Hercule Poirot contemplates the murder on the Orient Express for the eighth story in the "If" series.


If you can think, and not make thoughts your aim…


This mystery…

The train, snow-bound, seemed to bind his thoughts as well. Yet, ever so slowly, ever so inexorably—like the crews clearing the tracks—the solution began to make itself apparent.

It was not a solution he liked.

Since when do my preferences override my thoughts? Truth does not care whether or not I like it.

And yet…

What is justice, in such a case? What law can—should—judge? Who is the monster here? Who is the murderer?

I know what my heart would say…

Soon, very soon, he would fit in the last pieces. Soon, he would have a full picture of what happened that fateful night.

Is it sufficient for justice, to simply know what happened? It always has been, but…

He closed his eyes.

For some things, mere thoughts are not enough.

No. He would seek higher thoughts, and inquire of a higher justice.