“The mind is confused? Is it not so? Take time, mon ami . You are agitated; you are excited⁠—it is but natural. Presently, when we are calmer, we will arrange the facts, neatly, each in his proper place. We will examine⁠—and reject. Those of importance we will put on one side; those of no importance, pouf!”⁠—he screwed up his cherub-like face, and puffed comically enough⁠—“blow them away!”

“That’s all very well,” I objected, “but how are you going to decide what is important, and what isn’t? That always seems the difficulty to me.”

Poirot shook his head energetically. He was now arranging his moustache with exquisite care.