“I am not clever like you, Monsieur Poirot. Half the things that you have been telling me don’t seem to me to point anywhere at all. The ideas that came to me came from such an entirely different angle⁠—”

“Ah, but that is always so,” said Poirot quietly. “A mirror shows the truth, but everyone stands in a different place for looking into the mirror.”

“My ideas may be absurd⁠—they may be entirely different from yours, but⁠—”

“Yes?”

“Tell me, does this help you at all?”

He took a newspaper cutting from her outstretched hand. He read it and, looking up, he nodded gravely.

“As I told you, Mademoiselle, one stands at a different angle for looking into the mirror, but it is the same mirror and the same things are reflected there.”