The Murder on the Links Agatha Christie (inspirational books for students .txt) đ
- Author: Agatha Christie
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âWhere?â
âThat is one of the most extraordinary features of the case. M. Poirot, the body was lying, face downwards, in an open grave.â
âWhat?â
âYes. The pit was freshly dugâ âjust a few yards outside the boundary of the Villa grounds.â
âAnd he had been deadâ âhow long?â
Dr. Durand answered this.
âI examined the body this morning at ten oâclock. Death must have taken place at least seven, and possibly ten hours previously.â
âHâm, that fixes it at between midnight and 3 a.m.â
âExactly, and Madame Renauldâs evidence places it at after 2 a.m. which narrows the field still further. Death must have been instantaneous, and naturally could not have been self-inflicted.â
Poirot nodded, and the commissary resumed:
âMadame Renauld was hastily freed from the cords that bound her by the horrified servants. She was in a terrible condition of weakness, almost unconscious from the pain of her bonds. It appears that two masked men entered the bedroom, gagged and bound her, whilst forcibly abducting her husband. This we know at second hand from the servants. On hearing the tragic news, she fell at once into an alarming state of agitation. On arrival, Dr. Durand immediately prescribed a sedative, and we have not yet been able to question her. But without doubt she will awake more calm, and be equal to bearing the strain of the interrogation.â
The commissary paused.
âAnd the inmates of the house, monsieur?â
âThere is old Françoise, the housekeeper, she lived for many years with the former owners of the Villa GeneviĂšve. Then there are two young girls, sisters, Denise and LĂ©onie Oulard. Their home is in Merlinville, and they come of the most respectable parents. Then there is the chauffeur whom M. Renauld brought over from England with him, but he is away on a holiday. Finally there are Madame Renauld and her son, M. Jack Renauld. He, too, is away from home at present.â
Poirot bowed his head. M. Hautet spoke:
âMarchaud!â
The sergent de ville appeared.
âBring in the woman Françoise.â
The man saluted, and disappeared. In a moment or two, he returned, escorting the frightened Françoise.
âYou name is Françoise Arrichet?â
âYes, monsieur.â
âYou have been a long time in service at the Villa GeneviĂšve?â
âEleven years with Madame la Vicomtesse. Then when she sold the Villa this spring, I consented to remain on with the English milor. Never did I imagineâ ââ
The magistrate cut her short.
âWithout doubt, without doubt. Now, Françoise, in this matter of the front door, whose business was it to fasten it at night?â
âMine, monsieur. Always I saw to it myself.â
âAnd last night?â
âI fastened it as usual.â
âYou are sure of that?â
âI swear it by the blessed saints, monsieur.â
âWhat time would that be?â
âThe same time as usual, half-past ten, monsieur.â
âWhat about the rest of the household, had they gone up to bed?â
âMadame had retired some time before. Denise and LĂ©onie went up with me. Monsieur was still in his study.â
âThen, if anyone unfastened the door afterwards, it must have been M. Renauld himself?â
Françoise shrugged her broad shoulders.
âWhat should he do that for? With robbers and assassins passing every minute! A nice idea! Monsieur was not an imbecile. It is not as though he had had to let cette dame outâ ââ
The magistrate interrupted sharply:
âCette dame? What lady do you mean?â
âWhy, the lady who came to see him.â
âHad a lady been to see him that evening?â
âBut yes, monsieurâ âand many other evenings as well.â
âWho was she? Did you know her?â
A rather cunning look spread over the womanâs face. âHow should I know who it was?â she grumbled. âI did not let her in last night.â
âAha!â roared the examining magistrate, bringing his hand down with a bang on the table. âYou would trifle with the police, would you? I demand that you tell me at once the name of this woman who came to visit M. Renauld in the evenings.â
âThe policeâ âthe police,â grumbled Françoise. âNever did I think that I should be mixed up with the police. But I know well enough who she was. It was Madame Daubreuil.â
The commissary uttered an exclamation, and leaned forward as though in utter astonishment.
âMadame Daubreuilâ âfrom the Villa Marguerite just down the road?â
âThat is what I said, monsieur. Oh, she is a pretty one, cellela!â The old woman tossed her head scornfully.
âMadame Daubreuil,â murmured the commissary. âImpossible.â
âVoilĂ ,â grumbled Françoise. âThat is all you get for telling the truth.â
âNot at all,â said the examining magistrate soothingly. âWe were surprised, that is all. Madame Daubreuil then, and Monsieur Renauld, they wereâ ââ he paused delicately. âEh? It was that without doubt?â
âHow should I know? But what will you? Monsieur, he was milor anglaisâ âtrĂ©s richeâ âand Madame Daubreuil, she was poor, that oneâ âand trĂ©s chic for all that she lives so quietly with her daughter. Not a doubt of it, she has had her history! She is no longer young, but ma foi! I who speak to you have seen the menâs heads turn after her as she goes down the street. Besides lately, she has had more money to spendâ âall the town knows it. The little economies, they are at an end.â And Françoise shook her head with an air of unalterable certainty.
M. Hautet stroked his beard reflectively.
âAnd Madame Renauld?â he asked at length. âHow did she take thisâ âfriendship.â
Françoise shrugged her shoulders.
âShe was always most amiableâ âmost polite. One would say that she suspected nothing. But all the same, is it not so, the heart suffers, monsieur? Day by day, I have watched Madame grow paler and thinner. She was not the same woman who arrived here a month ago. Monsieur, too, has changed. He also has had his worries. One could see that he was on the brink of a crisis of the nerves. And who could wonder, with an affair conducted such a fashion? No reticence, no discretion. Style anglais, without
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