
Agatha Christie | 2
Dubosc had overheard part of a conversation between him and the
stranger. "You have saved us, mon cher," said the General emotionally,
his great white moustache trembling as he spoke. "You have saved the
honour of the French Army—you have averted much bloodshed! How
can I thank you for acceding to my request? To have come so far—"
To which the stranger (by name M. Hercule Poirot) had made a
fitting reply including the phrase—"But indeed, do I not remember that
once you saved my life?" And then the General had made another
fitting reply to that, disclaiming any merit for that past service; and
with more mention of France, of Belgium, of glory, of honour and of
such kindred things they had embraced each other heartily and the
conversation had ended.
As to what it had all been about, Lieutenant Dubosc was still in the
dark, but to him had been delegated the duty of seeing off M. Poirot by
the Taurus Express, and he was carrying it out with all the zeal and
ardour befitting a young officer with a promising career ahead of him.
"To-day is Sunday," said Lieutenant Dubosc. "Tomorrow, Monday
evening, you will be in Stamboul."
It was not the first time he had made this observation. Conversations
on the platform, before the departure of a train, are apt to be somewhat
repetitive in character.
"That is so," agreed M. Poirot.
"And you intend to remain there a few days, I think?"
"Mais oui. Stamboul, it is a city I have never visited. It would be a
pity to pass through—comme ça." He snapped his fingers descriptively.
"Nothing presses—I shall remain there as a tourist for a few days."
"La Sainte Sophie, it is very fine," said Lieutenant Dubosc, who had
never seen it.
A cold wind came whistling down the platform. Both men shivered.
Lieutenant Dubosc managed to cast a surreptitious glance at his watch.
Five minutes to five—only five minutes more!
Fancying that the other man had noticed his glance, he hastened once
more into speech.
"There are few people travelling this time of year," he said, glancing
up at the windows of the sleeping-car above them.