- Yes, sir? - Hello there.
You're new, aren't you?
Is there someone you wanted to see, sir?
Well...
Yes, there was, as a matter of fact.
I'd rather like a few quick words with my wife.
Paper!
- Good morning, sir. - Good morning.
Have you a suite?
Excuse me.
And how long will we be having
the pleasure of your patronage, M. le Comte?
Difficult to say.
I have a business in London of an indefinite nature.
Have you a florist's attached to the hotel?
But of course, monsieur.
Excellent.
Suite 37.
Flossie, darling.
Oh.
What the hell are you doing here, Carrington?
Florence doesn't want to see you.
I'd have thought the letter from the lawyer made that perfectly clear.
Well, I'm sure we both want to spare Flossie
the embarrassment of airing all our little family secrets.
Get out of here.
Rupert.
I thought it was your voice.
There's no need for you to talk to him, Florence.
There's no need for you to even see him.
But I want to talk to him, father.
Just for a moment, please.
All right.
One minute.
Then I want him out of this house.
He never liked me.
Good heavens.
I can't imagine why.
Look, Flossie...
This legal separation...
It isn't what you want, is it?
Rupert.
The only reason I wanted to be alone with you
was to be absolutely certain I'd got you out of my system.
I have.
Goodbye, Rupert.
Flossie, wait.
Look, all right, if that's what you really want.
But, look, you couldn't, um...
I'm in a spot of difficulty.
You mean money.
Not a penny of it.
You've had a good run for my money, but now it's over.
I think you should help me out, Flossie.
What were they standing at at the close yesterday in Sydney?
Listen, the geologist's report is fine.
Couldn't be better.
Where do the rumors start? Do you know?
Paris?
Who in Paris?
Look, Tommy, hold the bank off.
When the real report's published,
those shares are gonna rocket.
Yeah.
Right.
I say.
You remember those shares Sandy Hacket tipped me to buy?
Shares, Hastings?
The Australian Mining Company. Yellow Creek.
He said they were about to make some spectacular discovery.
Do not tell me, Hastings.
They are down to five shillings.
Three and six, actually.
I thought you didn't study the stock market.
I do not, Hastings. I study the psychology.
M. Hacket is what we call the congenital optimist.
The only occasion on which we met,
he assured me with the utmost certainty
that it would not rain that afternoon
because he was going to the garden party.
Yes, I remember. It bucketed down.
A Mr. Gordon Halliday is here to see you, Mr. Poirot.
Monsieur Gordon Halliday.
Show him in, by all means, Miss Lemon.
Is that the Australian Gordon Halliday?
Mais oui. The self-made millionaire par excellence.
But he's the chairman of Yellow Creek Mines.
Do you think he'd advise me?
Hastings, I forbid you to mention it.
M. Halliday is here to ask for advice, not to give it.
Mr. Poirot.
Very good of you to see me without an appointment.
Not at all, M. Halliday. Not at all.
How may I be of service to you?
Well, actually, it's a little awkward.
Flowers from M. le Comte again, madam.
Not more of them.
What does he say this time?
"Desolated not to have heard from you.
Can it possibly be that I am condemned to take tea alone?
Have pity, my lovely Florence. Have pity."
He hasn't changed one bit.
Well...
I could do with a bit of cheering up.
Look, Mr. Poirot, money is no object.
I want him got rid of.
Poirot is not in the business of getting rid of people, M. Halliday.
He's not only European, M. Poirot, he's a Frenchman.
And he's not only a Frenchman, he's a wrong un.
You see, it's hard for poor Florence.
Everybody knows she's my only heir.
That scares off all the decent blokes
and brings the buzzards flocking.
And this Comte de Rochefour is one of the buzzards.
Yeah.
Knew it as soon as I heard his wings flapping towards us in Paris.
Of course, Florence thought he was the bee's knees.
I had a hell of a job getting her away from him.
I thought I might find her someone more suitable
in English society.
The Honorable Rupert Carrington?
Yeah, well, that was out of the frying pan,
into the fire with a vengeance.
And now, just as she gets him out of her hair,
back out of nowhere comes this so-called count.
Staying at the Adelphi Hotel.
Spending a fortune on roses.
Poirot is not in the business
of vetting the potential husbands, M. Halliday.
I cannot help you.
You keep telling me what business you're not in, Mr. Poirot.
Can't you just run your eye over the pipsqueak for me?
You're not a father, Poirot.
You don't know what it's like
trying to bring up a daughter all on your own.
No wife to talk it over with.
No one to ask advice.
Very well.
I will run my eye over him for you.
I can tell you where he'll be in half an hour from now.
Unless I'm very pleasantly mistaken,
Florence will be there too.
Will you go to Crufts?
Crufts is about the most exciting thing in London this month.
No. That is not so.
I was devastated when you left Paris, Florence.
I was utterly destroyed.
Well, I'm sorry about Paris.
- My father... - Ah.
Your father.
Perhaps he will look at me in a better light this time.
Why? What's different this time?
I have a job.
I think the First National Bank of Paris will carry weight.
Even with him.
Well, Hastings,
what do your instincts tell you about our so-elegant count?
Well, not a lot, really.
Just looks like a typical for...
Typical Frenchman.
I mean typical Frenchman of his type...
...of Frenchman.
Quite so. Quite so.
Typical of his type.
Bearer bonds?
Worth 20,000 of your English pounds.
Now, if the bank can trust me to such an extent,
so can your father.
So can you.
Perhaps.
Is this something to do with some financial master stroke?
I will tell you all about it when we meet tomorrow.
Oh, not tomorrow, I'm afraid.
Tomorrow I'm going away for the weekend.
I accepted an invitation months ago.
Florence, how can I possibly be without you for another three days
now that we have found each other again?
Well, you can always come and see me off
if it'll make you feel better.
I'm catching the 12:14 from Paddington.
The Plymouth Express, and then changing at Bristol.
Come and wave goodbye to me.
It is only for three days.
Which of the jewels shall I pack, madam?
Oh, I can't decide.
I'll take the jewel case with everything.
Do you think that's wise, Miss Florence?
Florence, I just...
Oh, do you have to wear those?
With this?
Don't be silly, Father.
Pack these, Jane.
Do you have to take them all?
Daddy,
you really do have to stop worrying about me.
Be a dear.
Help Jane with the cases.
150,000 shares, Comte?
150,000.
The Yellow Creek Mining Corporation.
To be sold when they reach £1.
It's my security.
Porter.
Be careful with that. It's a heavy one.
The train now standing on platform one
is the 12:14 Plymouth Express via Bristol.
The 12:14 Plymouth Express via Bristol
will depart from platform one.
Are you sure you wouldn't rather I stayed with you, madam?
Quite sure. You go and find your own seat.
Are you expecting company, madam?
Of course not.
Why on earth should I be?
Excuse me.
Do you know if that clock is correct?
No idea, I'm afraid, my dear.
Is Poirot in?
I want to see him!
- Right, right this minute. - Mr. Halliday! Really!
Florence has disappeared.
You've got to do something, Poirot.
She just disappeared into thin air.
Now, calm yourself, M. Halliday.
How can I?!
I knew something like this would happen.
Tell me.
She was going away for the weekend.
Her maid's just called from Bristol station.
They were supposed to change there,
only apparently, Florence stayed on the train.
Said she had some business further on.
Now, did she specify what business?
No, no, she just said that
she'd get the first train back to Bristol,
and then they'd go on together.
Well, that is not necessarily to worry, my friend.
But that was over three hours ago, Poirot.
There's still no sign of her.
I see.
What really worries me is that when the maid went along
to Florence's compartment at Bristol,
there was a man in it with her.
Train now arriving on platform one
is the 12:14 from Paddington.
This is Plymouth. Plymouth station.
The train now arriving on platform one
is the 12:14 from Paddington.
Going on to Penzance, are you, sir?
Paper! Paper! Extra! Extra!
Body found on train!
Paper! Paper! Extra! Extra!
What's it all for, Poirot?
You're a clever man. You tell me that.
My dear friend. I am so very, very sorry.
You find her murderer, Poirot,
I'll make you richer than you ever dreamed.
Halliday, my friend, it is not a question of money.
Believe me, I also shall not rest until the murderer is brought to justice.
Now, it is essential that I speak with the maid
at the earliest possible moment.
She's in the breakfast room.
The police are questioning her right this minute.
I tell you, I never saw his face.
That's a bit hard to credit.
Well, she made sure that I didn't.
Mrs. Carrington.
She was standing in the doorway when we got to Bristol
with the luggage already out in the corridor.
I just caught a glimpse of him over her shoulder.
He had his back to me.
Well, you must have noticed something.
I told you. He was tall.
He had on a dark suit.
And I think...
I'm almost positive that his hair was dark too,
but that's all I remember.
Hello, Poirot. Hastings.
I heard you were here.
Nasty business, this.
Oui, d'accord.
A genuine tragedy.
If I may...
...ask you mademoiselle?
Did he seem to you in any way familiar?
No, I don't...
I don't think he did.
Could it have been Mrs. Carrington's husband?
Well, I only saw him once.
I suppose it could have been.
Have you ever met a man who calls himself
le Comte de Rochefour?
- No, sir. - Bien.
Thank you very much, mademoiselle.
So...
after you'd caught a glimpse of this man you might or might not have seen before,
then what happened?
I told you.
Mrs. Carrington said she had business on the train
and that I was to take the luggage and wait for her.
Mr. Halliday tells me that Mrs. Carrington had a lot of jewellery with her
in a blue morocco traveling case.
That wasn't with the stuff you took off the train?
Oh, no, sir. She kept that with her.
What do you think, Poirot?
I presume that the traveling case of blue morocco
was not discovered with the body.
You presume one hundred percent correct.
Mind you, that doesn't necessarily signify.
For whatever reason the murderer had for killing her,
he'd be a fool to let a bag full of valuable jewellery go begging.
Or perhaps he took it to distract us from his real motive.
Taxi!
How long had she been dead
when the body was discovered at Plymouth?
About three hours, the doctor says.
After Bristol, the train stops at Weston,
then not again until Taunton.
According to the pathologist,
she was killed soon after the train left Weston, at the very latest.
Possibly before.
Before the train reached Weston even?
Could be.
The train for Plymouth departs from Paddington station
at 14 minutes past 12:00, does it not?
12:14, yes.
Hastings, what do you say
to an invigorating ride into the West Country?
Weston station. Dead on time.
Exactly 25 past 3:00.
Excellent.
And exactly 35 minutes after leaving Bristol,
at which time yesterday Mme. Carrington was alive and well.
The question is, Hastings,
was Mme. Carrington still alive and well at this moment?
And if she was alive and well,
did she remain in the carriage
or did she descend from the train onto the platform,
perhaps to stretch the legs, take in the fresh air?
And did anybody see her doing it?
Précisément.
- Perhaps we should ask a porter. - Papers!
Yes, we could.
Or...
Possibly, Hastings...
Papers! Papers! Get your papers here!
Papers!
Excuse me.
No, no, no, no. No. No, thank you.
You have the appearance of a bright, observant young lad.
That's what my mum says.
Tell me. I want you to try to remember,
at precisely this time yesterday,
did you see descending from the train a woman?
A handsome young woman in a blue...
...a blue hat and coat, perhaps?
She bought a newspaper off you, huh?
- You mean the Australian lady. - So you remember her?
I couldn't forget her, gov.
Not with all the fuss she was making.
- Fuss? - Yeah.
She kept going on about wanting a late edition of the paper.
Any paper.
Well, I told her I only had the early edition,
but she wouldn't believe me.
Kept going on, saying, "I must have one,"
as though her life were at stake.
And, uh...
Did she give to you any reason
why she was so desperate to acquire this late edition?
No, she just kept saying,
"He'll be so angry,"
and looking back at the train
like someone was on it waiting for her.
- And then? - Well, nothing.
She just kept going on and on
until she nearly missed her train.
She only just managed to jump back on it as it was moving.
Thank you very much.
Early edition, late edition, early edition, late edition.
Superb, Miss Lemon.
I knew that you could arrange it.
Difficulties are made to be overcome, Mr. Poirot.
"Difficulties are made to be overcome."
What a truly magnificent attitude.
So, Hastings,
let us divide these between us
and examine them minutely.
Inspector Japp.
- Chief Inspector. - Poirot.
Hello. What's this?
You looking for a job?
No, I know. You've had a chat with that newsboy.
You think there's something in it?
That is what we are trying to discover, Chief Inspector.
Hmm.
Well, I just thought I'd come and tell you,
you could be on the right track with that French gent.
Apparently, he left the Adelphi at 11:00 yesterday morning,
an hour before the express left Paddington,
and didn't get back till gone 10:00 in the evening.
And nobody has any idea where he spent the day.
However, we picked him up
trying to catch the boat train this morning.
We just stopped him for questioning,
and he made a run for it.
He's down at the station now.
These papers have probably got nothing to do with it.
Oh, no, no, no, Chief Inspector.
When we shall discover why Mme. Carrington
was so anxious to acquire a late edition...
...then we shall know why she was killed...
...and who is responsible.
Another one.
I don't think I can, Mr. Carrington. I'm sorry.
What do you mean, don't think you can?
Well, for one thing, sir, I think you've had enough.
And for another, there is the question of your bill.
- Who are you? - Arthur Hastings.
You know this fellow won't give me a drink, Arthur Hastings.
Really? Well, perhaps I'll have more luck.
Two large Scotches, please.
Had a bit of luck at Ascot yesterday.
Don't talk to me about Ascot.
Horses.
What were you on in the 3:30?
I bet you were on Highland Laddie.
Yes, I was, as a matter of fact.
I hate people like you.
33 to 1.
I put my shirt on Rising Star.
Rising Star.
Every penny I had in the world on that nag.
My last chance.
Must have given you a nasty shock
when you read the result in the paper.
Shock?
Do you know why I'm here?
This is the only place I know
where my bookmaker can't get at me.
I mean, I don't want to sit here drinking.
I actually dislike drink. Do you know that?
Why did you back Highland Laddie?
Oh, I had a tip.
I really dislike people who get tips.
Thank you.
You're a good chap, though. You've got to be fair.
How did you know I read about it in the paper?
Oh, you said.
You said you weren't at the course.
Did I say that?
You are a good chap.
Every penny I had.
I looked at that newspaper.
I could be a success, you know, if I just had the capital.
And tips.
Isn't there anyone you could go to for capital?
Not a soul in the world.
Not now.
I don't want to talk about that.
I demand to see the French consul.
All in good time, M. le Comte.
This is a serious business.
I know nothing of the death of Mrs. Carrington, I tell you.
I am devastated by it.
I'm rather more interested in these things for the moment.
Mr. Halliday is here, sir.
- Show him in. - Very good, sir.
Mr. Halliday.
M. Halliday, I am devastated for you.
Now, the count says he last saw your daughter
when he had tea with her at the Adelphi on Wednesday.
Yeah, he did have tea with her.
One interesting thing, though, Mr. Halliday,
is that he had these with him.
Bearer bonds.
And what the count can't tell us, you see,
is what sort of financial dealings would require him
to bring £20,000 worth of these bonds into England
and then take them back again to Paris three days later.
Well, he was obviously using them as security.
Security for what?
That is my bank's business.
Not according to them, it isn't, sir.
I rang them up, you see?
They're quite anxious to have a word with you.
What, uh..., what bank are we talking about?
The International Bank of Paris.
Wait a minute.
I know what he wanted the security for.
Ten days ago, somebody started a rumor
that a geologist's report on one of my mines
was gonna be unfavorable.
The shares plummeted.
You must have made a real killing.
He'd have bought the shares at about three shillings
and sold them the day after the real report came out
and they went back up again to about twenty.
Making about £100,000.
This sounds like something for the fraud department.
Fraud?
What fraud?
It's normal business practice.
No wonder you were so anxious to get hold of a late edition.
He went down to Ascot,
put everything he had on Rising Star.
As soon as he knew the horse had lost,
he asked Florence for a loan.
She refused him.
Right, Poirot, the frog's cracked.
I knew it.
What he was reckoning was he'd use Mrs. Carrington
as a backup in case his deal went wrong.
No, no, no. He lost every penny he had at the races.
- Races? Who had? What races? - Rupert Carrington.
No, no, it's got nothing to do with Carrington.
Please, please, please, my friends. If you please.
How can I possibly arbitrate
between your two ingenious theories
if I can hardly distinguish one word of them?
Now, Chief Inspector,
your theory, as I understand it,
is that the Comte de Rochefour
intended to use Mme. Carrington as a fall back on.
If the takeover deal went wrong,
he would then demand of her the money in order to redeem the bonds.
He's admitted as much.
But the deal, it did not go wrong, did it?
So why should the count kill for the jewels of Mme. Carrington?
Whereas, Hastings, your theory is that when M. Carrington
discovered that his certain winner fell at the last fence,
he then demanded from his wife the money
in order to remove the threat of the bookmakers.
And when she refused, he killed her for her jewellery.
Exactly.
Then you tell me, Hastings,
why does M. Carrington still lurk about his club,
drinking himself into oblivion and shaking with fear
of what they might do to him, these very same bookmakers?
These feverish speculations, they will not do.
Order and method will be our guides.
Now, I have been consulting the admirable files of Miss Lemon.
So, Chief Inspector, get four of your best men
and meet us at this address at 9:00.
Find the jewels, and you'll find the killer.
What's happening?
Nothing.
He's knocking at the door.
Hold on. Someone's answered.
He's gone in.
I wish I knew what he was up to.
I'm not quite clear what this is about, Mister...
A friend advised me to get in touch with you.
Friend? What friend?
He prefers to remain anonymous.
Oh, yes.
I don't think I care for anonymous friends.
My friend is anxious to buy some jewellery.
Plenty of shops around.
You look like a jeweler.
You're very acute, monsieur.
Very well.
Perhaps you have read of the jewellery robbery
the day before yesterday on the Plymouth Express?
I don't read that sort of trash.
You are very wise, monsieur.
There is blood on those jewels.
It will make them very hard to sell.
You're a funny little fellow, aren't you?
What are you?
Montenegrin? Polish?
Belgian, M. McKenzie.
You see, those jewels will have to be broken up,
removed from their setting.
And whoever tries to sell them
will be lucky to receive one-sixth of their true value.
I don't know what your game is, monsieur.
I really don't.
My friend is a truly private collector.
He would not be so fussy.
He would not care if the jewellery
were left in its original condition.
In fact, he would prefer it.
Let's hope it stays fine for him.
You got the wrong shop.
None of this means anything to me.
I see.
Sorry I couldn't be of any help.
We all have false hopes, M. McKenzie.
How'd it go, Poirot?
It is him.
He denies all knowledge, of course.
But there is on the coat rack
a duplicate of the coat Mme. Carrington was wearing at the time of her death.
Why did he need a duplicate?
For his accomplice to wear, Hastings.
I didn't know he had an accomplice.
But of course he did.
That is how I was able to locate him.
Right. Come on, lads.
This is the police! Open this door!
Right. Break the door down.
Mr. Halliday's dining.
He won't want to see you.
I want a word with you, Mr. Halliday.
You weren't welcome when my daughter was alive.
You're even less welcome now.
I don't care if I'm welcomed or not.
Why should you have an easy conscience?
This horror would never have happened
if you hadn't come between Flossie and me.
The only thing that came between you and Florence was your character.
She saw you for what you were.
No, she saw what you wanted her to see.
You could never let her go, could you?
Yeah, what is it, Mason?
It's the inspector from Scotland Yard, sir.
And a lot of other people.
Do we have to talk about this?
I am afraid that we do, M. Halliday.
Does no good.
Okay. Go on.
I still don't understand the business about the newspapers.
Neither did I at first, my friend.
Why should Florence be so desperate to procure this newspaper?
Please, mademoiselle, allow me.
Perhaps her companion
was a man
who was desperate to know the results
of a particular race.
Thank you, mademoiselle.
Or perhaps
her companion was a man
who desperately needed to know the close-of-day figures
on the stock market.
Absurd.
I tormented my brain.
I agitated the little gray cells without mercy.
Why...
did Florence Carrington
so desperately want that newspaper?
And what was the answer?
The answer. The answer, my friend, was that she did not.
Now, once this idea presented itself to me,
the truth, it soon became very clear.
You see, I knew Florence was murdered because of her jewels,
but I also knew something about the man who killed her.
Knew what?
The man I was looking for had to be a thief of the most steelhearted,
one capable of committing the senseless murder
of an innocent young woman.
So I looked in the files of Miss Lemon,
and what do I find?
I find a jewel thief
by the name of McKenzie.
A plan is devised.
Which will suggest that the theft of the jewels
are not the principal cause of the crime that is to take place.
That color really suits you.
Florence Carrington
is traveling with the jewels alone and unprotected
on the Plymouth Express.
M. McKenzie has also boarded the train at Paddington.
Just as the train reaches Bristol station,
he advances towards her carriage.
Aargh!
Ugh!
The train arrives at Bristol.
M. McKenzie descends from the train
carrying with him not only the jewels
but also the baggage of Mme. Carrington.
Now, if anybody had looked at the carriage
as the train left Bristol station,
they would have noticed Mme. Carrington alive and well.
Indeed, at Weston
she apparently descended from the train onto the platform,
where she made a great fuss about acquiring the late edition.
But this was to ensure that the newspaper boy
would remember her.
Hang on a minute.
The pathologist said she was dead before the train reached Weston.
Maybe even before Bristol.
Précisément, mon ami.
So how is this possible?
Do we believe in ghosts?
No.
No, we do not.
It was not poor Mlle. Florence
who was seen traveling on the train to Weston.
It was not Mlle. Florence
who made at Weston station, the fracas.
It was the accomplice of M. McKenzie,
wearing the duplicate blue coat.
To kill a fellow human being is vile, my friends.
But I wonder if to kill a fellow human being with a knife
is not the most vile.
You look a proper lady.
To see the eyes of the victim staring into yours,
to feel the breath upon her face,
the scrape of the knifepoint between her ribs.
You see, the ruthless accomplice of M. McKenzie
was a woman called Grace Kidd,
who was employed by Mme. Carrington
under the name of Jane Mason.
Tell me, mademoiselle,
was it absolutely necessary
for a poor, wretched woman,
who had never done to you one moment's harm, to die?
Was there no other way?
Oh, my God!
Those jewels would have set us up for the rest of our lives.
Why take chances?
Right, that'll be enough of that.
Take her away, lads.
Poor Florence.
Poor, dear Florence.
We found the jewel case in McKenzie's house, Mr. Halliday.
They're not mine.
I know the contents of my daughter's will.
They belong to that creature there.
No.
No, I don't want them.
I'm not going to profit by Flossie's death.
Most sad.
I shall go now, I think.
Oh, you think so, do you?
You may not be a murderer, M. le Comte,
but you're still a swindler.
You're coming back to Scotland Yard.
Dear Mr. Poirot,
I would like to express my gratitude
for your help in this tragic business.
Your logical and businesslike approach
was something I could cling to in the depths of my despair.
I hope sometime in the future
to be able to find a measure of such quiet strength.
Then, perhaps, I can start again.
I'm returning home to the memory of happier times.
Old friends may help me live with the past.
Poor M. Halliday.
He says in his letter that he will return to Australia,
immerse himself in his work,
and try to forget.
He has been most excessive in his generosity.
Poor man.