9. The Evidence of Mr. Hardman

           Thelastofthefirst-classpassengerstobeinterviewed—Mr.Hardman—wasthebigflamboyantAmericanwhohadsharedatablewiththeItalianandthevalet.

           Heworeasomewhatloudchecksuit,apinkshirt,aflashytiepin,andwasrollingsomethingroundhistongueasheenteredthediningcar.Hehadabig,fleshy,coarse-featuredface,withagoodhumouredexpression.

           “Morning,gentlemen,”hesaid.“WhatcanIdoforyou?”

           “Youhaveheardofthismurder,Mr.—er—Hardman?”

           “Sure.”

           Heshiftedthechewinggumdeftly.

           “Weareofnecessityinterviewingallthepassengersonthetrain.”

           “That’sallrightbyme.Guessthat’stheonlywaytotacklethejob.”

           Poirotconsultedthepassportlyinginfrontofhim.

           “YouareCyrusBethmanHardman,UnitedStatessubject,forty-oneyearsofage,travellingsalesmanfortypewritingribbons?”

           “O.K.,that’sme.”

           “YouaretravellingfromStamboultoParis?”

           “That’sso.”

           “Reason?”

           “Business.”

           “Doyoualwaystravelfirst-class,Mr.Hardman?”

           “Yes,sir.Thefirmpaysmytravellingexpenses.”

           Hewinked.

           “Now,Mr.Hardman,wecometotheeventsoflastnight.”

           TheAmericannodded.

           “Whatcanyoutellusaboutthematter?”

           “Exactlynothingatall.”

           “Ah,thatisapity.Perhaps,Mr.Hardman,youwilltellusexactlywhatyoudidlastnight,fromdinneronwards?”

           ForthefirsttimetheAmericandidnotseemreadywithhisreply.Atlasthesaid:

           “Excuseme,gentlemen,butjustwhoareyou?Putmewise.”

           “ThisisM.Bouc,adirectoroftheCompagniedesWagonsLits.