You know, there is something about a tangle of strangers...
...pressed together for days with nothing in common but the need to go from one place to another...
...and never see each other again.
I see evil on this train.
A passenger has died.
So they got him after all.
You assume he was killed?
No.
Not...
Well, he was in perfectly good health.
He had his enemies.
Indeed.
He was murdered.
Good God.
A murder?
Here?
God rest his soul.
Someone was rummaging around my cabin in the middle of the night.
No one would listen to me.
If there was a murder...
What is going on?
Then there was a murderer.
The murderer is with us.
And every one of you is a suspect.
And who are you?
My name is Hercule Poirot.
And I am probably the greatest detective in the world.