he was what I described to myself as “foolishly pig-headed.”
“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.”
“No. But it was strange that she never heard a sound, sleeping next door; whereas Mrs. Cavendish,
he was what I described to myself as “foolishly pig-headed.”
“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.”
“No. But it was strange that she never heard a sound, sleeping next door; whereas Mrs. Cavendish,
