Murder on the Orient Express (2017) - full transcript

He said

four minutes precisely.

Non, non, non.

Quickly.

Two

perfect eggs this time, no?

Ah.

Hmm.

Maybe.

I blame the chicken.

Why do hens lay eggs

of different sizes?

It's not you, mon ami.

These are two

perfectly good oeufs.

Mr. Poirot...

I've got three religions

bent on riot.

If you're going to perform

one of your miracles,

the time is now.

Have the eggs. Allons-y!

Poirot!

Sorry for the, um...

It is not the, uh...

It is the imbalance of the...

Right.

That's better.

Excuse me.

Coming through.

Make way, please.

Excuse me.

Please call for the accused.

The rabbi...

the priest...

and the imam.

It is like the old joke, yes?

The rabbi, the priest,

and the imam.

Forgive me,

I am Belgian.

So, let us begin.

In the Church of the

Holy Sepulchre above us...

three representatives meet

under the supervision...

of the Chief

Inspector of Police

to discuss a divided timetable

for market use.

One hour after this

tense meeting...

a priceless relic

is found to be stolen.

It is said, one of these

three men has stolen it.

The police find no pieces

of evidence at all.

I find one.

On the meticulously

well-kept wall of a fresco...

a single crack

from an indelicate climb...

with a hard-soled shoe

or perhaps a boot.

So, ladies and gentlemen,

we must ask...

who stands to benefit

from the crime.

Our three holy men

live humbly.

They're thin-soled shoes poor.

Sudden riches

and rubies would be...

too conspicuous, yes,

to enjoy. They do not gain.

At this point, we need an

armed guard at the south gate.

Thank you very much.

No, the only one...

who benefits from the theft

and the unrest it causes...

is a man whose office

I had searched this morning...

as I waited,

I have to tell you,

rather disappointedly

upon my breakfast.

Difficulty with eggs.

You don't need to know this.

A man who is paid lavishly

to keep order in Jerusalem.

I mean, of course,

the Chief Inspector

of the Police.

A man who does not wish

to lose a well-paid post...

when there is discussion

among the local peoples

of self-governance...

who does wear boots, and who,

I believe, now does regret...

inviting me to

consult on this case.

How dare you accuse me!

Please, Sergeant...

did you search

the office as I asked?

Uh, yes, sir.

And did you find

what I said you might?

Uh, yes, sir.

Just as you said.

Merci.

Halt!

You need

to deliver that, Captain.

It should be through

first thing in the morning.

Very good, sir.

Luggage is on board, sir.

I won the right to escort you

to your boat.

To Stamboul, then?

Will you be back

to London straight off?

I am tired, and I have earned

myself a little holiday.

I want to look at paintings

and have too much time

on my hands.

You are staring.

Does it stop?

It's just...

How did you know

it was him, sir?

From just a tiny crack

on the wall.

I have the advantage...

I can only see the world

as it should be.

And when it is not,

the imperfection stands out...

like the nose

in the middle of a face.

It makes

most of life unbearable.

But it is useful

in the detection of crime.

But it's as though

you see into their hearts

and divine

their true natures.

And whatever people say,

there is right,

there is wrong.

There is nothing in between.

We must part here.

Oh, no, sir, I'm to

escort you on the ferry.

Au revoir, mon capitaine.

We must never meet again.

Could you straighten your tie,

please? Just a little.

Yes.

That is perfect.

Final passengers, please!

Oh, I'm sorry.

Will be fixed soon.

But, will it be

fixed in time?

We are working!

I have a connection

in Stamboul.

Leaves tomorrow at seven.

There's a very ill patient

waiting for me in London.

I am a doctor.

Doctor.

I am a doctor.

I am shouting at you

in English,

and now I'm doing it

louder and slower.

Very silly, forgive me.

May I help? Let me help.

I know your mustache.

From the papers.

You're the detective,

Hercules Poirot?

Hercule Poirot. I do not slay

the lions. Mademoiselle.

Mary Debenham, monsieur.

I'll forget a name

but never a face.

Not yours, anyway.

You come from Baghdad?

It's true. No detail

escapes his notice.

Your ticket.

Ah.

I might also ask you if you

enjoyed your time there...

as a governess?

The chalk on your sleeve

and the geography primer.

A governess or a

cartographer. I made my gamble.

I always begin them

with geography...

and monster them till they

have the world down cold.

They may get lost in life...

but I'll be damned if they

don't know where they are.

Well, our chains are free.

Right on time.

I feel so free

out here on the water.

I wish I could enjoy it.

We should be

out of this, Mary.

Not now.

When it's all over.

When it's done.

Then, nothing can touch us.

Ah,

my holiday begins here.

I can see the soul of the city

in these humble breads.

The world insists

on destruction, yet here...

masterpieces are baked

to order every day.

Monsieur Poirot!

Mohammed!

Mohammed, my friend...

you are an artist.

Ah! My friend!

Sorry.

Here. Come, come.

Don't mind us,

we're just looking

for a place to have

a private argument.

It should take

some 20 minutes or so...

at which point we will both

come to an agreement,

or at least I will.

Monsieur Bouc!

Poirot! In the kitchen?

Well, of course,

this man will sniff out

a perfect pastry

faster than he catches...

a jewel thief.

Mon ami!

Now, I am no longer

a policeman.

I cannot bail you out

when this goes badly, eh?

This is my dear, old friend,

the esteemed...

Poirot, who I knew

before the esteem.

Hercule Poirot, this is...

A prostitute.

She is.

I am. Bouc, you did not tell

me you had famous friends.

We're friends because

I'm the only person

who never asks him...

any questions about his cases,

because I don't care.

And he never judges me

for being a terrible person.

Indeed you are.

Madame, Bouc, please

join me for a drink, yes?

You only have me

for an hour.

I ride on the Orient Express

at seven,

official director business.

Uncle pays me absurdly

to stay onboard

his gorgeous train...

and far away from him...

at the home office...

consigned to wine and dine

handsome officials

for all eternity.

There is an art to nepotism.

And you are

its Michelangelo!

Mr. Poirot.

Are you a prostitute as well?

Certainly not.

Is this man bothering you?

He is about to.

You are from

the British consulate.

I am, sir.

It is the Kassner case.

Why, yes.

I was correct

in certain predictions?

Quite.

I do not need

to read the telegram.

Oh, how fun.

Did someone cheat, or die?

Unfortunately, both.

Someone has...

interrupted my

longing for rest.

It appears that I must travel

with you tonight, Bouc.

Can you find me a cabin

on the Orient Express?

My friend...

I may not be good for much,

but I sure as hell

can get you a bed

on my train...

in the dead of winter.

Three days...

free of care, concern

or crime. You will love it.

Mademoiselle, it has

been a pleasure. Sir.

Your luggage

has been collected

and your expenses paid.

You will be met at Calais...

and then escorted to Dover,

and then by rail

to London Victoria.

I would like to formally

express gratitude.

Please, don't speak.

You make it worse.

Here's a tip for you, pal.

Thank you, Mr. Marquez.

I didn't even carry

your luggage.

Oh, I had a good week.

We celebrate

when fortune smiles,

and we share

the good fortune.

Remember to say nice things

about us Americans, huh?

No!

Hey, stop!

Monsieur, bonsoir.

For you, Mr. Ratchett,

the best table in the house.

Just here, sir.

The very best table.

No, I want that one.

Hey, Masterman.

You got everything?

Kind of you to inquire,

Mr. MacQueen.

I do not make mistakes.

Oh, my goodness!

It's Count Andrenyi.

Come, come, come.

I saw you dance

at the Monte Cristo.

Could I take your photograph?

Please, my face, no!

Sorry.

The Simplon Orient Express...

with stops in Sofia, Niš,

Belgrade, Vinkovci, Brod...

with transfers

to Bucharest, Zagreb,

Trieste, Venezia,

Milan, Lausanne...

Dijon, Paris,

Boulogne, Calais...

with connection

to Dover and London,

leaves in fifteen minutes!

This way, Michel!

Precious cargo.

I need

a first-class compartment.

Give special care

to my friend, Michel.

I want him pampered

like a zoo panda.

But Monsieur Bouc,

we are fully booked.

There's no space left.

Then we make space.

He can have the number eleven.

The eleven is always kept

open for official use.

It's very comfortable.

Eleven is taken.

The Austrian professor

booked it two days ago.

There is not one first-class

sleeper car

on the whole train?

Negative, sir.

Second-class?

There's no space left at all.

Mademoiselle Debenham.

Mr. Poirot,

are you joining us?

It depends

who wins this debate.

Have all the passengers

arrived?

All but one. Mr. Harris.

"All passengers

must check in

"at least one half hour prior

to time of departure...

"or their seat

may be forfeit."

The half hour has passed.

The seat is forfeit.

Please take

Monsieur Poirot's luggage

to number three

with Mr. MacQueen.

Merci, Bouc.

Enjoy, my friend.

Welcome, sir.

Merci.

Number three is unlucky.

Oh!

Apologies, madame.

I meant no disrespect.

Well, you could try to mean

a little.

One thing about train travel,

you're always

knocking into somebody.

It's wonderful.

Though, I am looking forward

to getting back.

Travel is fine for spicy food,

mosques, meeting men.

But eventually, you just

miss your own bed.

I've been accused

of husband hunting abroad.

Well, I can't,

in all honesty, deny it.

I like my time alone, I do.

But a lady has certain needs

that deserve to be met

if she has any money...

and preferably,

on a regular basis.

Oh!

Oh, my!

Fire in the kitchen!

Farewell, madame.

Good evening.

Bonsoir.

Number nine.

Good evening.

Bonsoir, bonsoir.

How you doing?

Bonsoir.

Oh. Excusez-moi.

No, after you.

Merci, merci.

Ah number three.

You are Mr. MacQueen?

Yeah. I think you might

have the wrong berth.

Uh...

Sorry, is there a problem sir?

No, no problem.

The train is full.

I think that we are,

how do you say... "bunkies."

Really?

I am equally disappointed

in you. This is nice.

Come along, darlings.

No.

No.

This?

Why am I not yet unpacked?

Five minutes to departure.

Final call for passengers!

Shall we brush you?

What the hell

is taking them so long?

Soon as we get out of here,

have them make up the bed.

It's already arranged,

Mr. Ratchett.

No, I want the bed made.

And bring my Dictaphone.

Dogs on the table.

Most disgusting thing

I've ever seen in my life.

Yes, sir.

I want you to get MacQueen...

and have him bring every

receipt from the Milan sale.

I want you to get it done.

Yes, sir.

I want you to get it done now.

Did I say get it done now?

Right away, sir.

"Better watch yourself."

Your coffee, Mr. Ratchett.

Who did this?

I can't say, sir.

Good evening,

Mrs. Hubbard.

Hello there,

Mr. Masterman.

Well, hello.

Eyes linger any longer,

I'll have to charge rent.

I'll pay.

Mmm. Have another drink.

Are you insulted?

Hmm. Disappointed.

Some men have a good look.

All they have to do is...

keep their mouth shut,

and they can take home

any prize they want.

Still, the mouth opens.

Is everything all right,

Mrs. Hubbard?

You have a strong intuition,

I know.

My second husband

used to say just so.

Hold that, it was my first.

Yeah.

Brightest man I ever met.

Face like a turnip,

but I loved that turnip.

It was nice to talk.

Good night.

Monsieur Poirot?

Entrez,

Pierre Michel.

Voilà.

When you take supper...

I will move Monsieur MacQueen

into Monsieur Bouc's

compartment.

You travel first class,

monsieur.

Ah, impeccable. Merci.

Bon appétit.

...and the eggs?

Good afternoon.

Ah, Mrs. Hubbard.

Good afternoon.

There we are.

Compliments

of the Orient Express.

Thank you, Mr. Bouc.

I am here

for all of your needs.

No, thank you.

I do not drink.

It does not

agree with you?

Sin does not agree with me.

Vice is where the devil

finds his darlings.

We should no longer speak.

Good afternoon.

Monsieur.

How about a apéritif?

I regret I have

an appointment

with the director

of the train.

He was gonna leave anyway.

Please, sir.

Madame, madame.

Madame, madame.

All settled in?

Ah, merci!

As advertised.

And yet, the best things

on the train are not food.

You know

there's something about...

a tangle of strangers

pressed together

for days on end,

with nothing in common...

but the need to go

from one place to another...

then never to see

each other again.

Boredom plus

anonymity plus a...

constant, gentle rocking.

With your hobbies, you will

never amount to anything.

God, I hope so.

Hmm.

Order me the fish.

Um, exchange grouper for sole,

escarole for the potato,

and...

the beef sauce

for the velouté.

Garçon, that sounds superb.

The same for me.

The Princess Dragomiroff.

You know, if I ever were

to marry for money,

I'd marry for

that much money.

I brushed Dalia this morning.

No, you tortured

my darling doggy.

I asked you to brush her.

Are you still enjoying

your Dickens?

Very much, mon ami.

You know, with your books

and your capers,

you are missing out

on romance.

Romance never

goes unpunished.

There was, uh...

There was someone once.

I would prefer, in the future,

to be sat not with that man.

Like should be seated

with like.

We are not alike.

Not all of us

are so concerned

with the separateness

of races, Professor.

It is out of respect

for all kinds

that I prefer

to keep them separate.

To mix your red wine

and the white

would be to ruin them both.

I like a good rosé.

Hey, how you doing?

Would you mind...

if I joined you?

Dessert is an indulgence...

and I feel kinda silly

and stupid indulging alone.

I am at my happiest alone.

But...

for a small piece

of your fragelité,

please join me.

Oh, with pleasure.

Excuse me, another fork?

I've been trying to make

your acquaintance, Mr. Poirot.

Merci.

I never ever sat so close

to fame before.

No, I tell a lie.

Once, I was on a bus

with Ty Cobb.

Ball player, Detroit.

Ah.

Would you mind if I have the

little curly bit at the top?

You're an odd bird there.

You're a strange,

peculiar man.

I am of an age

where I know what I like

and what I do not like.

What I like,

I enjoy enormously.

What I dislike,

I cannot abide.

For instance,

the temporary pleasantries

before what is determined

to be a business discussion.

You're fun.

All right.

I would like

to offer you a job.

"The avenger of the innocent."

It's what they call you

in the papers.

And you are an innocent?

I'm a businessman.

I'm an art dealer.

I mean, I'm new to it.

But my beginner's luck

has panned out.

Relics, antiquities.

Rugs, weird. Orientals.

I'm new to the game,

so I got the amateur eyeball.

But I got a little problem

with these, uh...

so-called appraisers.

You can't trust

a one of 'em.

Some of my customers...

they buy a piece...

they find out that they're

not exactly original...

which is hardly my fault...

if a Kashan silk scarf

is a fake.

Right? Huh?

C'est bon.

But I've managed to make

a few enemies, is the thing.

I got a few letters,

people making threats.

I think, most likely,

it's the Italians.

I sold them a set of

Oriental carpets in Milan.

And the buyers weren't

so happy with the provenance.

And they want their money back

with interest, you know?

Italians.

A guinea's a guinea.

And then comes along

the genius detective.

Me?

Yes, you. Hercules Poirot.

Hercule.

Um...

Here's what I'd like to do.

I would like to hire you

to watch my back...

until I get someplace safe.

It's easy money for you.

And it's peace of mind

for me, you know?

I understand.

Good.

I refuse.

I'm sorry? That's bad.

Maybe I didn't make

myself clear enough.

You see,

someone's out to get me.

And I know I'm not the best

guy born, not by a long shot.

And if there's a world

after this one,

I will face judgment

just like you.

But...

I ain't in no goddamn

rush to do it.

You're holding a gun on me?

No.

Not you. On the world.

I exist in the world.

Do not point a gun at me.

How's ten thousand

sound for a week?

It's a generous offer,

Mr. Ratchett. I must decline.

Fifteen thousand?

You didn't hear me. I decline.

Oh, I get it.

It's not flashy enough for

the great Hercules Poirot, huh?

No flashbulbs...

You sell fakes to gangsters.

You're suffering

the consequences.

I detect criminals.

I do not protect them.

So you say "no"

to my dirty money.

I say "no" to you,

Mr. Ratchett.

Business with the gun, right?

Is that what it was?

It is far more personal

than that.

I do not like your face.

If you will excuse me.

You liked my cake,

didn't you?

The cake was excellent.

Have a pleasant afternoon,

Mr. Ratchett.

Thank you.

Ooh! Cold.

Hmm.

My sweet Katherine.

My love.

Mr. Dickens.

Mr. Ratchett?

Mr. Ratchett?

It's nothing.

Very good sir.

Good night.

Mrs. Hubbard?

It's always Mrs. Hubbard.

Mrs. Hubbard.

Did we die?

Ladies and gentlemen,

the train has been derailed.

Are you all right,

Mr. Marquez?

I'm fine. Thank you.

You'll be

safest in your cabins.

Mr. Bouc will speak

to you all...

in the morning.

Please, you will be safest

in your cabins.

Of course.

Are we gonna die?

Oh...

My Katherine.

My beautiful...

Ladies and gentlemen,

I am afraid

that our train is still

unable to go anywhere.

Yeah, except down.

How long are we supposed

to just sit here?

Yes, someone must

be doing something.

Of course I am doing

something. I am doing nothing.

Precisely two hours

and ten minutes ago,

when we did not arrive

in Brod as scheduled...

the station master will have

surmised our situation...

and already dispatched a team

to excavate the engine...

clear our path,

and send us on our way.

Until then, I assure you...

we will all be made warm

and fed and comfortable.

We could walk.

We could die

of exposure trying.

I have a connection to make.

My boat sails day after

tomorrow from France.

Without you, I'd wager.

Or me in London.

I hold you accountable for

my loss of time, Mr. Bouc.

Madam, you cannot hold me

accountable for the weather.

Of course I can.

You're the one here.

And my conference

in Turin?

And I was to meet at

the auto factory in Sochaux.

Yes, some things,

they are in God's hands.

It is not for us to say...

if we deserve to arrive safely

at our destination...

or if, like Lucifer,

we must fall.

Breakfast for you,

Mr. Ratchett.

Ah, Bonjour,

Mr. Masterman.

There is a problem?

I can't say, sir.

Mr. Ratchett?

Excuse me.

That is cold air.

Please bring Monsieur Bouc

immediately,

and also Dr. Arbuthnot.

Good God!

Touch nothing else,

only the body.

My God,

this is horrible.

First the snow, now...

I'll have to meet

with the police

and make some statement

in some grimy station.

And a man has died.

And a man has died.

He was stabbed.

Long, straight-edged knife.

Multiple stab wounds,

some shallow,

some cut clean through muscle.

Left-hand side

or right-hand side?

That's the thing.

It appears the killer

maybe closed his eyes

and struck blind.

Can you estimate

the time of death?

It's hard

to say with the window open...

but my best guess

is between midnight and 2:00.

But no one went

in his compartment then.

I sat in my seat all night.

I would have seen if someone

went in. It's impossible.

Thank you, Doctor. Please,

return to the dining car.

Michel, secure this carriage.

Poirot.

I need your help, my friend.

You have to find

who did this.

Please, I implore you,

on behalf

of the Orient Express.

When the police arrive,

we can present them

with the case closed.

You are the only one

who can save me.

Your faith touches me,

mon cher.

But I must have this rest.

Well, think of it as a little

beachside puzzle.

That's nothing to your mind!

You look up the antecedents

of the passengers.

You establish

their bona fides.

Then you do what you do.

You... You... You...

You sit in a chair

and you eat your cake...

and you think until

the solution presents itself.

What else are you going to do

while we sit here in the snow?

Without constant

stimulation,

your little gray cells

will starve and die.

You think that is what I do?

I sit in a chair...

and I have

a little piece of cake,

and then I come up

with a great idea?

I don't know what you do.

I have my Dickens.

Damn your Dickens!

If we leave this

to the police,

they will choose a culprit...

right or wrong,

and they will hang him.

Most probably Mr. Marquez...

for no other reason

than his name is Marquez.

Or Dr. Arbuthnot for

the color of his skin.

You are the only one

who can bring justice.

Let me have a map

of this coach.

Of course.

Every passport.

Anything.

Interviews arranged

with all of our passengers.

Evidence, order and method,

until one culprit emerges.

I do not approve

of murder, my friend.

Every day, we meet people

the world could

do better without...

yet we do not kill them.

We must be better

than the beasts.

So let us find this killer.

What's going on?

Ladies and gentlemen,

allow me to, um...

It appears that our bad luck

has worsened.

That is...

A passenger has died

on the train.

Monsieur Ratchett.

Looks like they

got him after all.

You assume

he was killed?

No, no.

I just mean he was

in perfectly good health.

He had his enemies,

that's all.

Indeed, he did.

He was murdered.

Good God. Murder, here?

Alas, madame.

God rest his soul.

Someone was rummaging

around my cabin

in the middle of the night.

Nobody would believe me.

What is going on?

As we are snowbound,

I have elected

to take the case...

and find for my friend,

Monsieur Bouc, the criminal.

And why you?

My name is Hercule Poirot...

and I am probably the greatest

detective in the world.

I will speak

to all of you in time.

For the moment...

I must recommend

that you remain

in your compartments

with the doors locked.

I feel like a prisoner here.

It is

for your own safety.

If there was a murder...

then there was a murderer.

The murderer is with us...

on the train, now.

The doors between coaches

were locked at night, hmm?

Absolutely.

Done myself.

The train's

been searched.

There's no one hiding

on it or under it.

We can therefore

limit our investigation

to the occupants

of the Calais coach.

Bouc, you will assist me.

As the only traveler

who slept in another coach...

you are the only one

who is not a suspect.

Mr. MacQueen, is this

really the time for drinking?

My boss is dead.

I'm out of a job,

and you're looking at me

like I did it.

We make no accusations.

You knew him,

so from here

we must glean

the essential facts.

Were you his relative?

No, his secretary.

Book his travel,

order his steaks.

The man ate more steak

than I've ever seen

in my entire life.

He was in antiques.

He had no qualification

for it,

not the eye

or the languages.

Truth is, he had no head

for business, accounting...

none of it.

I took care of everything.

How long were you

in his employ?

Twenty days shy of a year.

Prohibition

wasn't to my taste...

so I found myself overseas,

and in debt.

I'm a lawyer by education...

not disposition.

I was downright awful at it.

You were fond of him?

I was fond of his money.

Ratchett was crude...

demanding, insulting,

and most likely a felon.

When did you

last see him?

It must have been

just after 10:00.

He called me in to go

over our sales in Italy.

Milan,

the sale of forgeries?

Yeah, yeah.

He wanted to look over

the accounts.

I had to translate

everything...

as the contracts

were in French

and he didn't speak a word.

And when we stopped

at Vinkovci...

I struck up a chat with

the colored doctor, Arbuthnot.

And we had a couple of drinks,

stretched our legs.

He had some...

odd opinions about Stalin

I had to turn around.

I don't hold

a man's race against him,

but I don't often

take to Britishers.

When did your party end?

He left just after 2:00.

Did you know

of any specific enemies

Ratchett might have had?

Gosh.

Pick a number.

He confided

he had been threatened?

He got a couple

of nasty letters.

I have them if you like.

Some, anyway.

He tore up the rest.

Threw them into the fire.

That's them.

Merci, Mr. MacQueen.

Uh, thank you.

If we have

any further questions,

we will call for you again.

Have you considered

the Latin man?

Marquez. Hell of a guy.

And, well, you know,

his kind...

they don't have

the same distaste for murder,

historically speaking.

You said you don't hold

a man's race against him.

I suppose...

depends on the race.

And he was doing so well.

You think it's MacQueen?

Too early to say.

I admit, I cannot see him

stabbing a man twelve times

in a frenzy.

Not sober, anyway.

Who did it then?

I do not know yet.

It is time we ask.

Ask who?

The victim.

He has

twelve stab wounds

and, as Arbuthnot said,

they are patternless.

If the doctor is guilty...

he certainly did not

let it influence

his responsibilities.

Hey, the watch.

Stopped at 1:15.

Now that agrees with the

doctor on the time of death.

Hmm. It is possible,

yes. Certainly possible.

I don't

quite understand.

I do not understand,

myself.

I understand nothing at all.

If you look

at these two wounds...

they are powerful and deep,

and yet there is little blood.

But this was

a frenzied attack.

Lashing here and there.

No pattern at all,

just extreme violence.

And during all this,

our victim,

vigorous and anxious

and full of coffee...

merely lies still and accepts

death without struggle...

when he also has here...

the means by which

he might defend himself.

For you.

Now, let us see here.

Barbital. The Mickey slipped.

Drugged him

so he couldn't use this.

And later around here,

a lady's handkerchief.

An objet de luxe, handmade.

Boom, two hundred francs

in Paris.

And she even has

an initial, "H."

And our little friend,

the pipe cleaner.

Another clue.

Yes, a riot of clues

dropped most conveniently.

Yet only one appears, however,

to be perhaps genuine.

And maybe

this ashtray provides

the accidental breadcrumb.

A charred fragment of a note.

An attempt, perhaps,

to burn evidence.

Merci, monsieur.

We may borrow

your equipment, yes?

Thank you.

Merci, merci.

Now,

I prefer to understand...

why a clue is left rather than

what the object is.

We seek the truth from

within, not without.

In this case, however,

I may welcome a little

scientific assistance.

You will adjust the flame.

It's just another one

of those nasty letters.

You are mistaken, mon ami.

This one has a secret to tell.

Look.

"As a strong blood

is on hand, you will die."

What does this mean?

Come with me, Bouc.

Let us fill in the gaps.

This was never

a beachside puzzle.

I know the dead man's

real name.

It is not Ratchett,

but Cassetti.

I know that name.

Then you will also know

the name Armstrong.

The Armstrong case?

The story

shocked the world.

Two years ago...

the renowned pilot,

Colonel John Armstrong...

and his wife, Sonia,

woke to find their

only child, little Daisy...

taken from her crib

as she slept.

Desperate...

the Armstrongs

paid the ransom.

But soon after,

Daisy was found murdered by...

Ratchett,

who was Cassetti.

Sonia Armstrong

was with child

when she received the news.

The shock sent her

into premature labor.

Neither she

nor her baby survived.

How do you know this,

Poirot?

Because John Armstrong

told me so himself.

He wrote to me to ask me

for my help.

By the time

I received his letter...

it was too late.

He was found dead

of a gunshot wound.

Self-inflicted.

"Daisy Armstrong's blood

is on your hands.

"You will die for it."

Indeed, you did.

Monsieur Poirot?

Yes, Michel.

Mrs. Hubbard wants

to speak to you.

I held her as best as I could.

Ah, Mrs. Hubbard,

I'm sorry to have kept you.

You have a head full of steam

and a mouth full of words.

You're goddamn right, I do.

What I have been trying...

to tell you all day.

The murderer was in

my compartment last night.

I thought I'd be killed.

Turns out I might have been...

only he got Ratchett instead.

I woke up in the dark,

and I knew

there was a man in my room.

You are certain

it was a man?

I know what it feels like

to have a man in my bedroom.

I told your conductor,

and he wouldn't believe me.

I said, "Check the

communication door

"between my room

and Ratchett's.

"He must have

left through there."

Sure enough, it was unbolted.

I know I locked it...

after what Ratchett said.

He made a rather

overt overture.

Have you perhaps...

heard of

the Armstrong kidnapping?

You couldn't avoid it.

Morbid stuff.

The child's murderer,

Cassetti...

died last night.

Ratchett was the man.

I told you, I knew he was

a rotten one.

You do believe me...

about the man in my room?

I'm aware you think

I'm a silly woman.

But I have proof it's true.

It is

from the uniform...

of an Orient Express

conductor...

but it might have

fallen from Michel's

when he was in your room.

I'm not missing any.

I found it

at the foot of my bed,

on the cover...

right where I slept.

What do you call that?

I call it evidence. Thank you

so much, Mrs. Hubbard.

Have you ever

been to America?

Once.

Years ago, briefly.

For what purpose?

To confirm a suspicion.

Which was?

That I wouldn't like it.

I was offered

a post in Boston.

Saw Boston,

went straight back to London.

Is that where

Ratchett was from?

Boston?

I can't says