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The Murder on the Links by Agatha Christie 28 Journey’s End I have confused memories of the further events of that night. Poirot seemed deaf to my repeated questions. He was engaged in overwhelming Françoise with reproaches for not having told him of Mrs. Renauld’s change of sleeping quarters. I caught him by the shoulder, determined to attract his attention, and make myself heard. “But you _must___ have known,” I expostulated. “You were taken up to see her this afternoon.” Poirot deigned to attend to me for a brief moment. “She had been wheeled on a sofa into the middle