Peril at End House

Poirot," I said. "I have been thinking." "An admirable exercise my friend. Continue it.

I always think loyalty's such a tiresome virtue.

You have a tendency, Hastings, to prefer the least likely. That, no doubt, is from reading too many detective stories.

Evil never goes unpunished, Monsieur. But the punishment is sometimes secret.

If only-if only, Hastings, you would part your hair in the middle instead of at the side! What a difference it would make to the symmetry of your appearance. And your moustache. If you must have a moustache, let it be a real moustache-a thing of beauty such as mine.

Really, my friend! But I will not sit back and say ‘le bon Dieu has arranged everything, I will not interfere.’ Because I am convinced that le bon Dieu created Hercule Poirot for the express purpose of interfering. It is my métier.

Of course. I understand." "One of your brilliant mentality could not fail to do so, Hastings.

Poirot looked at me meditatively. “You have an extraordinary effect on me, Hastings. You have so strongly the flair in the wrong direction that I am almost tempted to go by it! You are that wholly admirable type of man, honest, credulous, honourable, who is invariably taken in by any scoundrel. You are the type of man who invests in doubtful oil fields, and non-existent gold mines. From hundreds like you, the swindler makes his daily bread. Ah, well—I shall study this Commander Challenger. You have awakened my doubts.” “My dear Poirot,” I cried, angrily. “You are perfectly absurd. A man who has knocked about the world like I have—” “Never learns,” said Poirot, sadly. “It is amazing—but there it is.” “Do you suppose I’d have made a success of my ranch out in the Argentine if I were the kind of credulous fool you make out?” “Do not enrage yourself, mon ami. You have made a great success of it—you and your wife.” “Bella,” I said, “always goes by my judgement.” “She is as wise as she is charming,” said Poirot. “Let us not quarrel my friend. See, there ahead of us, it says Mott’s Garage. That, I think, is the garage mentioned by Mademoiselle Buckley. A few inquiries will soon give us the truth of that little matter.

They say of me: ‘That is Hercule Poirot!—The great—the unique!—There was never anyone like him, there never will be!’ Eh bien—I am satisfied. I ask no more. I am modest.

I know—I know. To all of us, Mademoiselle, there comes a time when death is preferable to life. But it passes—sorrow passes and grief. You cannot believe that now, I know.

I wouldn’t like to deprive you of the pleasure of being clever at my expense!

tell you, Hastings. This is all very black—very black.” “Always darkest before dawn,” I said reassuringly.

I was glad I had been brilliant, but I did not want to think of anything complex. I wanted to go to sleep.

It seemed longer and redder than any car could be. It had a long gleaming bonnet of polished metal.

Courage, Mademoiselle. There is always something to live for.

To play the comedy successfully, you must put the heart into it.

Years since I’ve seen you, Moosior Poirot. Thought you were growing vegetable marrows in the country.” “I tried, Japp, I tried. But even when you grow vegetable marrows you cannot get away from murder.

Because, my friend, the more prosaic explanation is nearly always more probable.

Never give in! That’s my motto. Don’t think of trouble and trouble won’t come!

Pas encore. Qa m'amuse." "Really, Poirot!" "Yes, my friend. I grow old and childish, do I not?

Poirot", I said, "I've been thinking." "An admirable exercise, my friend. Continue it!

I felt grateful for the “we.” Poirot has a habit of sometimes ignoring my existence.

Surely you can tell me, Hastings.” “I wouldn’t like to deprive you of the pleasure of being clever at my expense!

Who is the dog, by the way? Dr. Watson, I presume." "My name is Hastings," I said coldly.

Poirot,' I said. 'I have been thinking.' 'An admirable exercise, my friend. Continue it.

Poiret,' I sais. 'I have been thinking.' 'An admirable exercise, my friend. Continue it.

A todos nosotros nos llega esa hora en que aceptaríamos más gustosos la muerte que la vida. Pero pasa esa hora y el dolor se atenúa.