The Unexpected Suspect
Poirot gazed at the crowd of people shouting and claiming it can't be them. The commotion of the train stopping muffled the cries from the passengers. He examined each carefully. Poirot knew who did it. The murderer of Ratchet also known as Cassette. The man who killed the little darling Daisy Armstrong. He wanted to lay out the evidence and see who is perfect to fit the murderer.
Mary looked at Poirot with daring eyes. She knew something was up. She was great at reading facial expressions. Was Poirot being a detective a cover up for himself being the murderer? Could it be that Poirot was using us as little toys that he can frame for the crime he had committed? Her lips grinned in disgust at the thought of this.
Poirot noticed Mary studying him. He stared right into her lumanecing emerald eyes and locked his eyes onto hers. Her pupil enlarged as she examined every bit of him. He felt her eyes burning holes into him and releasing the secrets that lie beneath him. Every breath Mary let out filled the air with burning hatred that only Poirot can sense. "Could she really believe that it was I…Poirot, who murdered Ratchet?" His brows lifted and shook his head. "What nonsense." He mumbled.
Poirot looked at her and smiled. He let off a friendly smile that couldn't be mistaken as an evil smirk. From the evidence he collected he knew it could only be Mary, Colonel, or Mrs. Hubbard. Poirot was wise and clever. Poirot always knew how to break open someone to reveal the mystery that lye submerged in the bottomless pit of their very heart. Every passenger on this train held their secrets and Poirot had to dig into each to find it. He would study each passenger that walks on the creaking floor of the metal dungeon that lay sustained in the white pit of coldness that no one would dare to escape from.
Colonel saw the tension between Mary and Poirot. He couldn't help but notice how Poirot didn't seem to mind that Mary was burning holes into his very soul. Colonel smoked a pipe in front of Poirot proving that his evidence and suspicion of him murdering the cold blooded Ratchet was false. Poirot noticed Colonel. His lips rest upon a worn out pipe that dispensed a dull cloud of smoke that will soon vanish into the air as he did from the site.
Mrs. Hubbard sat next to Poirot. "I would never kill a man. I would never have the heart to do such a treacherous crime!"She cried. Tears rippled down her blushed cheeks and she fell weakly on the seat. She made a scene that no one can peel their eyes off from. The attention craving woman lye there. She was choking on the tears that seemed as if they would never end. Poirot knew he would get a load of tears and dramatic arm flailing.
Poirot sighed. "This is going to be troubling." He rested his hands on his eyes as a cover from the hideous site. He knew something though. These were the perfect passengers.
"He's such disgusting human I can't wait till he just leaves." Mary said repulsively. The next couple days went on. Mary questioned everything about Poirot. "He was perfect to fit the murderer. He never liked the man. I remember him giving a face of disgust at the site of seeing the muscle-faced man." She thought to herself.
On the other hand Colonel was a bit confused. Mary had told him about her thoughts of Poirot. "Poirot seems to be innocent and would never do such a crime. He's a detective. He studies and examines these things. Why would he do it?" He stated before resting his head onto the white pillow that would take him to place of dreams and possibilities.
After the storm had passed and the trains wheels began to stomped against the metal tracks. Poirot had an idea. He grasped the dagger that hid in his suitcase with stained blood that held a small part of Ratchet. He had asked Mrs. Hubbard to get a hold of Mary's bag to inspect it. Once he had his hands on Mary's bag he slipped the dagger into her bag and his face beamed with delight. "Your very clever, Mary." He said smirking.
He asked the conductor to gather the passengers into one of the train's compartments. They all looked at each other and some even snarled at the sight of eachother. Their eyes set on Poirot as he walked in. He flashed Mary's bag and held it for all the passengers to lay their eyes on. Mrs. Hubbard gasped at the sight of the bag. He slowly took out the dagger and mouths gaped open. Eyes all caught onto Mary. She ignored the comments and sickening faces thrown at her. She looked at Poirot will killing eyes. She clenched her teeth and wanted to grasp the dagger from his hands and stab the lies that had just flowed out from his mouth. "You, Poirot, are one sickening man. Framing me for the murder. How silly of a grown man." She looked at the crowd of people. "Poirot, the detective is the murder. He has us all fooled. He's using his profession of being a detective to cover up for his crime of killing Ratchet. He never liked the man. You can tell by the way he looked at him when he first noticed him. Poirot is one sickening man with a heart so dead he's blaming innocent people for the murders he has done."
Poirot looked at Mary and laughed. "Me?" he said sarcastically. "Couldn't have been. I have the evidence and none points to me darling. It all points to you. You are the murderer of Ratchet. You have committed this crime and dare to blame me? I have solved quite many crimes but one not like this. You must be lying to yourself and believing it. Why would I do such a silly thing? You know you did it, just admit it. Everyone here knows you did it." Some of the passengers and Poirot smiled at her to ease the awful things he had just said. The rumbling of the trains wheels that were pounding against the metal trains were beginning to slow down. Poirot had planned it oh so well.
Poirot was the first to step off the train and report the incident. Mary stepped onto the concrete pavement and snarled at Poirot. The police had ambushed her and took off with her. She yelled and cried for help. No one helped her instead watched her with joy get taken away. As she was about to enter the police car Poirot smirked at her. He whispered something into her ear. "You were right all along Madam." And walked away into the night lit evening, leaving Mary with arms tangled behind her back. Mary enveloped in tears couldn't come to believe what had just happened. As her tears rolled down her and dripped from her face she knew she would get back at Poirot, somehow.