There would be pictures of Styles, snapshots of “The family leaving the Inquest”⁠—the village photographer had not been idle! All the things that one had read a hundred times⁠—things that happen to other people, not to oneself. And now, in this house, a murder had been committed. In front of us were “the detectives in charge of the case.” The well-known glib phraseology passed rapidly through my mind in the interval before Poirot opened the proceedings.

I think everyone was a little surprised that it should be he and not one of the official detectives who took the initiative.

“Mesdames and messieurs,” said Poirot, bowing as though he were a celebrity about to deliver a lecture, “I have asked you to come here all together, for a certain object. That object, it concerns Mr. Alfred Inglethorp.”