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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Agatha Christie

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“The Young Adventurers, Ltd.!” responded Tommy.

 

“And I tell you,” retorted Julius, “that Little Willie here is just hopping mad to go off!”

 

“There you have me beat,” said Mr. Hersheimmer. But Jane only laughed.

 

The chauffeur slipped in his clutch, and with a bound the car started.

 

Neither of them spoke again until they reached the Ritz.

 

“I don’t believe that Lady Yardly’s diamond is anything like as good a stone as mine,” said Miss Marvell. “Anyway, I’m going to see.”

 

“I didn’t see them myself, sir, but I understand that they were foreign gentlemen.”

 

At that moment a tap came at the door, and a young officer entered with a heavily sealed envelope which he handed to Lord Estair.

 

“Yes. I’ve been out there ever since the War—a great country.”

 

“Eh—what? I’ll come at once. Not taken ill, is she? Excuse me, gentlemen.”

 

“If you mean that I was fond of her—yes, I was. You know, Emily was a selfish old woman in her way. She was very generous, but she always wanted a return. She never let people forget what she had done for them—and, that way she missed love. Don’t think she ever realized it, though, or felt the lack of it. Hope not, anyway. I was on a different footing. I took my stand from the first. ‘So many pounds a year I’m worth to you. Well and good. But not a penny piece besides—not a pair of gloves, nor a theatre ticket.’ She didn’t understand—was very offended sometimes. Said I was foolishly proud. It wasn’t that—but I couldn’t explain. Anyway, I kept my self-respect. And so, out of the whole bunch, I was the only one who could allow myself to be fond of her. I watched over her. I guarded her from the lot of them, and then a glib-tongued scoundrel comes along, and pooh! all my years of devotion go for nothing.”

 

It occurred to me suddenly that I would go down to the village, and look up Bauerstein. Somebody ought to be keeping an eye on the fellow. At the same time, it would be wise to allay any suspicions he might have as to his being suspected. I remembered how Poirot had relied on my diplomacy. Accordingly, I went to the little house with the “Apartments” card inserted in the window, where I knew he lodged, and tapped on the door.

 

“Sit down here on the grass, do. It’s ever so much nicer.”

 

Poirot wished her good morning with Gallic politeness, and went on:

 

I wondered how I could have been so unobservant as to overlook this. Here was a clue worth having. Poirot delicately dipped his finger into liquid, and tasted it gingerly. He made a grimace.

 

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