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Murder on the Links
 

without her daughter worrying about her. I admit I was teasing you just now, but all the same I repeat what I said before. Do not set your heart on that girl. She is not for you! I, Hercule Poirot, know it. Sacré! if only I could remember where I had seen that face!”

“What face?" I asked, surprised. “The daughter’s?”

“No. The mother’s.”

Noting my surprise, he nodded emphatically.

“But yes—it is as I tell you. It was a long time ago, when I was still with the Police in Belgium. I have never actually seen the woman before, but I have seen her picture—and in connection with some case. I rather fancy—"

“Yes?”

“I may be mistaken, but I rather fancy that it was a murder case!”

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