Looks just like a patchwork quilt, doesn't it?
No!
Well, it does to me.
It does to everybody else.
Not to Poirot.
I suppose you don't think that looks like a mass of cotton wool?
No!
I don't think you've got any imagination at all.
That is true, mon ami. But you have enough for both of us.
It is extremely valuable to me.
Good morning, sir.
Good morning.
Ah, c'est magnifique!
Just the place for a restful vacation.
The food will be inedible!
What do you think, Poirot?
Down to the beach this afternoon or a round of golf?
The tennis court's pretty good, I understand.
Waiter!
- Still no news of Captain Seton. - Comment?
- The round-the-world flight. - Ah.
They haven't given up hope yet, though, apparently.
He may have made it to one of the Pacific islands.
Cannibals.
I say!
Makes you proud to be an Englishman, though.
- Oh, I'm sorry. - Do not be sorry, Hastings.
It is not a tragedy for me that I was born the wrong side of the Channel.
Oh! This is intolerable!
I'm going to find a waiter!
Ah, mon Dieu!
Garcon!
Waiter!
Ow!
Are you all right?
I say!
Do not perturb yourself. The turned ankle, that is all.
I wish you'd let it be seen to.
In the pleasure of your company, Mademoiselle, the pain, it passes.
Pardon. This is Captain Hastings.
Hastings, the house over there, on the point, belongs to Mlle Buckley.
- Really? - It's called "End House".
I love it but it's going to rack and ruin.
Oh, that is sad.
It's big. Do you live there all by yourself?
I'm away a lot. When I'm at home, a rowdy crowd usually comes and goes.
I was imagining you were in a dark, mysterious mansion
haunted by a family curse.
Then the ghost must be sent to protect me.
I've had three escapes from certain death in the last three days.
Escapes from death?
Well, just accidents, you know.
Curse these bees! I hate the way they come right past your face.
Nick! Nick!
Here, George! Here I am!
Come on, girl, Freddie's frantic for a drink.
Hello.
This is Commander Challenger. He's in the Navy.
I have a great regard for the Royal Navy.
Oh, well done. Well done.
George, don't get overexcited. Let's find Freddie and Jim.
I hope the ankle will be all right.
Merci.
Nice girl.
Is Commander Challenger what you call "the good chap", yes?
Oh, absolutely. Oh, good dive!
Has he "the tendresse" for her?
What do you think, Hastings?
My dear Poirot, how should I know?
That's Miss Buckley's hat, isn't it?
Yes. We're returning it to "End House".
Thus we shall have the opportunity to see again the charming Mlle Nick.
I do believe you've fallen for her!
No, no, no. You are under a misapprehension, mon ami.
The young lady is very charming but I am more interested in her hat.
I don't see why you'd be interested in her hat.
- There's a hole in it! - Yes, indeed.
Did you do that?
Hastings, did you notice how Mlle Nick flinched as a bee flew past?
A bee in the bonnet, a hole in the hat?
A bee couldn't make a hole like this.
But a bullet could, my friend.
A bullet like this.
Mlle Nick has three escapes from death in as many days, now, a fourth?
These are not mere accidents, mon ami.
You'd have to be a mad man
to try and shoot someone in a hotel garden in broad daylight.
Ah!
Thank you.
G'day.
- Morning. - Good day.
Quite impressive. Looks as if it could do with some work.
I say!
Yes?
♪ Isle Of Capri ♪
It's not exactly courteous, Lazarus, to ignore us like this.
Jim is far too good a dancer to be a gentleman, aren't you?
Hope so, Freddie. An awful waste of an expensive education, otherwise.
There are some men to see you, Miss.
Oh! Hello again.
Pardon, Mademoiselle. Commander.
We have come to return your hat.
I wondered what had happened to it.
This is for you, George.
♪ Red sails in the sunset ♪
♪ Way out on the sea... ♪
There is a matter of the greatest urgency I must discuss with you.
Don't say you're selling something.
No! With that moustache and staying at the Majestic, it can't be.
♪ ..all day I've been through ♪
♪ Red sails in the sunset ♪
♪ I'm trusting in you ♪
Now, what's all the mystery?
Mademoiselle...
It was not a bee that flew past your face this morning.
It was this.
What is it?
It is a bullet.
Well, I'm damned!
♪ Love Is The Sweetest Thing ♪
Miss Buckley helped my friend when he twisted his ankle this morning.
Ah, yes. So Nick said.
I am glad she didn't invent it all.
She's the most brazen liar that ever existed. Oh, it's quite a gift.
She had a marvellous story the other day about her car brakes failing.
All nonsense, Jim says. Jim knows about cars.
Is that your Chevrolet Phantom outside?
Yes. Pretty, isn't she?
I say, there's two watches on the table exactly the same!
Oh, we've all got one of those.
Don't touch, old boy.
Keep good time, do they?
They keep the best time in the world!
♪ Who's Been Polishing The Sun? ♪
- Oh, I can't dance to that! - Of course you can, Freddie.
♪ They must have known just how I like it ♪
♪ Cos everything's coming my way ♪
♪ Who's been teaching all the birds how to sing a roundelay? ♪
♪ They must have known just how I like it ♪
♪ Cos everything's coming my way ♪
The first accident was that picture.
The painter might have said that when he'd finished it.
Anyway, it came down crash in the middle of the night.
Luckily, I've been sleeping badly and I'd got up to make some tea.
Otherwise it might've bashed my head in.
And the other accidents?
The brakes on my car went as I was going down the hill to St Looe
and the next day a boulder detached itself from the cliff
at the end of the garden while I was on the rocks underneath.
It's jolly nice of you and all that, but why are you so interested?
You do not understand? You are in grave danger.
- Oh, come off it! - Oh, no, no. I tell it to you, I.
You do know who I am?
No. I don't.
Ah, I forget. You are but a child, eh?
Alors, my friend Captain Hastings will tell it to you.
Monsieur Poirot is a detective.
Oh.
Erm, a great detective.
My friend, is that all you can say?
Mais dis donc, say then that I am "the detective unique".
Unsurpassed. The greatest that ever lived.
There doesn't seem much point now. You've told her yourself.
Ah, yes, but it is more agreeable to preserve the modesty.
Seriously, these were just accidents.
- You are as obstinate as the devil. - Clever. That's where I got my name.
My grandfather was supposed to have sold his soul to the devil.
I lived here with him, so they called us Old Nick and Young Nick.
- My real name is Magdala. - That's unusual.
Yes, it's a family name.
There's been a lot of Magdalas in the family.
That's it. That's where I was standing.
And the boulder only just missed you?
Could someone have pushed it from above?
No. I tell you, it was just another accident.
Do you have any enemies, Mademoiselle?
I'm afraid I don't. No. Sorry.
Is there anyone who would profit by your death?
No. That's why it seems such nonsense.
There's only the house, but it's mortgaged and the roof leaks.
There's one usable bedroom. My friends stay at the Majestic.
Who is your nearest relation? My cousin, Charles Vyse.
He's a lawyer. He gives good advice. Tries to restrain my extravagances.
He arranged the mortgage and made me let the lodge.
We saw someone gardening.
Mr Croft. Australian. Hearty, and that sort of thing.
Terribly kind, but Mrs Croft's a cripple, poor dear.
Have you ever made a will?
Yes. About six months ago. The day before my op for appendicitis.
And what were the terms?
I left "End House" to Charles.
I hadn't much else left, but what there was I left to Freddie.
Tell me about your friends.
Freddie Rice is my greatest friend.
She left her husband a year or two ago. He won't give her a divorce.
And Commander Challenger? He wishes you to marry him?
He mentions it now and again, after the second glass of port.
And you remain hardhearted?
What'd be the use of George and I marrying? Neither of us has a bean.
Eh bien! Apart from Madame Rice,
is there any other friend you can trust, Mademoiselle?
- There's Maggie, I suppose. - Who is Maggie?
A distant cousin. Lives in Yorkshire.
I have her to stay in the summer. She's no fun, though.
The person ideal! Telegraph her to come tomorrow.
Oh! Ah-ah!
Jim Lazarus, Mrs Rice's friend, is he to do with Lazarus Art Galleries?
That's the chap. I was in there the other day.
The Lagonda overheated just outside, so -
This morning somebody shot at Mlle Buckley with a Mauser pistol.
A Mauser?
- Do you know anyone who has a Mauser? - Yes. I have.
It was Dad's. He brought it back from the war.
It's gone.
Mrs Rice says that Miss Buckley's accident in her car was all my eye.
She says Miss Buckley's a terrific liar.
Really? That is most interesting, Hastings.
It is interesting for itself
and interesting that Madame Rice said it.
But why should she say it, even if it were true?
Ah, these little curious things.
I like to see them appear. They point the way.
Ah, that's a baby! There's a darling!
This is all very well, but what we're trying to do is impossible.
We're trying to detect a murderer before he's committed the crime.
Well said, Hastings.
I don't know where to start. I don't like the look of her friends much.
Except Commander Challenger, obviously a pukka sahib.
Hastings, you have the most extraordinary effect on me.
- Really? - Yes.
You have so strongly the flair in the wrong direction
that I am almost tempted to doubt the Commander.
Who's there?
It is I, Poirot.
The office isn't open.
I pushed the door downstairs. It was not locked.
You are Monsieur Vyse?
Yes.
It is very good of you to see me at the weekend.
Hercule Poirot.
Boirot?
Poirot!
(What kind of place is this?)
Tell me, Monsieur Vyse,
if I may ask...
and I have said nothing about this to your cousin Mlle Buckley,
you understand, is there any chance of "End House" being on the market?
Oh, no.
Miss Buckley is devoted to the place.
Nothing would induce her to sell "End House".
But I do not ask idly. Er...
I myself am in search of just such a property.
It's out of the question. She's fanatically devoted to the house.
Ah.
Try A Little Tenderness
Why should Vyse say Mlle Buckley had a fanatical devotion to the house?
Did it seem like that to you, Hastings?
- No. - No.
Nor to me.
What did the garage say?
Whatever I tell you, you'll believe the opposite.
Oh, come now, Hastings!
Oh, very well, then.
The garage said the brake drum valve had definitely been loosened.
Truly?
Then why did Madame Rice say that the car accident
was all an invention by Mlle Buckley?
Permit?
Madame, I do not know if your friend has told you,
but today her life has been attempted.
What do you mean?
Mlle Buckley was shot at in the gardens of this hotel.
Did Nick tell you that?
It is no fantasy of Mademoiselle's imagination.
I happened to see it with my own eyes. Here is the bullet.
Madame, several curious accidents
have occurred during the last few days.
- Ah, but you arrived here only...? - Er, yesterday.
- Before that, you were in London? - No. With friends in Tavistock.
Ah! What were the names of your friends with whom you were staying?
Is there any reason why I should tell you that?
No, no. Mille pardons. I was most maladroit.
I have friends in Tavistock. You might have met them.
Their name is Buchanan.
No.
But go on about Nick.
Who shot at her? And why?
As yet, we do not know.
But I shall find out. I am, you know, a detective.
Oh.
What do you want me to do?
Watch over your friend.
Excuse me.
It's open.
There must be somebody here.
Hello?
If they leave the house open all the time,
I'm surprised they haven't all been murdered.
Come out slowly with your hands above your head.
Ah, Monsieur Croft.
Stay where y'are.
No, no, no, my friend.
I am Hercule Poirot.
Coo-ee! Coo-ee!
Who do you think this is, Mrs C?
The extra-special, world-celebrated detective, Mr Hercule Poirot.
I brought him along to have a chat with you.
Isn't this too exciting for words?
Enchante, Madame.
And Captain Hastings, his associate.
I've read about you, too, Captain.
Oh! Right.
They're friends of Miss Buckley.
Isn't that nice? What a dear child she is.
Not very well liked in this neighbourhood, I've heard,
but isn't that just the way in these stuck-up English places?
Her beady-eyed cousin has no more chance
of persuading her to settle down here than fly.
Ah! So Mr Charles Vyse is in love with our little friend?
He's silly about her but she won't -
Don't gossip, Milly.
I have my reasons for being interested in that girl.
I wonder, Mr Poirot, if you'd care to see some snapshots of Australia?
- Well, er... - Good.
The inventor of the camera has a lot to answer for.
Nice people. Typical Australians.
Hm...
I do not know.
That cry of "Coo-ee!"
The insistence on showing us 5,000 photographs?
Were they not playing the part a little too thoroughly?
Ah! That's Mademoiselle Nick!
See you tonight, then, George. Righty-ho.
Bonjour, Mademoiselle.
Hello, Monsieur Poirot, Captain Hastings.
Is this your boat? How would I afford that?
It's George's.
I'm rushing to meet Maggie,
the guardian you insisted I send for from darkest Yorkshire.
Bon. I shall feel happier.
But you're wrong about her. She's got no kind of brains.
Good works is all she's fit for.
That, and never seeing the point of jokes.
But there is no joke here.
Cheer up, Monsieur Poirot.
Why don't you both come to dinner tonight and watch the fireworks?
Tell me, Hastings,
if Commander Challenger has not got a bean, as Mlle Nick has said,
how can he afford such a ship?
Oh, probably just er...
Well, maybe it's...
Maybe she meant...
I don't know.
Ellen!
Oh, it's only you!
Ah, Mademoiselle, I am desolated!
Oh, I'm sorry. It did sound rude.
Thank you.
Did you call, Miss? It's all right. I answered it.
They haven't delivered my dress to the back door?
No, Miss.
That's why I sounded rude.
I thought you were my dress being delivered. They promised faithfully.
Ah, here's Maggie.
Maggie, here are the sleuths
that are protecting me from the secret assassin.
This is my cousin, Maggie Buckley.
That's a marvellous shawl, Nick.
Yes. It'll be warm when we're watching the fireworks.
I've never seen you in a black dress.
I thought you hated black.
I do hate it. The cleaners didn't deliver the one I wanted.
They shouldn't allow speedboats in the harbour!
That's not a speedboat. It's a seaplane.
I think these flying people are absolutely marvellous.
- A pity about Michael Seton. - He may still be all right.
Rather a mad family.
The uncle of his, Sir Matthew Seton, he was barmy. Died a week ago.
That millionaire who ran bird sanctuaries?
Yes. A gal chucked him once. He took to gannets for consolation.
I don't see any reason to assume Michael Seton's dead yet.
You knew him, didn't you? I forgot.
We met him last year at Le Touquet. Wasn't he marvellous?
Don't ask me, darling. He was your conquest, not mine.
- Have you done any flying, Captain? - Well, actually -
There's the telephone.
Oh, don't wait for me. I don't eat dessert.
All the extra guests will arrive for the fireworks soon, anyway.
♪ I Won't Dance ♪
Too bad Mrs Croft can't be here. It's bad luck on poor old Mrs C.
She never complains. You know, that woman's got the sweetest nature.
Splendid view of the festivities, eh?
Didn't you come last year?
I say! Look at that! What a display!
Beautiful.
I think I'll run inside and get a coat.
Oh, let me.
You wouldn't know where to find it.
Oh, Maggie, get mine, too. It's in my room.
She didn't hear. I'll get it, Freddie.
I want my fur. This cape isn't enough.
Thank you, darling.
It is monotonous, do you not find, Hastings?
I like the different coloured ones.
I feel the dampness of the feet.
I shall watch the rest through a window, from the warmth of the house.
I wouldn't mind putting something on myself.
Poirot, look!
It's Miss Buckley!
Mon Dieu!
Sorry I've been so long, Maggie...
It's Maggie Buckley. She's been shot.
How did your cousin come to wear your cape tonight?
We came in to fetch our coats and...
I just flung off the cape on the sofa there.
I went upstairs and I was still in my room...
..when I heard Maggie call out that she couldn't find her coat.
She said she'd take mine, if I didn't want it,
and I said all right, I'd be out in a minute.
And when I did...
..did come out...
Well, I, er, I won't ask any more questions tonight.
I'm going to suggest, Miss Buckley, that you don't stay here.
You've had a shock, you understand.
What you need is complete rest.
I know of an excellent nursing home.
No.
But we want you to feel safe, mon enfant. Do you understand?
I understand, but you don't.
I'm not afraid any longer.
I've got nothing to live for now.
If someone wants to murder me, they can.
You can't say that, Miss Buckley, you mustn't.
Mademoiselle, I have failed you.
I, who promised you protection, have not been able to protect,
but now I want to know that you are in safe hands,
with people around you, day and night.
What's going on?
It's not Nick, is it? She's not dead?
No. No, mon ami, she is alive.
Nick!
My darling, I thought you were dead.
It's all right, George. Don't be an idiot. I'm quite safe.
Then what's happened? The policeman said Miss Buckley was dead.
The sooner you get to your bed, the better, Miss Buckley.
I'm sorry, George.
Er...
It was Miss Maggie Buckley.
Oh, my God!
What a tragedy!
"The Chancellor's statement has announced
hope has been abandoned for the aeroplane pilot, Mr Michael Seton.
Fishermen have salvaged wreckage
believed to be parts of the Albatross,
the seaplane built by Mr Seton
for his attempt to fly round the world."
No-one, Dr Graham. No-one.
Not even Mademoiselle's dearest friend is to be allowed in.
Oh, Monsieur Poirot!
Not even the King of England.
No-one.
Except me, Captain Hastings and your good self.
Mademoiselle, I wish you good night.
Hastings.
How is she?
Safe.
Could the police be right, Poirot? That this is the work of a lunatic?
No. The murderer is someone in Mademoiselle's own circle.
Do you think he realised he'd killed the wrong person?
I am quite sure he did not.
It must have been an unpleasant surprise when he learned the truth.
Difficult not to give oneself away in circumstances like that.
Answer me three questions, Hastings!
- What? What? - Three questions.
One: why has Mlle Nick been sleeping so badly of late?
Two: why does she own a black dress when she never wears black?
Three: why did she say "I have nothing to live for now"?
- Did she? - She did. Answer the questions.
Well, as to the sleep, she's been worried lately.
- About what? - What?
Oh. I don't know.
The black dress?
The cleaners let her down. Anyway, all women have one.
You have little appreciation of the feminine temperament.
Well, anyway...
The last... It was a natural thing to say after that shock.
No, mon ami, it was not a natural thing to say.
To be horror-struck by her cousin's death is natural. But the other?
No.
Never before has she displayed that attitude. She has been defiant.
Hello? Yes?
Certainement. Yes.
Madame Rice. She wishes to see us.
I suppose there's no doubt that the intended victim was really Nick?
I should say, Madame, that there was no doubt at all.
You asked questions about Tavistock the other day, Monsieur Poirot.
You'll find out, so I might as well tell you now.
I was not in Tavistock.
No, Madame?
I motored down from London last week with Mr Lazarus.
We stayed in a little place called Shallacombe, together.
I see.
I'm still a married woman, technically.
May I be impertinent, Madame?
Is there such a thing these days?
You care for Monsieur Lazarus?
He's rich.
Oh la la!
That is an ugly thing to say.
Better to say it myself than to have you say it for me.
You are very intelligent, Madame.
You'll be giving me a diploma next!
I'm going to take some flowers round to Nick.
Oh, that is very amiable of you.
And I thank you, Madame, for your frankness.
Very nice. Very nice.
I'm at the Gulls. A stone's throw from the gasworks.
Chief Inspector, it is so good to see you. You do not stay here?
The Metropolitan Police lodging allowance doesn't run to this.
It's a funny old business, this "End House" malarkey, eh?
As you say, Chief Inspector.
You think these accidents were all part of it?
Oh, there is no doubt.
You might be right. Be a help if we could get hold of the gun.
Probably at the bottom of the sea, if the murderer has any sense.
They mostly haven't.
I'd better have a word with the dead girl's parents.
They've just got down from Yorkshire.
Let me know if you have any ideas.
Of that you may be sure, Inspector.
It is all very well for Madame Rice
to force the richness of Monsieur Lazarus down our throats.
Yes. I must say that disgusted me.
Mon ami, always you have the right reaction in the wrong place.
Madame Rice was telling us something.
"I have a friend who is very rich. He can give me all I need."
"I do not need to murder my dearest friend for a pittance."
I see.
Poirot, they won't let me see her.
Is this your work? Have you seen Dr Graham?
Gave the usual guff. "As well as can be expected. Passed a quiet night."
I know those tricks. My uncle's in Harley Street.
I think you're at the bottom of this, Poirot.
Listen, mon ami.
There is no fooling you.
If one guest is to be admitted, others cannot be kept out.
You comprehend?
I see.
It's all or nothing, as you might say.
We will say no more. Extreme prudence is what is needed at the moment.
I can hold my tongue.
Mum's the word, eh?
I'll send her some flowers. They like flowers, don't they?
May I offer you, Mademoiselle, my very deepest sympathy.
You know?
Oh, well...
It doesn't matter who knows now.
Now that it's all over.
Now that I'll never see him again.
Courage, Mademoiselle.
I haven't any courage left.
I've used up every bit in these last weeks.
Waiting and hoping.
Captain Hastings does not know what we are talking about.
Michael Seton, the airman.
I was engaged to be married to him.
He's dead.
You heard the news last night?
On the wireless.
I made an excuse about the telephone.
I wanted to hear the news alone, in case...
I don't want to live.
I know. I know.
To all of us, there comes a time when death seems preferable to life.
The grief, it passes.
You think I'll forget.
Marry someone else?
Never.
But you are fortunate, Mademoiselle.
You have been loved by a brave man.
- When did you get engaged? - Just after Christmas.
But it had to be a secret, because of Michael's uncle.
Sir Matthew Seton.
He thought women ruined a man's life.
He was frightfully proud of Michael.
He financed the building of the Albatross.
But if Michael had succeeded, he would have been independent of him.
He would have been a...
I don't know. A kind of a world hero.
His uncle would have come round in the end, anyway.
Yes. Yes, I see.
I never told anyone, not even Freddie.
Even when the uncle of Michael Seton died a week ago?
It seemed boastful...
while the papers were full of Michael's flight.
Michael would have hated that.
Mademoiselle, you once mentioned you had made a will.
Mm.
Where is it, this will?
Oh. Knocking around somewhere.
I'm frightfully untidy, you know.
Papers and things are...
mostly in the writing table, in the library.
Or maybe in the bedroom. Or maybe...
I'm sorry.
You permit me to make a search for it, yes?
If you want to.
I was right.
The engagement has a bearing on the crime?
A week ago, Sir Matthew Seton dies, one of the wealthiest men in England.
He has a nephew, whom he idolises,
to whom, we assume, he has left his fortune.
Last Tuesday, the nephew is missing.
On Wednesday, the attacks on Mademoiselle begin.
Suppose he made his will before his flight
and left all he had to his fiancee?
In this case, it is not a paltry inheritance at stake!
It is an enormous fortune.
Ahh!
- I say, you any further? - Comment?
You're goin' to get to the bottom of this, aren't ya?
I am the dog who stays on the scent and does not leave it.
- Hope my alibi's in order - Alibis are not everything ...
You would like, I think, to marry Mademoiselle Nick...
- I've always wanted to marry her... - Precisement! Et bien...
Mademoiselle was the fiancee of another man. A motive perhaps for killing, n'est-ce pas?.
But there would have been no need. The other dies a death of a hero...
So is it true? Nick was engaged with that Michael Seaton.
There's a rumour about it all over town, today.
- Well, I didn't know about it! - Hello, Freddie!
So neither of you knew that Mademoiselle was engaged?
Nick's a naughty little devil when he likes.
But I understand now why she's been so nervy lately...
- Have you got my watch, darling? - Yes, I got it on this morning.
- There's always something goin' wrong with him. - You said it gave wonderful time.
Yes... Well, it does...
It's just the strap. This little buckle thing.
I've got a bit of a headache, I am going to bed and lie down.
" Compliments of Hercule...
... Poirot. "
Merci, madame.
I sent her come flowers already... I might as well send some fruit, I suppose.
The eatable... It is not permitted, Commander.
You think someone will still try...?
Good Lord!
The night of the fireworks, you were in the kitchen?
That's right.
You help your wife with the cleaning up?
When there's company.
The lady was killed by the steps.
I've seen a pig killed, haven't I, Dad?
That's right, son.
Dad used to kill pigs. Didn't you, Dad?
I've seen pigs killed. I liked it.
Young 'uns like to see pigs killed.
Shot with a pistol the lady was. She didn't have her throat cut.
Are they all like that round here?
Poor Miss Buckley was in a state. Had no idea where she'd put the will.
Most people have a secret place to keep such things.
Mon Dieu!
Are there secret panels in the house?
There is, as a matter of fact. I was shown it as a girl.
Only I can't remember just now exactly where it is,
in here or in the drawing room.
Big enough to hide in?
Oh, no, sir. A little cupboard sort of place. About a foot square.
Oh.
Thank you very much, sir.
Secret panels!
I like to cover every eventuality.
Here is an eventuality for you, Hastings.
- Who's it from? - Madame Rice.
"Party was too marvellous. Feeling doomy today.
"You were wise not to touch that stuff.
"Don't ever start, sweetie. It's so hard to give up.
"I'm writing the boyfriend to hurry up the supply.
What hell it all is. Love, Freddie."
Dated last February.
She takes cocaine, of course.
Driver's licence.
Dressmaker's bill.
Perfectly good dividend warrant.
The young girls nowadays, Hastings,
they are not properly trained!
Order and method are left out of their bringing up.
There's a cheque for £20 from...
What are you doing, Poirot?
We are searching for the will, mon ami.
Those are...well
underclothes, aren't they?
Hastings, decidedly, you belong to the Victorian era.
Ah!
This is Monsieur Michael Seton. Yes.
And his love letters, if I mistake not.
Poirot, you can't do that. It isn't playing the game.
We are not playing a game, Hastings. We are hunting down a murderer.
Here. You'd better read them as well as me.
Two pairs of eyes are no worse than one pair.
I don't like this sort of thing, Poirot.
"January 3rd.
Darling, it seems too good to be true that you should actually love me."
Oh, look here!
"March 2nd.
My dearest, this is pretty rotten, all this beastly concealment.
"But Uncle Matthew has an absolute bee in his bonnet..."
Poirot, listen to this!
"Dearest, I'm off tomorrow, feeling excited.
"By the way, somebody said I ought to make a will, tactful fellow, so I have,
"on half a sheet of notepaper, and sent it to Whitfield.
"I remembered your name was Magdala. A couple of the fellows witnessed it."
So he did make a will!
Yes. And anyone who read these letters would know it.
We looked everywhere.
Try to remember, Mademoiselle, where you last saw your will.
I can't.
You didn't put it in the secret panel, did you?
The secret what?
Ellen said there was one in the drawing room or the library.
I've never heard of such a thing!
Ellen said so?
Mais oui, but we are wandering from the subject.
The last will and testament of Magdala Buckley.
Did you use a will form?
There wasn't time. I was going to have my appendix out.
Besides, Mr Croft said that will forms were dangerous.
Mr Croft was there?
Yes, it was his idea to make the will.
He's helpful, the excellent Monsieur Croft. Yes, he...
Oh, what an idiot, letting you hunt round End House!
Charles has got it, of course.
My cousin, Charles Vyse.
Ah.
Mr Croft said a lawyer should properly have charge of it.
So we stuck it in an envelope and sent it off straight away.
Charles has got it. He'll show it to you if you want.
Not without an authorisation from you, I hope, Mademoiselle.
No, I suppose not.
- Non! - What on earth's the matter?
Eat nothing that comes from the outside, Mademoiselle.
Nothing.
You think they're still trying? You think it isn't over yet?
I think...
It is not over yet.
Even if the murderer did throw the gun in the sea,
all this is a waste of time.
Poirot says that 93% of all police work is a waste of time.
Go on.
He's a peculiar so-and-so, ain't he?
Oh, yes, but sharp.
Go on.
Of course, he's picked up a lot from me over the years.
Keep your eyes down, lads!
But, my dear sir,
no will has been entrusted to my keeping.
She wrote it herself on a sheet of plain paper and posted it to you.
No.
Now look here, Mr Vyse!
I never received anything of the kind, Captain Hastings.
In that case, Monsieur...
..there is nothing more to be said.
There must be some mistake.
- There you are, sir. - That's six pence.
Thank you.
Peppermint rock! Lovely peppermint rock!
Ah, there you are.
I've got information on the Lazarus Gallery.
Tell me, Chief Inspector.
They're on Queer Street.
A slump in pictures has hit them. Antique furniture, too.
They built new premises last year and overreached themselves.
Thank you, Inspector.
That's a good motive, eh, Poirot?
I just asked her if she'd made a will.
More as a joke than anything else.
Yes?
She wrote it out, then and there.
Who witnessed it?
Oh, er, Ellen, the maid, and her husband.
And, afterwards, what was done with it?
We posted it to Mr Vyse.
The lawyer, you know.
You know that it was posted?
I posted it myself, in this box here, by the gate.
Looks all right.
But who is lying, I wonder?
Monsieur Bert Croft or Monsieur Charles Vyse?
I see no reason for Monsieur Croft to lie.
To suppress the will would be of no advantage to him.
What are we doing here, Poirot?
All change!
Apparently, Dr MacAllister is what they call "a woman's doctor".
- A gynaecologist? - No.
"Woman" seems to be a general term for "neurotic".
Who is this Dr MacAllister?
Miss Lemon is trying to tell us.
I went to his place in Harley Street.
He has a nursing home there and another in Paris.
I didn't like it.
There was something unpleasant about it.
It is respectable?
Yes. Very smart, though.
I told him I wasn't sleeping very well and I was depressed.
Oh?
It was only a ruse, Captain Hastings.
Oh, a ruse. Right.
I managed to chat to a nurse.
She said, "Your Commander Challenger comes to the clinic
at least once every ten days."
Does he, indeed?
Miss Lemon, you have done well.
Jolly well. Who is Dr MacAllister?
Oh, Hastings!
He is the uncle of Commander Challenger.
The uncle he told us about.
Right.
But you should have seen the waiting room. Lady Lowestoft was there.
And Mrs Bindhoff.
Blimey!
None of them was with the doctor more than five minutes.
No, no. Hastings, you do not come.
You are going to visit a Monsieur Whitfield for us.
Who's Mr Whitfield?
The lawyer Michael Seton mentions in his letter.
He sent his will to him.
Precisement. I want you to find out if that was true
and what were the terms of the will.
If all the dibs is coming to Miss Buckley, he'll never tell me.
Then you must use your powers of persuasion, Hastings.
Dibs, hm!
He's in London, isn't he?
There's a train to Plymouth soon. From there you can catch the London train.
The Majestic Hotel, if you please, driver.
Would you be kind enough to take this box for me?
- Mr Poirot? - Yes?
There's an urgent message for you.
Uh-huh?
It's from Dr Graham.
Will you telephone him at the nursing home? It's important.
Yes, of course.
Would you make the call for me on your telephone?
Thank you.
The Grange Nursing Home, please.
I do not like these urgent messages.
I never reply to urgent messages. I know they'll be unpleasant.
- There you are, sir. - Thank you.
Hello? Dr Graham?
Inspector Japp, it's you?
What's happened?
Comment?
Yes. Yes, I will come at once.
Mademoiselle Nick is dangerously ill.
She has been poisoned.
It's touch and go, they say
Only a 50/50 chance
It is impossible
No one could get to her
Who has disobeyed my orders?
- There was a box of chocolates - Ah, sacré!!
I told her to eat nothing that came in from the outside
The cocaine, it was in all of the chocolates?
The girl ate one. There was 2 others on the top layer.
The rest were all right.
- And how was it done? - Clumsily.
The chocolate's cut in half, horizontally,
cocaine mixed with the filling,
the chocolate's stuck together again.
How could she be so idiotic?
Only this morning I warned her.
Our killer's a bit cleverer than you give him credit for.
This came with the chocolates.
"With the compliments of Hercule Poirot?"
I did not write this and yet it is in my handwriting.
Copied from the card you sent with some flowers.
Quite well copied, too.
How is Miss Buckley?
I have failed, Miss Lemon.
I have failed utterly and completely.
Mademoiselle Buckley died ten minutes ago.
Tickets, please.
Madam.
Sir.
♪ She Didn't Say Yes ♪
♪ You love to be en rapport with him, but not behind a bolted door with him ♪
♪ What did she do? I leave it to you ♪
♪ She did just what you'd do, too ♪
- That's terrible. - I know.
Poor old Poirot.
He must be feeling dreadful.
He is.
He won't come out of his room.
I wanted him to come to dinner with me, but he wouldn't.
How did you get on with that lawyer?
Very well. I remembered I'd been at school with his son.
He's a partner now and so...
Anyway, the upshot is, yes, Michael Seton did send a will to him.
- And? - He left everything to Miss Buckley.
Millions and millions, because of his uncle dying just before.
Exactly how and when did Miss Buckley's parcel arrive?
A dark-haired gentleman brought it. Came up in a big red car.
Ah. Lazarus, eh?
And what did you do with it?
I put it on the end of the table here.
About, er, half past two.
Everything that comes in for the patients is left here
for the nurses to take up.
I came on duty at three o'clock.
Well, five to, because I got a lift from Dr Graham.
I took her up the parcel then.
So, for nearly one half hour it was left unguarded?
There was the box of chocolates,
a bunch of flowers from a Mr. and Mrs Croft.
A parcel that had come in the post.
That was a box of Fuller's chocolates, too.
Comment?
A second box?
Yes, it was a coincidence.
Miss Buckley unwrapped them both.
Your card was in one.
She said that was all right and I was to take the other away.
- Who was the other one from? - There wasn't a card.
But which was the one that was meant to be from me?
The one that came by post or the one delivered by hand?
Oh.
Oh, I'm not sure.
Miss Buckley had unwrapped them both before she looked inside.
I couldn't say.
You left chocolates at the nursing home for Miss Buckley yesterday.
Yes, I did.
That was amiable of you, Monsieur.
They were from Freddie, Mrs Rice. She asked me to get them.
I see.
So you've still got no leads, then?
I wouldn't say that.
I want to see them hanged, whoever did this.
Why isn't anything simple?
Two boxes of chocolates. One of those's got your card in.
The girl can't remember which one came by post.
We don't know who sent it anyway
Lazarus delivered the other one, but not from himself.
She don't want to see nobody, she says.
- Well, you just tell her... - No, no, no, no, no.
Could you please inform Madame Rice it is her friend, Hercule Poirot?
She says, "Will you please go away."
Excuse me.
Go away!
How dare you!
This is a murder investigation, Mrs Rice, not a vicarage tea party.
You sent chocolates to Miss Buckley yesterday.
I won't be bullied!
Two people have been killed, Mrs Rice
Your friend died from poisoned chocolates.
We have information that you sent her a box of chocolates.
You think I killed Nick?
We have to investigate every possibility, Madame,
even the remotest.
Nick telephoned me yesterday and asked me to get her
a two-pound box of Fuller's chocolates.
- She asked you to get them? - Yes.
So I did.
How did she sound, on the telephone?
Sound?
All right.
Her voice sounded a bit weak. I didn't realise who it was at first.
Until she told you who it was?
Yes.
Are you sure, Madame, that it was your friend?
Yes, of course.
Well...
Who else could it have been?
Well, that didn't get us very far.
I understand nothing.
Nothing! I am in the dark.
I am a little child.
Who stands to gain by the death of Mademoiselle?
Madame Rice.
Who buys chocolates, admits it,
then tells a story about being rung up
that does not hold the water?
Madame Rice.
No, it is too simple.
- Stupid. - But she takes cocaine, you say?
- Of that there is no mistake. - There was cocaine in those chocolates.
But she is not stupid.
The killer tried four times and failed.
The fifth time...
he succeeded.
What did he want?
What was going to happen when Mademoiselle Nick died
that he so dearly wanted to happen?
Well, we shall see.
Today, perhaps, all will become clear.
I cannot eat these eggs.
They are of totally different sizes.
But appart from Mr Lazarus and Mrs Rice, who is there?
Well,... there are the Crofts, Australian, why are they here?
Did they really post Mrs Buckley's will?
if not, why not?
Then there's the cousin, Charles Vyse,
he may think everything's coming to him...
I think that's about everyone, isn't it Poirot?
I think there may be someone you have left out
Well, I can't think who...
Non... nor me.
- Mr Poirot? - Yes.
Telephone for you. In the foyer.
- Who is it? - A Mr Charles Vyse.
Ah! Things begin to happen, eh?
Excuse me.
When?
This morning?
Ah, no, no, no, we cannot wait so long.
Tonight? Oh, yes, yes.
Au revoir.
It begins.
What's going on?
Suivez.
Monsieur Charles Vyse has informed me
that this morning, by post,
he has received a will signed by his cousin
Mademoiselle Buckley that is dated the 25th of February last.
It's turned up after six months in the post?
Just at the right moment, n'est-ce pas?
But does she leave everything to Mrs Rice?
Monsieur Vyse was too correct to say anything about the contents of.
But there seems no doubt it is the same will
and it is witnessed by Ellen Wilson and her husband.
Which brings us back to Frederica Rice.
Such a pretty name, Frederica.
Mais oui. Prettier than what her friends call her, eh? Freddie?
Ce n'est pas joli for a young lady.
There aren't many abbreviations for Frederica.
It's not like Elizabeth, where there are dozens.
Eliza, Liz, Betty, Betsy, Bess.
- Thank you, Miss Lemon, that's... - Margaret has a lot, too.
- Maggie, Madge. - Margo.
Peggy. Margie, Meg, Meggie.
Ah, there you are Poirot? I've been looking for you.
What's your name, Chief Inspector?
- Name? What name? - Your first name.
James.
James Japp.
Jim.
Jimmy Japp. Jamie Japp.
Chief Inspector Japp and I will leave you to play.
- What about Hercule? - Oh, there aren't any for Hercule.
Herc?
It may be what the murderer has been waiting for, Inspector.
But we cannot be sure.
This is a matter of complex and hidden motives.
And...
Oh, mon Dieu!
What's up?
I have been blind. Blind!
"Complex", I have said? Mais non.
Of a simplicity extreme. Extreme.
And miserable one that I am, I saw nothing.
S'il vous plait.
This makes a nice change for me.
Bert, we're sitting next to that nice Captain Hastings.
Oh.
Good.
That is all, I think, Monsieur Vyse.
In an ordinary case, the will of a deceased person
is read after the funeral.
In fact, I am proposing to read it now.
Although dated last February,
it only reached me by post this morning.
However, although it is a most informal document,
it is properly attested.
This is the last will and testament of Magdala Buckley.
I appoint my cousin, Charles Vyse, as my executor.
I leave everything of which I die possessed to Mildred Croft...
..in grateful recognition of the services rendered by her
to my father, Philip Buckley,
which services nothing can ever repay.
Signed Magdala Buckley.
It's true, not that I ever meant to let on about it.
Philip Buckley was out in Australia and if hadn't been for me...
Well, I don't want to go into that.
Well, I think you ought to, Mrs Croft.
A secret it's been and a secret it had better remain.
She knew about it, though. Nick, I mean.
I guess her father must have told her.
But if anyone says that there is no gratitude in this world,
I shall tell them they're wrong and this proves it.
I presume, Monsieur Vyse, that, as next of kin,
you could contest that will?
A vast fortune is at stake, which was not the case when the will was made.
I should not dream of contesting my cousin's disposal of her property.
You are a very honest fellow and I shall see that you do not lose by it.
Well, Mrs C,
this er...this is a surprise.
Dear sweet girl!
I wish she could look down now and see us.
Perhaps she does. Who knows?
Perhaps.
A little idea.
We are fortunate indeed to have with us this evening...
..Mademoiselle Lemon.
I know she does not like it to be bruited about,
but Mademoiselle Felicity Lemon has the pronounced powers of the medium.
Now, we are all here, we are seated around the table.
Let us hold a seance.
- This is ridiculous. - Wonderful idea.
A seance! But surely...
This is nonsense.
No, no, it will be most interesting.
Why not?
All ready, Mademoiselle Lemon? I'll turn the lights out.
Now, we must all join hands. Is that not so, Mademoiselle Lemon?
Well...
Everybody join hands, and...
Now, if you please, we must have the complete silence,
while Mademoiselle Lemon goes into her trance.
Quiet, please.
Yes, she is now going into her trance.
Is there anybody there?
I think it's time we stopped fooling about.
Shhhh.
Is there anybody there?
It's her! She's come back!
Them that's murdered always walks! It's her!
- You're real. - I'm real, all right.
Thank God. Thank God.
Who was responsible for this farrago, then?
It was I who persuaded Mademoiselle Nick
to pretend to be dead, I'm afraid.
Thank you so much, Mrs Croft, for what you did for my father.
But I'm afraid you won't be able to enjoy the benefits
of that will you forged just yet.
It was just a joke, dear.
Just a joke.
Oh, it really is very funny! Just a bit of a lark.
That will was a forgery?
Oh, yes. And a very fine one, too.
You've got nothing on me.
Nothing?
You forge my will and then, when I don't die to suit you,
you try to murder me!
No!
You don't succeed, but you kill my poor cousin by mistake.
And you say nothing!
We never had nothing to do with that.
Don't say anything, Bert. Don't say anything.
We may've forged the will,
but we never had nothing to do with no killing.
Take them away, Inspector.
Take them out of my house.
Strewth! We never had nothing to do with that girl dying!
Oh, it's so wonderful, now that it's all over.
I really hated doing it.
Deceiving you, all my nice friends.
As long as you're all right really.
I think it's time for a celebration.
- Yes. - Perhaps.
Or perhaps it is time for the truth.
Chief Inspector Japp.
Early this evening, acting on information received from Mr Poirot,
I concealed myself behind a screen in the library.
When everyone was assembled in the dining room,
another person entered the house.
This person made their way to a secret panel in the library.
Then took out the object that was in there
and went out into the hall.
Now, this person comes out here and does a very curious thing.
They put the object they'd removed from behind the secret panel
in the pocket of one of those coats hanging there.
Mrs Rice.
Yes?
Just help me out, will you? Go and look in the pocket of your coat.
Show me what's in there.
There's nothing in there, apart from my gloves.
Humour me, Mrs Rice.
Gloves.
Try the other pocket.
It's not mine!
If you're trying to frame her...
No, no.
Someone is trying to frame Madame Rice,
but it is not Inspector Japp.
And it is not Poirot.
Merci.
Maggie Buckley was killed. That was inescapable.
But, surely, it was Mademoiselle Nick that someone was trying to kill?
But that did not make sense.
Mademoiselle Nick loves "End House", huh?
Is that not so, Mademoiselle Nick?
But she is in desperate need of money in order to keep it.
So, what good fortune, she thinks,
when she meets the wealthy young aviator, Michael Seton, at Le Touquet.
But he does not fall in love with her.
He falls in love with someone else.
This is rubbish.
So an outrageous plan begins to form
in the pretty head of our young lady.
And when I think of this,
I think of some silly things that
Captain Hastings and Miss Lemon were saying.
That there were many abbreviations for the name of Margaret.
Maggie, Margo, Madge et cetera. Yes.
And it occurred to me to ask myself the question
what was the real name of Maggie Buckley?
And tout d'un coûp it came to me!
There were two Magdala Buckleys!
Oh, my God!
This is rubbish, Freddie!
It's slanderous, too! Charles, you're my lawyer!
Magdala was a family name.
But Michael Seton did not know
that Mademoiselle Nick was called also Magdala.
He only knows her as Nick.
And in his very informal will,
he just says he leaves everything to Magdala Buckley.
This is untrue! It's untrue, every word of it!
Voilà the person, the person who shot Mademoiselle Maggie!
Mademoiselle Nick!
Are you mad? Why should I kill Maggie?
In order to inherit the money left to her by Michael Seton.
It was to her he was secretly engaged, not you!
It was with her he was in love,
not you!
You silly little man.
You don't know anything.
You're all so stupid!
Let me get my watch.
Come on, then.
She'd never have got away with it, of course.
My dear Chief Inspector,
she very nearly did get away with it.
Even Poirot is taken in, huh?
The murder of Maggie Buckley was easy,
but to make it doubly convincing,
Mademoiselle Nick continued with more tales of attempts on her own life.
What first put you onto it?
I think...
the love letters...
of Michael Seton.
You see, Mademoiselle Nick stole only those letters
which did not contain the name of Maggie.
But there was something else about those letters.
On the 27th of February last,
Mademoiselle Nick underwent an operation for appendicitis.
But there was a letter dated March the 2nd, from Michael Seton,
and he does not mention it.
She was such a queer little girl.
She couldn't help herself, you know.
It's going to be a very unpleasant business.
I must see about some kind of defence for her, I suppose.
I think there will be no need.
If I mistake not, the wristwatch of Mademoiselle Nick
will obviate the necessity for a trial.
Because it is there, is it not, that you conceal the cocaine?
What?
What the hell do you mean?
Do not try to deceive me, Commander,
with your hearty goodfellow manner.
You make a good thing of it, do you not, the trafficking of the drugs?
You and your uncle in Harley Street.
Now look here!
What do you think, Inspector, about the trafficking of drugs?
I'm not keen on it, as a matter of fact.
I think we'd better go and have a little talk, Commander.
Good God!
Cocaine in the wristwatches?
And that is why she wanted her watch, n'est-ce pas?
Ooh, that's awful!
Indeed it is, Miss Lemon.
But it is better than the rope of a hangman.
It is satisfying, is it not, Chief Inspector, in a case,
when at last one knows everything?
I thought you knew everything anyway, Poirot.
Well.
Ah.
- There's one for you, Chief Inspector. - Ah, thank you.
None for Mr Poirot, because I read an article on the train
how ice cream was extremely bad for the little grey cells.
And two for me because mine are dead already.
They are very amusing, are they not, Chief Inspector?
The sea air obviously agrees with them.
I think, perhaps, when I return to London, I shall leave them here.
Thank you!
Santé!
ITFC Subtitles
With correction, resync, and insertions of new dialogs
by titta, for Adic7ed.com
<- credit goes to the original subbers. ->