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He
sprang
up
,
opened
it
and
looked
out
.
Nothing
.
But
to
his
right
some
way
down
the
corridor
a
woman
wrapped
in
a
scarlet
kimono
was
retreating
from
him
.
At
the
other
end
,
sitting
on
his
little
seat
,
the
conductor
was
entering
up
figures
on
large
sheets
of
paper
.
Everything
was
deathly
quiet
.
"
Decidedly
I
suffer
from
the
nerves
,
"
said
Poirot
and
retired
to
bed
again
.
This
time
he
slept
till
morning
.
When
he
awoke
the
train
was
still
at
a
standstill
.
He
raised
a
blind
and
looked
out
.
Heavy
banks
of
snow
surrounded
the
train
.
He
glanced
at
his
watch
and
saw
that
it
was
past
nine
o'clock
.
At
a
quarter
to
ten
,
neat
,
spruce
,
and
dandified
as
ever
,
he
made
his
way
to
the
restaurant
car
,
where
a
chorus
of
woe
was
going
on
.
Any
barriers
there
might
have
been
between
the
passengers
had
now
quite
broken
down
.
All
were
united
by
a
common
misfortune
.
Mrs.
Hubbard
was
loudest
in
her
lamentations
.
"
My
daughter
said
it
would
be
the
easiest
way
in
the
world
.
Just
sit
in
the
train
until
I
got
to
Parrus
.
And
now
we
may
be
here
for
days
and
days
,
"
she
wailed
.
"
And
my
boat
sails
the
day
after
tomorrow
.
How
am
I
going
to
catch
it
now
?
Why
,
I
ca
n't
even
wire
to
cancel
my
passage
.
I
feel
too
mad
to
talk
about
it
.
"
The
Italian
said
that
he
had
urgent
business
himself
in
Milan
.
The
large
American
said
that
that
was
"
too
bad
,
Ma'am
,
"
and
soothingly
expressed
a
hope
that
the
train
might
make
up
time
.
"
My
sister
--
her
children
wait
me
,
"
said
the
Swedish
lady
and
wept
.
"
I
get
no
word
to
them
.
What
they
think
?
They
will
say
bad
things
have
happen
to
me
.
"
