TheMurderontheLinks_AHerculePoirotMyster.epub - (EPUB全文下载)

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Agatha Christie
The Murder on the Links
A Hercule Poirot Mystery
To My Husbanda fellow enthusiast for detective storiesand to whom I am indebted for muchhelpful advice and criticism
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
1. A Fellow Traveller
2. An Appeal for Help
3. At the Villa Geneviève
4. The Letter Signed “Bella”
5. Mrs. Renauld’s Story
6. The Scene of the Crime
7. The Mysterious Madame Daubreuil
8. An Unexpected Meeting
9. M. Giraud Finds Some Clues
10. Gabriel Stonor
11. Jack Renauld
12. Poirot Elucidates Certain Points
13. The Girl with the Anxious Eyes
14. The Second Body
15. A Photograph
16. The Beroldy Case
17. We Make Further Investigations
18. Giraud Acts
19. I Use My Grey Cells
20. An Amazing Statement
21. Hercule Poirot on the Case
22. I Find Love
23. Difficulties Ahead
24. “Save Him!”
25. An Unexpected Dénouement
26. I Receive a Letter
27. Jack Renauld’s Story
28. Journey’s End
About the Author
Other Books by Agatha Christie
Copyright
About the Publisher
One
A FELLOW TRAVELLER
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 ............

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