Twelve

THE EVIDENCE OF THE GERMAN LADY’S MAID

M. Bouc was looking at his friend curiously¹.

“I do not quite understand you, mon vieux. You were trying to do—what?”

“I was searching for a flaw, my friend.”

“A flaw?”

“Yes—in the armour² of a young lady’s self-possession. I wished to shake her sangfroid³. Did Isucceed? I do not know. But I know this—she did not expect me to tackle the matter as I did.”

“You suspect her,” said M. Bouc slowly. “But why? She seems a very charming young lady—the last person in the world to be mixed up in a crime of this kind.”

“I agree,” said Constantine. “She is cold. She has not emotions. She would not stab a man; shewould sue him in the law courts.”

Poirot sighed “You must, both of you, get rid of your obsession⁴ that this is an unpremeditatedand sudden crime. As for the reason why I suspect Miss Debenham, there are two. One is becauseof something that I overheard, and that you do not as yet know.”

He retailed⁵ to them the curious interchange of phrases he had overheard on the journey fromAleppo.

“That is curious, certainly,” said M. Bouc when he had finished. “It needs explaining. If itmeans what you suspect it means, then they are both of them in it together—she and the stiffEnglishman.”

Poirot nodded.

“And that is just what is not borne out by the facts,” he said. “See you, if they were both in thistogether, what should we expect to find—that each of them would provide an alibi⁶ for the other. Isnot that so? But no—that does not happen. Miss Debenham’s alibi is provided by a Swedishwoman whom she has never seen before, and Colonel Arbuthnot’s alibi is vouched⁷ for byMacQueen, the dead man’s secretary. No, that solution of the puzzle is too easy.”

“You said there was another reason for your suspicions of her,” M. Bouc reminded him.

Poirot smiled.

“Ah! but that is only psychological. I ask myself, is it possible for Miss Debenham to haveplanned this crime? Behind this business, I am convinced, there is a cool, intelligent, resourcefulbrain. Miss Debenham answers to that description.”

M. Bouc shook his head.

“I think you are wrong, my friend. I do not see that young English girl as a criminal.”

“Ah, well,” said Poirot, picking up the last passport, “to the final name on our list. HildegardeSchmidt, lady’s maid.”

Summoned by the attendant, Hildegarde Schmidt came into the restaurant car and stood waitingrespectfully.

Poirot motioned her to sit down.

She did so, folding her hands and waiting placidly⁹ till he questioned her. She seemed a placidcreature altogether—eminently respectable—perhaps not over intelligent.

Poirot’s methods with Hildegarde Schmidt were a complete contrast to his handling of MaryDebenham.

He was at his kindest and most genial¹⁰, setting the woman at her ease. Then, having got her towrite down her name and address, he slid gently into his questions.

The interview took place in German.

“We want to know as much as possible about what happened last night,” he said. “We knowthat you cannot give us much information bearing on the crime itself, but you may have seen orheard something that, while conveying nothing to you, may be valuable to us. You understand?”

She did not seem to. Her broad, kindly¹¹ face remained set in its expression of placid⁸ stupidity asshe answered:

“I do not know anything, Monsieur.”

“Well, for instance, you know that your mistress sent for you last night?”

“That, yes.”

“Do you remember the time?”

“I do not, Monsieur. I was asleep, you see, when the attendant came and told me.”

“Yes, yes. Was it usual for you to be sent for in this way?”

“It was not unusual, Monsieur. The gracious lady often required attention at night. She did notsleep well.”

“Eh bien, then, you received the summons and you got up. Did you put on a dressing¹² gown?”

“No, Monsieur, I put on a few clothes. I would not like to go in to her Excellency in mydressing gown.”

“And yet it is a very nice dressing gown—scarlet¹³, is it not?”

She stared at him.

“It is a dark-blue flannel¹⁴ dressing gown, Monsieur.”

“Ah! continue. A little pleasantry on my part, that is all. So you went along to Madame laPrincesse. And what did you do when you got there?”

“I gave her massage¹⁵, Monsieur, and then I read aloud. I do not read aloud very well, but herExcellency says that is all the better. So it sends her better to sleep. When she became sleepy,Monsieur, she told me to go, so I closed the book and I returned to my own compartment¹⁶.”

“Do you know what time that was?”

“No, Monsieur.”

“Well, how long had you been with Madame la Princesse?”

“About half an hour, Monsieur.”

“Good, continue.”

“First, I fetched her Excellency an extra rug from my compartment. It was very cold in spite ofthe heating. I arranged the rug over her and she wished me good night. I poured her out somemineral water. Then I turned out the light and left her.”

“And then?”

“There is nothing more, Monsieur. I returned to my carriage and went to sleep.”

“And you met no one in the corridor?”

“No, Monsieur.”

“You did not, for instance, see a lady in a scarlet kimono with dragons on it?”

Her mild eyes bulged¹⁷ at him.

“No, indeed, Monsieur. There was nobody about except the attendant. Everyone was asleep.”

“But you did see the conductor?”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“What was he doing?”

“He came out of one of the compartments¹⁸, Monsieur.”

“What?” M. Bouc leaned forward. “Which one?”

Hildegarde Schmidt looked frightened again and Poirot cast a reproachful glance at his friend.

“Naturally,” he said. “The conductor often has to answer bells at night. Do you rememberwhich compartment it was?”

“It was about the middle of the coach, Monsieur. Two or three doors from Madame laPrincesse.”

“Ah! tell us, if you please, exactly where this was and what happened.”

“He nearly ran into me, Monsieur. It was when I was returning from my compartment to that ofthe Princess with the rug.”

“And he came out of a compartment and almost collided with you? In which direction was hegoing?”

“Towards me, Monsieur. He apologized and passed on down the corridor towards the diningcar. A bell began ringing, but I do not think he answered it.”

She paused and then said:

“I do not understand. How is it—?”

Poirot spoke¹⁹ reassuringly²⁰.

“It is just a question of times,” he said. “All a matter of routine. This poor conductor, he seemsto have had a busy night—first waking you and then answering bells.”

“It was not the same conductor who woke me, Monsieur. It was another one.”

“Ah, another one! Had you seen him before?”

“No. Monsieur.”

“Ah! Do you think you would recognize him if you saw him?”

“I think so, Monsieur.”

Poirot murmured something in M. Bouc’s ear. The latter got up and went to the door to give anorder.

Poirot was continuing his questions in an easy friendly manner.

“Have you ever been to America, Frau Schmidt?”

“Never, Monsieur. It must be a fine country.”

“You have heard, perhaps, of who this man who was killed really was—that he was responsiblefor the death of a little child.”

“Yes, I have heard, Monsieur. It was abominable²¹—wicked. The good God should not allowsuch things. We are not so wicked as that in Germany.”

Tears had come into the woman’s eyes. Her strong motherly soul was moved.

“It was an abominable crime,” said Poirot gravely.

He drew a scrap²² of cambric from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Is this your handkerchief, Frau Schmidt?”

There was a moment’s silence as the woman examined it. She looked up after a minute. Thecolour had mounted a little in her face.

“Ah! no, indeed. It is not mine, Monsieur.”

“It has the initial H, you see. That is why I thought it was yours.”

“Ah! Monsieur, it is a lady’s handkerchief, that. A very expensive handkerchief. Embroideredby hand. It comes from Paris, I should say.”

“It is not yours and you do not know whose it is?”

“I? Oh, no, Monsieur.”

Of the three listening, only Poirot caught the nuance²³ of hesitation²⁴ in the reply.

M. Bouc whispered in his ear. Poirot nodded and said to the woman:

“The three sleeping car attendants are coming in. Will you be so kind as to tell me which is theone you met last night as you were going with the rug to the Princess?”

The three men entered. Pierre Michel, the big blond conductor of the Athens-Paris coach, andthe stout²⁵ burly conductor of the Bucharest one.

Hildegarde Schmidt looked at them and immediately shook her head.

“No, Monsieur,” she said. “None of these is the man I saw last night.”

“But these are the only conductors on the train. You must be mistaken.”

“I am quite sure, Monsieur. These are all tall, big men. The one I saw was small and dark. Hehad a little moustache. His voice when he said ‘Pardon’ was weak like a woman’s. Indeed, Iremember him very well, Monsieur.”

 

点击收听单词发音