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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Agatha Christie

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“Yes, I distinctly remember hearing the clock on the mantelpiece strike two.” She nodded towards an eight-day travelling clock in a leather case which stood in the centre of the chimney-piece.

 

Giraud edged his chair a little nearer to the table.

 

“Good afternoon, M. Giraud,” said Poirot. “What have we here?”

 

And he brought out the photograph I had seen him take from Jack Renauld’s drawer. “With love from Bella,” was scrawled across the corner, but it was not that which held my eyes fascinated. The likeness was not first rate—but for all that it was unmistakable to me. I felt a cold sinking, as though some unutterable calamity had befallen me.

 

I was forced, rather reluctantly, to admit the truth of this.

 

The prosecution averred that on Monday, July 16th, the prisoner had entered the chemist’s shop in the village, disguised as Mr. Inglethorp. The prisoner, on the contrary, was at that time at a lonely spot called Marston’s Spinney, where he had been summoned by an anonymous note, couched in blackmailing terms, and threatening to reveal certain matters to his wife unless he complied with its demands. The prisoner had, accordingly, gone to the appointed spot, and after waiting there vainly for half an hour had returned home. Unfortunately, he had met with no one on the way there or back who could vouch for the truth of his story, but luckily he had kept the note, and it would be produced as evidence.

 

“Precisely. It is a matter of precaution only.”

 

“I couldn’t rightly say, sir; it was shut but I couldn’t say whether it was bolted or not.”

 

“There I know you’re wrong,” I said warmly. “On the contrary, John is very fond of you.”

 

“Exactly. Now suppose anyone wished to pass himself off as John or Lawrence Cavendish. Would it be easy?”

 

“We will send her a wire from the station,” continued the lawyer.

 

“To-morrow you’ll have some questions to answer, and after you’ve answered them we shall know what to do with you. And I can tell you, young lady, we’ve more ways than one of making obstinate little fools talk.”

 

“You did look ill yesterday. Colonel Race and I decided that we should have the excitement of a funeral at sea—but you’ve disappointed us.”

 

“There goes your only hope of establishing your innocence over the Kimberley affair. And now we’ll talk. I’ll drive a bargain with you. You’ve got me cornered. Race will find all he needs in this house. There’s a chance for me if I can get away. I’m done for if I stay, but so are you, young man! There’s a skylight in the next room. A couple of minutes’ start and I shall be all right. I’ve got one or two little arrangements all ready made. You let me out that way, and give me a start—and I leave you a signed confession that I killed Nadina.”

 

“A confession of incompetency on my part. Pedler has managed to escape.”

 

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