The Murder on the Links Agatha Christie (inspirational books for students .txt) đ
- Author: Agatha Christie
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âWhat are we going to do?â I whispered.
âWatch.â
âButâ ââ
âI do not expect anything to happen for at least an hour, probably two hours, but theâ ââ
But his words were interrupted by a long thin drawn cry:
âHelp!â
A light flashed up in the second floor room on the right hand side of the house. The cry came from there. And even as we watched there came a shadow on the blind as of two people struggling.
âMille tonnerres!â cried Poirot. âShe must have changed her room!â
Dashing forward, he battered wildly on the front door. Then rushing to the tree in the flowerbed, he swarmed up it with the agility of a cat. I followed him, as with a bound he sprang in through the open window. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Dulcie reaching the branch behind me.
âTake care,â I exclaimed.
âTake care of your grandmother!â retorted the girl. âThis is childâs play to me.â
Poirot had rushed through the empty room and was pounding on the door leading into the corridor.
âLocked and bolted on the outside,â he growled. âAnd it will take time to burst it open.â
The cries for help were getting noticeably fainter. I saw despair in Poirotâs eyes. He and I together put our shoulders to the door.
Cinderellaâs voice, calm and dispassionate, came from the window:
âYouâll be too late, I guess Iâm the only one who can do anything.â
Before I could move a hand to stop her, she appeared to leap upward into space. I rushed and looked out. To my horror, I saw her hanging by her hands from the roof, propelling herself along by jerks in the direction of the lighted window.
âGood heavens! Sheâll be killed,â I cried.
âYou forget. Sheâs a professional acrobat, Hastings. It was the providence of the good God that made her insist on coming with us tonight. I only pray that she may be in time. Ah!â
A cry of absolute terror floated out on to the night as the girl disappeared through the right-hand window; then in Cinderellaâs clear tones came the words:
âNo, you donât! Iâve got youâ âand my wrists are just like steel.â
At the same moment the door of our prison was opened cautiously by Françoise. Poirot brushed her aside unceremoniously and rushed down the passage to where the other maids were grouped round the further door.
âItâs locked on the inside, monsieur.â
There was the sound of a heavy fall within. After a moment or two the key turned and the door swung slowly open. Cinderella, very pale, beckoned us in.
âShe is safe?â demanded Poirot.
âYes, I was just in time. She was exhausted.â
Mrs. Renauld was half sitting, half lying on the bed. She was gasping for breath.
âNearly strangled me,â she murmured painfully. The girl picked up something from the floor and handed it to Poirot. It was a rolled up ladder of silk rope, very fine but quite strong.
âA getaway,â said Poirot. âBy the window, whilst we were battering at the door. Where isâ âthe other?â
The girl stood aside a little and pointed. On the ground lay a figure wrapped in some dark material a fold of which hid the face.
âDead?â
She nodded.
âI think so.â
âHead must have struck the marble fender.â
âBut who is it?â I cried.
âThe murderer of M. Renauld, Hastings. And the would-be murderer of Madame Renauld.â
Puzzled and uncomprehending, I knelt down, and lifting the fold of cloth, looked into the dead beautiful face of Marthe Daubreuil!
XXVIII Journeyâs EndI have confused memories of the further events of that night. Poirot seemed deaf to my repeated questions. He was engaged in overwhelming Françoise with reproaches for not having told him of Mrs. Renauldâs change of sleeping quarters.
I caught him by the shoulder, determined to attract his attention, and make myself heard.
âBut you must have known,â I expostulated. âYou were taken up to see her this afternoon.â
Poirot deigned to attend to me for a brief moment.
âShe had been wheeled on a sofa into the middle roomâ âher boudoir,â he explained.
âBut, monsieur,â cried Françoise, âMadame changed her room almost immediately after the crime! The associationsâ âthey were too distressing!â
âThen why was I not told,â vociferated Poirot, striking the table, and working himself into a first-class passion. âI demand youâ âwhyâ âwasâ âIâ ânotâ âtold? You are an old woman completely imbecile! And LĂ©onie and Denise are no better. All of you are triple idiots! Your stupidity has nearly caused the death of your mistress. But for this courageous childâ ââ
He broke off, and, darting across the room to where the girl was bending over ministering to Mrs. Renauld, he embraced her with Gallic fervourâ âslightly to my annoyance.
I was aroused from my condition of mental fog by a sharp command from Poirot to fetch the doctor immediately on Mrs. Renauldâs behalf. After that, I might summon the police. And he added, to complete my dudgeon:
âIt will hardly be worth your while to return here. I shall be too busy to attend to you, and of Mademoiselle here I make a garde-malad.â
I retired with what dignity I could command. Having done my errands, I returned to the hotel. I understood next to nothing of what had occurred. The events of the night seemed fantastic and impossible. Nobody would answer my questions. Nobody had seemed to hear them. Angrily, I flung myself into bed, and slept the sleep of the bewildered and utterly exhausted.
I awoke to find the sun pouring in through the open windows and Poirot, neat and smiling, sitting beside the bed.
âEnfin you wake! But it is that you are a famous sleeper, Hastings! Do you know that it is nearly eleven oâclock?â
I groaned and put a hand to my head.
âI must have been dreaming,â I said. âDo you know, I actually dreamt that we found Marthe Daubreuilâs body in Mrs. Renauldâs room, and that you declared her to have murdered Mr. Renauld?â
âYou were not dreaming. All that is quite true.â
âBut Bella Duveen killed Mr. Renauld?â
âOh, no, Hastings, she did not! She said she didâ âyesâ âbut that was to save
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