The Mysterious Affair at Styles

Imagination is a good servant, and a bad master.

Nevertheless, in view of the world-wide notoriety which attended it, I have been asked, both by my friend Poirot and the family themselves, to write an account of the whole story. This, we trust, will effectually silence the sensational rumours which still persist.
I will therefore briefly set down the circumstances which led to my being connected with the affair.

We had a good yarn about old times, and it ended in his inviting me down to Styles to spend my leave there.

I don’t know what pos­sessed me. Her beauty, per­haps, as she sat there, with the sun­light glint­ing down on her head; per­haps the sense of re­lief at en­coun­ter­ing someone who so ob­vi­ously could have no con­nec­tion with the tragedy; per­haps hon­est pity for her youth and loneli­ness.

In­stinct is a mar­vel­lous thing

Yes, he is in­tel­li­gent. But we must be more in­tel­li­gent. We must be so in­tel­li­gent that he does not sus­pect us of be­ing in­tel­li­gent at all.

Every mur­derer is prob­ably some­body’s old friend

“I did not de­ceive you, mon ami. At most, I per­mit­ted you to de­ceive your­self.”

when you find that people are not telling you the truth—look out!

Everything must be taken into ac­count. If the fact will not fit the the­ory—let the the­ory go.