Page:Agatha Christie-The Murder on the Links.djvu/78

 evident. For some few seconds, she remained silent, staring at me. Then she nodded her head emphatically.

“Well, if that doesn’t beat the band! Tote me round. I want to see all the horrors.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I say. Bless the boy, didn’t I tell you I doted on crimes? What do you think I’m imperilling my ankles for in high-heeled shoes over this stubble? I’ve been nosing round for hours. Tried the front way in, but that old stick-in-the-mud of a French gendarme wasn’t taking any. I guess Helen of Troy, and Cleopatra, and Mary, Queen of Scots, rolled in one wouldn’t cut ice with him! It’s a real piece of luck happening on you this way. Come on, show me all the sights.”

“But look here—wait a minute—I can’t. Nobody’s allowed in. They’re awfully strict.”

“Aren’t you and your friend the big bugs?”

I was loath to relinquish my position of importance.

“Why are you so keen?” I asked weakly. “And what is it you want to see.”

“Oh, everything! The place where it happened, and the weapon, and the body, and any finger-prints or interesting things like that. I’ve never had a chance of being right in on a murder like this before. It’ll last me all my life?”

I turned away, sickened. What were women coming to nowadays? The girl’s ghoulish excitement nauseated me. I had read of the mobs of women who besieged the law courts when some wretched man was being tried for his life on the capital charge. I had sometimes wondered who these women were. Now I knew. They were of the likeness of Cinderella, young, yet obsessed with a yearning for morbid excitement, for sensation at any price, without regard to any decency or good feeling. The vividness of the girl’s beauty had attracted me in spite of myself, yet at heart I retained my first impression of disapproval and dislike. I thought of my mother, long since dead. What would she have said of this strange modern product of girlhood? The pretty face with the