Daphne Castle: The whole world knows that you are a man of enormous discretion.
Myra Gardener: Well, what the hell do we do now, Odell?
Odell Gardener: Just leave it to me. I'll think of something.
Myra Gardener: Hmmph, my hero. I swear, if you were a man I would divorce you.
Daphne Castle: Couldn't we make this a private investigation? You know how peculiar people can be about a spot of murder.
Daphne Castle: Arlena and I were in the chorus of a show together, not that I could ever compete. Even in those days, she could always throw her legs up in the air higher than any of us... and wider.
Daphne Castle: I've just had a telephone call from your friend Sir Horace. He says he's having trouble with his... his... his piffle valve?
Poirot: Such a valve still has to be invented, Madame.
Daphne Castle: Oh, well I dare say you're right, I wasn't paying that much attention, anyway the result is he'll be 24 hours late.