5. The Crime

           Hefounditdifficulttogotosleepagainatonce.Foronething,hemissedthemotionofthetrain.Ifitwasastationoutsideitwascuriouslyquiet.Bycontrast,thenoisesonthetrainseemedunusuallyloud.HecouldhearRatchettmovingaboutnextdoor—aclickashepulleddownthewashbasin,thesoundofthetaprunning,asplashingnoise,thenanotherclickasthebasinshuttoagain.Footstepspassedupthecorridoroutside,theshufflingfootstepsofsomeoneinbedroomslippers.

           HerculePoirotlayawakestaringattheceiling.Whywasthestationoutsidesosilent?Histhroatfeltdry.Hehadforgottentoaskforhisusualbottleofmineralwater.Helookedathiswatchagain.Justafteraquarterpastone.Hewouldringfortheconductorandaskhimforsomemineralwater.Hisfingerwentouttothebell,buthepausedasinthestillnessheheardating.Themancouldn’tanswereverybellatonce.

           Ting…ting…ting…

           Itsoundedagainandagain.Wherewastheman?Somebodywasgettingimpatient.

           Ting…

           Whoeveritwaswaskeepingtheirfingersolidlyonthepush.

           Suddenlywitharush,hisfootstepsechoinguptheaisle,themancame.HeknockedatadoornotfarfromPoirot’sown.

           Thencamevoices—theconductor’s,deferential,apologetic,andawoman’s—insistentandvoluble.

           Mrs.Hubbard.

           Poirotsmiledtohimself.

           Thealtercation—ifitwasone—wentonforsometime.It’sproportionswereninetypercentofMrs.Hubbard’stoasoothingtenpercentoftheconductor’s.Finallythematterseemedtobeadjusted.Poirothearddistinctly:

           “Bonnenuit,Madame,”andaclosingdoor.