Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 619 Where is Hercule Poirot? (Seeking monthly votes)

On October 13, 1883, the steamship "Espero" docked in the morning mist.

Passengers carrying their luggage walked in twos and threes across the gangway and onto the platform at Brussels train station.

It was the same Bulgarian train, with hard seats, small windows, and the smell of coal smoke. This time, no one complained.

The return journey is always faster than the outward journey. In the blink of an eye, everyone was standing next to the "Orient Express," which had just undergone maintenance.

Georges Nagelmarx looked up at the sky, then at his pocket watch, and said to Charles de Frésiné, "Twenty minutes earlier than expected."

Fressine nodded without replying, and continued to discuss the Balkan railway concessions in hushed tones with Belgian diplomat Jean-Baptiste Nodon.

As a representative of the French government, he achieved fruitful diplomatic results this time, reaching a consensus with Abdul Hamid II's plenipotentiary representatives.

In the coming years, under the leadership of France, construction will begin on a through railway that will traverse France, Germany, Austria-Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, and the Ottoman Empire.

Within Ottoman territory, although the railways nominally belonged to the empire, the Ottomans did not have the right to operate them, manage them, or even have police authority over them.

The entire railway will be controlled by the French-capital-controlled "International Sleeper Car Company" and the "Anatolian Railway Company" controlled by Deutsche Bank.

Abdul Hamid II will provide land and concessions for the construction of the railway, but he will also be unable to gain control of it.

He even mortgaged future tariff revenues (from the trade growth brought about by the railways) to European creditors, mainly Jewish bankers in Paris and Vienna.

This would create a “railway version of extraterritoriality,” where European trains operating on Ottoman territory would be governed by international conventions rather than Ottoman law.

France viewed the Orient Express as a significant symbol of its expanding national power, especially as Paris's financial tentacles would penetrate deep into the empire and bleed it dry.

Bismarck of Germany hoped to use this opportunity to consolidate the "Continental Alliance" policy, using the Ottoman Empire as a buffer zone to temporarily ease Franco-German tensions and jointly expand eastward.

While London was wary of any European projects that penetrated deep into the Ottoman Empire, it also viewed the Orient Express as a window into monitoring both the Ottoman Empire and Russia.

In particular, by controlling the docks at Constantinople, the terminus of the railway, the Royal Navy was able to monitor the Black Sea straits more effectively.

Of course, Abdul Hamid II wasn't entirely foolish; he planned to use the railway to establish a rapid military mobilization network from Yildez Palace to the provinces of the empire.

Once the railway is completed, the Sultan will be able to transport his loyal Anatolian troops to Istanbul by train within 24 hours to suppress any possible coup.

Of course, what he didn't expect was that this train, which transported European journalists, diplomats, arms dealers, and exiles every day, also became a mobile corridor for opposition forces.

Members of the Armenian Revolutionary Union and Young Turks, who boarded in Paris and Geneva, will arrive at the heart of the empire at an unprecedented speed and ultimately destroy it.

But all of this will happen after the railway is completed—the current situation can be summed up in one word: "a win-win situation"!
However, the passengers waiting for the train to depart on the platform were eager to get back to Paris as soon as possible.

Georges Boyer leaned closer to Lionel and whispered, "You really don't want to tell another story in the car?"

Lionel shook his head.

"Why? We're all waiting!"

"But a murder can only happen once on a train."

Georges Bois wanted to ask more questions, but the train whistle blew, and he had to board with the others.

It's the same train, the same seats, and even the scenery outside the window is being played in reverse.

The difference is that no one talks about politics anymore. No one mentions Kessetie, the Armstrong family, or the Twelve Knives.

In the evening, gaslights were turned on in the Salon carriage.

Louis Bertin and Paul Moreau were playing chess. Émile Durand watched from the sidelines, occasionally interjecting with a comment, only to be booed by both of them.

Georges Boyer and Henri Browitz were playing cards. Browitz lost two hands, and before the third hand began, he pushed his cards away, saying, "I'm not playing anymore, you're a card counter."

Georges Boiser laughed: "Reporters all remember the cards."

Mrs. Rothschild was flipping through a book called "The Sinking of the Titan"; her husband was looking at a railroad company's financial report, occasionally scribbling a few numbers in the margins with a pencil.

Lionel and Sophie sat by the window. Sophie scribbled on a draft of the Ottoman royal agency contract with a pencil, while Lionel looked out the window.

Night quickly engulfed the plains.

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At 3 p.m. on October 16, the crowd's clamor under the dome of Gare de l'Est in Paris almost lifted the roof off, with each passenger receiving a cheer as they disembarked.

But when Lionel and Sophie stepped off the train, they were greeted by a near-frenzied, tidal wave of cheers and shouts.

"Leonard!"

"Poirot! Where is Hercule Poirot?"

"Mr. Sorel, please tell me about that murder!"

The platform was packed with people. Besides government officials, railway company representatives, and a few celebrities, there were far more reporters—more than usual!
Holding notebooks, they buzzed forward like a swarm of bees discovering a flower garden. The police officers maintaining order, sweating profusely, pushed and shoved the human wall, barely managing to clear a narrow passage for Lionel and Sophie.

Georges Nagelmarque, the creator of the Orient Express, intended to give a speech, but his voice was drowned out by a much louder clamor as soon as he began to speak.

He opened his mouth, looking at the reporters who completely ignored him and only focused on throwing questions at Lionel, a smile of embarrassment and helplessness flashing across his face.

Today's protagonist is not him, nor the train that symbolizes European connections and imperial glory, but Lionel and the fictional murder case.

Lionel himself was caught off guard. He had anticipated some attention, but he hadn't expected the scene to be so exaggerated.

He held Sophie's hand tightly and moved forward with difficulty amidst police escorts and a barrage of questions from reporters.

"Mr. Sorel! Is the report in Le Figaro true? Did you really orchestrate a perfect murder game in the car?"

"Is Poirot a new character you created for French readers? Is it a response to London's monopoly on Sherlock Holmes?"

When will the novel be published? Will it be titled "Murder on the Orient Express"?

What is your comment on the resentment that London has felt over this matter?

Questions came one after another, with everyone talking at once, creating a chaotic mess.

Lionel could only raise his voice and reply briefly, "Thank you all for your enthusiasm! The story is indeed a game with friends on the journey."

Thank you for the report, Mr. Georges Boyer. I will elaborate on Poirot and the novel later. Please make way, thank you!

After finally rushing out of the station and boarding the pre-arranged carriage, Lionel breathed a sigh of relief and exchanged a smile with Sophie.

Sophie tidied her slightly messy hair and clothes: "It's probably even more exaggerated than when you first came to America?"

Lionel rubbed his temples: "It's all because of that Georges Boyer article. He really knows how to exaggerate."

Sophie glanced out the window at the reporters still chasing the carriage: "But he wasn't wrong. Paris has waited too long for an elegant and wise French detective."

Even the best Sherlock Holmes is still English. Now, you've finally given them a Poirot.

The carriage traveled through the streets of Paris, heading towards Verneve.

Lionel leaned back in his seat, gazing at the familiar cityscape outside the window, but his thoughts drifted back to the time he played the "Murder on the Orient Express" game on the train.

Presenting Agatha Christie's classic work to a group of European elites in 1883 in the form of a "murder mystery game" yielded results that exceeded expectations.

Especially the final debate on law and justice, with the viewpoints put forward by politicians, bankers, and artists, were in themselves very valuable.

Georges Bois, a reporter from Le Figaro who was traveling on the Espero, wrote a report overnight and sent it back to Paris via the fastest mail route.

Upon receiving the report, Le Figaro immediately published it in its entirety, igniting enthusiasm throughout Paris.

In Georges Bois's description, detective Hercule Poirot is not only intelligent but also elegant and charming, the perfect embodiment of the French man.

Compared to the "rude reasoning machine" Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot is more like a normal person and more humane.

Out of professional ethics, Georges Boyer did not provide a complete reasoning process or reveal the real culprit, but he completely piqued the interest of Parisian readers.

They were burning with rage, eager to witness the murder that had occurred on the Orient Express—they couldn't wait a week, a day, or even an hour!
As for the mysterious Ottoman Sultan giving his first exclusive interview, France's influence extending into the heart of Asia, and the government's diplomatic breakthroughs...

What's more important than the French having their own legendary detective? And the Parisian media echoed this sentiment, sending out a large number of reporters.

That's why today at Gare du Gare de l'Est, other passengers were ignored while Lionel was the only one receiving attention.

Gradually, the carriage left the city of Paris and entered the country roads of Verneve, where the late autumn scenery was already tinged with gold and reddish-brown, and the air was crisp and refreshing.

Lionel felt a sense of relief as the familiar silhouette of the "hillside villa" came into view.

However, before the carriage had come to a complete stop at the door, he saw a figure quickly emerge from the shadows of the porch.

It was Georges Charpentier! The most successful and daring publisher in Paris was now filled with eagerness and excitement.

He practically jogged to the carriage, and before Lionel could even alight, he shouted, "Leon! You're finally back! I've been waiting for you all day!"

Lionel got out of the car, somewhat surprised: "George? What happened to you..."

Georges Charpentier interrupted him, speaking rapidly: "How did I get here? The whole of Paris has seen the report in Le Figaro!"

Good heavens, what game are you playing on the Orient Express? A murder? Hercule Poirot? My printing press is itching for a shot!

"Charpentier's Bookshelf" must be published! Absolutely! You can name any price, any conditions! Royalties? Advance payment? It's up to you!
We must get this book in the window of every bookstore in Paris as soon as possible, before anyone else does!

He finished speaking in rapid succession, then took a breath, his eyes fixed intently on Lionel.

(First update, thank you everyone! Please vote with monthly tickets!)
(End of this chapter)