Agatha Christie - The Murder on the Links

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

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London SE1 9GF

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First published in Great Britain by The Bodley Head Ltd 1923

Agatha Christie® Poirot® The Murder on the Links™

Copyright © 1923 Agatha Christie Limited. All rights reserved.

www.agathachristie.com

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. 2015

Title lettering by Ghost Design

Cover photograph © Alex Telfer/Gallery Stock (golfing grounds); Evening Standard/Getty Images (figure)

Agatha Christie asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library

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Source ISBN: 9780008129460

Ebook Edition © MAY 2015 ISBN: 9780007422562

Version: 2019-01-09

TO MY HUSBAND

A fellow enthusiast for detective stories, and to whom I am indebted for much helpful advice and criticism

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER 1: A Fellow-Traveller

CHAPTER 2: An Appeal for Help

CHAPTER 3: At the Villa Geneviève

CHAPTER 4: The Letter Signed ‘Bella’

CHAPTER 5: Mrs Renauld’s Story

CHAPTER 6: The Scene of the Crime

CHAPTER 7: The Mysterious Madame Daubreuil

CHAPTER 8: An Unexpected Meeting

CHAPTER 9: M. Giraud Finds Some Clues

CHAPTER 10: Gabriel Stonor

CHAPTER 11: Jack Renauld

CHAPTER 12: Poirot Elucidates Certain Points

CHAPTER 13: The Girl With the Anxious Eyes

CHAPTER 14: The Second Body

CHAPTER 15: A Photograph

CHAPTER 16: The Beroldy Case

CHAPTER 17: We Make Further Investigations

CHAPTER 18: Giraud Acts

CHAPTER 19: I Use My Grey Cells

CHAPTER 20: An Amazing Statement

CHAPTER 21: Hercule Poirot on the Case

CHAPTER 22: I Find Love

CHAPTER 23: Difficulties Ahead

CHAPTER 24: ‘Save Him!’

CHAPTER 25: An Unexpected Dénouement

CHAPTER 26: I Receive a Letter

CHAPTER 27: Jack Renauld’s Story

CHAPTER 28: Journey’s End

Also by Agatha Christie

About the Publisher

I believe that a well-known anecdote exists to the effect that a young writer, determined to make the commencement of his story forcible and original enough to catch and rivet the attention of the most blasé of editors, penned the following sentence:

‘“Hell!” said the Duchess.’

Strangely enough, this tale of mine opens in much the same fashion. Only the lady who gave utterance to the exclamation was not a duchess.

It was a day in early June. I had been transacting some business in Paris and was returning by the morning service to London, where I was still sharing rooms with my old friend, the Belgian ex-detective, Hercule Poirot.

The Calais express was singularly empty—in fact, my own compartment held only one other traveller. I had made a somewhat hurried departure from the hotel and was busy assuring myself that I had duly collected all my traps, when the train started. Up till then I had hardly noticed my companion, but I was now violently recalled to the fact of her existence. Jumping up from her seat, she let down the window and stuck her head out, withdrawing it a moment later with the brief and forcible ejaculation ‘Hell!’

Now I am old-fashioned. A woman, I consider, should be womanly. I have no patience with the modern neurotic girl who jazzes from morning to night, smokes like a chimney, and uses language which would make a Billingsgate fishwoman blush!

I looked up, frowning slightly, into a pretty, impudent face, surmounted by a rakish little red hat. A thick cluster of black curls hid each ear. I judged that she was little more than seventeen, but her face was covered with powder, and her lips were quite impossibly scarlet.

Nothing abashed, she returned my glance, and executed an expressive grimace.

‘Dear me, we’ve shocked the kind gentleman!’ she observed to an imaginary audience. ‘I apologize for my language! Most unladylike, and all that, but, oh, Lord, there’s reason enough for it! Do you know I’ve lost my only sister?’

‘Really?’ I said politely. ‘How unfortunate.’

‘He disapproves!’ remarked the lady. ‘He disapproves utterly—of me, and my sister—which last is unfair, because he hasn’t seen her!’

I opened my mouth, but she forestalled me.

‘Say no more! Nobody loves me! I shall go into the garden and eat worms! Boohoo. I am crushed!’

She buried herself behind a large comic French paper. In a minute or two I saw her eyes stealthily peeping at me over the top. In spite of myself I could not help smiling, and in a minute she had tossed the paper aside, and had burst into a merry peal of laughter.

‘I knew you weren’t such a mutt as you looked,’ she cried.

Her laughter was so infectious that I could not help joining in, though I hardly cared for the word ‘mutt’. The girl was certainly all that I most disliked, but that was no reason why I should make myself ridiculous by my attitude. I prepared to unbend. After all, she was decidedly pretty…

‘There! Now we’re friends!’ declared the minx. ‘Say you’re sorry about my sister—’

‘I am desolated!’

‘That’s a good boy!’

‘Let me finish. I was going to add that, although I am desolated, I can manage to put up with her absence very well.’ I made a little bow.

But this most unaccountable of damsels frowned and shook her head.

‘Cut it out. I prefer the “dignified disapproval” stunt. Oh, your face! “Not one of us”, it said. And you were right there—though, mind you, it’s pretty hard to tell nowadays. It’s not everyone who can distinguish between a demi and a duchess. There now, I believe I’ve shocked you again! You’ve been dug out of the backwoods, you have. Not that I mind that. We could do with a few more of your sort. I just hate a fellow who gets fresh. It makes me mad.’

She shook her head vigorously.

‘What are you like when you’re mad?’ I inquired with a smile.