The Mysterious Affair at Styles (Hercule Poirot #1)

by Agatha Christie

‘My dear Hastings, I don’t mind telling you that I’m at my wit’s end for money.’

Poirot was an extraordinary-looking little man. He was hardly more than five feet four inches, but carried himself with great dignity. His head was exactly the shape of an egg, and he always perched it a little on one side. His moustache was very stiff and military. The neatness of his attire was almost incredible; I believe a speck of dust would have caused him more pain than a bullet wound.

We went up together to the room of the tragedy. For convenience I append a plan of the room and the principal articles of furniture in it.

Imagination is a good servant, and a bad master. The simplest explanation is always the most likely.’

‘What have I always told you? Everything must be taken into account. If the fact will not fit the theory—let the theory go.’

It is always wise to suspect everybody until you can prove logically, and to your own satisfaction, that they are innocent.

‘Instinct is a marvellous thing,’ mused Poirot. ‘It can neither be explained nor ignored.’

The happiness of one man and woman is the greatest thing in all the world.’