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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Agatha Christie

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Poirot motioned with his head toward the bookcase, and I obediently pulled forth the “Who’s Who.” Poirot took it from me and scanned the pages rapidly.

 

“But the revolver that was found at Ealing? Mrs. Havering could not have placed it there?”

 

It is suggested that the reader pause in his perusal of the story at this point, make his own solution of the mystery—and then see how close he comes to that of the author—The Editors.

 

“H’m,” I said. “I rather fancy that’s the girl who used to act at the Frivolity—only she called herself Zoe Carrisbrook. I remember she married some young man about town just before the war.”

 

“Captain Hastings? You are M. Poirot’s partner, I understand. It is imperative that he should come with me to Derbyshire today.”

 

“That good Inspector believes in matter in motion,” murmured Poirot as our friend departed. “He travels; he measures footprints; he collects mud and cigarette-ash! He is extremely busy! He is zealous beyond words! And if I mentioned psychology to him, do you know what he would do, my friend? He would smile! He would say to himself: ‘Poor old Poirot! He ages! He grows senile!’ Japp is the ‘younger generation knocking on the door.’ And ma foi! They are so busy knocking that they do not notice that the door is open!”

 

Poirot’s eyes roved round the room and fastened themselves on a small black trunk. He knelt in front of it, scrutinized the labels on it, and took a small twist of wire from his pocket.

 

At last he roused himself, and opening the suitcase, took out some papers and magazines, then closed the suitcase again and endeavored to shove it under the opposite seat—without success. Some hidden obstacle resisted it. He shoved harder with rising impatience, but it still stuck out halfway into the carriage.

 

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

 

“Yes sir, I think it would. My compartment was very crowded, and it was some minutes before I could get out—and then there was a very large crowd on the platform, and that delayed me too. But he’d only have had a minute or two to speak to the mistress, that way. I took it for granted that he’d come along the corridor.”

 

Soon the supper party was in full swing, and with one accord Tommy was called upon for a full and complete explanation.

 

The effect of his words was electrical. Every one was on his feet. The German waved them back. He leaned over Tommy, his face purple with excitement.

 

“You’re not going to put that thing in after all?”

 

CHAPTER IV. WHO IS JANE FINN? The next day passed slowly. It was necessary to curtail expenditure. Carefully husbanded, forty pounds will last a long time. Luckily the weather was fine, and “walking is cheap,” dictated Tuppence. An outlying picture house provided them with recreation for the evening.

 

Again Tommy felt that cold chill of uncertainty. It seemed impossible to believe that these people were other than they seemed. Had he been fooled once more? The fair-bearded, spectacled gentleman who sat at the head of the table looked singularly honest and normal.

 

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