The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (Hercule Poirot, #4)

by Agatha Christie

“Just what my poor Hastings used to say,” interrupted Poirot, “but alas! he never did so.”

Because Hastings is the dumbest person alive

Caroline merely looked at me with an air of a Christian martyr enjoying martyrdom.

“Have I not told you at least thirty-six times that it is useless to conceal things from Hercule Poirot?”