Things I Might Say To That Prim Little Detective Who Keeps Turning Up At My Club, Country Estate, Et Cetera

Previously in this series: Things I Will Not Say to Detective Columbo (“Yes, yes, all right, if it’s only for a minute, come in, then”) and Oh, Detective! I Hadn't Noticed You There. Please, Allow Me To Furtively Drop Something.

Things I will not say to Hercule Poirot:

'‘But surely that was a coincidence!”

I will never sneeringly pronounce his last name as “Pwar-ott,” no matter how impatient or disgusted I become with his methods

Nor will I affect to forget the difference between France and Belgium, no matter how angry or out-of-temper I become

Conversely, I will not be too helpful in his attempts to solve the case, lest he suspect me of trying to throw him off my trail by adopting a Watsonish role

[If I am young, beautiful, newly rich, with a slightly tragic romantic track record, but never given to self-pity, only offering the occasional winning smile that merely hints at an ocean of well-concealed pain] “Oh, I know I should make a will too — Aunt Emily is always reminding me — but I’m determined to enjoy myself on this holiday!”

I will never imply that he has no legal grounds to ask questions, examine a crime scene, send materials to a laboratory for testing, even though this is true. I will especially never ask “Is that strictly necessary?” about any proposed course of action, as this will only lead him to become more resigned, more apologetic, and more determined than ever

“But if she hadn’t taken any in more than two days, it can’t possibly be that important, can it?”

I will not draw attention, whether negative or positive, to his style of dress, the manner in which he eats an egg, the appearance of his mustache, or the appropriateness of his shoes for the countryside. I will direct my speech such that if one were to try to base a mental image of M. Poirot based solely on my comments, one would be able to envision nothing at all

As far as Hercule Poirot is concerned, I have no favorite foods, no least favorite foods, no food allergies, and no discernible habits when it comes to tea/coffee/cocktails. I will never set a trap for myself by declaring I never drink coffee or always avoid port or only eat salmon-paste sandwiches and never fish-paste sandwiches

“Why are you still here?”

More broadly, I will never say anything that acknowledges M. Poirot’s social position, or his current status in the house as anything other than a welcome and invited guest, and never imply that he has outstayed his welcome, lest he say something totally cutting and unanswerable to me, like “Justice is welcome anywhere crime has been”

Anything self-pityingly like “Felix never speaks to me if he can help it!” or “He’s so beastly sometimes!” or “It’s rather awful when no one loves you, isn’t it?” that might invite a compassionately avuncular response

“But it was unusually hot that day!”

I will never mention my sons who died in the war

“That must have been meant for me!”

I will never mention that Leslie/Evelyn/Beverley can be both a boys’ and a girls’ name

I will never say “I’m going out for a walk” in anger — not because it will prejudice Poirot against me, but because it will almost certainly result in my death

“Oh, he must have found that in the old costume trunk in the attic!” If I have an old costume trunk in the attic, Hercule Poirot’s not going to find out about it from me

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to get this insured, but somehow I’ve never got round to it”

“Me? But I had just as much of the blancmange as anyone else — and why on earth would I want to poison myself?”

Things I will say to Hercule Poirot:

I may pronounce his last name as “Parrot,” in the spirit of bumbling, provincial English goodwill, but only if I am very young or very old

I may make a bet with him about the outcome of a given case if we have been intimate friends for at least five consecutive years, but not if we were friends five years ago, and then parted for four years, and have only recently reconnected

If unmasked as the killer, I might ask him, “May I have five minutes to say goodbye?” Poirot will understand what this is code for, and will almost certainly allow me to choose my own exit.

Nothing else. He’s not getting any more details out of me.

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