The Murder on the Links

For whom will a woman lie? Sometimes for herself, usually for the man she loves, always for her children

'Mon ami, two people rarely see the same thing. You, for instance, saw a goddess. I--' He hesitated.

'Yes?'

'I saw only a girl with anxious eyes,' said Poirot gravely.

'Order' and 'Method' were his gods.

An extraordinary little man! Height, five feet four inches, egg-shaped head carried a little to one side, eyes that shone green when he was excited, stiff military moustache, air of dignity immense!

He was neat and dandified in appearance. For neatness of any kind he had an absolute passion. To see an ornament set crookedly, or a speck of dust, or a slight disarray in one's attire, was torture to the little man until he could ease his feelings by remedying the matter.

'There! Now we're friends!' declared the minx. 'Say you're sorry about my sister--'

'I am desolated!'

'That's a good boy!'

“Let me see, was that the old lady who was poisoned?

whom will a woman lie? Sometimes for herself, usually for the man she loves, always for her children.

A good intelligence—and so deplorably lacking in method. There is an exercise most excellent for the development of the little grey cells. I will impart it to you—”

“Mon ami, you must make your own deductions. You have ‘access to the facts!’ Concentrate your grey cells.

Man is an unoriginal animal.