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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Agatha Christie

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We unlatched the gate and were walking up the narrow path to the oak door when a familiar figure emerged and came to meet us.

 

“It must have been just before nine o’clock. We had finished dinner, and were sitting over our coffee and cigarettes.”

 

“I engaged her about three weeks ago, when Mrs. Emery, our former housekeeper, left. She came to me from Mrs. Selboume’s Agency in Mount St.—a very well-known place. I get all my servants from there. They sent several women to see me, but this Mrs. Middleton seemed much the nicest, and had splendid references. I engaged her on the spot, and notified the Agency of the fact. I can’t believe that there was anything wrong with her. She was such a nice, quiet woman.”

 

She handed me the bit of pasteboard. “‘Hon. Roger Havering,’” I read.

 

“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.”

 

He let the window down again, changing his seat to one with its back to the engine. He pulled a pipe out of his pocket and lit it. For a little time he sat inactive, looking out into the night and smoking.

 

Poirot picked up a pin from the carpet, and frowned at it severely; then he continued: “Would it be possible for the man to have entered the train at Bristol before you reached the carriage?”

 

“Not he. Half-crowns don’t come his way every day. She hailed him and bought two magazines. One had a picture of a girl in blue on the cover. ‘That’ll match me,’ she said. Oh! he remembered her perfectly. Well, that was enough for me. By the doctor’s evidence, the crime must have been committed before Taunton. I guessed they’d throw the knife away at once, and I walked down the line looking for it; and sure enough, there it was. I made inquiries at Taunton about our man, but of course it’s a big station, and it wasn’t likely they’d notice him. He probably got back to London by a later train.”

 

“Yes,” remarked Halliday. “Inspector Japp is in hopes that that may help us to fix the spot where the crime took place. Anyone who saw her would remember her.”

 

“Then there is nothing more to be said. I must decline the case.”

 

“Yes, yes, too conclusive,” continued Poirot, almost to himself. “Real evidence is usually vague and unsatisfactory. It has to be examined—sifted. But here the whole thing is cut and dried. No, my friend, this evidence has been very cleverly manufactured—so cleverly that it has defeated its own ends.”

 

“Eh bien, eh bien! Do not grudge me a moment’s satisfaction of the eye.”

 

“My mother, at the time of her death, and for some time before it, was taking a tonic containing strychnine.”

 

“Alfred—Alfred——” Then she fell back motionless on the pillows.

 

“That is well. That lifts a great load from my mind.”

 

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