The Murder on the Links

By Agatha Christie

First published in 1923, “The Murder on the Links” is Agatha Christie’s second novel featuring her most famous character, Belgian detective Hercule Poirot and his assistant, Arthur Hastings. Poirot and Hastings have traveled to France to meet Paul Renauld, who has recently requested their help. They are too late however and arrive to find him brutally murdered and buried in a newly dug grave near a local golf course. Poirot notices many things about Renauld’s death that are strange and unexplained. Frighteningly, before a suspect is caught, a second man turns up dead in nearly identical circumstances. Poirot clashes with local law enforcement who resent his interference, but he is dogged in his quest to find the truth. Using his uncanny memory for detail and deep understanding of human nature, Poirot soon sees what everyone else has missed and solves this complicated case of greed, blackmail, and deceit. “The Murder on the Links” was published to great critical praise and commercial success, with many reviewers favorably comparing Christie’s writing and the character Poirot to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the iconic Sherlock Holmes. This classic continues to entertain and thrill all fans of mystery and suspense. This edition includes a biographical afterword.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Digireads.com Publishing
• Release date: Jun 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9781420961584

Agatha Christie

Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She died in 1976, after a prolific career spanning six decades.

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THE MURDER ON

THE LINKS

By AGATHA CHRISTIE

The Murder on the Links

By Agatha Christie

Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-7826-1

eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-6158-4

This edition copyright © 2021. Digireads.com Publishing.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover Image: a detail of Golf, cover illustration for ‘Vie au Grand Air’, 15th September 1919 (colour engraving), by Gordon Frederick Browne (1858-1932) / Private Collection / Bridgeman Images.

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CONTENTS

1. A Fellow Traveller

2. An Appeal for Help

3. At the Villa Geneviève

4. The Letter Signed Bella

5. Mrs. Renauld’s Story

6. The Scene of the Crime

7. The Mysterious Madame Daubreuil

8. An Unexpected Meeting

9. M. Giraud Finds Some Clues

10. Gabriel Stonor

11. Jack Renauld

12. Poirot Elucidates Certain Points

13. The Girl with the Anxious Eyes

14. The Second Body

15. A Photograph

16. The Beroldy Case

17. We Make Further Investigations

18. Giraud Acts

19. I Use My Grey Cells

20. An Amazing Statement

21. Hercule Poirot on the Case!

22. I Find Love

23. Difficulties Ahead

24. Save Him!

25. An Unexpected Dénouement

26. I Receive a Letter

27. Jack Renauld’s Story

28. Journey’s End

Biographical Afterword

1. A Fellow Traveller

I believe that a well-known anecdote exists to the effect that a young writer, determined to make the commencement of his story forcible and original enough to catch and rivet the attention of the most blasé of editors, penned the following sentence:

‘Hell!’ said the Duchess.

Strangely enough, this tale of mine opens in much the same fashion. Only the lady who gave utterance to the exclamation was not a Duchess!

It was a day in early June. I had been transacting some business in Paris and was returning by the morning service to London where I was still sharing rooms with my old friend, the Belgian ex-detective, Hercule Poirot.

The Calais express was singularly empty—in fact, my own compartment held only one other traveller. I had made a somewhat hurried departure from the hotel and was busy assuring myself that I had duly collected all my traps when the train started. Up till then I had hardly noticed my companion, but I was now violently recalled to the fact of her existence. Jumping up from her seat, she let down the window and stuck her head out, withdrawing it a moment later with the brief and forcible ejaculation Hell!

Now I am old-fashioned. A woman, I consider, should be womanly. I have no patience with the modern neurotic girl who jazzes from morning to night, smokes like a chimney, and uses language which would make a Billingsgate fishwoman blush!

I looked up now, frowning slightly, into a pretty, impudent face, surmounted by a rakish little red hat. A thick cluster of black curls hid each ear. I judged that she was little more than seventeen, but her face was covered with powder, and her lips were quite impossibly scarlet.

Nothing abashed, she returned my glance, and executed an expressive grimace.

Dear me, we’ve shocked the kind gentleman! she observed to an imaginary audience. I apologize for my language! Most unladylike, and all that, but Oh, Lord, there’s reason enough for it! Do you know I’ve lost my only sister?

Really? I said politely. How unfortunate.

He disapproves! remarked the lady. He disapproves utterly—of me, and my sister—which last is unfair, because he hasn’t seen her!

I opened my mouth, but she forestalled me.

Say no more! Nobody loves me! I shall go into the garden and eat worms! Boohoo! I am crushed!

She buried herself behind a large comic French paper. In a minute or two I saw her eyes stealthily peeping at me over the top. In spite of myself I could not help smiling, and in a minute she had tossed the paper aside, and had burst into a merry peal of laughter.

I knew you weren’t such a mutt as you looked, she cried.

Her laughter was so infectious that I could not help joining in, though I hardly cared for the word mutt. The girl was certainly all that I most disliked, but that was no reason why I should make myself ridiculous by my attitude. I prepared to unbend. After all, she was decidedly pretty. …

There! Now we’re friends! declared the minx. Say you’re sorry about my sister—

I am desolated!

That’s a good boy!

Let me finish. I was going to add that, although I am desolated, I can manage to put up with her absence very well. I made a little bow.

But this most unaccountable of damsels frowned and shook her head.

Cut it out. I prefer the ‘dignified disapproval’ stunt. Oh, your face! ‘Not one of us,’ it said. And you were right there—though, mind you, it’s pretty hard to tell nowadays. It’s not every one who can distinguish between a demi and a duchess. There now, I believe I’ve shocked you again! You’ve been dug out of the backwoods, you have. Not that I mind that. We could do with a few more of your sort. I just hate a fellow who gets fresh. It makes me mad.

She shook her head vigorously.

What are you like when you’re mad? I inquired with a smile.

A regular little devil! Don’t care what I say, or what I do, either! I nearly did a chap in once. Yes, really. He’d have deserved it too. Italian blood I’ve got. I shall get into trouble one of these days.

Well, I begged, don’t get mad with me.

I shan’t. I like you—did the first moment I set eyes on you. But you looked so disapproving that I never thought we should make friends.

Well, we have. Tell me something about yourself.

I’m an actress. No—not the kind you’re thinking of, lunching at the Savoy covered with jewellery, and with their photograph in every paper saying how much they love Madame So and So’s face cream. I’ve been on the boards since I was a kid of six—tumbling.

I beg your pardon, I said puzzled.

Haven’t you seen child acrobats?

Oh, I understand.

I’m American born, but I’ve spent most of my life in England. We got a new show now—

We?

My sister and I. Sort of song and dance, and a bit of patter, and a dash of the old business thrown in. It’s quite a new idea, and it hits them every time. There’s to be money in it—

My new acquaintance leaned forward, and discoursed volubly, a great many of her terms being quite unintelligible to me. Yet I found myself evincing an increasing interest in her. She seemed such a curious mixture of child and woman. Though perfectly worldly-wise, and able, as she expressed it, to take care of herself, there was yet something curiously ingenuous in her single-minded attitude towards life, and her whole-hearted determination to make good. This glimpse of a world unknown to me was not without its charm, and I enjoyed seeing her vivid little face light up as she talked.

We passed through Amiens. The name awakened many memories. My companion seemed to have an intuitive knowledge of what was in my mind.

Thinking of the War?

I nodded.

You were through it, I suppose?

Pretty well. I was wounded once, and after the Somme they invalided me out altogether. I had a half fledged Army job for a bit. I’m a sort of private secretary now to an M. P.

My! That’s brainy!

No, it isn’t. There’s really awfully little to do. Usually a couple of hours every day sees me through. It’s dull work too. In fact, I don’t know what I should do if I hadn’t got something to fall back upon.

Don’t say you collect bugs!

No. I share rooms with a very interesting man. He’s a Belgian—an ex-detective. He’s set up as a private detective in London, and he’s doing extraordinarily well. He’s really a very marvellous little man. Time and again he has proved to be right where the official police have failed.

My companion listened with widening eyes.

Isn’t that interesting, now? I just adore crime. I go to all the mysteries on the movies. And when there’s a murder on I just devour the papers.

Do you remember the Styles Case? I asked.

Let me see, was that the old lady who was poisoned? Somewhere down in Essex?

I nodded.

That was Poirot’s first big case. Undoubtedly, but for him, the murderer would have escaped scot-free. It was a most wonderful bit of detective work.

Warming to my subject, I ran over the heads of the affair, working up to the triumphant and unexpected denouement. The girl listened spellbound. In fact, we were so absorbed that the train drew into Calais station before we realized it.

My goodness gracious me! cried my companion. Where’s my powder-puff?

She proceeded to bedaub her face liberally, and then applied a stick of lip salve to her lips, observing the effect in a small pocket glass, and betraying not the faintest sign of self-consciousness.

I say, I hesitated. I dare say it’s cheek on my part, but why do all that sort of thing?

The girl paused in her operations, and stared at me with undisguised surprise.

It isn’t as though you weren’t so pretty that you can afford to do without it, I said stammeringly.

My dear boy! I’ve got to do it. All the girls do. Think I want to look like a little frump up from the country? She took one last look in the mirror, smiled approval, and put it and her vanity-box away in her bag. That’s better. Keeping up appearances is a bit of a fag, I grant, but if a girl respects herself it’s up to her not to let herself get slack.

To this essentially moral sentiment, I had no reply. A point of view makes a great difference.

I secured a couple of porters, and we alighted on the platform. My companion held out her hand.

Good-bye, and I’ll mind my language better in future.

Oh, but surely you’ll let me look after you on the boat?

Mayn’t be on the boat. I’ve got to see whether that sister of mine got aboard after all anywhere. But thanks all the same.

Oh, but we’re going to meet again, surely? I— I hesitated. I want to meet your sister.

We both laughed.

"That’s real nice of you. I’ll tell her what you say. But I don’t fancy we’ll meet again. You’ve been very good to me on the journey, especially after I cheeked you as I did. But what your face expressed first thing is quite true. I’m not your kind. And that brings trouble—I know that well enough. …"

Her face changed. For the moment all the light-hearted gaiety died out of it. It looked angry—revengeful. …

So good-bye, she finished, in a lighter tone.

Aren’t you even going to tell me your name? I cried, as she turned away.

She looked over her shoulder. A dimple appeared in each cheek. She was like a lovely picture by Greuze.

Cinderella, she said, and laughed.

But little did I think when and how I should see Cinderella again.

2. An Appeal for Help

It was five minutes past nine when I entered our joint sitting-room for breakfast on the following morning.

My friend Poirot, exact to the minute as usual, was just tapping the shell of his second egg.

He beamed upon me as I entered.

"You have slept well, yes? You have recovered from the crossing so terrible? It is a marvel, almost you are exact this morning. Pardon, but your tie is not symmetrical. Permit that I rearrange him."

Elsewhere, I have described Hercule Poirot. An extraordinary little man! Height, five feet four inches, egg-shaped head carried a little to one side, eyes that shone green when he was excited, stiff military moustache, air of dignity immense! He was neat and dandified in appearance. For neatness of any kind, he had an absolute passion. To see an ornament set crooked, or a speck of dust, or a slight disarray in one’s attire, was torture to the little man until he could ease his feelings by remedying the matter. Order and Method were his gods. He had a certain disdain for tangible evidence, such as footprints and cigarette ash, and would maintain that, taken by themselves, they would never enable a detective to solve a problem. Then he would tap his egg-shaped head with absurd complacency, and remark with great satisfaction: "The true work, it is done from within. The little grey cells—remember always the little grey cells, mon ami!"

I slipped into my seat, and remarked idly, in answer to Poirot’s greeting, that an hour’s sea passage from Calais to Dover could hardly be dignified by the epithet terrible.

Poirot waved his egg-spoon in vigorous refutation of my remark.

"Du tout! If for an hour one experiences sensations and emotions of the most terrible, one has lived many hours! Does not one of your English poets say that time is counted, not by hours, but by heart-beats?"

I fancy Browning was referring to something more romantic than sea sickness, though.

"Because he was an Englishman, an Islander to whom la Manche was nothing. Oh, you English! With nous autres it is different. Figure to yourself that a lady of my acquaintance at the beginning of the war fled to Ostend. There she had a terrible crisis of the nerves. Impossible to escape further except by crossing the sea! And she had a horror—mais une horreur!—of the sea! What was she to do? Daily les Boches were drawing nearer. Imagine to yourself the terrible situation!"

What did she do? I inquired curiously.

"Fortunately her husband was homme pratique. He was also very calm, the crises of the nerves, they affected him not. Il l’a emportée simplement! Naturally when she reached England she was prostrate, but she still breathed."

Poirot shook his head seriously. I composed my face as best I could.

Suddenly he stiffened and pointed a dramatic finger at the toast rack.

Ah, par exemple, c’est trop fort! he cried.

What is it?

This piece of toast. You remark him not? He whipped the offender out of the rack, and held it up for me to examine.

Is it square? No. Is it a triangle? Again no. Is it even round? No. Is it of any shape remotely pleasing to the eye? What symmetry have we here? None.

It’s cut from a cottage loaf, I explained soothingly.

Poirot threw me a withering glance.

What an intelligence has my friend Hastings! he exclaimed sarcastically. Comprehend you not that I have forbidden such a loaf—a loaf haphazard and shapeless, that no baker should permit himself to bake!

I endeavoured to distract his mind.

Anything interesting come by the post?

Poirot shook his head with a dissatisfied air.

"I have not yet examined my letters, but nothing of interest arrives nowadays. The great criminals, the criminals of method, they do not exist. The cases I have been employed upon lately were banal to the last degree. In verity I am reduced to recovering lost lap-dogs for fashionable ladies! The last problem that presented any interest was that intricate little affair of the Yardly diamond, and that was—how many months ago, my friend?"

He shook his head despondently, and I roared with laughter.

Cheer up, Poirot, the luck will change. Open your letters. For all you know, there may be a great Case looming on the horizon.

Poirot smiled, and taking up the neat little letter opener with which he opened his correspondence he slit the tops of the several envelopes that lay by his plate.

A bill. Another bill. It is that I grow extravagant in my old age. Aha! a note from Japp.

Yes? pricked up my ears. The Scotland Yard Inspector had more than once introduced us to an interesting case.

He merely thanks me (in his fashion) for a little point in the Aberystwyth Case on which I was able to set him right. I am delighted to have been of service to him.

How does he thank you? I asked curiously, for I knew my Japp.

He is kind enough to say that I am a wonderful sport for my age, and that he was glad to have had the chance of letting me in on the case.

This was so typical of Japp, that I could not forbear a chuckle. Poirot continued to read his correspondence placidly.

A suggestion that I should give a lecture to our local boy scouts. The Countess of Forfanock will be obliged if I will call and see her. Another lap-dog without doubt! And now for the last. Ah—

I looked up, quick to notice the change of tone. Poirot was reading attentively. In a minute he tossed the sheet over to me.

"This is out of the ordinary, mon ami. Read for yourself."

The letter was written on a foreign type of paper, in a bold characteristic hand:

"Villa Geneviève

Merlinville-sur-Mer

France

"Dear Sir,

"I am in need of the services of a detective and, for reasons which I will give you later, do not wish to call in the official police. I have heard of you from several quarters, and all reports go to show that you are not only a man of decided ability, but one who also knows how to be discreet. I do not wish to trust details to the post, but, on account of a secret I possess, I go in daily fear of my life. I am convinced that the danger is imminent, and therefore I beg that you will lose no time in crossing to France. I will send a car to meet you at Calais, if you will wire me when you are arriving. I shall be obliged if you will drop all cases you have on hand, and devote yourself solely to my interests. I am prepared to pay any compensation necessary. I shall probably need your services for a considerable period of time, as it may be necessary for you to go out to Santiago, where I spent several years of my life. I shall be content for you to name your own fee.

"Assuring you once more that the matter is urgent,

"Yours faithfully

P. T. RENAULD.

Below the signature was a hastily scrawled line, almost illegible: For God’s sake, come!

I handed the letter back with quickened pulses.

At last! I said. Here is something distinctly out of the ordinary.

Yes, indeed, said Poirot meditatively.

You will go of course, I continued.

Poirot nodded. He was thinking deeply. Finally he seemed to make up his mind, and glanced up at the clock. His face was very grave.

"See you, my friend, there is no time to lose. The Continental express leaves Victoria at 11 o’clock. Do not agitate yourself. There is plenty of time. We can allow ten minutes for discussion. You accompany me, n’est-ce pas?"

Well—

You told me yourself that your employer needed you not for the next few weeks.

Oh, that’s all right. But this Mr. Renauld hints strongly that his business is private.

Ta-ta-ta. I will manage M. Renauld. By the way, I seem to know the name?

There’s a well-known South American millionaire fellow. His name’s Renauld. I don’t know whether it could be the same.

But without doubt. That explains the mention of Santiago. Santiago is in Chile, and Chile it is in South America! Ah, but we progress finely.

Reviews for The Murder on the Links

[bodagirl · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I picked this book up with a few other Agatha Christie novels after reading The Science of Murder: The Forensics of Agatha Christie by Carla Valentine. I read through most of Christie's catalog when I was in junior high, but didn't remember a lot of what Valentine was mentioning, so I decided to revisit a few. This is one of Christie's earlier works and it shows. Poirot vacillates between searching for physical evidence and deriding it before focusing on the work of his "little gray cells." I'm still not entirely sure of how the initial murder took place, though the motive was very clear. I also find Hasting's love story to be overly melodramatic and slightly maudlin - he has had three conversations with this woman and falls in love with her, ugh.

[philipjmac · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Murder on the Links is the second Hercule Poirot book by Agatha Christie. Most of the action is set in Northern France. Dame Agatha does a great job of setting the scene and introducing the characters in this twisty mystery that will have you guessing until the end. It also delves more deep into the friendship between Poirot and Hastings. The plot is a fun one that involves Poirot getting a letter for help to come to France. When he arrives, his would be client is already dead. There is a nice little rivalry between Poirot and the French detective on the case. It’s a fun read for mystery fans.

[pgchuis · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This was just too complex, with plots within plots and complicated historical crimes. Most of the characters were morally compromised in some way, and I'm deducting an extra star for Hastings being willing to commit perjury for the 'love' of a woman he had had three short conversations with.

[sueincyprus · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A fairly early Agatha Christie novel involving Hercule Poirot, narrated by his friend Hastings. They travel to France in response to an urgent letter, only to find that they are too late to prevent a tragedy. Poirot's investigations are somewhat hampered by the French police, and also by various involved folk evidently not telling the truth. Well-paced writing with a good plot, with somewhat flat characters - but that's not unusual for Christie. There's a low-key romance, too, and some mildly amusing banter here and there. A good diversion, available in Kindle form as well as various print editions.

[auntie0nanuuq · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

This book is not only a mystery, but it is about relationships & romance. As most all Christie's mysteries are about relationships, that of the victim to the suspects and the murderer(s), as well as the friendships the detectives have their co-detectives.

M. Poirot receives an extraordinary letter from businessman M. Renauld: "For God's sake, come!" Poirot and Hastings go to Renauld's home, only to find that Renauld had been murdered that morning. Meeting them at the gate is Marthe, the girl M. Poirot noted has "anxious eyes".

Madame Renauld was tied up and her husband taken away. Entry to the house was through the open front door. Renauld's body was found, stabbed in the back, in a newly-dug pit that was to serve as a sand bunker of the adjacent golf course. Renauld had sent his son Jack away on business to South America; given the chauffeur a holiday; his secretary, Gabriel Stoner, remains in England, leaving three female servants in the house.

A servant reported that neighbour Madame Daubreuil, the mother of Marthe, (had paid two hundred thousand francs into her bank account in recent weeks) visited M. Renauld after Madame Renauld had retired for the night but another servant contended it was an unknown woman who came the day before, whom Renauld urged to "leave now".

At the scene of crime there was: a smashed watch; a long piece of lead pipe; a love letter signed by "Bella"; the fragment of a check with the name "Duveen"; and the murder weapon (a letter opener used as a dagger). Renauld changed his will two weeks before, leaving almost everything to his wife and nothing to his son.

While the M. Poirot, the French magistrate and police do their work, Monsieur Giraud of the Sûreté joins them and is overtly hostile to M.Poirot and the rest of the team.

Hastings had previously encountered a young lady whom he named "Cinderella" on a train to Calais and fell in love with her. She later turned up at the links and asked Hastings to be shown the scene of the crime. Like the great azz Hastings is, he left her alone at the scene of the crime and she absconded with the murder weapon.

Jack Renauld returns home, his ship having been delayed. Jack admits to arguing with his father over who he wants to marry, but shows he is unaware of the change in the will. Marthe is the girl in question, considered unsuitable to both his parents.

Meanwhile when M. Poirot is away, another body was found with the same dagger in his heart. No one recognises the well–dressed man who, by his hands, could be a tramp. It is found that the man died before Renauld's murder. When M. Poirot examined the new corpse with the doctor they find that the man died of an epileptic fit and was stabbed after death.

So the book goes on & on, with many side clues, investigations, & romantic involvement. The characters are not likeable and most of the dialog between M. Poirot & Hastings is imbecilic blathering.

[therebelprince · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

In which a panicked note to Hastings leads to murder…

You can’t go wrong with Poirot and Hastings, although "Murder on the Links" is a complicated affair. Christie wasn’t yet at the height of her powers, but she had mastered these characters in the intervening short stories, so the second Poirot novel proves a strong indicator of things to come. The mystery is solidly written, forcing Poirot’s little grey cells to work overtime, and there are some nice character dynamics. If there’s a flaw, it’s that it feels too perfectly constructed, as if no one could actually commit this murder.

Amusingly, Christie had already grown tired of Hastings (or, rather, the expectation that he appear as her constant narrator), and the seeds are sown here that will see him gone for Argentina, to return only intermittently, by the time Poirot returns to the novel format in "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd".

Three-and-a-half stars.

Poirot ranking: 18th out of 38

[rayub-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Well written. The actual killer is hidden until the very end.

[xicanti_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

THE MURDER ON THE LINKS is a fairly standard Christie story. There's a heinous crime. Poirot uses his keen deductive skills to puzzle out what's happened. Hastings bumbles along and occasionally has a real gem of an idea. There's action and romance and all that good stuff.It's a great little book, if a rather unoriginal one. Christie may have popularized detective fiction, but she's still working off of an older tradition here. Poirot and Hastings are clearly Christie's own take on Holmes and Watson. They fulfill their roles admirably, but that doesn't make them groundbreaking. But, that complaint aside, the story is entertaining and nicely plotted. It's interesting, too, to note how Christie's treatment of romance changes over the years. This early novel contains a couple of love-at-first-sight romances. Her later work emphasizes solid, carefully considered relationships in which neither party is particularly passionate about the other. I wonder how much this attitude owes to Christie's own romantic life.I'd definitely recommend THE MURDER ON THE LINKS to anyone who's enjoyed Dame Agatha's work in the past or is looking to give her a try, but I'd caution you not to expect spectacular, mind-blowing things from it. This is a solid, enjoyable read and a good way to while away a few hours, but it's not going to change your life.(A rather different version of this review originally appeared on my blog, Stella Matutina).

[milliehennessy · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was a good one - kept me guessing right through the end. I'm about as thick as Hastings when it comes to picking out the clues Poirot lays out. Good thing Hastings is a total idiot so that Poirot has to spell everything out for him, and thus, the reader. I love that there was a twist beyond the twist. So at the end I was like, ohhh! But then there were a few more chapters left, whereupon Poirot revealed even more and I was like OHHH! xDAlso, Hastings is a total knob. Poirot is way too cool for him.

[tomdonaghey · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Murder On The Links (1923) (Poirot #2) by Agatha Christie. It is hard to imagine this was only the second outing for Poirot. He seems so well formed already, but that is neither here nor there. What matters is the case, the puzzle, the obstacles, the suspects, the police involvement and finally the solution. Point has been summoned by Monsieur Renauld who is certain his life is in danger, which is proved a good hunch as, upon arrival in Merlinville, France, Poirot is greeted with the news of the gentleman’s murder. The victim was struck down at a golf course adjacent to his home. Detective Giraud is on the case, a young, smart, no nonsense “modern” thinker who pooh-poohs Poirot’s methods and stodgy manners. Captain Hastings is along and he falls for the younger investigator’s fast talk, his crawling around on the grass hunting for clues mannerism, and his brilliant, but slightly dubious solutions.There is an arresting cast of characters including a young woman and her mother, the murdered man’s son, yet other young woman that Hastings had met on a train and who mysteriously turns up here, and a few others added for fun.A very good read, plenty of twists for the more experienced reader, and more than one solution offered just for fun. Like so many of Dame Agatha’s works, a darn good read.

[condorena · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The Murder on the Links is the second of Christie's Poirot series and from it a better picture of what this Belgian detective is like. The thing that struck me was that he might be a precursor to the man known in the current day as Mr. Adrian Monk. Hercule Poirot comes into a room and immediately looks around and if he can he will begin to straighten up the pictures on the wall, align edges of things out of place and generally look for what is out of order. This is basically the method to his madness as the saying goes.

Poirot's second characteristic is that he leaves forensic details to others because he can't waste time on clues like cigarette butts or blades of grass because frankly he knows nothing about them and he refuses to make himself look ridiculous moving his nose across the ground like a hound dog. Leave that for the dogs he says.

Poirot gets a frantic letter from France where a Mr. Renauld is in fear for his life. Despite leaving immediately with his friend Captain Hastings, he arrives too late. Renauld has been found in an open grave on a golf course wearing an overcoat which is too large for him over his underwear.

There are many entangled threads involving several mysterious characters that Poirot teases out in a delicate fashion all the while poor Captain Hasting is totally lost at sea. He is a lot more that a day late and a dollar short. It made me wonder just why Poirot puts up with him.
I like the early Poirot books the best because as yet you don't get tired of the little grey cells comments.

[tanya8dogearedcopy · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I'm not much for cozies in general, but I do like Agatha Christie and, the earlier Hercule Poirot novels are very nicely crafted. In this story, an Englishman living in France summons Poirot to Merlinville-sur-Mer in France. The Englishman, Paul Renaud, believes his life to life to be endangered. Poirot arrives in all due haste; but it is too late. Renaud's body is discovered on a golf course.... Silly me, I was half afraid that the book was going to contain arcane golfing terminology and I was going to have to ask DH about mashies and niblicks and such, but rest assured, there was nothing about golf in the story :-)

Redacted from the original blog review at dog eared copy, Hercule Poirot Mysteries (1-4): Mini Op-Ed Reviews, 10/10/2011

[britt84 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A nice, solid detective. The story keeps you guessing, it's complicated enough to not be too straightforward.

[vis02124 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Hercule Poirot and Captain Hastings together, though sometimes at odds. It's a more complicated plot than in The Mysterious Affair At Styles, and it's possible to figure out some of it while missing quite a bit. There's also a part parody/part critique of the Holmes canon, with a French inspector who very much uses those methods.

[cameling_2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A letter containing a desperate plea for help brings Hercule Poirot to France, but unfortunately not before the author of the letter is murdered, his body found in a bunker on a golf course. As the story unfolds, so do the infamous twists and red herrings that are such a signature of Ms Christie's works

[deltaqueen50 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Murder on the Links is the second Hercule Poirot mystery from Agatha Christie. In this story, told by Poirot’s friend Hastings, we are given a convoluted mystery about a body of a man found in a soon to be built bunker on a proposed golf course. The setting is the chateau in France of this rich yet mysterious dead man. Timing seems to be the matter that concerns Poirot’s little grey cells and, in this case, the timing is very difficult to work out. A good mystery and, we are also treated to the story of how Hastings meets his wife to be and comes to go to South America and raise cattle. Hercule Poirot is in fine form during this story as Agatha Christie reveals more of this man’s character and motivation. His ego, always a large one, gets plenty of stroking from the local French police that are very happy to see him show up and include him in all details of the case. His superior ways can be a little grating at times but in this case we root for Poirot to solve the mystery before a very snooty Parisian detective does.Charming and witty, with lots of red herrings to throw you a curve, I enjoyed Murder on the Links very much. As with all of Christie’s mysteries, the fun outweighs the obvious coincidences that she relies upon to move the plot forward.

[thornton37814 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Poirot is asked to come quickly to France. It is the postscript that really convinces the esteemed investigator to take on the case. He arrives to find the man who sent the note murdered. Although Giraud, the French detective, seems to be up on the latest in scientific investigation, it is Poirot's psychological studies of the persons involved which leads to the conclusion. This is one with all sorts of twists and turns in the plot. It will keep readers guessing up to the very end.

[lycomayflower · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

As always an excellent performance on this audiobook by Fraser. These are kind of our "go-to" audiobooks for long car rides together these days. The story is solid, but not my favorite.

[bookconcierge · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Audio book performed by Hugh Fraser

Captain Arthur Hastings narrates this second book in the mystery series featuring Hercule Poirot. It all begins when Hastings meets a young woman on a train. In short order Poirot receives a letter from a South American millionaire living in France stating that his life is in danger and pleading with Poirot to come at once. Hastings and Poirot immediately go to France, only to find that their “client” has been murdered. There is no shortage of suspects – wife, son, neighbors, vagrants, even the girl on the train shows up. The local police are not happy to have Poirot interfering but he insists on his using his superior “little grey cells” to ferret out the truth amid all the clues, red herrings, prevarications, and intrigues.

I love Poirot, but I don’t think this is Christie’s best effort. In my opinion, the whole love-interest between Hastings and the girl stretches credulity too far, and is totally superfluous to the basic plot; did I say “basic” – it’s really far from basic, in fact it’s overly complicated. Given that this was originally published in 1923, and was only the second book in the series, I should probably cut Christie some slack, and I will. It’s still an entertaining cozy, and I was interested from beginning to end.

Hugh Fraser does a marvelous job performing the audio version. He really brings Poirot (and the many other characters) to life.

[nmhale_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Hastings and Poirot are united in another crime solving escapade, this time involving a dead body found on the edge of a golf course. It's not surprising that they would work together, as they are currently sharing a flat in London. One morning, while at breakfast, Poirot receives an urgent summons from Paul Renauld. The two men travel to his home, but arrive too late - Renauld is dead. Earlier that morning, men entered Renauld's house, tied up his wife and abducted him. The police later found his body in an open grave next to a golf course near his home. He was stabbed in the back. Renauld's son is supposed to be in the Americas, his secretary was in London, and only three women servants were in the house with them.

[bbbart-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

waw, what an amazing plot this one has. as an actively deducing reader, I was constantly set on the wrong foot. the murder case is wonderfully concieved, brilliantly laid out and the plot of the book contains suspense, action and turns on every page. an exceptional story in the Poirot-series by the great Agatha Christie.

[jrsearcher · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The story of a fugitive who decides to fake his own murder, but who really gets murdered by the daughter of the woman who is blackmailing him for the murder of her husband 20 years ago.

And, Hastings is an idiot.

[lahochstetler · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Don't be fooled by the title. This novel has nothing to do with golf, and very little to do with the mentioned golf course. The second mystery in the Poirot series finds Poirot and Hastings off to France, called by a man who fears for his life. When they arrive they discover that their client has already died. The mystery builds as Poirot uncovers family connections and false identities. I didn't enjoy this book as much as other Poirot mysteries. I wasn't as taken with the setting- I prefer the ones set in England. I was never fully able to embrace the French environment.

[rubyscarlett-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The plot isn't the best by any means but that was quite charming. The tone is light - Hasting's romance (not with Poirot though ;)) and his being constantly wrong about everything was fun though completely clownish at times. The Cinderella subplot especially was completely unexpected to me. You can tell Christie's trying to find the right tone for her stories and hasn't quite found it yet. Nothing wrong with that - wouldn't reread but it was nice enough while it lasted.

[jimgysin_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A typically solid Agatha Christie effort, and as is the case with many of her works, it is the final plot twists and the ultimate resolution of events that raise this Hercule Poirot outing to a special level. Of course, I say this as a huge Christie homer, so there is much bias to be found here. The title of this one is deceptive, as the story has next to nothing to do with golf, but that's merely an observation and not a complaint. The tale revolves around a set of parents and their son and his involvement with two very different young women. Secrets abound, of course, including those between the parents and the son. Did these secrets play a role in murder? That's what Poirot sets out to determine, and of course his little grey cells prove to be up to the task.

[slysionnach_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I'm going through the Poirot mysteries in order, so this is only the second one I've read, but I prefer this one over The Mysterious Affair at Styles.I must admit, one of the characters I knew was going to come back, but not in the way I imagined it. Christie's talent for a mystery shines when Poirot reveals the truth and you can go back in your mind with the evidence and it seems to check out. Sometimes it may seem a little far-fetched, but if you read with your mind going, "ANYTHING can happen," it makes for a much more interesting read.I enjoyed this one a lot, especially with all the hidden identities here and there. Definitely one I'd recommend.

[fmrox · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Hercules Poirot and Hastings are off to France at the bequest of a South American millionaire who is in fear of his life. It takes some getting used to the English overstuffiness, but the storyline is okay. The ending actually had too many twists which got tedious after a while. I'll will probably still read more Christie novels, though.

[bcquinnsmom · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It is SO hard for me to read these books and not picture David Suchet as Poirot. While the man is perfect in the role, I hear his voice in my head while I'm reading. But...okay, moving right along...In this episode, we find the friendly little Belgian detective spending his time rescuing cats and he's fed up. Along comes a letter from one M. Renaud in France, asking for Poirot's help because his life is in danger. Off rush Poirot and his friend and erstwhile sidekick, Captain Hastings. But it's too late...when they arrive at Renaud's villa, Renaud is already dead. While Poirot has no official standing there, he is allowed to help the police, and they'll need it: there are a number of suspects from which to choose. With his usual energy, Poirot has to work fast to prevent the wrong person from going to the guillotine. This is installment #2 in the Poirot series, and it's easy to see that neither Poirot nor Hastings are in their fully developed selves yet. It's not one of her best but on the other hand, it's still early in the series. Originally written in 1923, the language is a bit stilted at times, and Poirot is a bit more long-winded than he will turn out to be later. A lot of this novel is based on coincidence, but you can sort of overlook it because it's interesting to see how Poirot uses zee little grey cells. However, a couple of plot twists will keep you guessing right up until the end so it's a good enough mystery and will keep readers turning pages. Recommended definitely for Christie (and Poirot) fans; readers of golden-age mysteries will enjoy this and readers of British mysteries in general will probably have fun with it. Overall...an average story from a great writer.

[jonrob_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Not one of the best-known Poirots, but it has a lot in its favour. The crime has a more credible feel than some Christies, and Poirot's "psychology of the individual", though as usual it's really a simple concept of criminals sticking to a standard modus operandi, works well here to get him partway to the solution. Despite a contrived denouement, and a typical example of Hastings' thick-wittedness earlier on, the ending is effective, although (unusually for this writer) every time I've reread it I've forgotten the murderer!

[smik_3 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Originally published in 1923, I read an Agatha Christie Signature Edition published in 2001. ISBN 0-00-711928-3. 319 pages.Having recently transacted some business in Paris, Arthur Hastings is returning to London, to the rooms he is now sharing with Belgian ex-detective Hercule Poirot, by the morning Calais express. He shares a compartment with a young woman who introduces herself as Cinderella.On the following morning in London Poirot receives a letter from France, from someone who says he is desperate need of the services of a detective. The letter is written in a "bold characteristic hand", with a hastily scrawled line at the bottom, "For God's sake, come!" Poirot and Hastings set out straight away for Dover and then Calais. When they arrive at their destination they discover that the writer of the letter has already been murdered. His brutally stabbed body is discovered face down in a bunker on a nearby golf course, clad in its underwear and an extremely long overcoat.This is Agatha Christie's third novel, her second to feature Hercule Poirot and Arthur Hastings. Although this is only the second time we have seen Poirot in action, Hastings implies they have worked other cases together since THE MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR AT STYLES. In a reference to Inspector Japp from Scotland Yard in the opening pages, Hastings says that he had "more than once introduced us to an interesting case."The police have already been called to the murder scene by the time Poirot arrives and he is delighted to discover the police commissary is an old acquaintance whom he last saw in Ostend over a decade before. The commissary is able to introduce Poirot to the examining magistrate and the victim's doctor. After Poirot has inspected the scene and between them they have interviewed some of the household, a stranger turns up. He proves to be Monseiur Giraud from the Paris Surete, a much younger man, a "modern" detective, arrogant, self-assured, and only about thirty years old.From this point on the action becomes a competition between Poirot and Giraud to solve the case. Poirot and Giraud constantly refute each other's theories, and Hastings typically is ready to see Poirot as a quibbler, and indeed at one stage goes out of his way to deceive Poirot and thus lets him down. Giraud disparages Poirot's deductive methods, preferring to use more scientific evidence such as the new art of fingerprinting. Poirot makes no secret of the fact that he believes Giraud is not nearly observant enough.In addition Hastings loses his impartiality by falling head over heels in love with one of the suspects. It will be interesting to see if she appears in a future book.The plot is quite a complex one, and indeed I feel that the complexity actually became a little difficult for Christie to sustain. The reader is required to accept a considerable degree of coincidence, straining the credibility of the plot just a bit.There's quite a lot of description of Poirot and we have a really good idea of what he looks like. Hastings, through whose eyes we see the action of the novel, says "An extraordinary little man. Height, five feet four inches, egg-shaped head carried a little to one side, eyes that shone green when he was excited, stiff military moustache, air of dignity immense! He was neat and dandified in appearance." There is a scene however at the end of the novel which is a bit at odds with that description. Look out for it and see what you think."Dashing forward, he [Poirot] battered wildly on the front door. Then rushing to the tree in the flower-bed, he swarmed up it with the agility of a cat. I followed him, as with a bound he sprang in through the open window". Sedate, dapper, neat little Poirot climbs a tree? Never!Just as in the earlier two books, there are quite large sections of denouement, when Christie makes sure that the reader understands the complexity of the plot and the cleverness of her carefully woven webs. Almost 80 pages before the end Poirot begins his exposition designed to make things clear for the thick Hastings. Hastings thinks all is resolved and Poirot reminds him there is yet one more murder to be solved.My verdict. THE MURDER ON THE LINKS has stood the test of time quite well. Red herrings abound. Hercule Poirot changes his mind several times, and so did I. My rating: 4.2Interestingly MURDER ON THE LINKS contains a dedication "To My Husband a fellow enthusiast for detective stories and to whom I am indebted for much helpful advice and criticism."Agatha has been married to Colonel Archibald Christie since 1914, and her marriage, although apparently an unhappy one, will survive until their divorce in 1928.