Death in the Clouds (Hercule Poirot 12)

Perhaps he read her thoughts. He smiled:

‘You do not approve of me, Mademoiselle? Of my methods?’

‘You jump about a good deal.’

‘Not really. I pursue my course logically with order and method. One must not jump wildly to a conclusion. One must eliminate.’

‘Eliminate?’ said Jane. ‘Is that what you’re doing?’ She thought a moment. ‘I see. You’ve eliminated Mr Clancy—’

‘Perhaps,’ said Poirot.

‘And you’ve eliminated us; and now you’re going, perhaps, to eliminate Lady Horbury. Oh!’

She stopped as a sudden thought struck her.

‘What is it, Mademoiselle?’

‘That talk of attempted murder? Was that a test?’

‘You are very quick, Mademoiselle. Yes, that was part of the course I pursue. I mention attempted murder and I watch Mr Clancy, I watch you, I watch Mr Gale—and in neither of you three is there any sign—not so much as the flicker of an eyelash. And let me tell you that I could not be deceived on that point. A murderer can be ready to meet any attack that he foresees. But that entry in a little notebook could not have been known to any of you. So, you see, I am satisfied.’

‘What a horrible, tricky sort of person you are, M. Poirot,’ said Jane, rising. ‘I shall never know why you are saying things.’

‘That is quite simple. I want to find out things.’

‘I suppose you’ve got very clever ways of finding out things?’

‘There is only one really simple way.’

‘What is that?’

‘To let people tell you.’

Jane laughed.

‘Suppose they don’t want to?’

‘Everyone likes talking about themselves.’

‘I suppose they do,’ admitted Jane.

‘That is how many a quack makes a fortune. He encourages patients to come and sit and tell him things. How they fell out of the perambulator when they were two, and how their mother ate a pear and the juice fell on her orange dress, and how when they were one and a half they pulled their father’s beard; and then he tells them that now they will not suffer from the insomnia any longer, and he takes two guineas; and they go away, having enjoyed themselves—oh, so much

—and perhaps they do sleep.’

‘How ridiculous,’ said Jane.

‘No, it is not so ridiculous as you think. It is based on a fundamental need of human nature—the need to talk—to reveal oneself. You yourself, Mademoiselle, do you not like to dwell on your childhood memories—on your mother and your father?’

‘That doesn’t apply in my case. I was brought up in an orphanage.’

‘Ah, that is different. It is not gay, that.’

‘I don’t mean that we were the kind of charity orphans who go out in scarlet bonnets and cloaks. It was quite fun really.’

‘It was in England?’

‘No, in Ireland—near Dublin.’