At Bertram's Hotel (Miss Marple, #11)

by Agatha Christie

He didn’t know what to reply. Was this a moment for truth? Or for vagueness? Or for a good thumping lie? What could you say to a girl who asked a question of such simplicity, when the answer was of great complexity? He said unhappily: “I don’t know.”

Miss Marple seldom gave anyone the benefit of the doubt; she invariably thought the worst, and nine times out of ten, so she insisted, she was right in so doing.

“Ah, so you’re an Irishman and gambler, is that it?” “Och! Now, what would life be without a gamble?” “Peaceful and dull,” said Chief-Inspector Davy, “like mine.”