The Mystery of the Blue Train

“He was standing in the other compartment, sir, looking out of the window.”

“Can you describe him to us?”

“I – Well, you see, sir, I hardly saw him. He had his back to me most of the time. He was a tall gentleman and dark; that's all I can say. He was dressed very like any other gentleman in a dark blue overcoat and a grey hat.”

“Was he one of the passengers on the train?”

“I don't think so, sir; I took it that he had come to the station to see Mrs. Kettering in passing through. Of course he might have been one of the passengers; I never thought of that.”

Mason seemed a little flurried by the suggestion.

“Ah!” M. Carrege passed lightly to another subject. “Your mistress later requested the conductor not to rouse her early in the morning. Was that a likely thing for her to do, do you think?”

“Oh yes, sir. The mistress never ate any breakfast and she didn't sleep well at nights, so that she liked sleeping on in the morning.”

Again M. Carrege passed to another subject.

“Amongst the luggage there was a scarlet morocco case, was there not?” he asked. “Your mistress's jewel- case?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you take that case to the Ritz?”

“Me take the mistress's jewel-case to the Ritz! Oh no, indeed, sir.” Mason's tones were horrified.

“You left it behind you in the carriage?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Had your mistress many jewels with her, do you know?”

“A fair amount, sir; made me a bit uneasy sometimes, I can tell you, with those nasty tales you hear of being robbed in foreign countries. They were insured, I know, but all the same it seemed a frightful risk. Why, the rubies alone, the mistress told me, were worth several hundred thousand pounds.”

“The rubies! What rubies?” barked Van Aldin suddenly.

Mason turned to him.

“I think it was you who gave them to her, sir, not very long ago.”

“My God!” cried Van Aldin. “You don't say she had those rubies with her? I told her to leave them at the Bank.”

Mason gave once more the discreet cough which was apparently part of her stock-in-trade as a lady's maid. This time it expressed a good deal. It expressed far more clearly than words could have done, that Mason's mistress had been a lady who took her own way.

“Ruth must have been mad,” muttered Van Aldin. “What on earth could have possessed her?”

M. Carrege in turn gave vent to a cough, again a cough of significance. It riveted Van Aldin's attention on him.

“For the moment,” said M. Carrege, addressing Mason, “I think that is all. If you will go into the next room, Mademoiselle, they will read over to you the questions and answers, and you will sign accordingly.”

Mason went out escorted by the clerk, and Van Aldin said immediately to the Magistrate:

“Well?”

M. Carrege opened a drawer in his desk, took out a letter, and handed it across to Van Aldin.

“This was found in Madame's handbag.”

Chere amie (the letter ran),

I will obey you, I will be prudent, discreet – all those things that a lover most hates. Paris would perhaps have been unwise, but the Isles d'Or are far away from the world, and you may be assured that nothing will leak out. It is like you and your divine sympathy to be so interested in the work on famous jewels that I am writing. It will, indeed, be an extraordinary privilege to actually see and handle these historic rubies. I am devoting a special passage to 'Heart of Fire.' My wonderful one! Soon I will make up to you for all those sad years of separation and emptiness.

Your ever-adoring,

Armand.

Chapter 15. The Comte De La Roche

Van Aldin read the letter through in silence. His face turned a dull angry crimson. The men watching him saw the veins start out on his forehead, and his big hands clench themselves unconsciously. He handed back the letter without a word. M. Carrege was looking with close attention at his desk, M. Caux's eyes were fixed upon the ceiling, and M. Hercule Poirot was tenderly brushing a speck of dust from his coat sleeve. With the greatest tact they none of them looked at Van Aldin.

It was M. Carrege, mindful of his status and his duties, who tackled the unpleasant subject.

“Perhaps, Monsieur,” he murmured, “you are aware by whom – er – this letter was written?”

“Yes, I know,” said Van Aldin heavily.

“Ah?” said the Magistrate inquiringly.

“A scoundrel who calls himself the Comte je la Roche.”

There was a pause; then M. Poirot leaned forward, straightened a ruler on the judge's desk, and addressed the millionaire directly.

“M. Van Aldin, we are all sensible, deeply sensible, of the pain it must give you to speak of these matters, but believe me, Monsieur, it is not the time for concealments. If justice is to be done, we must know everything. If you will reflect a little minute you will realize the truth of that clearly for yourself.”

Van Aldin was silent for a moment or two, then almost reluctantly he nodded his head in agreement.

“You are quite right, M. Poirot,” he said. “Painful as it is, I have no right to keep anything back.”

The Commissary gave a sigh of relief, and the Examining Magistrate leaned back in his chair and adjusted a pince-nez on his long nose.

“Perhaps you will tell us in your own words, M. Van Aldin,” he said, “all that you know of this gentleman.”

“It began eleven or twelve years ago – in Paris. My daughter was a young girl then, full of foolish, romantic notions, like all young girls are. Unknown to me, she made the acquaintance of this Comte de la Roche. You have heard of him, perhaps?”

The Commissary and Poirot nodded in assent.

“He calls himself the Comte de la Roche,” continued Van Aldin, “but I doubt if he has any right to the title.”

“You would not have found his name in the Almanac de Gotha,” agreed the Commissary.

“I discovered as much,” said Van Aldin. “The man was a good-looking, plausible scoundrel, with a fatal fascination for women. Ruth was infatuated with him, but I soon put a stop to the whole affair. The man was no better than a common swindler.”

“You are quite right,” said the Commissary. “The Comte de la Roche is well known to us. If it were possible, we should have laid him by the heels before now, but ma foi! It is not easy; the fellow is cunning, his affairs are always conducted with ladies of high social position. If he obtains money from them under false pretences or as the fruit of blackmail, eh bien! naturally they will not prosecute. To look foolish in the eyes oi the world, oh no, that would never do, and he has an extraordinary power over women.

“That is so,” said the millionaire heavily. “Well? as I told you, I broke the affair up pretty sharply. I told Ruth exactly what he was, and she had, perforce, to believe me. About a year afterwards, she met her present husband and married him. As far as I knew, that was the end of the matter; but only a week ago, I discovered, to my amazement, that my daughter had resumed her acquaintance with the Comte de la Roche. She had been meeting