MacQueen drew his brows together.
“I think the conductor passed along once,” he said, “coming from the direction of the dining-car. And a woman passed the other way, going towards it.”
“Which woman?”
“I couldn’t say. I didn’t really notice. You see I was arguing a point with Arbuthnot. I just seem to remember a glimpse of some scarlet silk affair passing the door. I didn’t look, and anyway I wouldn’t have seen the person’s face. As you know, my carriage faces the dining-car end of the train, so a woman going along the corridor in that direction would have her back to me as soon as she’d passed.”
Poirot nodded. “She was going to the toilet, I presume?”
“I suppose so.”
“And you saw her return?”
“Well, no, now that you mention it, I didn’t notice her returning but I suppose she must have done so.”
“One more question. Do you smoke a pipe, Mr. MacQueen?”
“No, sir, I do not.”
Poirot paused a moment. “I think that is all at present. I should now like to see the valet of Mr. Ratchett. By the way, did both you and he always travel second-class?”
“He did. But I usually went first—if possible in the compartment adjoining Mr. Ratchett’s. Then he had most of his baggage put in my compartment and yet could get at both it and me easily whenever he chose. But on this occasion all the first-class berths were booked except the one that he took.”
“I comprehend. Thank you, Mr. MacQueen.”
3
THE EVIDENCE OF THE VALET
The American was succeeded by the pale Englishman with the inexpressive face whom Poirot had already noticed on the day before. He stood waiting very correctly. Poirot motioned to him to sit down.
“You are, I understand, the valet of M. Ratchett.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your name?”
“Edward Henry Masterman.”
“Your age?”
“Thirty-nine.”
“And your home address?”
“21 Friar Street, Clerkenwell.”
“You have heard that your master has been murdered?”
“Yes, sir. A very shocking occurrence.”
“Will you now tell me, please, at what hour you last saw M. Ratchett?”
The valet considered.
“It must have been about nine o’clock, sir, last night. That or a little after.”
“Tell me in your own words exactly what happened.”
“I went in to Mr. Ratchett as usual, sir, and attended to his wants.”
“What were your duties exactly?”
“To fold or hang up his clothes, sir, put his dental plate in water and see that he had everything he wanted for the night.”
“Was his manner much the same as usual?”
The valet considered a moment.
“Well, sir, I think he was upset.”
“In what way—upset?”
“Over a letter he’d been reading. He asked me if it was I who had put it in his compartment. Of course I told him I hadn’t done any such thing, but he swore at me and found fault with everything I did.”
“Was that unusual?”
“Oh, no, sir. He lost his temper easily—as I say, it just depended what had happened to upset him.”
“Did your master ever take a sleeping draught?”
Dr. Constantine leaned forward a little.
“Always when travelling by train, sir. He said he couldn’t sleep otherwise.”
“Do you know what drug he was in the habit of taking?”
“I couldn’t say, I’m sure, sir. There was no name on the bottle—just ‘The Sleeping Draught to be taken at bedtime.’ ”
“Did he take it last night?”
“Yes, sir. I poured it into a glass and put it on top of the toilet table ready for him.”
“You didn’t actually see him drink it?”
“No, sir.”
“What happened next?”
“I asked if there was anything further, and also asked what time he would like to be called in the morning. He said he didn’t want to be disturbed till he rang.”
“Was that usual?”
“Quite usual, sir. When he was ready to get up he used to ring the bell for the conductor and then send him for me.”
“Was he usually an early or a late riser?”
“It depended, sir, on his mood. Sometimes he’d get up for breakfast, sometimes he wouldn’t get up till just on lunch time.”
“So that you weren’t alarmed when the morning wore on and no summons came?”