The Murder on the Links Agatha Christie (inspirational books for students .txt) đ
- Author: Agatha Christie
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âBut there, Iâm writing high-flown nonsense. You love me, and I love youâ âyes, love you, love you, love you!
âYour own adoring
âBella.â
There was no address or date. Poirot handed it back with a grave face.
âAnd the assumption is, M. le jugeâ â?â
The examining magistrate shrugged his shoulders.
âObviously M. Renauld was entangled with this Englishwomanâ âBella. He comes over here, meets Madame Daubreuil, and starts an intrigue with her. He cools off to the other, and she instantly suspects something. This letter contains a distinct threat. M. Poirot, at first sight the case seemed simplicity itself. Jealousy! The fact that M. Renauld was stabbed in the back seemed to point distinctly to its being a womanâs crime.â
Poirot nodded.
âThe stab in the back, yesâ âbut not the grave! That was laborious work, hard workâ âno woman dug that grave, monsieur. That was a manâs doing.â
The commissary exclaimed excitedly: âYes, yes, you are right. We did not think of that.â
âAs I said,â continued M. Hautet, âat first sight the case seemed simple, but the masked men, and the letter you received from M. Renauld complicate matters. Here we seem to have an entirely different set of circumstances, with no relationship between the two. As regards the letter written to yourself, do you think it is possible that it referred in any way to this âBella,â and her threats?â
Poirot shook his head.
âHardly. A man like M. Renauld, who has led an adventurous life in out-of-the-way places, would not be likely to ask for protection against a woman.â
The examining magistrate nodded his head emphatically.
âMy view exactly. Then we must look for the explanation of the letterâ ââ
âIn Santiago,â finished the commissary. âI shall cable without delay to the police in that city, requesting full details of the murdered manâs life out there, his love affairs, his business transactions, his friendships, and any enmities he may have incurred. It will be strange if, after that, we do not hold a clue to his mysterious murder.â
The commissary looked round for approval.
âExcellent,â said Poirot appreciatively.
âHis wife, too, may be able to give us a pointer,â added the magistrate.
âYou have found no other letters from this Bella amongst M. Renauldâs effects?â asked Poirot.
âNo. Of course one of our first proceedings was to search through his private papers in the study. We found nothing of interest, however. All seemed square and aboveboard. The only thing at all out of the ordinary was his will. Here it is.â
Poirot ran through the document.
âSo. A legacy of a thousand pounds to Mr. Stonorâ âwho is he, by the way?â
âM. Renauldâs secretary. He remained in England, but was over here once or twice for a weekend.â
âAnd everything else left unconditionally to his beloved wife, Eloise. Simply drawn up, but perfectly legal. Witnessed by the two servants, Denise and Françoise. Nothing so very unusual about that.â He handed it back.
âPerhaps,â began Bex, âyou did not noticeâ ââ
âThe date?â twinkled Poirot. âBut yes, I noticed it. A fortnight ago. Possibly it marks his first intimation of danger. Many rich men die intestate through never considering the likelihood of their demise. But it is dangerous to draw conclusions prematurely. It points, however, to his having a real liking and fondness for his wife, in spite of his amorous intrigues.â
âYes,â said M. Hautet doubtfully. âBut it is possibly a little unfair on his son, since it leaves him entirely dependent on his mother. If she were to marry again, and her second husband obtained an ascendancy over her, this boy might never touch a penny of his fatherâs money.â
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
âMan is a vain animal. M. Renauld figured to himself, without doubt, that his widow would never marry again. As to the son, it may have been a wise precaution to leave the money in his motherâs hands. The sons of rich men are proverbially wild.â
âIt may be as you say. Now, M. Poirot, you would without doubt like to visit the scene of the crime. I am sorry that the body has been removed, but of course photographs have been taken from every conceivable angle, and will be at your disposal as soon as they are available.â
âI thank you, monsieur, for all your courtesy.â
The commissary rose.
âCome with me, messieurs.â
He opened the door, and bowed ceremoniously to Poirot to precede him. Poirot, with equal politeness, drew back and bowed to the commissary.
âMonsieur.â
âMonsieur.â
At last they got out into the hall.
âThat room there, it is the study, hein?â asked Poirot suddenly, nodding towards the door opposite.
âYes. You would like to see it?â He threw the door open as he spoke, and we entered.
The room which M. Renauld had chosen for his own particular use was small, but furnished with great taste and comfort. A businesslike writing desk, with many pigeon holes, stood in the window. Two large leather-covered armchairs faced the fireplace, and between them was a round table covered with the latest books and magazines. Bookshelves lined two of the walls, and at the end of the room opposite the window there was a handsome oak sideboard with a tantalus on top. The curtains and portiere were of a soft dull green, and the carpet matched them in tone.
Poirot stood a moment taking in the room, then he stepped forward, passed his hand lightly over the backs of the leather chairs, picked up a magazine from the table, and drew a finger gingerly over the surface of the oak sideboard. His face expressed complete approval.
âNo dust?â I asked, with a smile.
He beamed on me, appreciative of my knowledge of his
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