All language subtitles for Hercule poirot s11e02-mac

Right! Forward!

Aah!

We've left it too late, sir.
I said so.

I know, Bob. I know.

Go.

The game is up,
I'm afraid, chum.

Fair enough.

You did get them out?
You're sure of it?

Safe as houses. I swear it.

- Ready, then?
- Ready.

Don't forget my hat box.

Is that your coat?

Very good, madam.

Come along now.
Now, this is inviting.

Come on.

We'll not have you
showing us up again, Lucian.

Mrs. Hamell says
the antimacassars...

still reek of Friar's Balsam.

This is Patricia's day,
not yours.

Hell's bells, get a move on.

Ruddy people. Blasted school.

I don't know why we have
to send the child here.

What's wrong
with Saint Winifred's?

Must we got through this again?

It's the best girls school
in England.

It's certainly the dearest.

So, Lydia, did you enjoy
your Hellenic cruise?

Oh, yes.
Thanks awfully, Miss Bulstrode.

Are you going to give us
a lecture?

Could you park
over there, please?

- Hello, Miss Rich.
- Ah, Pamela Price.

I'm afraid you'll find things
rather ordinary here...

compared with Switzerland,
Princess Shaista.

Oh, you do not know how much
I've been looking forward...

to coming to Meadowbank.

The Swiss, they are
a very regular people.

I like England.

Things are not so regular.

But there are still rules.

Of course.

And may I offer
my sincere condolences.

Condolences?

Your fiancé, Prince Ali.
I understand he was killed.

Well, we never met, of course.

It was arranged years ago.
I was just a child.

Perhaps I'll find my husband
here in England.

Yes. Well, we mustn't run
before we can walk, must we?

I was looking
for Miss Bulstrode.

Oh, you must be Miss Shapland.

I'm Lettice Chadwick,
Mathematics.

Call me Ann, please.

Everyone knows me.
Been here since before the Ark.

I only hope I can live up
to Meadowbank's standards.

Oh, you'll fit right in,
my dear.

Look at that desk,
a model of efficiency.

Vera's used to resemble
the Ardennes...

after a heavy German pounding.

- Vera?
- You got her job.

Oh, all very irritating.

Gave up the post
all of a sudden...

something to do with a man,
apparently.

We'd better be getting along.

We do want you to try
as hard as you can.

Oh.

So sorry. No gouache on
the galoshes, I trust.

- Fortunately, non.
- Good.

Supplies for my budding
Michelangelos, do you see?

Miss Blake...

Monsieur Poirot.

Ah, the estimable
Mademoiselle Bulstrode.

What a pleasure it is
to see you again...

and the day,
it progresses as hoped?

Speaking to parents
is like feeding dogs.

One simply pops
soothing platitudes...

into every waiting mouth.

Platitudes? Surely not, mademoiselle...
for your so-wonderful Meadowbank...

does not its fame rest upon how
you regard your young ladies...

as individuals?

You're so kind, and thank you
once again for coming.

De rien.

The Mayor is blaming his ulcers,
but I suspect foul play.

Comment?

Arsenal
versus Sheffield United.

Kickoff is at 3:00.

I know where
His Worship's loyalties lie.

Impossible. Never, never, never.

Everyone else seems happy.

I am not everyone else.

I am someone,
the Princess Shaista...

and yet you want to imprison me
in this mean, little, hovel.

The window is tiny.

- The bed is hard as diamonds.
- Shaista...

- Princess Shaista.
- Now, now. No more of that.

All the girls are equal here
in Meadowbank.

- But in Switzerland...
- Yes.

Well, we're not in Switzerland
anymore, are we?

Come along. We mustn't be late.

Alison Whelan, stop being
such a silly goose.

Now run along.

- Oop!
- Ooh!

Steady, miss.

Thank you.

Morning, miss.

I say, froggy, put those peepers
back in, why don't you?

Not a done thing over here
to ogle the serfs.

How dare you touch me?

I'm not used to being treated
in this fashion.

Don't worry.
This isn't assembly.

Just a few words before
our distinguished guest...

presents the Pemberton Shield.

I'm sure pupils and parents
alike will be pleased...

to welcome back Miss Rich...

who, we trust,
is feeling tiptop again...

and to say hello
to Mademoiselle Blanche...

our new French mistress.

It now only remains for me to
introduce our guest of honor...

a personality
of international renown...

Monsieur Hercule Poirot.

Mesdames et messieurs, but,
most importantly of all...

...all of you young ladies...

...if Poirot has
the renown international...

then, surely,
he shares this honor...

with the great Meadowbank.

- Who's he?
- Detective. Oh, you know.

Oh, really, Jennifer, you're
an awful wet blanket sometimes.

Oh, how many revolutions
have you seen up close?

And Mummy had
a burglary last month.

That's nothing.
Don't you read the papers?

Mr. Poirot has been caught up...

in some absolutely
snorting killings.

And now, to add luster
to its name...

...after the tournament
international...

which was so thrilling...

He looks a bit like a penguin.

...the winning of the prize
most renowned...

the Pemberton Lacrosse Shield.

Was it not the great Dr. Arnold
who said...

God, I'm desperate for a gasper.

Please, Miss Springer.

Some of us are actually
listening, you know?

Oh, yes. Must all be on
our best behavior, mustn't we?

What has got into you,
Miss Springer?

Could ask you the same thing.

...most of all, prayed for.

Everyone smile, please. Good.

Julia has been dying
to know, monsieur.

Oh, go on, monsieur.

Tell us about some of your murders...
only the juicy ones, mind.

- The juicy ones? Comment?
- Well, of course.

Poison is so passe...

and anything with firearms
is positively vulgar...

but smashing in someone's noggin
with a blunt instrument now...

Go on.

Yes, girls. That will do.

I am obliged to you.

I suspected a rescue
was in order.

She's a bright girl,
Julia Upjohn...

but she's a little wayward...

and the friend
is a bit of a puzzle.

A puzzle? How so?

Jennifer Sutcliffe, she's deep.

She got caught up
in that revolution...

in Ramat just recently.

Ah, yes, the Prince Ali Yusuf.
He was killed, was he not?

Dreadful business.

Jennifer was out there
visiting her uncle.

He was killed, too, poor man.

She and her mother got out
just in time.

Mademoiselle, something,
it is troubling you.

No. No.

Come now. We are old friends.

Well, the fact is,
I've decided to move on, retire.

Retire? Mademoiselle,
you are still so young.

Not because I don't feel up to it physically...
quite the reverse.

The school
has never been better.

I comprehend.
The challenge, it has gone.

And remember, you're not
to play tennis if it's too cold.

I'll be just fine, Mummy.
Do stop fretting.

I can't help it.
I'm a fretter, Julia.

Now, you've got everything you need?
Yes. Oh, can I get back now?

Of course.

Now must find Miss Bulstrode.

Bye-bye.

Who is to be your successor?

Well, everyone assumes it'll be
Miss Chadwick, of course.

We founded the place together.

She's an absolute brick,
dear Chaddy.

But you think...

Meadowbank works
because I've taken risks.

It's an unconventional place.

Miss Chadwick will preserve
Meadowbank in aspic...

if she could, and I think
that would be a great shame.

And what are
the other candidates?

Well, that's the problem.

There doesn't seem to be
anyone else.

I wonder, Monsieur Poirot, would
it be a great imposition...

for you to stay at the school,
get the measure of the staff...

and help me make up my mind?

You're such an excellent judge
of character...

and your knowledge
of human nature...

it's unsurpassed.

- Oh, Lord.
- Mademoiselle?

It's Lady Veronica
Carlton-Sandways.

Ah.

She's a delightful person...

except when she's
three sheets to the wind.

Sorry. I'm so sorry.

- Okay. Excuse me.
- Oh! Excuse me.

Ah, Miss Bulstrode.
So glad I've caught you.

Is there something the matter?

Lady Veronica, Mrs. Upjohn.
That's what's the matter.

Yes. I remember her.

Imbibed from the wassail cup...

a mite too freely at
the Carol concert, didn't she?

Good Lord. How extraordinary,
but it's not possible.

Dead, surely.

The mission went brilliant.
Russia was...

Now, let's get you a nice...

Dear Chaddy, where would I be
without you?

I mean, we knew all the agents
from the files, of course...

but, really, the most
astonishing resemblance...

but it's not possible.

I'm so sorry.
I've been wittering on.

Goodbye.
See you at Christmas, I expect.

Yes.

- Would you excuse me?
- Yes. Of course.

- Monsieur Poirot.
- Mademoiselle...

I have nothing on
at the present...

and George, my valet,
has the time...

to place a suitcase
on the train...

so Poirot, he will be happy
to remain here and advise you.

Oh, thank you. I'm so grateful.

- Oh! Bugger!
- What's up?

Oh, I simply can't play
with the beastly thing.

The balance is all off.

Oh, it's much better than my old thing.
It's like a sponge.

I'd rather have yours than mine.

Welcome to it.

Are you all right, Jen?

Just thinking
about poor Uncle Bob.

He had so much
going for him, you know?

You mean,
working for the Prince?

Yes, but there was
something else.

He only hinted at it, but
you could tell from his smile.

- A girlfriend?
- I think so.

Ooh, a pash.

Oh, how sad.

- What's the score?
- Love. Love-all.

And arms first to second...

and close and turn...

and begin the side,
plie down...

relevé up, and turn.

Grand battement front...

...tendu, and close.

Bonjour, Mademoiselle Shapland.

Hello there.
You staying with us, then?

Oui, but it's just
for a little while.

Poirot is here to observe.

Ah, a spy.

Oui, for my so-good friend
His Majesty...

King Leopold III
of the Belgians.

There is the possibility
of the Royal Princess...

coming here to the school.

- Quite an honor.
- Oui. Bien sûr.

And you? You are new here, huh?
So, how do you find it?

A bit bewildering, actually.

I suppose starting school
is no different...

whether you're five
or thirty-five.

Plus, well, I used to be...

private secretary
to Sir Mervyn Todhunter.

Before that, I was personal
assistant to an oil magnate...

before that, a Cabinet minister.

I comprehend.
You've worked only for the men.

Yes.

Come on, Forbes.

Put some gumption into it,
for Pete's sake.

If you weren't stuffing
your phizog with buns all day...

you wouldn't be
so disgustingly lardy.

Do it again.
Health and discipline, Forbes.

Health and discipline.
Do it again.

"Entrer," "venir," "rester"...

"naître," "arriver"...

Uh, uh. "Mourir."
You forgot "mourir."

"Mourir"... to die.

Great shot.

Cor, where did he pitch up from?
What a dish.

Adam Goodman, he's called.

- Wonder if he is.
- Hmm?

A good man. I hope not.

- Julia!
- I hope he's thoroughly bad.

He certainly looks it.

Adam, eh?

Maybe he's got some
forbidden fruit knocking around.

Ha ha!

Oh, no, Forbes.
Not on the floor.

Go and get a mop
and clean it up.

- Go on. Go and get a mop.
- Where's the mop, Miss Springer?

Disgusting.

"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie...

"Down the glen tramp little men.

"One hauls a basket,
one bears a plate...

"one lugs a golden dish
of many pounds weight.

"No," said Lizzie,
"No, no, no"...

"Their offers
should not charm us...

"Their evil gifts..."

"Their evil gifts
would harm us."

That's all for now, class.

- Thank you, Miss Rich.
- That was lovely. We enjoyed it.

See you tomorrow, Miss Rich.

That was just swell.

Yes?

I merely wish to look over
the pavilion.

You had plenty of chance
for that at the prize-giving.

This place isn't all and sundry
to go traipse about in, froggy.

Please don't call me that.
It offends me.

Pardonnez-moi.

- Is everything all right?
- Fine.

Afternoon, ladies.

Nice place, isn't it?
Must've cost a packet.

They get the best
of everything here...

don't they, the young madams?

- They pay for it.
- Through the nose, I hear.

Don't you have something to do?

I daresay. Miss Shapland.

It's this sort of wire
and boned arrangement.

It pushes her up,
quite unnecessary.

I see what you mean. You would
jab someone's eye out with that.

But, you see, my breasts
are not very big...

not nearly big enough.

I don't think your breasts are a
proper subject... for conversation.

It is all too much,
all this running and jumping...

and I do not like Miss Springer.

- She sweats like a pig.
- That will do, Shaista.

- Princess...
- Don't.

Oh, there's Miss Chadwick.

- Chaddy? Thank goodness, Chaddy.
- Yes, Honoria?

Where are you off to?

Infirmary to look in
on Patricia Forbes.

Oh, Miss Springer made her ill.
I had to have words.

Dear Miss Springer,
not a success, I fear.

I should never have given her
a second chance...

after that incident last term.

Haven't been keeping my eye
on the ball, have I?

How's the first week going,
do you think?

Oh, quite all right, I suppose.

Oh, it's nothing I can
put my finger on, Honoria...

just a feeling something
is not quite right.

The girls seem a pleasant lot.

I don't care for
Mademoiselle Blanche, though.

- Sly.
- Oh, I'm sure she'll settle in.

You never liked
the French mistresses, Chaddy.

BLAKE: Whereabouts in France
are you from?

- Crécy.
- Oh, topper.

- As in the battle?
- Yes.

You're looking
awfully well, Eileen.

Lost a few pounds, haven't you?

Oh, illness, I suppose.

Bloody woman.

- Comment?
- Chadwick.

She thinks she owns the place.
Well, not yet, she doesn't.

She had the temerity to take
a pupil out of my class.

Wasn't like this at
my last school, I can tell you.

- Non?
- No. I turned the place around.

Even so, I expect your ideas...

haven't always been accepted in
the way they should have been.

It's scandalous.

Miss Bulstrode is in complete
agreement, Miss Springer.

It's not how we do things
at Meadowbank.

They're our girls, here
to be nurtured, not tortured.

See, you must always prepare
for ingratitude.

The trouble is, people are so
cowardly, they won't face facts.

They prefer not to see what's
going on under their noses.

Well, I'm not like that.
I get straight to the point.

More than once, I've unearthed
a nasty scandal.

Oh?

Well, I never give up...

not until I've pinned
my quarry down.

- Amontillado?
- Oh, no, no, not for me.

Merci, mademoiselle.

The Spanish wine
and the digestion of Poirot...

are not on the terms
most friendly.

I hope you're enjoying
your little sojourn with us.

Monsieur, I'd hate to think
you were bored.

Bored?
Pas du tout, mademoiselle.

There does not need
to be present a crime...

for the investigator to thrive.

Heh.

This school, it is like
the world in miniature.

It is like the...
What is the word?

- Microcosm.
- Just so.

Just as in the outside world.

Hopes, dreams, fears, secrets.

This place, so full
of the promise of youth...

the future of the nation.

And yet how lonely and silent
are its corridors at night...

...lonely and silent
as the chambers of the heart...

The daily struggles
of human life...

...as fascinating as the blood
stain or the fingerprint.

Pardon, mademoiselle.

Poirot, he drifts
and digresses...

...and I think it is time
that I say good night.

Miss Chadwick. Miss Chadwick.

Oh, what is it, matron?
What's wrong?

Christina Breen has earache.

Oh, really, Miss Johnson,
what has that got...

No. You don't understand.

I was just putting her to bed...

when I noticed someone
out in the sports pavilion.

I saw the light when I was
closing the curtains.

You're right.
Looks like a flashlight.

Burglars, do you think?

More likely, a girl
meeting a wastrel boy.

Come on.

Aah!

Moment. Moment s'il vous plaît.
Moment.

Mademoiselle Bulstrode,
what is the matter?

It's Miss Springer.

- Follow me inside.
- Yes, sir.

Bad business, this.

We shall weather it, no doubt,
as we've weathered many storms.

Death of a games mistress
in a sports pavilion.

Sounds like
a highly athletic crime.

Discretion, Inspector,
is the key, don't you think?

Which is where our
Continental friend comes in?

Monsieur Poirot has
an international reputation.

Oh. So does Mussolini.

We haven't been
properly introduced.

Detective Inspector Kelsey.

Je vous emprie, Inspector.
Hercule Poirot.

I understand Miss Bulstrode
has requested your involvement.

Yes, but I do not wish to step
on the toes, Inspector.

Thank you.
Seen anything useful, have you?

One or two points, I think.

So, do you think we should...

First, I think, perhaps,
we should view the body.

Yeah.

Such disarrangement.

Lock forced, so there's no
mystery about how they got in.

Javelin went right through her.

Death must have been
pretty well instantaneous.

Dead a couple of hours.

You came out here
with Miss Johnson...

and discovered the body,
Miss Chadwick?

What time was that?

I looked at my watch when
Miss Johnson roused me.

It was ten minutes to 1:00.

Right. Good.

Dead woman's prints
on the torch.

She came out here with it. Why?

No idea at all. I...

She might have forgotten
something and come to fetch it.

It seems rather unlikely
in the middle of the night.

But, perhaps,
she saw the light on...

as did Mademoiselle Johnson.

She came out here
to investigate...

and whoever was here
was surprised.

There was a struggle.
Springer was a game 'un.

Hey, presto,
stabbed through the chest.

Seem right to you?

I suppose so.

But it does not
seem right to Poirot.

That Mademoiselle Springer
should see the light...

and be intrigued, bon...

but that the person she
disturbed should kill her...

and in a manner so brutal, non.

No. It is all wrong.

Right through her, apparently.

- No.
- Oh, gosh, that's awful.

Who would want to do
something like that?

Oh, who wouldn't, more like.

Fatty Forbes could have
squashed her to death...

but I don't think she could
even pick up a javelin.

Oh, God, I'm getting
the screaming meemies.

I swear someone has been rooting
'round in my room.

Shh.

I've just heard.
It is terrible.

Yes. Poor Miss Springer.

I do not mean that.

Don't you see?
They meant to kill me.

I'm so sorry you feel this way,
Mrs. Forbes.

Oh, I'm sorry, too,
but you must understand.

The very idea
of my little Patricia...

in the same school
where a murderer...

I quite understand.
Goodbye, Patricia.

I do hope we'll see you
next term.

Saint Winifred's, then?

Yes, Harry, Saint Winifred's.

This is very serious...

most serious thing
Meadowbank has ever faced.

Just a moment.

The Emir Ibrahim is in London,
Miss Bulstrode.

He wants to take the
Princess Shaista out tomorrow.

To take her out of the school?

No, just out for lunch.

Oh. Yes, by all means,
but she must be back by 8:00.

Hello? Yes.
That's quite all right.

Goodbye.

Hello? Meadowbank School.

The psychology, Inspector,
it is fascinating, is it not?

A pupil with a loathing
most deep...

for Mademoiselle Springer...

a colleague who was jealous,
or a lover thwarted.

Well, even games mistresses
have their love lives.

We shall see.

Nobody has got an alibi
except the two who found her...

Miss Johnson and Miss Chadwick.

Theoretically, everyone else
was asleep in bed...

but there's no one
to vouch for them.

The girls and the staff
have separate rooms.

Any one of them could've gone
out to the gymnasium...

and met Miss Springer
or could've followed her there.

Then, having done her in...

they could dodge back quietly
through the bushes...

to the side door
and be nicely back in bed...

when the alarm was given.

- Sir?
- Well, best get on.

Miss Blake first...
arts and dance.

Oh. I'm sorry about this.

One of the girls,
she insists on seeing you.

There have been people
watching this place.

Oh, they do not
show themselves clearly...

but they are there.

And why should they do that?

Because of me.
They want to assassinate me.

Miss Springer, she must have
found out about them.

Perhaps they promised to pay her
money if she said nothing.

So, she goes
to the sports pavilion...

where they say they'll pay her,
and they kill her.

Now look, young lady, I don't
have time for this nonsense.

It is not nonsense.

My cousin was
the Prince Ali Yusuf of Ramat.

I am next in line to the throne.

These butchers, they do not want
me to be the focus of rebellion.

Perhaps there is something
in what she says, Inspector.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

Forgive my clumsiness.

Everything
you've told me so far...

points to Miss Springer
being very sure of herself.

Too sure.

She hinted at people being
not what they seemed.

Did she now?

She mentioned that at her last school...
she had unmasked someone...

but that the staff
had been against her.

You see what that means...

the beginnings
of a persecution complex.

- Naturellement.
- More psychology, eh?

Well, someone certainly
had it in for Miss Springer...

with a vengeance.

And a javelin.

Can't say I cared for her.
Brusque.

As for her treatment
to the girls, sadistic.

Of course, I know this
is a horrible business.

I say, could I have
a glass of water, please?

Thank you.

I have my own sitting room
and don't see much of the staff.

The whole thing is unbelievable.

How so, mademoiselle?

Well, first that Miss Springer
should get killed at all.

Say someone
broke into the gymnasium...

and she went out
to see who it was.

That's all right, I suppose, but
who'd want to break into there?

Local children who wanted...

to help themselves
to the sports equipment.

If that's so,
I can't help feeling...

Miss Springer would've given
them a clip around the ear...

not get herself
stabbed to death.

And you noticed
nothing unusual recently?

- Well...
- Yes, miss? Out with it.

It's nothing, really...

but one of the gardeners,
the young one...

Which young one?

His name is Adam Goodman,
Inspector.

He arrived only this term.

Well, he seemed very interested
in the pavilion...

probably just curious
or slacking off work, but...

But?

His manner
was a little odd, defiant.

He sneered at all the money
that was spent on the girls.

I see.

My first term, yes.

I do not think I wish
to remain for another.

No?

It is not nice to be in a school
where people are murdered.

Mademoiselle Springer,
did you know her well?

Practically not at all...

a rude and ugly woman...

like a caricature
of an English woman.

She was rude to me.

She didn't like me going
to her sports pavilion.

Her sports pavilion.

But...
forgive me, mademoiselle...

...what reason did you have
for entering in there?

I was interested
in the building.

That is all.

Last term, mademoiselle,
you were unwell?

Yes.

And the nature
of this illness?

Well, that's private.

Mademoiselle, we are here
to investigate a murder.

Everything, it must be
brought out into the light.

- Really? And what about you?
- Moi?

Well, all that guff about
looking 'round the school...

on behalf
of the King of Belgium.

So, you penetrated the little
deception of Poirot, hein?

Not too hard. No offense.

Anyway, I'm not surprised...

something like this
has happened.

Ever since I've come back,
it was as though...

there was someone among us
who didn't belong...

a cat among the pigeons.

- Well, hello there.
- Hello.

- Do you mind if I join you?
- It's a free country.

Ahh.

I hope you've brought
your own hard-boiled egg.

I'm afraid I've only
enough for me.

That's okay.

How appropriate.

Hmm?

Adam, isn't it?

Oh. Yes.

Adam.

Hmm.

Excuse me, Miss Shapland.

Just doesn't seem like
your thing, that's all...

shut away in a girls school.

How would you know
what my thing was?

Just don't seem the type.

I like variety.

Anyway, I could say
the same thing about you.

Yes?

- Good-looking young man...
- Ah, good-looking, eh?

...spending his days
planting chrysanthemums...

- in a girls school.
- Angelicas.

Chrysanths won't take.
It's the soil.

In case you hadn't noticed,
there's a depression on.

I get work wherever I can.

I'm sorry if I've given offense.

None taken.

I don't mind.

Honestly, you can have it back.

No, no.
We swapped fair and square.

I'll just have to ask Mummy
for a new one.

It is funny, isn't it?

Now they've finished searching
the pavilion, your racket...

Well, your racket, really.

...Is the only thing
to go missing.

Oh, to think that's
all the killer got away with.

I don't think anyone would kill
poor, old Springer...

for a tennis racket.

I don't know anything
about any murder. I told you.

All right. All right.
Thank you, constable.

Now then, Mr. Goodman...

Um...

before we go any further, sir...

Blimey.

Well, Monsieur Goodman...

...perhaps you would be
good enough to tell us...

what an agent in
His Majesty's Secret Service...

is doing here
at the Meadowbank School.

No sense dwelling on it, Chaddy.

We'll be all right
if we keep our heads.

There's...

There's something
you should know.

You are here
because of the death...

of Prince Ali Yusuf of Ramat,
are you not, Monsieur Goodman?

Yes, sir.

He was killed attempting
to flee his country.

Damned shame, really.

Prince Ali would've made
an enlightened ruler.

He was a democrat...

which is probably
what did the poor chap in.

Anyway, just before all hell
broke loose out there...

we'd been picking up some
interesting bits of chatter.

Seems someone was trying to get
close to the Prince...

through an English friend
of his...

name of Bob Rawlinson.

To get close to him
with what purpose?

To destabilize the regime,
we supposed.

There was actually
very little to go on...

just a name... Angel...

and now the next in line to the
throne is here at Meadowbank.

The Princess? Ruddy hell.

She said she was being watched.
Maybe she was right.

Maybe that's why
Miss Springer was murdered.

But that is not
the only reason...

you are here
at Meadowbank school.

Jennifer Sutcliffe, non,
the niece of Bob Rawlinson?

You're very well-informed, sir.

Ah, mademoiselle. You depart?

I go for lunch with my Uncle
at Claridge's.

At least there I will not die
a horrible death.

Well, that rather depends,
I think, mademoiselle...

on the quality of the cuisine.

George? C'est moi... Poirot.

I have for you the little task.

Is he going to continue
to be my gardener?

If you don't object.

Puts him right
in the center of things.

Hope you're not expecting
more murders.

I'm sure not.

Good, because I doubt
if the school...

could survive two homicides
in one week.

Now, Miss Rich has told us...
thank you...

she felt that there's been
a strange sort of atmosphere.

Yes. I'd concur.

Miss Chadwick
said the same thing.

And... no, thank you...
and you, mademoiselle?

Have you noticed anyone behaving
in a way bizarre?

It's just a feeling,
really, unless...

Yes?

Something happened
on the first day of term...

when you presented
the Pemberton shield.

It was when
that dreadful creature...

Lady Veronica rolled up.

I'm so sorry.

No, no. Excuse me. Excuse me.

Ah, Miss Bulstrode,
so glad I've caught you.

Is there something the matter?

I wasn't really listening.

One develops a method of tuning
out, like a wireless, you see...

and I was far too concerned...

with what Lady Veronica
was getting up to...

but when Mrs. Upjohn left me,
I couldn't shake off...

the feeling that I'd missed
something very important.

She'd seen someone,
someone she thought was dead.

Gosh, that really takes me back.

We knew all the agents
from the files, of course.

Really, the most extraordinary
resemblance.

It was espionage
she was talking about...

had to be,
but it seemed so absurd.

I suppose the Secret Service
recruits from all walks of life.

It's quite possible
Mrs. Upjohn worked for them...

without being some sort
of female Bulldog Drummond.

I'll get Goodman onto it.

There was a word, a name.

Think, mademoiselle.
This may be of vital importance.

Good Lord, how extraordinary,
but it's not possible.

The Angel.

Angel. The Angel. That was it.

Someone she recognized...

a parent or a relation of one
of the pupils or a teacher.

Hardly a teacher.

- But it is possible.
- Well, that's easily solved.

We'll get Mrs. Upjohn
down here right away.

- Ah.
- There is a problem?

Mrs. Upjohn has gone
to Anatolia on a bus.

Where on a bus?

Excuse I, Miss B.

The Emir's car has just arrived, and we can't find...
the wretched Princess Shaista.

There must be some mistake.

The Emir's car called for her
an hour ago.

Oh. Well, probably
a double booking.

I'll go down and give them
a flea in their ear.

Monsieur Poirot,
could I have a word with you?

But of course, mademoiselle.

I just found it. I swear.

Found it where, Hsui Tai?

In the flowerbeds. I thought...

Yes?

Well, it does look
a lot like Miss Springer.

I thought it might be,
you know, a clue.

Indeed it might. You permit?

Merci.

Now the face of the unfortunate
Mademoiselle Springer...

it has been well-captured,
you would say?

Very.

Bon.

- Honoria.
- What is it?

Princess Shaista.

No. She's gone.

The Emir rang from Claridge's
and everything...

and Shaista never turned up.

Crumbs. I think I might swoon
if anything else happens.

It's just too, too thrilling.

You reckon she's been nabbed?

Must've been.
White slavers, you think?

Oh, hardly.

Why not?

Well, she's not white,
for one thing.

Come on. Better get to bed
before Chadwick spots us.

A word, Mr. Goodman.

Kidnapped from under your nose?

Yes.

The last thing you need
is more publicity.

We're going to put it about
that the girl...

is staying with her uncle
at Claridge's.

Thank you.

I'll speak to you first thing.

Miss Chadwick will be
in charge for a while.

I have to go to town tonight.

There's a meeting
of the Governors.

It's unavoidable, I'm afraid.

They're very worried.

Does Poirot have any theories
about the missing Princess?

It's very odd...

but he didn't seem concerned
about her at all.

No sense in denying it,
I suppose.

No, mademoiselle.

- How did you...
- It was the straw.

It smelled of the oily paint...

and I would suggest
that this oil paint...

came from one
of the packing cases...

that I observed
when first I arrived.

Also your skill,
it gave you away.

Such artistry lavished
upon an object of such hate.

Oh, I did hate her...

and, by God, I let off
a lot of steam...

stabbing that thing,
I can tell you, thinking of her.

I had to get rid of it,
of course, when she died.

Thought I had.

But, tell me, Mademoiselle Blake...
what had Mademoiselle Springer done...

to you to be deserving
of such an effigy?

It was just a bit of nonsense.
That's all.

She was a bully and a vulgarian.

I can't bear people like that.

I made it for fun, Mr. Poirot.

I didn't know
she was gonna go...

and get herself skewered,
did I?

JENNIFER: Julia?

Oh, it's you. Thank goodness.

What's up?

As if murder weren't enough,
now kidnapping.

Has anyone looked in
Shaista's room, in her things?

The police must have,
I suppose...

but if she's anything
like the rest of the girls...

she wouldn't leave love letters
or anything lying about.

No. She'd want them
well away from prying eyes.

See you later.

Have you got a pen knife, Jen?

What are you doing that for?

You thought someone
had been in your room, right?

Yes.

Looking for something...

Something they didn't find.

Corks.

- Ha ha ha!
- Ha ha!

I've had a wonderful evening.

Sorry. Sorry. Two left feet.

At least.

- You're smashing, though.
- Natural grace, darling.

What do you think
about Miss Springer, then?

Oh, I'm staying well out of it.

Something to hide?

Curiosity killed the cat.

I wonder if it did.

You know, I've never
had chance...

to display my talents
as a sleuth.

I think I might be
rather good at it.

Go on, then.
Test your skills on me.

Oh, I'm sure
you're hiding something.

Then again, aren't we all?

You all right?

There's something
I want to tell you.

Entree.

Forgive me, Monsieur Poirot.

It is Mademoiselle Upjohn,
is it not?

How may I be of help,
mademoiselle?

You know this is very late
to call upon Poirot.

Nom d'un nom d'un nom.

No one likes to brag...

about having a mother
in the booby hatch.

I'm sure no one
would hold it against you.

Wouldn't they?

Some of the high flyers
I've worked for, Adam...

they certainly would.

Even here at Meadowbank...

imagine the whispering
if it got out.

Poor Mum.

- Your turn.
- Waah!

Waah!

- Come on.
- Waah!

Oh!

Aah!

Uh... uh... uh...

Blimey. That's something.

I mean, the wife
has paste ones...

wears them at Christmas
and so on...

all very pretty, but...

But nothing when compared to
the real thing, eh, Inspector?

Yes. This gem,
it is, indeed, most glorious...

part of the treasure
of Prince Ali Yusuf...

that was smuggled out of Ramat
at the time of the revolution.

Is that what all this is about?
Someone is after the gems?

But what would that have to do
with Miss Rich?

It's not as bad as we feared.

They say she'll pull through.

Obviously, she can't tell us
anything at the moment.

She was struck from behind?

Yes, with a sandbag
from one of the fire buckets.

What was she doing
out in the pavilion?

Miss Chadwick found her in front
of Princess Shaista's locker.

Poor Chaddy. She's very shaken.

It happened on her watch,
so she's blaming herself.

Murder, now this...

and a kidnapping
on top of everything else.

But I expect developments
at any moment...

on that matter, mademoiselle.

Tell to me, if you please...

did you ever notice the knees
of Princess Shaista?

- Knees?
- Oui.

No. Why should I?

Poirot noticed.

The Ramat Rubies...

worn by ten generations
of the royal family.

It's like something
out of "Arabian Nights."

And hidden in the handle
of a tennis racket?

Jennifer said the balance
was all wrong, didn't you, Jen?

I can see now why that was.

So, you conject, perhaps, that
someone knew what was inside?

Yes, but, of course,
we'd swapped...

so they ended up
with the wrong one.

Isn't it thrilling?

Most thrilling, indeed.

And then I remembered
that Jen's parents...

had been burgled
just before term started...

so maybe whoever it is...

was already looking
for the tennis racket.

Excellent, mademoiselle.
You think like a detective.

Oh. Hee hee!

It has to have been someone
who was out there in Ramat...

someone who saw the jewels
being hidden.

Uncle Bob had a girlfriend.
Maybe it was her.

A girlfriend?

Apparently. Spanish or French,
some sort of belly dancer.

Angelica. That was it.

Mademoiselles, we need
to detain you no longer.

Oh, I don't mind.

Most of the girls
have been taken out of school...

the sainted parentals panicking.

Poor Jen is off this afternoon,
aren't you?

Yes. Worse luck.

Just when it was
getting interesting.

Mademoiselles.

Angelica?
The Angel? Coincidence?

Is there such a person...
an agent, perhaps...

in your files, Monsieur Goodman?

I checked when that nickname
first came up.

There was an agent
named The Angel...

but she was killed ten,
fifteen years ago.

Was there a photograph?

Probably. There was a fire.
Records destroyed, I'm afraid.

I see.

And the files concerning
the revolution in Ramat...

I may be permitted to see them?

Yes, of course.
I'll see to it at once.

Merci.

How goes the search
for Madame Upjohn, Inspector?

Well, when Miss Bulstrode said
she was on a bus, I imagined...

some sort of Thomas Cook's tours
or what have you.

But?

It seems that Mrs. Upjohn...

is what you might call
a free spirit...

took off on her own
with only a carpetbag...

determined to see the world.

We're doing our best, but
finding a lone Englishwoman...

in a country where they probably
use chickens for currency...

News from the hospital.
Miss Rich is coming 'round.

Miss Johnson says you were
searching for clues...

to the Princess' disappearance.

Is that why you were
in the sports pavilion?

Yes. I had an idea.

I thought maybe she'd
arranged to meet a boy.

There are lockers in the school,
of course, but the pavilion...

would be the perfect place
to hide anything confidential.

I mean, it's locked
most of the time...

and what with all the...

...police activity...

You all right?

I'm tired, just tired.

I don't suppose you could say
who you think may have...

Well, Miss Chadwick's out of it
because she found you...

and then Miss Shapland
and Mr. Goodman found her.

They'd spent
the whole evening together.

Miss Blake was with Mr. Poirot.

Miss Bulstrode was with
the school governors.

- Non.
- Beg pardon?

Poirot has checked.

The meeting with the governors
was not until this morning.

Mademoiselle Bulstrode left
the school at 7:30 last night.

Very well. Excuse me.

What of the French Mistress?

She says she went to bed
and heard nothing...

until the alarm was given.

We've no evidence
to the contrary...

but Miss Chadwick
says she's sly.

She's got a thing
about the French.

Look, aren't we
missing the obvious?

Bob Rawlinson's girlfriend,
this Angelica... French.

Oui...

but the identity
of this Angelica...

...well, there is more
than one possibility.

What are we going to do?
It's like a blasted exodus.

And who will lead us
into the promised land?

What?

Who will you name
as your successor, Honoria?

That's rather
an academic question, isn't it?

Meadowbank won't survive
this scandal.

Why do you ask?

I saw the note,
the one you drafted.

It was on
Miss Shapland's typewriter.

I shouldn't have looked.

Oh, Chaddy,
I haven't made up my mind.

I was just checking
Eileen Rich's references.

I have given everything
to this school, Honoria...

my whole life.

I've given everything.

Chaddy, wait. Let me speak.

Miss Bulstrode?

I'll take the afternoon off now,
as arranged.

Oh, yes. Yeah.
It hardly matters.

There are so few girls left.

Chaddy! Wait!
I must speak to you.

Mademoiselle, where were you
during the last term?

I told you, I was ill.

But, once again, I ask
the nature of this illness.

Well, that's none
of your business.

Poirot knows all, mademoiselle.

How?

It does not tax the little gray
cells very much, mademoiselle...

...to connect
the loss of weight,

the sudden emotion expressed...

at the reading
of the beautiful little poem.

"Look, Lizzie, look..."

..."down the glen tramp
the little men..."

"Their evil gifts..."

"Their evil gifts
would harm us."

Courage, mademoiselle.

I so wanted to have the child...

but I didn't want
to lose my job.

I love Meadowbank.

So, I went away,
out of the country...

where no one would know.

- And what became?
- He died.

Miss Springer found out somehow.

She tormented me with it
like she enjoyed it.

Ah, it is over now.

KELSEY:
What's going on, Poirot?

You're hiding something,
keeping me in the ruddy dark.

Au contraire, Inspector.

I only wish
to illuminate matters.

There is a certain car
whose number...

Poirot took the care to note.

The car, it has been found
and the owner traced...

and so Poirot would like
to propose a little excursion...

to a nightclub
known as The Glass Slipper.

This is Maison Blanche again.
You understand me?

I have to speak of an account
that is owed.

You have until later tonight.

Non. You have had plenty of time
to settle this.

If the money is not paid,
it will be necessary for me...

to report what I observed
on the night of the sixteenth.

You understand me?

Very well. Where?

Good evening, Princess Shaista.

Clammed up like a Scotsman's
wallet, haven't you, love?

I can't believe it.
She looks so different, mature.

- Precisement.
- You've lost me, Poirot.

Was she kidnapped,
or wasn't she?

Yes and no, Inspector.

The real Princess Shaista
was abducted in Switzerland.

I would imagine that she
is still there.

The revolutionaries of Ramat...

sent a substitute
to the Meadowbank School.

- What the hell for?
- Oh, I think I get it.

If the Prince's jewels
left Ramat in friendly hands...

then sooner or later, they'd be
brought to the Princess.

Her Uncle, the Emir,
was in Egypt...

and had no plans
to visit this country...

so the imposter could await the
arrival of a certain package.

However, I did ask
Mademoiselle Bulstrode...

if she noticed
the knees of the Princess.

- Knees?
- Ah, oui.

Knees are a very good indication
of age, Inspector.

Par example, the knees
of a woman of twenty-four...

or twenty-five can never
be mistaken for those...

belonging to a young girl
of fourteen or fifteen.

But nobody, alas, except Poirot
noticed her knees...

but the plan, it did not work,
did it, mademoiselle?

Nobody tries to contact you.

There are no letters,
no telephone calls.

The Emir could arrive
at any moment...

and then he would realize that
this Princess to be an imposter.

When the fatal moment arrives...

the well-laid plan
was put into action.

Shaista was
officially kidnapped.

And went where?

You work for
the revolutionaries.

Yes?

You might as well admit it.

You burgled
Mrs. Sutcliffe's place...

and when there was nothing there...
you turned your attention to the school.

You can't hold me here.
I got bloody rights.

We'll see about that.

The false Shaista
could, of course...

have killed
Mademoiselle Springer...

but I do not think she had
the motive to kill anyone.

No. Her role
was simply to receive...

a package most valuable
that never arrived...

and the reason?

Because nobody knew
exactly how the jewels...

of Prince Ali Yusuf
were smuggled out of Ramat...

nobody, that is,
except for one person.

You would be ill-advised
to play games with me.

Give me what I need,
and I will return to France.

No one will ever
hear from me again...

or hear what I know.

This cat-and-mouse game
is tiresome.

I am growing angry.

Give to me what is owed,
and I promise that I... ooh!

There you are, sir.

Light in the darkness.

She has arrived?

Yeah. Now maybe
we'll get somewhere.

Non, non, Inspector.

This is insurance, merely.

The case, it is solved.

It must have seemed that
there was a sort of vendetta...

...against the mistresses
of Meadowbank.

But I can assure you
that this was not so.

Could've fooled me.

There have been here two
murders, an attempted murder...

and what appeared
to be a kidnapping...

but I understand from
Mademoiselle Bulstrode...

that this kidnapping...

it has already been
explained to you, oui?

I said, didn't I?

That whole business
with the brassiere.

All through this affair,
the problem...

it has been
to clear out of the way...

all the extraneous matters...

which, though criminal
in themselves...

obscure the thread
most important...

the thread that leads us
to a killer who is determined...

ruthless, and in your midst.

A cat among the pigeons.

The threads of this case begin
in Ramat, where, as you know...

a revolutionary
coup d'etat took place.

It is now a few months ago.

At the same time as this coup,
the jewels most fabulous...

that belonged to
the late Prince Ali Yusuf...

were spirited
out of the country...

and certain persons were most
anxious to get hold of them.

I now know from the files
in your Secret Service...

that the great friend
of the Prince...

a Monsieur Bob Rawlinson...

was under
the observation most secret.

He was observed to spend twenty
minutes in the hotel room...

of his sister, Madame Sutcliffe,
who was visiting from England...

but she was not there
in the room.

So, why spend twenty minutes
in a room that was empty?

Because he was seeking
most desperately the means...

of smuggling these jewels out of
the country until a safer time.

So, he places the valuables
in the luggage of his sister.

But the revolutionaries
eventually determine...

that Madame Sutcliffe brought
the jewels back to England...

and, in consequence,
her house, it is ransacked...

but Poirot says
someone else knew...

exactly where were these jewels.

En effect,
they were concealed...

within the handle
of a tennis racket...

that belonged to the daughter
of Madame Sutcliffe...

Jennifer Sutcliffe...

...and it was she who brought
this tennis racket...

to Meadowbank School, but
someone within this school...

knew the location
of these jewels...

for the room
of Jennifer Sutcliffe...

it had already been searched,
but now...

they turned their attention
to the sports pavilion.

This person assumes
that everybody...

would be in bed asleep, hein...

...but this was not the case...

for Mademoiselle Springer
is watching, and she follows.

She confronts this person...

in much the same way
as she has in the past.

She intends
to have her amusement...

and for the character
of Mademoiselle Springer...

it is sadistic, non?

Already she has warned the staff
of Meadowbank School...

in terms most unsubtle
that she enjoys...

to sniff out the scandal, and
already, she has her claws...

in more than one teacher
because she knows...

of their little weaknesses
or foibles...

...although, naturellement,
she knows nothing...

of the rubies of the Prince.

Non. She is safe. She is smug.

Quite the dark horse,
aren't you?

She will enjoy watching
her new victim squirm...

...like the worm on the end
of the fishing hook.

But she has failed
to take into account...

the character of her victim...

...a person who is cold,
ruthless, a killer.

Who wished to silence her?

Mademoiselle Blake, per example,
she who lavished such care...

on creating an effigy
of straw...

of the games mistress
so hated...

and derived the pleasure
of stabbing at it...

again and again and again?

Why should she do this?

Mademoiselle?

At my last school,
there was a boy, a pupil.

It was inappropriate.

Hardly amounted to anything,
but I had to leave.

It was a wretched mess.

I don't know how Springer found
out, but she made my life hell.

I could gladly have stuck that
javelin in her, Mr. Poirot...

...but I didn't.

I didn't kill her.

Non.

Non, for the psychology,
it tells to me...

that your instincts, they are
creative, not destructive, hein?

Non.

Non. It was not
Mademoiselle Blake...

who killed
Mademoiselle Springer.

So, let us return now
to the night of the murder.

The killer must act rapidly
because at any moment...

they might be disturbed.

So, the tennis racket belonging
to Jennifer Sutcliffe...

it is found, grabbed,
and the killer disappears...

pfft, into the night...

but what, of course,
the killer cannot know...

is that a short while before,
Jennifer Sutcliffe...

had exchanged the rackets
with Julia Upjohn...

...and swapped the tapes
that bore their names.

And now we come
to the second incident...

the attack on Mademoiselle Rich
which came so near to tragedy.

Why were you
in the sports pavilion...

that night, mademoiselle?

I wanted to search
Princess Shaista's locker...

to see if there were any clues
as to where she'd got to.

Bon, but someone
followed you there...

and struck you on the back
of the head with a sandbag...

as you knelt down in front of
the locker of Princess Shaista.

Who could this have been?

And again, this crime was
discovered almost at once...

because...

Mademoiselle Chadwick...

you saw the light on
in the pavilion, hein,

and hurried out there, hein?

Many of you have
the alibi most strong...

but where was
Mademoiselle Bulstrode?

The meeting with the governors...
was not until the next morning...

and she left the school
at 7:30 that evening...

so could it be
Mademoiselle Bulstrode...

that struck down
Mademoiselle Rich?

Non.

Non, because
Mademoiselle Bulstrode...

was on a mission
most delicate...

the discovery
that la pauvre maman...

of one of her colleagues
lives out her days...

in a lunatic asylum.

You knew?

Yes, my dear.
Someone alerted me.

"For the care of A. Shapland."
Same initial, you see.

I had to look into it...

especially with
all the whispering...

about somebody being
not quite right in our midst.

So, there now remains
to consider...

the murder
of Mademoiselle Blanche.

I believe that
Mademoiselle Blanche...

knew the identity
of this killer...

but nothing, rien,
is more dangerous...

than to levy the blackmail
on a person...

who has killed at least once.

Mademoiselle Blanche,
she makes an appointment...

with the murderer,
and, of course...

...she is killed.

And there, mes amis, you have
an account of this whole affair.

And now what?

Eh bien, let us to consider.

The knowledge that these jewels
were concealed...

within the handle
of a tennis racket...

could only have been acquired
in one way.

Someone must have seen them
put in there.

Any one of you could have been
in Ramat over the summer.

You, par example,
Mademoiselle Rich.

No. I was ill.
I was away for a term.

For a term, yes,
but over the summer...

you could have been in Ramat.

But you know where I was.
You promised...

Look here. Hasn't the poor girl
suffered enough?

Why do we have to go through
these wretched theatricals?

I must protest.

Oui d'accord.

Mademoiselle Rich
was not in Ramat...

that has been ascertained.

But someone was there.

The Angel was there...

and here Poirot must present to
you a person most significant...

a person that many of you
have never before encountered...

Madame Upjohn, oui,
la maman of Julia Upjohn...

and in the years past,
she was a member...

of the British Secret Service.

- Secret Service?
- Oui.

On the day that Poirot presented
the Pemberton Shield...

Madame Upjohn recognizes
a face in the crowd...

the face of an agent
most dangerous, a killer...

a person known as The Angel
whom she thought long dead.

Oh, she dismisses the idea.

It is a resemblance, no more.

But a member of the staff
was watching most closely...

and we now know that
Mademoiselle Springer realizes

that The Angel
has been identified...

and is very much alive.

I suspect that this Angel
was working...

for the revolutionaries in Ramat...
eating away at the very foundations...

of the government
of Prince Ali Yusuf...

and in so doing, she forms
a relationship most intense...

with the great friend
of the Prince...

Bob Rawlinson...

and then one day,
purely by chance...

she sees something
extraordinaire...

...a treasure so magnifique,
she will be secure all her life.

She determines to retrieve
these jewels herself...

in her own identity
as a free agent...

not as a paid lackey
of the revolutionaries.

Who could this be?

You, Mademoiselle Shapland.

What?

You have lived the life
most dangerous, mademoiselle...

but you have never been
suspected in your own identity.

All the jobs you have taken
have been most genuine, yes...

but all with
a purpose singulaire...

the obtaining of information.

Ever since you were seventeen, mademoiselle...
you have been a secret agent.

You have worked
for many different masters...

in many different guises,
but it was in the guise...

of Angelica de Buque,
the cabaret dancer francaise...

that you spent the summer
in Ramat.

Oh, come on.

Monsieur Poirot,
that's impossible.

Impossible? Non.

There was no opportunity
of taking the tennis racket...

there and then because
of the evacuation most sudden...

of the British people...

and to obtain
a secretarial position here...

it was not difficult.

I propose that you paid
a sum most substantial...

to the former secretary of
Mademoiselle Bulstrode's...

- Vera?
- Oui. To vacate her post.

Now everything is easy,
is it not, hein?

If a tennis racket of a child
went missing, what of it?

And simpler still,
you could now gain access...

to the sports pavilion at night
and abstract the jewels...

but you had failed to take into
account Mademoiselle Springer.

- This is crazy.
- Oh.

Miss Bulstrode,
you can't honestly...

Anyway, where's your proof?

- You haven't a shred of...
- Now, Inspector! Now!

There. That's her.
I was right. I was right.

Oh!

Put it down, Ann.

No, Miss. Shan't.

No!

Get moving.

Oh, what's happening?

Get a doctor, quickly.

- I'll go.
- Bad. It's very bad.

It was for the school.

For the school.

She was only a slip of a thing,
but lethal.

Bitch. You bitch.

I recognized her face
from the files.

But she was dead...

killed on a mission in Silesia.

Or so you thought.

Ambulance is on its way.

I'll get her
straight to the hospital.

Christ Almighty.

- I thought...
- What, lover boy?

You thought you'd made
a pretty good catch?

I've eaten better fellas
than you for breakfast.

You were just a bit of fluff
until the fuss died down...

and I could get away.

It was that gorgon Springer
who started to unravel it all.

Aha.

What the hell do you want?

Oh, don't worry.
Your secret's safe with me...

for now.

I said, what do you want?

Fun.

Oh, God...

Uh! Oh!

Oh! No!

Uh! Uh!

Uh!

I wiped the smile off her face.

But still you could not
find the jewels, hein...

and then later,
Mademoiselle Blanche...

she tries to blackmail you,
and you kill her.

It comes so natural to you,
does it not, to kill?

Natural as breathing, darling.

- Sir?
- Let's get her out.

Ann Shapland, I'm arresting you
for the murder...

of Grace Springer
and Elise Blanche.

Miss Chadwick...

Monsieur Poirot,
I don't understand.

That still leaves
the attack on Miss Rich.

She couldn't have done it. We...

We were together all evening.

Oui, d'accord.

No, it was not she who tried
to kill Mademoiselle Rich.

Then who did try to kill me?

She loved Meadowbank
too much, I think.

And when I spoke of retiring...

She regarded herself as the only
person who could take over.

But she was too old.
She must have known that.

She could not
think clearly, I fear.

Something in her mind
must have snapped.

Once again, she sees
the light in the pavilion.

She thinks she can prove herself
by catching the killer.

She picks up a sandbag
from a fire bucket...

and what does she find?

Eileen Rich, her rival...

and all the resentment,
all the mounting pressure...

of the last few weeks,
suddenly, it breaks.

Rrgh!

But this was a moment
of madness.

Mademoiselle Chadwick
is not a killer by nature...

and what she told to the police
was the truth exactly...

except for the fact that it was
she who struck the blow.

At once, her mind rebels
at what she has done.

Oh. .aah!

Aah! Aah!

That's why Ann Shapland
used a sandbag...

to kill Mademoiselle Blanche?

Precisement. Ann Shapland, hein?

A young woman
who is very clever.

Out of the blue
comes this second attack...

for which, of course,
she has the alibi...

and later, she thinks she
can tie up the murder...

of Mademoiselle Blanche
with this...

but, of course, it is
only natural to assume...

that it was the work
of the same person.

Hello, Chaddy.

I want to tell you something.

Eileen Rich...

- It was...
- Yes. I know.

Jealous. I...

I know.

I can't...

I'll never forgive myself.

You saved my life, Chaddy.

My life and the life
of Mrs. Upjohn.

That counts for something,
doesn't it?

Only wish I could have given
my life for both of you.

No, no.

That would have made it
all right.

You did, my dear.

You did.

Would you like me
to leave now...

or would you prefer I waited
until the end of term?

I beg your pardon?

I presume you know the reason
why I was away.

You'll stay
till the end of term...

and if there is a new one here,
which I still hope...

you'll come back.

You mean you still want me?

Of course I still want you.

You haven't murdered anyone,
have you?

Oh, no.

Teaching is your vocation.
I know it is.

Well, we'll need
three or four years...

to put Meadowbank
back on the map.

We?

I'm offering you a partnership.

Oh.

You'll have different ideas,
of course.

That's the way it should be.

I don't suppose
we'll agree about everything.

No. I don't suppose we shall.

Monsieur Poirot, I've made
the right choice, have I?

Oui. Poirot had come
to the same conclusion...

about Mademoiselle Rich
some time before, alas...

and now it is time for Poirot
to excuse himself.

Au revoir, mademoiselle.

Thank you for everything.

Oh, de rien...

and you, mademoiselle...

the challenge,
it has returned, non?

Oh, yes.

Always at my best
when I'm up against it.

Meadowbank will once again be
the finest school in England.

Well, I'm, glad we sorted
all that out, monsieur.

- Au revoir, Inspector.
- Au revoir, monsieur.

- Madame Upjohn.
- Oh, Monsieur Poirot.

You should be very proud
of your little one.

She has shown the great courage.

Oh, never mind that, Mr. P.
What about Mummy here?

A secret agent all this time,
and I never knew.

Well, not really.

She's told me
all about the shooting...

and Miss Shapland, and I think
it is bloody exciting.

- Julia.
- Helas.

Sorry, but it is.

I suppose school is going
to be awfully dreary...

now people aren't getting
bumped off all over the place.

Are you heading back to town?

Alas, oui.

I have an appointment
with your Foreign Office.

There is a little matter
of a king's ransom in rubies...

that must be returned.

Oh, yes.
Oh, they were rather smashing.

No chance they could be regarded
as, whatchamacallit...

Treasure Trove?

Non, mais non. Non.

The jewels,
they must be returned...

to their rightful owner...
the real Princess Shaista...

who has been found to live
a life quite pleasant...

in a Swiss chalet,
but in recognition...

of your assistance so great
in this affair so dangerous...

I have been authorized to
present to you un petit cadeau.

What are they?

I believe they are called
the gobstoppers.

Oh, super.

Say thank you
to Monsieur Poirot, Julia.

Thank you.

Je vous emprie, mademoiselle.

Oh, and, mademoiselle,
please to take care...

when eating the red one, hein?

It has the center most hard.

SubRip: HighCode