Why Didn’t They Ask Evans – Agatha Christie
Agatba Christie – Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?
CHAPTER 1 The Accident
Bobby Jones teed up his ball, gave a short preliminary waggle, took the club back slowly, then brought it down and through with the rapidity of lightning.
Did the ball fly down the fairway straight and true, rising as it went and soaring over the bunker to land within an easy mashie shot of the fourteenth green?
No, it did not. Badly topped, it scudded along the ground and embedded itself firmly in the bunker!
There were no eager crowds to groan with dismay. The solitary witness of the shot manifested no surprise. And that is easily explained – for it was not the American-bom master of the game who had played the shot, but merely the fourth son of the Vicar ofMarchboh – a small seaside town on the coast of Wales.
Bobby uttered a decidedly profane ejaculation.
He was an amiable-looking young man of about eight and twenty. His best friend could not have said that he was handsome, but his face was an eminently likeable one, and his eyes had the honest brown friendliness of a dog’s.
‘I get worse every day,’ he muttered dejectedly.
‘You press,’ said his companion.
Dr Thomas was a middle-aged man with grey hair and a red cheerful face. He himself never took a full swing. He played short straight shots down the middle, and usually beat more brilliant but more erratic players.
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