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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Agatha Christie

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That changed the course of my ideas, and I asked Poirot if he knew that Jack Renauld had been in Merlinville on the night of the crime. I had hoped to catch my astute little friend napping, but as usual, he was omniscient. He, too, had inquired at the station.

 

His voice was so grave that it impressed me uncomfortably.

 

Poirot restrained my ardour with a light touch upon the arm.

 

“I do not say it was the assassin himself. It may have been an accomplice who was not aware of that fact.”

 

But this she combated with a good deal of energy. In the end, however, I prevailed so far as to be allowed to accompany her to the outskirts of the town. We retraced our steps over our former route, passing the grave again, and making a detour on to the road. Where the first straggling line of shops began, she stopped and held out her hand.

 

“I did him a little service in the past—an affair of bearer bonds. And once, when I was in Paris for a royal visit, I had Mademoiselle Flossie pointed out to me. La jolie petite pensionnaire! She had the jolie dot too! It caused trouble. She nearly made a bad affair.”

 

“Because the Count de la Rochefour has left the Ritz? You go too fast, my friend.”

 

“My daughter always took charge of them herself, carrying them in a small blue morocco case.”

 

“Well?” I inquired eagerly. “What has happened?”

 

“Anyway, he must be followed, arrested! But what could be his motive?”

 

“Certainly. The police have finished with it. But the body has been removed.”

 

It seemed to me that Poirot’s style was unnecessarily facetious. I also fancied he was a shade jealous of my position on the spot, with full facilities for handling the case. His request for a description of the clothes worn by the two women appeared to me to be simply ridiculous, but I complied as well as I, a mere man, was able to. At eleven a reply wire came from Poirot:

 

“Mr. Havering, I think? I’ve been sent down from London to take charge of this case, and I’d like a word with you, if I may, sir.”

 

“It was Dickens,” I murmured, smiling. “But what do you mean, Poirot?”

 

“If you please. Tell her that Mr. Havering is outside with Inspector Japp, and that the gentleman he has brought back with him from London is anxious to speak to her as soon as possible.”

 

 

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