Status Updates From The Sittaford Mystery

They passed Major Burnaby’s cottage. The Major was in his garden looking sternly at a weed which was growing where no weed should be.

[Agatha Christie seemed to have forgotten that only a few days earlier there was a huge snowstorm that snowed everyone in. i.e. the story takes place in the middle of winter] 🤣

I think the best thing to be done is—to go straight to that nice Inspector Narracott and just tell him these new facts. I mean, we can’t tackle an American publisher who is on the Mauretania or the Berengaria or somewhere.

‘Nobody understands the art of living nowadays,’ said Captain Wyatt. ‘Catching trains, making appointments, fixing times for everything—all nonsense. Get up with the sun, I say, have your meals when you feel like it, and never tie yourself to a time or a date. I could teach people how to live if they would listen to me.’

‘But it’s too good to be true,’ he added despondently. ‘That sort of thing only happens in books.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Emily, ‘it happens with me.’

They moved towards the door and the Inspector said politely: ‘Good evening, Miss Trefusis.’
‘Au revoir, Inspector,’ said Emily sweetly. And if he had know Miss Emily Trefusis better he would have known that in these three words lay a challenge.