His words gave me an unpleasant shock. Miss Howard’s evidence, unimportant as it was, had been given in such a downright straightforward manner that it had never occurred to me to doubt her sincerity. Still, I had a great respect for Poirot’s sagacity⁠—except on the occasions when he was what I described to myself as “foolishly pigheaded.”

“Do you really think so?” I asked. “Miss Howard had always seemed to me so essentially honest⁠—almost uncomfortably so.”

Poirot gave me a curious look, which I could not quite fathom. He seemed to speak, and then checked himself.

“Miss Murdoch too,” I continued, “there’s nothing untruthful about her .”