The Murder on the Links

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. The corpse has a look of absolute amazement and terror. Poirot makes the fantastic statement that he could see by the victims face that he was stabbed in the back.

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. A young French detective named Giraud is on the case. He is apparently the best thing to be had in Paris. He is a young rapidly rising star in fact. His method is that of investigating the little clues of spent cigarettes, footprints and the like. He barely hides his contempt for Poirot when Hercule refuses to jump to conclusions. Naturally Poirot has the last laugh while the Frenchman rushes back to Paris  with a little less luster on his star.

I like the early Poirot books the best because as yet you don't get tired of the little grey cells comments.