If Crome and his colleagues were indefatigable, Poirot seemed to me strangely supine. We argued now and again. ‘But what is it that you would have me do, my friend? The routine inquiries, the police make them better than I do. Always—always you want me to run about like the dog.’ ‘Instead of which you sit at home like—like—’ ‘A sensible man! My force, Hastings, is in my brain, not in my feet! All the time, whilst I seem to you idle, I am reflecting.’ ‘Reflecting?’ I cried. ‘Is this a time for reflection?’ ‘Yes, a thousand times yes.’ ‘But what can you possibly gain by reflection? You know the
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