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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Agatha Christie

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“I fancy he keeps a bicycle shop in time of peace,” explained Tuppence. “No, there it is! Now you could marry a rich girl.”

 

Carter nodded. He took a sheet from his pocket, and read aloud:

 

“You swear it won’t hurt me?” she temporized.

 

“I reckon Monsieur Kramenin here asked them so prettily they just couldn’t refuse!”

 

“I shall be all right,” snapped Tuppence with her usual resentment of any kind of pity.

 

I could not quite tell what to say, so I held my peace, and he began slowly building up the cards again, speaking in jerks as he did so.

 

“Then she certainly did mind very much,” remarked Poirot. “They are like that—les femmes!”

 

“You’re quite right. That wasn’t how it was done. Listen.” And I then told him of the cocoa sample which Poirot had taken to be analysed.

 

“We have been looking through that chest, Dorcas. I am much obliged to you for mentioning it. There is, indeed, a fine collection there. Are they often used, may I ask?”

 

“I suppose,” I said, “that as usual, you are not going to explain?”

 

“Perhaps, perhaps,” murmured my friend. “Hastings, my hat. And the brush. So! My galoshes if it still rains! We must not undo the good work of that tisano. Au revoir, Japp!”

 

“No, it was half a crown!” Japp recovered his temper and grinned. “Pretty extravagant, these rich Americans!”

 

“Well, monsieur, I will wish you good day. Scotland Yard, has, I presume, a list of the jewels?”

 

“It was the maid’s insistence on the clothes that her mistress was wearing that first struck me. Why was she so anxious that our attention should be directed to them? I reflected that we had only the maid’s word for the mysterious man in the carriage at Bristol. As far as the doctor’s evidence went, Mrs. Carrington might easily have been murdered before reaching Bristol. But if so, then the maid must be an accomplice. And if she were an accomplice, she would not wish this point to rest on her evidence alone. The clothes Mrs. Carrington was wearing were of a striking nature. A maid usually has a good deal of choice as to what her mistress shall wear. Now if, after Bristol, anyone saw a lady in a bright blue coat and skirt, and a fur toque, he will be quite ready to swear he has seen Mrs. Carrington.

 

“Flossie made a will soon after her marriage, leaving everything to her husband.” He hesitated for a minute, and then went on: “I may as well tell you, Monsieur Poirot, that I regard my son-in-law as an unprincipled scoundrel, and that, by my advice, my daughter was on the eve of freeing herself from him by legal means—no difficult matter. I settled her money upon her in such a way that he could not touch it during her lifetime, but although they have lived entirely apart for some years, she has frequently acceded to his demands for money, rather than face an open scandal. However, I was determined to put an end to this, and at last Flossie agreed, and my lawyers were instructed to take proceedings.”

 

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