Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie Page A

frown.
    â€œSomething strikes you as odd, does it not?” he asked gently. “Speak, my friend. There is something here that puzzles you?”
    â€œYou are right,” acknowledged the other.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œYou see, these two wounds—here and here,”—he pointed. “They are deep, each cut must have severed blood vessels—and yet—the edges do not gape. They have not bled as one would have expected.”
    â€œWhich suggests?”
    â€œThat the man was already dead—some little time dead—when they were delivered. But that is surely absurd.”
    â€œIt would seem so,” said Poirot thoughtfully. “Unless our murderer figured to himself that he had not accomplished his job properly and came back to make quite sure; but that is manifestly absurd! Anything else?”
    â€œWell, just one thing.”
    â€œAnd that?”
    â€œYou see this wound here—under the right arm—near the right shoulder. Take this pencil of mine. Could you deliver such a blow?”
    Poirot raised his hand.
    â€œPrécisément,” he said. “I see. With the right hand it is exceedingly difficult—almost impossible. One would have to strike backhanded, as it were. But if the blow were struck with the left hand—”
    â€œExactly, M. Poirot. That blow was almost certainly struck with the left hand.”
    â€œSo that our murderer is left-handed? No, it is more difficult than that, is it not?”
    â€œAs you say, M. Poirot. Some of these other blows are just as obviously right-handed.”
    â€œTwo people. We are back at two people again,” murmured the detective. He asked abruptly:
    â€œWas the electric light on?”
    â€œIt is difficult to say. You see it is turned off by the conductor every morning about ten o’clock.”
    â€œThe switches will tell us,” said Poirot.
    He examined the switch of the top light and also the roll back bed-head light. The former was turned off. The latter was closed.
    â€œEh bien,” he said thoughtfully. “We have here a hypothesis of the First and Second Murderer, as the great Shakespeare would put it. The First Murderer stabbed his victim and left the compartment, turning off the light. The Second Murderer came in in the dark, did not see that his or her work had been done and stabbed at least twice at a dead body. Que pensez vous de ça? ”
    â€œMagnificent,” said the little doctor with enthusiasm.
    The other’s eyes twinkled.
    â€œYou think so? I am glad. It sounded to me a little like the nonsense.”
    â€œWhat other explanation can there be?”
    â€œThat is just what I am asking myself. Have we here a coincidence or what? Are there any other inconsistencies, such as would point to two people being concerned?”
    â€œI think I can say yes. Some of these blows, as I have already said, point to a weakness—a lack of strength or a lack of determination. They are feeble glancing blows. But this one here—and this one—” Again he pointed. “Great strength was needed for those blows. They have penetrated the muscle.”
    â€œThey were, in your opinion, delivered by a man?”
    â€œMost certainly.”
    â€œThey could not have been delivered by a woman?”
    â€œA young, vigorous, athletic woman might have struck them, especially if she were in the grip of a strong emotion, but it is in my opinion highly unlikely.”
    Poirot was silent a moment or two.
    The other said anxiously.
    â€œYou understand my point?”
    â€œPerfectly,” said Poirot. “The matter begins to clear itself up wonderfully! The murderer was a man of great strength, he was feeble, it was a woman, it was a right-handed person, it was a left-handed person— Ah! c’est rigolo, tout ça! ”
    He spoke with sudden anger.
    â€œAnd the victim—what does he do in all this? Does he cry out? Does he struggle? Does