Syria. Pen %Fun %Pavilion www.biquge.info one winter morning, five o'clock. Next to the platform in the city of Aleppo, there is a train parked, which is called the Taurus Express in the railway guide. It consists of a cooking car, a food truck, a sleeper car, and two ordinary passenger cars.

At the door of the sleeper compartment stood a young French lieutenant, dressed in a dazzling military uniform, talking to a small man. The little man wore his head and ears in a scarf, and could see nothing but a red nose and two upturned mustache tips.

It was very cold, and the errand of escorting a noble stranger was not enviable, but Lieutenant Dubosco carried out his duty in good spirits. He spoke in beautiful French, with elegant phrasing and articulate articulation. He doesn't know all the details. Of course, there are many rumors, as is often the case in this case. The mood of the general, his general, grew worse and worse. Then came a strange Billy man, who seemed to have come all the way from England.

It's been a week – a week of inexplicably nervousness. And then something happened. One very famous officer committed suicide, another resigned—anxious faces suddenly disappeared, some military precautions were relaxed, and the general—the general to whom Lieutenant Dupostos had served—suddenly looked ten years younger.

Dubosk had overheard the general and the stranger say these things in a conversation. "You saved us, my dear," said the general excitedly, a large white beard on his lips trembling as he spoke. "You saved the glory of the French army—you prevented a bloodshed! You agreed to my request, how can I thank you?

The stranger (his name was Herr Herculeur Poirot) gave a fitting answer to this, with the following words: "But can I not forget that you saved my life?" and then the general gave another apt answer to the man who denied any credit for his past work. They spoke more about France, Belgium, about glory, honor, and things like that, and they ended the conversation with a cordial hug to each other.

Lieutenant Dubosque still knew nothing about what they were talking about, but the task of escorting Mr. Poirot to the Taurus coach was entrusted to him, and he therefore began to carry out it with all the enthusiasm of a promising young officer.

"Today is Sunday," said Lieutenant Dubosk, "and tomorrow, Monday evening, you will be in Istanbul." ”

It's not the first time he's said that. The conversation on the platform before the train starts is often a little repetitive.

"yes. Mr. Poirot agreed.

"I suppose you're going to stay there for a few days, right?"

"Needless to say. Istanbul is a city I've never seen before. It would be a shame to miss this opportunity – it is. ”

He snapped his finger as if to explain, "There's no hurry—I'm going to stay there as a traveler for a few days." ”

"St. Sophie, beautiful. Lieutenant Dubosk said. In fact, he had never seen Saint Sophie.

A cold wind howled towards the platform. Both shuddered. Lieutenant Dubosk managed to sneak a glance at his watch. 4:55 a.m. – only five minutes!

He thought that the other party had noticed his sneaky glance, so he hurriedly spoke again.

"There aren't many people who travel during this time of year. He said, glancing out the window of the sleeper car above them.

"Yes!" said Mr. Poirot.

"I hope you don't let the snow seal up in Taurus!"

"Is there such a thing?"

"Yes, it happened. Not this year, this refers to the past. ”

"So let's hope so. Mr. Poirot said. "The weather forecast from Europe is very bad. ”

"The weather was bad, there was a lot of snow in the Balkans. ”

"I've heard that the same is true in Germany. ”

"All right," said Lieutenant Dubosk, seeing that the conversation was about to be interrupted again, "to-morrow evening at seven forty o'clock you will be in Constantinople." ”

"Yes," said Mr. Poirot, recklessly continuing the conversation. "Saint Sophie, I've heard it's beautiful. ”

"Grandiose, I believe. ”

Above their heads, the curtains of a fur room in the sleeping compartment were pulled aside, and a young woman peered out of the car.

Since leaving Baghdad last Wednesday, I have slept very little. Mary Debehan had not slept well on the train to Kirkuk, in the hotel in Mosul, or on the train last night. It was unbearable to lie awake in the stuffy air of the overheated room, so she got up and looked out of the car.

This must be Aleppo. Of course, there was nothing to be seen, only a long, dimly lit platform, on which somewhere someone was arguing loudly and furiously in Arabic. Under her window, two men were talking in French. One was a French officer, the other was a small man with a big cocked beard. She smiled. She'd never seen anyone so tight. It must be very cold outside. No wonder the temperature in the carriage was heated to such a terrible degree. She tried to pull the window down a little harder, but she couldn't.

The sleeper conductor walked over to the two men. He said that the train was about to leave, and that it was better for the gentleman to get on the train. The little man took off his hat. Ah, it's an egg-like bald head. Engrossed in Marie de Behan's involuntary laughter. A little man who looks funny and ridiculous, no one will take this kind of person seriously.

Lieutenant Dubosk was saying his farewell. He had thought of these words beforehand, and specially saved them until the last moment. These are a few words that are not beautiful and concise.

In order not to be dwarfed, Mr. Poirot's reply was equally beautiful.

"Get in the car, sir. The conductor said. Mr. Poirot got into the car with a look of resignation. The conductor climbed up after him. Mr. Poirot waved his hand outside the car. Duposto military salute. The train jerked and slowly moved forward.

"It's finally over!" muttered Mr. Poirot.

"Ho, ho. Lieutenant Dubosk shuddered for a moment, and now he fully realized how cold he was...... "Here, sir." In an acting pose, the conductor boasted to Poirot about the beauty of the bedroom and the neatly placed luggage for him. "Sir's little travel bag, I've put it here. ”

One of his outstretched hands carried some kind of hint. Poirot placed a folded bill in his hand.

"Thank you, sir. The conductor immediately became agile and organized. "Sir's ticket is already here, please give me your passport as well. As far as I know, the gentleman is going to get off in Istanbul halfway?"

Mr. Poirot nodded yes, and asked, "I have only two other travelers—two Englishmen." One was an army colonel from India, and the other was a young British lady from Baghdad. Does the gentleman need anything?"

Mr. Poirot asked for a small bottle of pear wine.

Five o'clock in the morning is an awkward time to get on the bus, and there are still two hours before dawn. Poirot felt that he had not been sleepy at night, and now that the mission had been successfully completed, he curled up in a corner and fell asleep.

When I woke up, it was half past nine. He walked out of the foreskin room and towards the food truck. I want to get a hot cup of coffee.

At this time, there was only one person occupying the seat, apparently the young English lady mentioned by the conductor. She was slender, slender, with black hair—about twenty-eight years old. The way she eats her breakfast, and the way she calls for the waiter to bring her another cup of coffee, has a sense of composure, which shows that she is old and well-versed in travel. She wore a dark travel suit made of thin material, which was especially suitable for the heated air on the train.

Mr. Poirot had nothing to do, so he quietly studied her for amusement.

He concluded that she was a young woman who, wherever she went, took care of herself and lived at ease. She is composed and capable. He liked her well-rounded face and delicate white skin. He also liked her jet-black curls, and his gray eyes, which were calm and unfathomable. However, he decided that she was only a little too capable to be what he called a "beauty."

After a while, another person walked into the dining car. It was a tall man of forty or fifty years of age, with a thin build, dark skin, and slightly gray temples.

"Colonel from India. Poirot said to himself.

The newcomer nodded slightly to the girl.

"Hello, Miss Debehan. ”

"Good morning, Colonel Abasnot. ”

The Colonel stood, one hand resting on the chair across from her.

"Is there a hindrance?"

"Of course not. Have a seat. ”

"Thanks, you know, it's not usually idle to eat breakfast. ”

"I didn't want to make small talk. But I don't bite. ”

The colonel sat down.

"Someone," he called out in a commanding tone.

He asked for eggs and coffee.

His gaze paused on Poirot for a moment, but immediately passed over without paying attention. Poirot could guess exactly what the Englishman was thinking, and knew that he was saying to himself, "Damn gringo." ”

The two Englishmen observed their national custom and did not chat, they only talked a few words. After a while, the girl got up and went back to her room.

At lunchtime, the two men sat at the same table again, still ignoring the third traveler. Their conversation was much more lively than when they had breakfast. Colonel Abasnott spoke of Punjab and occasionally asked the girl a few questions about Baghdad, where she had apparently worked as a governess. In the course of the conversation, they discover several friends who know each other, which has an immediate effect, making them more friendly and less inhibited. They talked about one named Old Tommy and the other named Jerry. The colonel asked her if she would go straight to England or get off in Istanbul halfway.

"I went straight to the UK. ”

"Wouldn't that be a pity?"

"Two years ago, I walked this road and spent three days in Istanbul. ”

"Oh, I see. Okay, you're direct, and I have to say I'm very happy because I'm also direct. ”

When he said this, he nodded slightly awkwardly, and his face turned a little red.

"Our colonel is easily excited," Poirot thought to himself in a somewhat amused mood. "This train is as dangerous as sailing on the sea!"

Miss Debehan said lightly, "That's wonderful. Her demeanor seemed a little reserved.

Poirot noticed that the Colonel accompanied her back to her foreskin room. Later, the train travels through the breathtaking scenery of the Taurus Mountains. As they stood side by side in the aisle, looking out over the Sirisin Pass, the girl suddenly let out a sigh. Poirot was standing beside them, and heard her whisper:

"How beautiful! I hope—I hope—"

"What?"

"I wish I could enjoy it!"

Abasth Nott did not answer. The square line of his jaw seemed to be more severe, a little more cold.

"How I long for you to get out of it all!" he said.

"Shhh

"Oh, it's okay!" he glared angrily in Poirot's direction. Then he continued: "But I don't like your idea of being a governess—everything has to be done at the behest of those tyrannical mothers and their nasty imps. ”

She laughed, and there was a taste of uninhibited in her voice.

"Oh! you shouldn't think like that. The ravaged governess is a myth that has been debunked. I can assure you, on the contrary, that it is the parents who are afraid that I will be bullied. ”

They stopped talking, and Arbath Nott was perhaps ashamed of his outburst of affection.

"What I'm seeing here can be described as a weird little comedy. Poirot muttered to himself thoughtfully.

In the future, he will remember this idea.

At about half past eleven that evening they arrived at Connia. The two British passengers got out of the car and moved their legs, pacing back and forth on the snowy platform.

Mr. Poirot watched contentedly through the glass window at the busy scene at the station. However, after about ten minutes, he decided that going down and getting some fresh air might not be a bad thing after all. He made careful preparations, tucking himself tightly in his coat and scarf, and putting galoshes over neat boots. After he stopped dressing like this, he went down to the platform tremblingly and paced along the platform. He walked past the locomotive.

A conversation gave him a clue as two vague figures stood in the shadow of a caravan.