Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 605 Murder Case!
The first topic in the salon carriage was naturally the train itself.

Charles de Frésiné, French Deputy Minister of Public Works, raised a glass of brandy: "A remarkable achievement! Paris to Constantinople, just four days!"

Although he was forced to resign last year due to his indecisiveness on the Egyptian issue, he still holds an important position in the government. This is the norm in French politics.

Jean-Baptiste Nodon of the Belgian Ministry of Foreign Affairs nodded: "Indeed. This is not only a victory for technology, but also a symbol of European unity."

France, Germany, Austria, Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria… railways from so many countries connect, heading east.

Henry Browitz, a reporter for The Times, puffed on a cigar: "But the challenge is yet to come; we still have to take two more boat trips, so it's not really a 'direct' journey."

Nagelmarx immediately replied, "That's temporary! We're already planning the Danube Bridge. Within a few years, trains will be able to run directly to Constantinople!"

"hope so."

The topic then quickly shifted to "the East".

Georges Boisier of Le Figaro looked on with anticipation: "I've always wanted to go see it. The colors, the light, the architecture... it's completely different from Europe."

I've heard that the markets in Constantinople are absolutely magnificent; the aroma of spices can be smelled for kilometers!

Louis Bertin, a painter specializing in Oriental subjects, chimed in: "And there's art there too. Oriental painting is very popular now."

The Sultan's harem, camel caravans in the desert, minarets of mosques… Parisian salons adored those exotic sights!

Archaeologist Paul Moreau chimed in: “Indeed. But the East is more than just ‘exotic’; it has ancient civilizations and a glorious history.”

Constantinople was once the capital of the Byzantine Empire and one of the most glorious cities in the Christian world…

Charles Fressine interrupted his statement: "Now it is the capital of the Ottoman Empire. And this empire needs modernization, it needs our technology and railways!"

He paused, then looked around: "So, gentlemen, this train journey is more than just a trip. It will reunite Constantinople with the Western world!"

Applause erupted. Several French and Belgian officials nodded vigorously.

Lionel sat in a soft chair, holding a cup of coffee, and did not applaud.

Sophie was sitting with the ladies, talking quietly with Mrs. Rothschild, occasionally glancing at Lionel.

“Mr. Sorel.” The voice came from the other end.

Lionel looked up and saw that the speaker was Henry Browitz of The Times.

"You haven't said anything. What are your thoughts on this train journey and the idea of ​​'reintegrating Constantinople back into the Western world'?"

The carriage quieted down a bit. Several eyes turned to Lionel.

Lionel put down his coffee cup, thinking that it had been almost a year, and the British newspapers still had some issues with him. Wasn't this just blatantly trying to stir up trouble?
Henry Browitz knew his political stance all over Europe, so how could he not know what he thought of such imperialist remarks?

But Lionel didn't care. These people were all of high status, but even Fresine, who had served as prime minister, had been humiliated by him before.

So his response was calm: "It was a comfortable train journey. The food was excellent, and the service was impeccable. As for 'reintegration into the Western world'..."

His gaze swept over Charles de Frésiné, Nagelmarques, and several other officials—

“I think this train has a more practical mission—to connect a new blood vessel to the increasingly failing heart of the Ottoman Empire.”

The carriage fell silent immediately. The smoke from the cigars still lingered slowly in the air, but the men stopped talking.

Frésiné's smile froze on his face, while Jean-Baptiste Nodon coughed, unable to hide his deep embarrassment.

Lionel's words, though rhetorically accurate, were still too blunt.

Following the Berlin Conference of 1878, the Ottoman Empire's territory in the Balkans was significantly reduced, and both Tsarist Russia and Austria-Hungary coveted this land.

Britain and France viewed this railway as a strategic tool in order to prevent Russia and Austria from partitioning the Balkans and to maintain the survival of the Ottoman Empire in order to protect their own interests in the Mediterranean.

Capital, technology, railways... all of these were actually meant to sustain the life of that "sick man of Europe" and prevent its complete collapse from triggering a war among the great powers.

These secrets can only be written in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs documents, and bankers and politicians can only discuss them behind closed doors. How could they be openly discussed in a salon?
But Lionel didn't care about any of that and made no attempt to hide it, which made the politicians present somewhat embarrassed.

Fressine finally spoke: “Mr. Sorel, what you’re saying… is a bit of an exaggeration. This is a commercial railway, designed to promote trade and travel.”

Lionel nodded. "Of course. Commercial railways promote trade. I agree. But it seems there are more people of your status than businessmen among the passengers today."

The atmosphere grew even more awkward. Several officials exchanged glances, with Nagelmarx particularly uneasy—he didn't want the atmosphere of the maiden voyage to be ruined by political topics.

Just then, a voice came from the women's side.

Mrs. Rothschild stood up, took Sophie's hand, and gracefully walked to the men's side: "Gentlemen, let's have a lighthearted chat and not waste this beautiful night."

Sophie then turned her gaze to Lionel and smiled, "Leon, before you set off, you said you had prepared a story for me to get through this long journey."

When can we hear you tell us about it? I can't wait!

This statement brought everyone's attention back to Lionel.

Lionel looked at Sophie, then at the faces around him—faces filled with expectation and curiosity, as if the awkwardness of the moment had never happened.

He smiled and said, "I have indeed prepared a story for this trip."

As soon as he said that, the atmosphere in the carriage visibly relaxed. Fressine's tense expression eased, and Nodon's face broke into a smile again.

Nagelmarx breathed a sigh of relief!

Politics can be set aside for now, but the story of Lionel Sorel cannot be missed! This is something all of Paris knows.

From "A Study in Scarlet" to "Pirates of the Caribbean," from "1984" to "The Sinking of the Titans," his stories always manage to make people forget about time and immerse themselves in them.

Georges Boyer of Le Figaro practically cheered: “Excellent! I knew this journey wouldn’t just be about railways and diplomacy!” Henry Browitz of The Times asked curiously: “What kind? Romance? Adventure? Or a legend like The Legend of 1900?”

Lionel did not answer immediately, but stood up: "However, this story cannot be told by me alone."

Everyone was taken aback.

Lionel looked around: "Everyone on this train today will be its storyteller."

Curiosity spread like ripples. People exchanged glances and whispered among themselves.

"We'll tell stories together? What do you mean?"

"Is it that each person will speak for a while?"

"Or like a salon game, where each person takes turns saying a line?"

Lionel didn't explain, but looked at Nagelmas: "Mr. Nagelmas, I need to prepare some 'props' for this story."

I'm afraid I won't be able to begin until tomorrow morning. Could you perhaps have the train conductor accommodate me?

Disappointed sighs echoed through the carriage.

"Tomorrow morning?"

"We have to wait all night?"

I want to hear it now!

But amidst the complaints, their curiosity only intensified. What kind of story required specially prepared props? And what required the participation of all passengers in telling the tale?
Nagelmax immediately stood up: "No problem! Mr. Sorel, take whatever you need from this car!"

He turned and waved to a middle-aged man whose uniform had three gold stripes on the epaulets.

"This is Chief Purser Ferdinand Dubois. Mr. Dubois, from now on, you will fully cooperate with all of Mr. Sorel's requests."

Ferdinand Dubois bowed slightly to Lionel: "Mr. Sorel, please give your instructions."

Lionel nodded. "Very well. I need to speak with Mr. Dubois alone now."

Nagelmarx nodded: "Of course! Dubois, whatever Mr. Sorel says."

Lionel turned to the crowd and gave a slight bow: "Well then, everyone, please allow me to take my leave. See you tomorrow—goodnight."

After saying that, Sophie got up and left the salon carriage with him.

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The next morning at eight o'clock sharp, the dining car began serving breakfast.

Almost all the passengers showed up. No one wanted to miss Lionel's story.

Breakfast was still plentiful: fresh bread, butter, jam, ham, fried eggs, coffee, hot chocolate...

But many people ate absentmindedly, their eyes frequently glancing at the table where Lionel and Sophie were sitting.

Lionel ate with unhurried ease. He sliced ​​his fried eggs, sipped his coffee, and occasionally exchanged a few words with Sophie in hushed tones, appearing completely unconcerned.

This made the others even more anxious.

As breakfast drew to a close, Nagelmarx stood up and announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Sorel will be telling stories in the salon carriage. Please move over after you have finished eating."

Upon hearing this, the passengers immediately sped up, wolfing down the remaining food. None of them returned to their compartments; instead, they all headed to the salon carriage to wait.

Soon, Lionel appeared in the salon carriage, standing in the center of the crowd, holding a stack of cards the size of playing cards—

"Now, anyone interested in participating can come forward and draw a card."

He first pulled out one of the cards and put it in his breast pocket, then unfolded the remaining cards face down in a fan shape.

Mrs. Rothschild was the first to stand up. She walked up to Lionel, took out a card, and held it in her hand.

Her husband, James Rothschild, also stepped forward and drew a card.

Next came Nagelmarques, then several journalists, then artists and academics, and finally the politicians and representatives of the railway company.

In the end, 18 out of the 24 passengers drew cards. The remaining six said they just wanted to watch.

Lionel nodded: "Very good, there are enough people. Now, please turn over your cards and look at your names and identities."

When people flipped over the cards, they found them covered with writing, and hushed murmurs immediately filled the dining car.

"Who is this?"

"I am...?"

"My character is..."

Everyone stared at the unfamiliar names and identities on their cards, and for a moment they were all a little lost.

Merchants, doctors, teachers, military officers, noblewomen, servants, train conductors... each has their own identity, but they all have one thing in common: they are all passengers on the Orient Express.

While people were still figuring out their roles, Lionel pulled his card from his breast pocket and showed it to everyone—

"From now on, my name is Le Chaté, a French businessman. And in the story that follows, I will die from twelve stab wounds..."

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(End of this chapter)