“I wish you’d tell me,” I burst out, “what you really think of it all?”

 

He put down his cup.

 

“You wish that?”

 

“I do.”

 

“You have seen what I have seen. Should not our ideas be the same?”

 

“I’m afraid you’re laughing at me,” I said stiffly. “Of course, I’ve no

experience of matters of this kind.”

 

Poirot smiled at me indulgently.

 

“You are like the little child who wants to know the way the engine works. You

wish to see the affair, not as the family doctor sees it, but with the eye of a

detective who knows and cares for no one—to whom they are all strangers and all

equally liable to suspicion.”

 

“You put it very well,” I said.

 

“So I give you then, a little lecture. The first thing is to get a clear history

of what happened that evening—always bearing in mind that the person who speaks