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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Agatha Christie

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“No question of another. Poor Emily was never murdered until he came along. I don’t say she wasn’t surrounded by sharks—she was. But it was only her purse they were after. Her life was safe enough. But along comes Mr. Alfred Inglethorp—and within two months—hey presto!”

 

“Yes, that’s true. I never thought of that.” I was rather startled. “It is odd.”

 

He picked up his little suit-case, and we went out through the open window in the drawing-room. Cynthia Murdoch was just coming in, and Poirot stood aside to let her pass.

 

“Yes. I understand,” continued the Coroner deliberately, “that you were sitting reading on the bench just outside the long window of the boudoir. That is so, is it not?”

 

“Yes, but, the cup being completely smashed, there is no possibility of analyzing its contents.”

 

But before Julius had finished his speech, and before the car had finally halted, the Russian had swung himself out and disappeared into the night.

 

“I never despise business instinct,” said Julius. “What particular figure have you in mind?”

 

Tommy fell in with this demand in so far as he gave him a guarded version of the disappearance of Jane Finn, and of the possibility of her having been mixed up unawares in “some political show.” He alluded to Tuppence and himself as “private inquiry agents” commissioned to find her, and added that they would therefore be glad of any details Mr. Hersheimmer could give them.

 

“This gets me,” said Julius. “I don’t believe Tuppence was ever in this house.”

 

“Well, well, we must leave it at that, then. What’s he like, this lad?”

 

Dear Sir: I shall be obliged if you will call upon me at your earliest convenience. Yours faithfully, Ebenezer Halliday. The connection was not clear to my mind, and I looked inquiringly at Poirot. For answer he took up the newspaper and read aloud:

 

“Well sir, as near as I can remember, she said: ‘Mason, I’ve got to alter my plans. Something has happened—I mean, I’m not getting out here after all. I must go on. Get out the luggage and put it in the cloak-room; then have some tea, and wait for me in the station.’

 

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

 

“One thing more, monsieur. Your daughter’s fortune—to whom does it pass at her death?”

 

“It was discovered by a young naval officer who at once gave the alarm. There was a doctor on the train. He examined the body. She had been first chloroformed, and then stabbed. He gave it as his opinion that she had been dead about four hours, so it must have been done not long after leaving Bristol. —Probably between there and Weston, possibly between Weston and Taunton.”

 

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