The Murder on the Links

By Agatha Christie

The Murder on the Links is a work of detective fiction by Agatha Christie, first published in the US in 1923.
The story takes place in northern France, giving Poirot a hostile competitor from the Paris Sûreté. Poirot's long memory for past or similar crimes proves very useful in this circumstance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Infinity Books Ltd, Malta
• Release date: Aug 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798472474139

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.

Book preview

THE MURDER

ON THE LINKS

Agatha Christie

Public Domain Text

Agatha Christie

The Murder on the Links (1923)

Source:

https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Murder_on_the_Links

Contents

1. A Fellow Traveller      .      .      .      005

2. An Appeal for Help      .      .      .      011

3. At the Villa Genevieve       .      .      .      022

4. The Letter Signed Bella       .      .      035

5. Mrs. Renauld’s Story G.             .      .      045

6. The Scene of the Crime             .      .      057

7. The Mysterious Madame Daubreuil       .      065

8. An Unexpected Meeting             .      .      078

9. M. Giraud Finds Some Clues       .      .      089

10. Gabriel Stonor       .      .      .      .      098

11. Jack Renauld       .      .      .      .      107

12. Poirot Elucidates Certain Points       .      121

13. The Girl with the Anxious Eyes       .      131

14. The Second Body       .      .      .      140

15. A Photograph             .      .      .      148

16. The Beroldy Case!      .      .      .      157

17. We Make Further Investigations       .      164

18. Giraud Acts       .      .      .      .      173

19. 1 Use My Grey Cells      .      .      .      180

20. An Amazing Statement             .      .      187

21. Hercule Poirot on the Case       .      .      199

22. 1 Find Love       .      .      .      .      207

23. Difficulties Ahead       .      .      .      218

24. Save Him!       .      .      .      .      224

25. An Unexpected Denouement             .      234

26. 1 Receive a Letter       .      .      .      239

27. Jack Renauld’s Story       .      .      .      244

28. Journey’s End       .      .      .      .      258

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 blase 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, 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.

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 everyone 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.

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. I’ve been on the boards since I was a kid of six—tumbling.

I beg your pardon, I said, puzzled.

Haven’t you ever seen child acrobats?

Oh, I understand!

I’m American born, but I’ve spent most of my life in England. We’ve 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 going 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 wholehearted determination to make good.

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’m a sort of private secretary now to an MP.

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 exdetective. 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.

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

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

She looked over her shoulder.

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 crookedly, 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.

Anything interesting come by the post? I asked.

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.

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? I 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.

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 lapdog 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 Genevieve, 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! You remarked the postscript? How did it strike you?

I considered.

Clearly he wrote the letter keeping himself well in hand, but at the end his self-control snapped and, on the impulse of the moment, he scrawled those four desperate words.

But my friend shook his head energetically.

You are in error. See you not that while the ink of the signature is nearly black, that of the postscript is quite pale?

Well? I said, puzzled.

"Mon Dieu, mon ami, but use your little grey cells. Is it not obvious?

Mr. Renault wrote his letter. Without blotting it, he reread it carefully. Then, not on impulse, but deliberately, he added those last words, and blotted the sheet."

But why?

Parbleu! so that it should produce the effect upon me that it has upon you.

What?

Mais oui —to make sure of my coming! He reread the letter and was dissatisfied. It was not strong enough!

He paused, and then added softly, his eyes shining with that green light that always betokened inward excitement:

And so, mon ami, since that postscript was added, not on impulse, but soberly, in cold blood, the urgency is very great, and we must reach him as soon as possible.

Merlinville, I murmured thoughtfully. I’ve heard of it, I think.

Poirot nodded.

It is a quiet little place—but chic! It lies about midway between Boulogne and Calais. Mr. Renauld has a house in England, I suppose?

Yes, in Rutland Gate, as far as I remember. Also a big place in the country, somewhere in Hertfordshire. But I really know very little about him, he doesn’t do much in a social way. I believe he has large South American interests in the City, and has spent most of his life out in Chile and the Argentine.

Well, we shall hear all the details from the man himself. Come, let us pack. A small suitcase each, and then a taxi to Victoria.

Eleven o’clock saw our departure from Victoria on our way to Dover. Before starting Poirot had dispatched a telegram to Mr. Renauld giving the time of our arrival at Calais.

I’m surprised you haven’t invested in a few bottles of some sea sick remedy, Poirot, I observed maliciously, as I recalled our conversation at breakfast.

My friend, who was anxiously scanning the weather, turned a reproachful face upon me.

Is it that you have forgotten the method most excellent of Laverguier? His system, I practise it always. One balances oneself, if you remember, turning the head from left to right, breathing in and out, counting six between each breath.

H’m, I demurred. You’ll be rather tired of balancing yourself and counting six by the time you get to Santiago, or Buenos Aires, or wherever it is you land.

Quelle idee! You do not figure to yourself that I shall go to Santiago?

Mr. Renauld suggests it in his letter.

He did not know the methods of Hercule Poirot. I do not run to and fro, making journeys, and agitating myself. My work is done from within— here — he tapped his forehead significantly.

As usual, this remark roused my argumentative faculty.

It’s all very well, Poirot, but I think you are falling into the habit of despising certain things too much. A fingerprint has led sometimes to the arrest and conviction of a murderer.

And has, without doubt, hanged more than one innocent man, remarked

Reviews for The Murder on the Links

[funstm · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Poirot was an extraordinary-looking little man. He was hardly more than five feet four inches, but carried himself with great dignity. His head was exactly the shape of an egg, and he always perched it a little on one side. His moustache was very stiff and military. The neatness of his attire was almost incredible; I believe a speck of dust would have caused him more pain than a bullet wound. Yet this quaint dandified little man who, I was sorry to see, now limped badly, had been in his time one of the most celebrated members of the Belgian police. As a detective, his flair had been extraordinary, and he had achieved triumphs by unravelling some of the most baffling cases of the day.Christie, Agatha. Hercule Poirot 3-Book Collection 1: The Mysterious Affair at Styles, The Murder on the Links, Poirot Investigates (Kindle Locations 308-313). HarperCollins Publishers. Kindle Edition.I love Hercule Poirot. Such a great detective. Such a character. There's always a great mystery with lots of twists and turns and red herrings, all of which keep me riveted. The characters are interesting and have complex motives for their actions. That said, not a huge fan of Hastings. He's too busy being on his high horse to be likable. I've read many Agatha Christie books before but not all and not in order so I'm in the process of commencing a reread. Highly recommend to crime lovers.In The Murder on the Links, Poirot and Hastings are called to assist a man who later winds up dead and stay on to help solve the murder. There's love affairs and mistaken identities and lots of intrigue. I had no idea what the hell was going on and it was fantastic. Hastings irritates me with how easily he falls in love - he knows this chick for two seconds and he loves her? Seriously, he met her twice. He's too fickle and it irritates me a lot. Fantastic.

[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.

[luminous4path · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

What a letdown after the charming Tommy and Tuppence mystery. Also more tiresome than The Secret Adversary. This one didn't grab me at all. In fact, I couldn't even tell you whoudunit.

[nx74defiant · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The 2nd Hercule Poirot novel. Through it all Hercule is thinking and putting the pieces together. Many twists and turns. Cases of mistaken identity. Very well done. Hasting is a little annoying with his obsession with women. Hastings falls in love very quickly.

[wdwilson3 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

As complicated as any of the Poirot novels, this one throws all of the characters in as suspects for murder. Not until the final chapters is the true murderer revealed. I love this kind of book, so Hastings' overwrought narration is forgiven.

[jamestomasino · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Another wonderful read. Agatha Christie is quickly becoming my cleanser for the ever present bad fiction I come across, much like coffee beans are for olfactory habituation.

[vesper1931 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

When detective Hercule Poirot receives a letter from a Paul Renauld asking for his help, he and Captain Hasting quickly travel to France - to Merlinville-sur-Mer. But on arrival they find that they are too late and Renauld is dead. Can Poirot unravel the motives, suspects and clues.
An enjoyable mystery

[john257hopper · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This year is the centenary of the first publication in the UK of Agatha Christie's first novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles, featuring Hercule Poirot (the novel was originally serialised in the Times in early 1920 and published in book form in the USA in October of that year). Having read that a few years ago, I've now read Murder on the Links, the second Poirot novel, published in 1923. While the golfing reference might suggest the English countryside in which so many of her novels are set, this one takes place mostly in northern France in a fictional town between Calais and Boulogne. Mr Renauld is a British subject living in northern France who has built a golf course at his villa, though the golfing references are entirely incidental to the plot. Having implored Poirot to cross the Channel to help him with an imminent threat he is facing, Poirot arrives with his sidekick Captain Hastings in tow to find Renauld has been murdered during the preceding night. The plot is very complicated, with an abundance of false identities, ambiguous relationships, rival lovers, and a pair of identical twin sisters. The relationship between Poirot and Hastings is very much like Sherlock Holmes's with Dr Watson - though I much prefer the latter as a sleuthing duo.

[delphimo_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Hercule Poirot shines in The Murder on the Links. The foolishness of Tommy and Tuppence dissolves into an intriguing mystery. The story does not rest on dialogue to move the story along. Characters and setting show more development. The double identity of many characters hints at Shakespeare. And sometimes the reader becomes confused with all the identities. Hastings reveals that a human heart beats within his chest, will this charade continue? I adore the way Poirot recounts the mystery and displays the clues that lead to unveiling the killer. But first, at least two women work to protect the men they love. The elegant eating of Tommy and Tuppence disappears in this story on the links.

[helenliz_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

An after Christmas lunch snooze seemed likely, so I settled down with a book instead. It's a sufficiently convoluted murder, with 2 deaths and two different crimes and two different girls in love with the same boy - apparently. Themystery starts when the rich man who had called on Piorot for help is found dead in a grave in the garden, kidnapped and murdered from his own bedroom. And so the French police investigate. And my goodness, what a palava they make of it. The detective, the poilice, the doctor, the magistrate, there seem to be a cast of thousand suited men - none of then asking the right quesitons. Poirot gets to the bottom of it, not without some false trails being led here and there. And I think he might get annoying in large doses. If I plan to read Poirot in order, I'm going to space them out.

[theokester · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I've taken a very random approach to my reading of the Hercule Poirot stories so it felt very interesting to read this early novel (the second in his series?) after having read some of the later ones. It was fun to see ways in which Poirot's character and stories evolved over time. The most notable feeling I had was that Christie was still working out the nature of the relationship between Poirot and Hastings. Their interactions in this novel felt closer to a Holmes/Watson pairing than in later books. At the same time, I appreciate the points in which Hastings took a more central role in the plot (even if he did make a mess of it *spoilers*).As you might expect, the writing is fantastic and the plot is tight. From the initial few chapters you are knocked off balance while thrown into the thick of things. Poirot receives a mysterious letter from a man worried for his life. The day Poirot arrives, the police are there investigating his murder. The French inspector, Giraud, is resentful of Poirot's help and treats him with antagonism and condescension, claiming that Poirot's methods are outdated and useless and that he should leave the job to the professionals and their modern training and methods. Fortunately, some of the other members of the French law enforcement group are a bit more open to Poirot's involvement but it is still a bit of an uphill battle. The interplay between Poirot and Giraud make for humorous and delightful commentary not only on law enforcement but the way professionals in an occupation often view themselves and their competition. I especially liked that Hastings was so impressed with Giraud that he tried to praise him and defend him to Poirot. Naturally Poirot would not change his opinion and instead he set out to show that his methods, and his little grey cells, would prevail.In addition to the core mystery, I found it interesting that Christie create a smaller mystery as a thread to wind throughout the story. Hastings has met a young woman on a train and become infatuated. Even though Poirot chides Hastings for his senseless emotional behavior, there is something mysterious about this girl and so her mystery continues to appear throughout the book. Rather than feeling distracting and disjointed, the working of this second mystery felt like a natural pairing and it was fun to see the two problems proceed to their natural conclusions and watch the interplay of the characters and their involvement in each.This book does fall into the trap of having a solution that relies on specialized knowledge that the reader doesn't have. In fact, this knowledge is so specific that Poirot has to leave the investigation completely to go and do research elsewhere and return with the answer. There is some dissatisfaction in a mystery that can't be solved by the reader picking up on early clues dropped by the author. Fortunately, there are enough other clues that the reader is able to make deductions in logical directions even without the specific bit of knowledge that's withheld from everyone until Poirot reveals it.Probably the biggest disconnect for me was the title. While it's true that the murder victim was found on a golf course, there was no other connection or interaction that tied the story to the golf course. I suppose the title could have been a type of red herring to leave readers expecting some sort of intrigue with the golf course owners or groundskeepers or something (if you're anticipating that, I apologize for spoiling the lack of connection). It's an adequate title, just a little misleading. And as my biggest disconnect, that should let you know that this is a solid novel.I personally found this to be a fun read and an engaging mystery. There were enough questions to keep me second-guessing my assumptions up until the final revelations. I really enjoyed the interplay between the characters, particularly those of Hastings and Poirot. This is classic murder mystery done very well and well worth reading.****4 out of 5 stars

[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.

[rayub-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

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

[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.

[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.

[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.

[jguidry-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Another classic Hercule Poirot mystery by Agatha Christie. I love any book starring Hercule Poirot, but in this book, Hastings was the shining star for me. I found his blundering around the case extremely amusing. I also enjoyed following his love story in this one. Poirot did an excellent job solving the case, but I really enjoyed the comic relief provided by Hastings in this one.

[philsyphe · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

After my disappointment with the first book in the Poirot series I'm pleased to admit that this second installment turned out to be a vast improvement. I like narrative's upbeat tone. It's fast paced yet leaves plenty of room for reflection.More than once the problems facing Poirot and his friend appear to be resolved, only for a twist here, a turn there, and more investigation is required.The characters are all well-drawn, especially Poirot.Overall, an entertaining read.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[antiquary_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

An early Poirot, told Captain Hastings, about the death of a millionaire on a golf course. Compare Rex Stout's Fer-de-lace and E. C. Bailey's "The Sweet Shot."

[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.

[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

[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.