You've a pretty good nerve,' said Ratchett. 'Will twenty thousand dollars tempt you?'It will not.'If you're holding out for more, you won't get it. I know what a thing's worth to me.'I, also M. Ratchett.'What's wrong with my proposition?'Poirot rose. 'If you will forgive me for being personal - I do not like your face, M. Ratchett,' he said.

At the small table, sitting very upright, was one of the ugliest old ladies he had ever seen. It was an ugliness of distinction - it fascinated rather than repelled.

Sensationalism dies quickly, fear is long-lived.