The Murder on the Links by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

footprints in the flower bed.”
    I saw the justice of his words. There were two large oval flower beds planted with scarlet geraniums, one each side of the steps leading up to the front door. The tree in question had its roots actually at the back of the bed itself, and it would have been impossible to reach it without stepping on the bed.
    â€œYou see,” continued the commissary, “owing to the dry weather no prints would show on the drive or paths; but, on the soft mould of the flower bed, it would have been a very different affair.”
    Poirot went close to the bed and studied it attentively. As Bex had said, the mould was perfectly smooth. There was not an indentation on it anywhere.
    Poirot nodded, as though convinced, and we turned away, but he suddenly darted off and began examining the other flower bed.
    â€œMonsieur Bex!” he called. “See here. Here are plenty of traces for you.”
    The commissary joined him—and smiled.
    â€œMy dear Monsieur Poirot, those are without doubt the footprints of the gardener’s large hobnailed boots. In any case, it would have no importance, since this side we have no tree, and consequently no means of gaining access to the upper storey.”
    â€œTrue,” said Poirot, evidently crestfallen. “So you think these footprints are of no importance?”
    â€œNot the least in the world.”
    Then, to my utter astonishment, Poirot pronounced these words:
    â€œI do not agree with you. I have a little idea that these footprints are the most important things we have seen yet.”
    M. Bex said nothing, merely shrugged his shoulders. He was far too courteous to utter his real opinion.
    â€œShall we proceed?” he asked, instead.
    â€œCertainly. I can investigate this matter of the footprints later,” said Poirot cheerfully.
    Instead of following the drive down to the gate, M. Bex turned up a path that branched off at right angles. It led, up a slight incline, round to the right of the house, and was bordered on either side by a kind of shrubbery. Suddenly it emerged into a little clearing from which one obtained a view of the sea. A seat had been placed here, and not far from it was a rather ramshackle shed. A few steps farther on, a neat line of small bushes marked the boundary of the Villa grounds. M. Bex pushed his way through these, and we found ourselves on a wide stretch of open downs. I looked round, and saw something that filled me with astonishment.
    â€œWhy, this is a Golf Course,” I cried.
    Bex nodded.
    â€œThe links are not completed yet,” he explained. “It is hoped to be able to open them some time next month. It was some of the men working on them who discovered the body early this morning.”
    I gave a gasp. A little to my left, where for the moment I had overlooked it, was a long narrow pit and by it, face downwards, was the body of a man! For a moment my heart gave a terrible leap, and I had a wild fancy that the tragedy had been duplicated. But the commissary dispelled my illusion by moving forward with a sharp exclamation of annoyance:
    â€œWhat have my police been about? They had strict orders to allow no one near the place without proper credentials!”
    The man on the ground turned his head over his shoulder.
    â€œBut I have proper credentials,” he remarked, and rose slowly to his feet.
    â€œMy dear Monsieur Giraud,” cried the commissary. “I had no idea that you had arrived, even. The examining magistrate has been awaiting you with the utmost impatience.”
    As he spoke, I was scanning the newcomer with the keenest curiosity. The famous detective from the Paris Sûreté was familiar to me by name, and I was extremely interested to see him in the flesh. He was very tall, perhaps about thirty years of age, with auburn hair and moustache, and a military carriage. There was a trace of arrogance in his manner which showed that he was fully alive to his own