The Mystery of the Blue Train

"I should not be likely to see any visitors that come to Curzon Street," she explained, "unless they were staying in the house."

"Very well, that will do," said the Examining Magistrate sharply.

Evidently he was disappointed.

"One moment," said Poirot. "There is a question I would like to put to Mademoiselle, if I may?"

"Certainly, M. Poirot-certainly, by all means."

Poirot addressed himself to the maid.

"What happened to the tickets?"

"The tickets, sir?"

"Yes; the tickets from London to Nice. Did you or your mistress have them?"

"The mistress had her own Pullman ticket, sir; the others were in my charge."

"What happened to them?"

"I gave them to the conductor on the French train, sir; he said it was usual. I hope I did right, sir?"

"Oh, quite right, quite right. A mere matter of detail."

Both M. Caux and the Examining Magistrate looked at him curiously. Mason stood uncertainly for a minute or two, and then the Magistrate gave her a brief nod of dismissal, and she went out. Poirot scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it across to M. Carrege. The latter read it and his brow cleared.

"Well, gentlemen," demanded the Count haughtily, "am I to be detained further?"

"Assuredly not, assuredly not," M. Carrege hastened to say, with a great deal of liability. "Everything is now cleared up as regards your own position in this affair. Naturally, in view of Madame's letter, we were bound to question you."

The Count rose, picked up his handsome stick from the corner, and, with rather a curt bow, left the room.

"And that is that," said M. Carrege. "You were quite right, M. Poirot-much better to let him feel he is not suspected. Two of my men will shadow him night and day, and at the same time we will go into the question of the alibi. It seems to me rather-er-a fluid one."

"Possibly," agreed Poirot thoughtfully.

"I asked M. Kettering to come here this morning." continued the Magistrate,

"though really I doubt if we have much to ask him, but there are one or two suspicious circumstances-" He paused, rubbing his nose.

"Such as?" asked Poirot.

"Well"-the Magistrate coughed-"this lady with whom he is said to be travelling -Mademoiselle Mirelle. She is staying at one hotel and he at another. That strikes me-er-as rather odd."

"It looks," said M. Caux, "as though they were being careful." "Exactly," said M. Carrege triumphantly "and what should they have to be careful a about?" "An excess of caution is suspicious, eh?" said Poirot.

"Precisement."

"We might, I think," murmured Poirot, "ask M. Kettering one or two questions."

The Magistrate gave instructions. A moment or two later, Derek Kettering, debonair as ever, entered the room.

"Good morning. Monsieur," said the Judge politely.

"Good morning," said Derek Kettering curtly. "You sent for me. Has anything fresh turned up?"

"Pray sit down. Monsieur."

Derek took a seat and flung his hat and stick on the table.

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

"We have, so far, no fresh data," said M. Carrege cautiously.

"That's very interesting," said Derek drily. "Did yoy give me this order to tell me that?"

"We naturally thought. Monsieur, that ^n would like to be informed of the progress of the case," said the Magistrate severely. "Even if the progress was nonexistent."

"We also wished to ask you a few questions."

"Ask away."

"You are quite sure that you neither saw nor spoke with your wife on the train?"

"I've answered that already. I did not." "You had, no doubt, your reasons."

Derek stared at him suspiciously.

"I-did-not-know-she-was-on-the-train," he explained, spacing his words elaborately, as though to some one dull of intellect.

"That is what you say, yes," murmured M. Carrege.

A frown suffused Derek's face.

"I should like to know what you're driving at. Do you know what I think, M. Carrege?"

"What do you think, Monsieur?"

"I think the French police are vastly overrated. Surely you must have some data as to these gangs of train robbers. It's outrageous that such a thing could happen on a train de luxe like that, and that the French police should be helpless to deal with the matter..."

"We are dealing with it, Monsieur, never fear."

"Madame Kettering, I understand, did not leave a will," interposed Poirot sliddenly-his fingertips were joined together, and he was looking intently at the ceiling.

"I don't think she ever made one," said Kettering. "Why?"

"It is a very pretty little fortune that you inherit there," said Poirot-"a very pretty little fortune."

Although his eyes were still on the ceiling, he managed to see the dark flush that rose to Derek Kettering's face.

"What do you mean, and who are you?"

Poirot gently uncrossed his knees, withdrew his gaze from the ceiling, and looked the young man full in the face.

"My name is Hercule Poirot," he said quietly, "and I am probably the greatest detective in the world. You are quite sure that you did not see or speak to your wife on that train?"

"What are you getting at? Do you-do you mean to insinuate that I-I killed her?"

He laughed suddenly.