Murder on the orient express

Murder on the orient express ÄÚÈݼò½é

It was five o'clock on a winter morning in Syria. Beside the platform at Aleppo was the Taurus Express. By the sleeping carriage stood a French lieutenant£¬ and next to him a man wearing so many clothes that nothing could be seen but the end of his pink nose and the two points of his moustache. It was freezing£¬ and both men were shaking with cold. Lieutenant Dubosc did not know why the other man£¬ a Belgian£¬ had come to Aleppo from England£¬ except that it involved a very important job for the French Army. Everything had gone well and now the stranger£¬ Monsieur Poirot£¬ was leaving. ÎçÒ¹¹ýºó£¬Ò»³¡´óÑ©ÆÈʹ¶«·½¿ì³µÍ£ÁËÏÂÀ´¡£ÕâÁ¾ºÀ»ªÁгµÕûÄ궼´¦ÓÚÂúԱ״̬¡£µ«ÄÇÌìÔçÉÏÈ´·¢ÏÖÉÙÁËÒ»Ãû³Ë¿Í¡£Ò»¸öÃÀ¹úÈËËÀÔÚÁËËûµÄ°üÏáÀËû±»´ÌÁËÊ®¶þµ¶£¬¿ÉËû°üÏáµÄÃÅÈ´ÊÇ·´Ëø×ŵġ£ Ëæ׎ôÕÅÆø·ÕÖð½¥ÔöÇ¿£¬Õì̽ºÕ¶û¿ËÀ²¨ÂåÏë³öÁËÁ½¸öÕìÆÆ´Ë°¸µÄ·½·¨¡­¡­