The Murder on the Links by Agatha Christie Page A

for you is profound. It must have been a terrible shock to you to learn the news as you did. However, it is most fortunate that you were prevented from sailing. I am in hopes that you may be able to give us just the information we need to clear up this mystery.”
    â€œI am at your disposal, monsieur. Ask me any questions you please.”
    â€œTo begin with, I understand that this journey was being undertaken at your father’s request?”
    â€œQuite so, monsieur. I received a telegram bidding me to proceed without delay to Buenos Aires, and from thence via the Andes to Valparaiso, and on to Santiago.”
    â€œAh! And the object of this journey?”
    â€œI have no idea.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNo. See, here in the telegram.”
    The magistrate took it and read it aloud:
    â€œâ€˜Proceed immediately Cherbourg embark Anzora sailingtonight Buenos Aires. Ultimate destination Santiago. Further instructions will await you Buenos Aires. Do not fail. Matter is of utmost importance. Renauld.’ And there had been no previous correspondence on the matter?”
    Jack Renauld shook his head.
    â€œThat is the only intimation of any kind. I knew, of course, that my father, having lived so long out there, had necessarily many interests in South America. But he had never mooted any suggestion of sending me out.”
    â€œYou have, of course, been a good deal in South America, M. Renauld?”
    â€œI was there as a child. But I was educated in England, and spent most of my holidays in that country, so I really know far less of South America than might be supposed. You see, the War broke out when I was seventeen.”
    â€œYou served in the English Flying Corps, did you not?”
    â€œYes, monsieur.”
    M. Hautet nodded his head and proceeded with his inquiries along the, by now, well-known lines. In response, Jack Renauld declared definitely that he knew nothing of any enmity his father might have incurred in the city of Santiago or elsewhere in the South American continent, that he had noticed no change in his father’s manner of late, and that he had never heard him refer to a secret. He had regarded the mission to South America as connected with business interests.
    As M. Hautet paused for a minute, the quiet voice of Giraud broke in:
    â€œI should like to put a few questions of my own, Monsieur le juge.”
    â€œBy all means, Monsieur Giraud, if you wish,” said the magistrate coldly.
    Giraud edged his chair a little nearer to the table.
    â€œWere you on good terms with your father, Monsieur Renauld?”
    â€œCertainly I was,” returned the lad haughtily.
    â€œYou assert that positively?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œNo little disputes, eh?”
    Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Everyone may have a difference of opinion now and then.”
    â€œQuite so, quite so. But, if anyone were to assert that you had a violent quarrel with your father on the eve of your departure for Paris, that person, without doubt, would be lying?”
    I could not but admire the ingenuity of Giraud. His boast, “I know everything,” had been no idle one. Jack Renauld was clearly disconcerted by the question.
    â€œWe—we did have an argument,” he admitted.
    â€œAh, an argument! In the course of that argument, did you use this phrase: ‘When you are dead I can do as I please?’”
    â€œI may have done,” muttered the other. “I don’t know.”
    â€œIn response to that, did your father say: ‘But I am not dead yet!?’ To which you responded: ‘I wish you were!’”
    The boy made no answer. His hands fiddled nervously with the things on the table in front of him.
    â€œI must request an answer, please, Monsieur Renauld,” said Giraud sharply.
    With an angry exclamation, the boy swept a heavy paper knife to the floor.
    â€œWhat does it matter? You might as well know. Yes, I did quarrel with my father.