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"
Curious
,
"
he
said
to
himself
.
The
next
day
he
wondered
whether
,
perhaps
,
they
had
quarrelled
.
They
spoke
little
to
each
other
.
The
girl
,
he
thought
,
looked
anxious
.
There
were
dark
circles
under
her
eyes
.
It
was
about
half-past
two
in
the
afternoon
when
the
train
came
to
a
halt
.
Heads
were
poked
out
of
windows
.
A
little
knot
of
men
were
clustered
by
the
side
of
the
line
looking
and
pointing
at
something
under
the
dining
car
.
Poirot
leaned
out
and
spoke
to
the
Wagon
Lit
conductor
who
was
hurrying
past
.
The
man
answered
and
Poirot
drew
back
his
head
and
,
turning
,
almost
collided
with
Mary
Debenham
who
was
standing
just
behind
him
.
"
What
is
the
matter
?
"
she
asked
rather
breathlessly
in
French
.
"
Why
are
we
stopping
?
"
"
It
is
nothing
,
Mademoiselle
.
It
is
something
that
has
caught
fire
under
the
dining
car
.
Nothing
serious
.
It
is
put
out
.
They
are
now
repairing
the
damage
.
There
is
no
danger
,
I
assure
you
.
"
She
made
a
little
abrupt
gesture
,
as
though
she
were
waving
the
idea
of
danger
aside
as
something
completely
unimportant
.
"
Yes
,
yes
,
I
understand
that
.
But
the
time
!
"
"
The
time
?
"
