Quotes About Intrigue

Miss Marple, the guest,

Yes, poor Sir Bartholomew's death has been rather a godsend to me. There's just an off chance, you see, that I might have murdered him. I've rather played up to that.

So we are back at our last rather sketchy idea—fear. By the death of Stephen Babbington, someone gains security.

I have been wondering—whether it might perhaps be all much simpler than we suppose. Murders so often are quite simple—with an obvious rather sordid motive….

Agatha Christie

Death in the Clouds

It is puzzling, I admit, but perhaps we shall find some explanation later. We come now to the evening, and the visit of the mysterious lady. I confess that that fairly baffles me,

My ideas were completely upset. I could not see Ackroyd taking a hairdresser into his confidence,

My dear Aunt," said Raymond West with some amusement, "I didn't mean that sort of village incident. I was thinking of murders and disappearances—the kind of thing that Sir Henry could tell us about by the hour if he liked.

Agatha Christie

doctor's tone caught Poirot's attention

The weapon lay on the floor - a bronze figure about two feet high, the base of it stained and wet. Mr. Satterthwaite bent over it curiously. "A Venus," he said softly. "So he was struck down by Venus." He found food for poetic meditation in the thought.

Evidence Against Him or Suspicious Circumstances: Pipe-cleaner.

But I tell you this—if you try and saddle Fleetwood with this business you'll have me to deal with." "And who exactly are you?" asked Poirot sweetly. Mr. Ferguson got rather red.

Yes, yes, I know that. But why did you fall in love with him? What attracted you to him so much?" She crinkled her eyes as though trying to see through the eyes of a girl now dead.

Agatha Christie

The light from the window caught her pince-nez and made them give off little flashes.

The shrill note of a bell made them both jump. "That's the front door," said Giles. "Enter - a murderer," he added facetiously.

A crime can be a work of art. A detective can be an artist.

Ulick Norman Owen.

She went out of the window again. Griselda turned to Miss Marple. "Why did you step on my foot?" The old lady was smiling. "I thought you were going to say something, my dear. And it is often so much better to let things develop on their own lines. I don't think, you know, that that child is half so vague as she pretends to be. She's got a very definite idea in her head and she's acting upon it.

She sipped once more.

Softly unbolting the door, he stuck the cat's head round the edge and ejaculated a piercing "Miaow." The Scotland Yard inspector, who was standing outside with another man, jumped in spite of himself.

Soldier Island, eh? There's a fly in the ointment.