as to his guilt. I visualised a self-appointed jury of twelve people who had condemned him to death and who by the exigencies of the case had themselves been forced to be his executioners. And immediately, on that assumption, the whole case fell into beautiful shining order.
“I saw it as a perfect mosaic, each person playing his or her allotted part. It was so arranged that, if suspicion should fall on any one person, the evidence of one or more of the others would clear the accused person and confuse the issue. Hardman’s evidence was necessary in case some outsider should be suspected of the crime and be unable to prove an alibi. The passengers in the Stamboul carriage were in no danger. Every minute detail of their evidence was worked out beforehand. The whole thing was a very cleverly planned jigsaw puzzle, so arranged that every fresh piece of knowledge that came to light made the solution of the whole more difficult. As my friend M. Bouc remarked, the case seemed fantastically impossible! That was exactly the impression intended to be conveyed.
“Did this solution explain everything? Yes, it did. The nature of the wounds – each inflicted by a different person. The artificial threatening letters – artificial since they were unreal, written only to be produced as evidence. (Doubtless there were real letters, warning Ratchett of his fate, which MacQueen destroyed, substituting for them these others.) Then Hardman’s story of being called in by Ratchett – a lie, of course, from beginning to end. The description of the mythical ‘small dark man with a womanish voice’ – a convenient description since it had the merit of not incriminating any of the actual Wagon Lit conductors and would apply equally well to a man or a woman.
“The idea of stabbing is at first sight a curious one, but on reflection nothing else would fit the circumstances so well. A dagger was a weapon that could be used by everyone – strong or weak – and it made no noise. I fancy, though I may be wrong, that each person in turn entered Ratchett’s darkened compartment through that of Mrs. Hubbard – and struck! They themselves would never know which blow actually killed him.
“The final letter which Ratchett had probably found on his pillow was carefully burnt. With no clue pointing to the Armstrong case there would be absolutely no reason for suspecting any of the passengers on the train. It would be put down as an outside job, and the ‘small dark man with the womanish voice’ would actually have been seen by one or more of the passengers leaving the train, at Brod!
“I do not know exactly what happened when the conspirators discovered that this part of their plan was impossible owing to the accident to the train. There was, I imagine, a hasty consultation, and then they decided to go through with it. It was true that now one and all of the passengers were bound to come under suspicion, but that possibility had already been foreseen and provided for. The only additional thing to be done was to confuse the issue even further. Two so-called ‘clues’ were dropped in the dead man’s compartment – one incriminating Colonel Arbuthnot (who had the strongest alibi and whose connection with the Armstrong family was probably the hardest to prove); and the second clue, the handkerchief, incriminating Princess Dragomiroff who, by virtue of her social position, her particularly frail physique and the alibi given her by her maid and the conductor, was practically in an unassailable position.
“Further to confuse the issue, a red herring was drawn across the trail – the mythical woman in the red kimono. Again I am to bear witness to this woman’s existence. There is a heavy bang at my door. I get up and look out – and see the scarlet kimono disappearing in the distance. A judicious selection of people – the conductor, Miss Debenham and MacQueen – will also have seen her. It was, I think, someone with a sense of humour who thoughtfully placed the scarlet kimono on the top of my suitcase whilst I was interviewing people in the dining-car. Where the garment came from in the first place, I do not know. I suspect it is the property of Countess Andrenyi, since her luggage contained only a chiffon negligee so elaborate as to be rather a tea-gown than a dressing-gown.
“When MacQueen first learned that the letter which had been so carefully burnt had in part escaped destruction, and that the word Armstrong was exactly the word remaining, he must at once have communicated his news, to the others. It was at this minute that the position of Countess Andrenyi became acute, and her husband immediately took steps to alter the passport. It was their second piece of bad luck!
“They one and all agreed to deny utterly any connection with the Armstrong family. They knew I had no immediate means of finding out the truth, and they did not believe that I should go into the matter unless my suspicions were aroused against one particular person.
“Now there was one further point to consider. Allowing that my theory of the crime was the correct one, and I believed that it must be the correct one, then obviously the Wagon Lit conductor himself must be privy to the plot. But if so, that gave us thirteen persons, not twelve. Instead of the usual formula ‘Of so many people one is guilty,’ I was faced with the problem that of thirteen persons one and one only was innocent. Which was that person?
“I came to a very odd conclusion. I came to the conclusion that the person who had taken no part in the crime was the person who would be considered the most likely to do so. I refer to Countess Andrenyi. I was impressed by the earnestness of her husband when he swore to me solemnly on his honour that his wife never left her compartment that night. I decided that Count Andrenyi took, so to speak, his wife’s place.