Inspector Kelsey: Bad business, this.
Miss Bulstrode: We shall weather it, no doubt. As we've weathered many storms.
Inspector Kelsey: Death of a games mistress in a sports pavilion. Sounds like a highly athletic crime.
Miss Bulstrode: Discretion, Inspector, is the key, don't you think?
Inspector Kelsey: Which is where our continental friend comes in?
Miss Bulstrode: Monsieur Poirot has an international reputation.
Inspector Kelsey: Oh? So does Mussolini.
Miss Bulstrode: Thank you once again for coming.
Hercule Poirot: De rien.
Miss Bulstrode: The mayor is blaming his ulcers, but I suspect foul play.
Hercule Poirot: Como?
Miss Bulstrode: Arsenal versus Sheffield United; kick-off's at three. I know where His Worship's loyalties lie.
Bob Rawlinson: You've left it too late, sir. I said so.
Prince Ali: I know, Bob. I know.
Bob Rawlinson: The game's up, I'm afraid, chum.
Prince Ali: Fair enough. You did get them out, though? You're sure of it.
Bob Rawlinson: Safe as houses. I swear it.
Prince Ali: Ready, then?
Bob Rawlinson: Ready.
Miss Bulstrode: I hope you're enjoying your little sojourn with us, Monsieur. I'd hate to think you were bored.
Hercule Poirot: Bored? Pas du tout, Mademoiselle. There does not need to be present a crime for the investigator to thrive, non. Pas. This school: it is like the world in miniature. It is like the... what is the word? The?
Miss Bulstrode: Microcosm.
Hercule Poirot: Just so. Just as in the outside world. Hopes, dreams, fears, secrets. This place: so full of the promise of youth, the future of the nation. And yet, how lonely and silent are it's corridors at night. Lonely and silent as the chambers of the heart. The daily struggle of human life. As fascinating as the bloodstain or the fingerprint.