You have an excellent heart, my friend — but your grey cells are in a deplorable condition. - Agatha Christie

"Life is like a train Mademoiselle. It goes on. And it is a good thing that that is so." "Why?" "Because the train gets to its journey's end at last, and there is a proverb about that in your language, Mademoiselle." "'Journeys end in lovers meeting'" Lenox laughed. "That is not going to be true for me." "Yes — yes, it is true. You are young, younger than you yourself know. Trust the train Mademoiselle, for it is le bon Dieu who drives it".

"This is M. Hercule Poirot," I said. Megan Barnard gave him a quick, appraising glance. "I've heard of you," she said. "You're the fashionable private sleuth, aren't you?". "Not a pretty description - but it suffices," said Poirot.

Ah! Madame, I reserve the explanations for the last chapter.