Less Golf Than You'd Think: The Murder on the Links | 1923

"The trained observer, the expert, without doubt he is useful! But the others, the Hercules Poirots, they are above the experts! To them the experts bring the facts, their business is the method of the crime, its logical deduction, the proper sequence and order of the facts; above all, the true psychology of the case." - The Murder on the Links, p. 14

The Sum of it All:

This, Agatha's third published book, begins with Hastings (Poirot's sidekick, you'll remember from Styles) in his natural habitat: falling in love with some random girl he's known for five minutes. Not only does she literally appear out of nowhere, but she claims to be an actress, Hastings criticizes her cosmetics, she tells him her temper has gotten her into trouble in the past, and she refuses to tell him her real name and tells him to call her Cinderella. So I mean the falling in love was a foregone conclusion in Hastings' case. (They meet again later and Hastings and Poirot have the following exchange: "Journeys end in lovers' meetings is not that the saying?" "Don't be an ass, Poirot." "Yesterday it was Mademoiselle Daubreuil, today it is Mademoiselle--Cinderella! Decidedly you have the heart of a Turk, Hastings! You should establish a harem!" #mocking #hastingsinlove)

Anyhow, he meets her on his way to London from France, and when he gets there, his now roommate Papa Poirot is bemoaning his toast ("'This piece of toast, you remark him not? 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") as well as the boring nature of his recent detective cases ("In verity I am reduced to recovering lost lap-dogs for fashionable ladies!"). This problem is soon alleviated by the receipt of a urgent letter from an M. Renauld in France stating that he fears he is in danger and needs Poirot to come STAT. So they go. 

ALAS they are too late and when they get there they find that M. Renauld is already MURDERED via a knife in the back, wearing his underclothes and a coat that's too long for him, laying in a pre-dug grave in the midst of a golf course in development next to his Villa. But why is he in his underclothes and why is the door to his house standing open, his wife inside all bound and gagged, telling a wild story about two Chileans with beards? Unfortunately, the French police are already on it, and with them, their star detective, Giraud, who quickly becomes Poirot's nemesis due to his more observational crime solving methods: "Here we have a true clue--a psychological clue. You may know all about cigarettes and match ends, M. Giraud, but I, Hercule Poirot, know the mind of man!"

We also find the recurring theme of the presence of a SURPRISE second will, which switches all the money to Renauld's wife, leaving a son out in the cold. Speaking of the son, he turns up claiming to have been in a totally different city waiting on a ship to South America upon telegramed orders from his Pa, returning when his ship was cancelled...a likely story? He and his father had a heated blow-up the day of his dad's death, all about a beautiful young lady down the lane about whom his dad said NO DICE re: marriage. Poirot meets the young lady and her mother who reminds Poirot of a crime popular in the news long ago. When a second body turns up, things get even more interesting. 

This is the part where I stop explaining the plot because part of the goal here is for you guys, our small but faithful (one hopes) cadre of readers to be inspired by our tantalizing leads and pick up a copy of the book for your own enjoyment! Needless to say, this one has more than one significant twist at the end, and you'll think you have it figured out more than once before it's all over (literally, one of my margin notes is "Whaaaaaat!").

Simon Baker owes it all to Agatha, probably.

The YOA Treatment: 

With this second Poirot book, Agatha makes a point of establishing the difference between him and the more "conventional" detective, a contrast she casts in the form of Giraud. Giraud is showier than Poirot, crawling about on the ground looking for shoe-prints and distinguishing South American matches. Hastings is disappointed in Poirot for letting this guy seemingly get the jump on him constantly with his quickly drawn conclusions, but Poirot is unruffled. 

"He builds a case, as a beaver builds a dam, with a fatiguing industry. But he will not have looked for the things I am seeking--in all probability he would not have seen their importance if they stared him in the face." 

The police, doctors, and M. Giraud move happily along, taking each evident clue at face value, and drawing rapid conclusions, while we see that Poirot is willing to look deeply at each piece of evidence and examine them from multiple angles. While Poirot is methodical always in his thinking, taking each clue and piece of evidence and considering how it fits with the others, then forming a narrative, we see the other detective using initial evidence to form a narrative, and then ditching anything that doesn't fit. Says Poirot, "Always the facts must be twisted to fit the theory! Did not Giraud find the traces of two persons, a man and a woman, in the shed? And how does that fit in with his reconstruction of the case? I will tell you--it does not fit in, and so we shall hear no more of them!"

This contrasting style of detecting remains present in today's popular detective realm, whether we're looking at the standard (yet great, nobody's tryin' to denegrate the bom-bom) crime procedurals of the Law & Order empire, where clue after clue leads Det. Olivia Benson to the real bad guy, or the clever, intuition based skills of crime solvers like Patrick Jane's Mentalist or Shawn Spencer on Psych. While Agatha clearly chose early on which style she felt was more compelling, the constant contrast of Poirot's "little grey cells" (not to mention Tommy & Tuppence's detecting which is based mainly on what they've read in fiction, or Miss Marple whose intuitive-little-old-lady act surprises folks every time) and the traditional police work of detectives like Giraud or Inspector Japp make every one of these stories more rich.

- E.