All language subtitles for Agatha.Christies.Poirot.S05E03.Yellow.Iris.720p.BluRay.HEVC.x265.sharpysword

- Barton, please.

- Don't try to stop me, Pauline.

I have to do it.

- I'm afraid.

- Don't be.

Two years almost to the day.

He will rest, Iris.
I swear it.

- Good morning, Poirot.

- Bonjour, Hastings.

- Is that all you're having?

- What more is there to have?

- A decent English breakfast.
- And what is that, Hastings?

- Well, porridge, two eggs,
sausage, bacon, tomato,

toast and marmalade,
and a pot of tea.

That's what I had, anyway.

- After such a meal of things,
I think I will return to my bed.

No, no, no.
This will suffice for Poirot.

- Is there anything
in the English cuisine

that you like, Poirot?

- The English, they do not have
a cuisine, my friend.

They have only the food.
- Well, that's a bit harsh.

- Like the meat, overcooked.
The vegetables, too soft.

The cheese, inedible.

And the day the English create
their own wines

is the day I return home
to Belgium.

- Oh, this new restaurant should
be right up your street then.

Le Jardin des Cygnes.

It's opening this week
in Jermyn Street.

They say it'll serve
the best French food in London,

all flown in specially.

- Le Jardin des Cygnes.

That name,
it is familiar to me.

- The garden of scenes?

- Swans, Hastings.
Swans.

- Oh, well, perhaps they'll be
on the menu.

It all looks very exotic.

What do you say, Poirot?
Dinner for two?

- I say, Hastings,
it is time for work.

Thank you.

And there is Miss Lemon.

Juste a l'heure.

- Good morning, Mr. Poirot.

- Bonjour, Miss Lemon.

What is it that you have there?

- I found it with the post.

I suppose someone must have
left it for you.

An admirer, perhaps?

- The yellow iris.

First Le Jardin des Cygnes,
and now this.

It is a conspiracy.
- Poirot.

- Hastings, why do you now
mention this restaurant to me?

And you, Miss Lemon.
- I didn't mean to upset you.

- The yellow iris.

It returns to provoke me.

- I say, old chap,
are you feeling all right?

- Can I get you anything,
Mr. Poirot?

- No, thank you, Miss Lemon.
Please, do sit.

There is something
I must get out of my chest.

- The yellow iris.

- Yes, Hastings,
the yellow iris.

It reminds me of a case
that I was not able to solve.

- I don't believe it.

- Through no fault of my own,
Miss Lemon.

You will recall, Hastings,

that you once asked me
to visit you

when you were living
in the Argentine?

- Well, that was two years ago.

And you were going to come,

but you canceled
at the last minute.

- That is true.
I said as much.

But it was not quite like that.

I was looking forward to
my visit to you, Hastings.

It was to be my first time
in the Argentine.

I broke my journey
in Buenos Aires

and was due to travel
to your ranch in Los Pampas.

However,
because a general strike

had disrupted
the transport services,

I was forced to book
into a hotel.

- You are a liar and a cheat,

and I don't ever want
to see you again!

- Pauline.

- All those things
you said to me,

all those promises
you made.

You're not interested
in me at all.

- That's not true.

- You're just using me to get

your rotten interview
with Barton!

- I meant what I said.

I'm in love with you.

It's true;
I do want the interview.

- Well, the answer is no.

I won't help you.

You can't come to the dinner,

and I don't want
to see you again.

- The path of true love?

- It was all going
so smoothly until--

Wait a minute.
I know you.

I've seen your picture.

You're Hercule Poirot.

The rumors are
that President Yrigoyen

can't last much longer.

- He is old?
- 79.

That's not the point.

He's out of touch.

He's got the military
on one side

and the Catholics
on the other.

It's just a matter of time
before one of them

pushes him out.

- It is for this reason
that you are here?

- No, I'm following
Barton Russell

and his partner,
Stephen Carter.

In fact,
that's Carter over there

with a drink in his hand.

There's been a huge oil strike
down in the south,

and they're after
the concession.

They set up
the company together:

Sovereign Oil.

- Thank you.

- Sant�.

- Cheers.

- So tell me,

what of your young lady?

- Pauline Wetherby.

You must've heard about
the beautiful Wetherby girls.

Pauline and Iris,
daughters of Lord Wetherby.

- No.

- He was a Labor Peer.

He made his fortune in textiles.

When he died, Iris got it all.

- And Iris Wetherby,
she is also here?

- Of course.

She's Barton Russell's wife.

- Ah.
- She'll be there tonight.

Le Jardin des Cygnes.

Barton's having a big dinner.

And I was trying to get Pauline
to invite me.

You see, I think Barton
Russell's up to something,

and I want to be the first
person to find out what.

- So, General,
do we have a deal?

- You have most persuasive,
Se�or Russell.

Government bonds.

- It seemed appropriate.

- Let us consider it
signed and sealed.

- There was, Hastings,
in the hotel, an atmosphere.

It was not just the heat
but the uncertainty.

I could also feel
a growing sense of unease

and, indeed, of fear.

- Oops, the lights.

I'm sorry, Se�or.
Happens every day now.

It's complete confusion.

Have this one.

- Thank you.

Room 217, if you please.

- 217, yes.

- Thank you.

- Mr. Poirot, isn't it?

- Yes.

- I saw you talking
to that writer.

You're--you're not here
on business, are you?

- No, no, no, no, monsieur.

I am en route to Los Pampas.

- Then I should get a move on
if I were you.

Pretty dangerous round here.

Buenos Aires really isn't
the place to be.

- You are most kind,
monsieur.

Thank you.

- Thank you.

- Oh, hello, Iris.

- What's happened
to the electricity?

Oh, don't tell me
it's another power cut.

May I have my key, please?

- Iris, I need to speak to you.

- Now?
- May I take this?

- Yes, of course.

- Where's Barton?

- I don't know.
I haven't seen him.

- Who's that man
you're talking to?

- Nobody.

Only a tourist.

- I didn't think there were
any tourists in Buenos Aires.

It's hardly the time.

- That's what I've been trying
to tell him.

Iris!

I beg you.

You don't know
what you're doing.

- I know exactly
what I'm doing.

I'm going to stop it.
- It's too late.

- For you maybe.

- Iris, please.

You'll destroy me.

- You should've thought of that
before you got involved

in an affair like this.

- What does it matter?

Nobody knows about it.

- I know.

And I can't live with it,
Stephen.

I just can't live with it.

- Never will I forget
the words of Iris Wetherby,

for it was then that I resolved
that I, too,

would take dinner that night

at the restaurant called
Le Jardin des Cygnes.

- Barton, cari�o.

It is sweet of you
to invite me.

- Lola.

You look wonderful.

- Let me introduce you.

You know my wife, Iris.

- Of course.

- Pauline, her sister.
- Enchanted.

- And this is my new partner,
Stephen Carter.

- How do you do?
- How do you do?

- Lola Valdez.

Her dancing is the talk
of the Argentine.

- Ah.

You will forgive me, Barton.

I bring with me
a young English friend.

- Good evening, sir.
- Good evening.

- He's a periodista,
a journalist.

And he will write
a grand piece on me

to tell the whole of England
about me.

- He's doing us all
a favor.

Please, Mr. Chapell,
join us.

- Se�orita, if you will just
move over to make some room.

- Why, you certainly
got a nerve, Mr. Chapell.

- I had to get in somehow.
- To get your story?

- Hell with the story.
I came to see you.

- Se�orita.

- The food here is said
to be excellent.

- You did not see
my new revue, Mrs. Russell.

- No.
I'm not fond of dancing.

- You missed a wonderful
performance, darling.

- I like to dance
before I eat.

Barton.

- Do you mind?

- No.
You enjoy yourself.

- The city, it was about
to ignite, Hastings.

The military,
it was everywhere.

And many of the streets,
they were closed.

This was the background
against which

the dinner of Barton Russell
was to take place.

- Allow me to introduce myself.

I am Luigi de Monico,
le patron.

Welcome to
Le Jardin des Cygnes.

- You are too kind,
Signor Luigi,

but you must excuse
my lateness.

I was delayed.

There is some disturbance
in the town.

- In this town, there is always
some disturbance.

Please.

The best table
for my distinguished guest.

- Thank you.

- Thank you, Barton.
Thank you.

- Ah, that was fun.

- It's that detective.

What's he doing here?

- It's a free country.

At least it was when we came in.

- Which reminds me,

I have to telephone
my stock broker in London

before he goes to bed.

Please excuse me.

Merci.

I see you favor
the red rose of England.

- If it disturbs you,
Signor, I have it removed.

- No, no, no, no, no.
Pas de tout.

It is a symmetry
over here.

On all of the tables,
the red rose,

except on that one table,
the yellow iris.

- It is a command,
Monsieur,

a special order.

They are the favorite flowers
of la bella signora.

- Ah.
Madame Iris Russell.

- Her husband insisted.

A true romantico.

Please, enjoy your meal.

- Merci.

- I've heard her before.
- Ah.

- I like her very much.
I'd like to use her when I--

- Ladies, gentlemen,

I want to make a toast.

A man is never happier
to have his friends around him

than when he's in a foreign city
far from home.

- Yes.

- So my toast is to you,

and especially to
my dear wife, Iris.

What can I say?

Well, in the words
of the song,

I shall think of you
until I die.

Iris.

Iris.

- Thank you.

- What's the matter?

- Iris?

- Excuse me.
Excuse me.

I'm sorry.

- No.

Potassium cyanide.

- It's not possible.

- Voil�.

- What are you saying?

Iris didn't kill herself.
She'd never kill herself.

No.
- My God.

- I suggest you touch nothing
until the police arrive.

My worst fears
had been realized.

And yet even as I prepared
to investigate

the death of Iris Russell,

events were taking over.

When I came down to breakfast
the next day,

the hotel,
it was deserted.

The guests and the staff,
it seemed, had fled.

- Mr. Poirot,
have you heard the news?

It's incredible.
There's been a coup d'�tat.

President Yrigoyen--
the rumors are he's been shot.

In any event,
the military are in control.

- Well, then it appears you will
have your story after all.

- What with everything today
and Iris, I--

- I'm sorry.

- Once again, mademoiselle,
you have my condolences.

- I just can't believe it,
Mr. Poirot.

Iris would never have
killed herself.

- You are Hercule Poirot?

- Yes, I am.

- You are under arrest.

- Wait a minute.
- Be silent.

You come now.

- Here, se�or.
- No.

- Don't worry, Monsieur Poirot.
I'll call the French Embassy.

- No, no, no, no!
The Belgian Embassy!

- We know all about you,
Se�or Poirot.

You're here to engage
in espionage.

- Cet imb�cile.
You have my passport?

- A forgery.

Do you appreciate that

I could have you taken
outside now and shot?

- I wish to see the consul.

- You will see no one.

There is a ship leaving
Ensenada in one hour.

You will be on it.

No argument.

Deportalo.

- And that was the end of it.

I was taken to a ship
and deported on the same day

in a cabin of the third class.

- So that's why
you never came.

But why on earth
didn't you tell me?

- Hercule Poirot,
arrested and deported

like a common criminal?

It was something that
I preferred not to describe.

- So who did kill
Iris Russell?

- It was never discovered,
Miss Lemon.

The official verdict,
it was suicide.

Et c'est possible.

The body, it was sent back
to England.

The case,
it was closed.

- Until now.

- Yes.

A yellow iris.

- Do you think it could have
been sent to you as a warning?

- A new Jardin des Cygnes opens
in London, eh.

And on the day it is announced,

a yellow iris arrives
through the post.

No.

I think it comes rather
as a call for help.

- But from whom?

- It is that
that we must now find out.

- Who owned the restaurant,
Poirot?

- His name, Hastings,
was Luigi, an Italian.

- An Italian with
a French restaurant

in a South American city.

Now he's opened up here
in London.

- Signor Poirot!

I'm so glad you are here.

- Signor Luigi.

- It happens all over again.

A disaster.

Signor Russell, he telephones
to make a reservation.

Six people, he says,
just like last time.

And once again,
he demands the yellow iris.

This time,
la povera Signora Russell,

she is not here.

- They come on Friday?

- Si.

My opening night.

- Exactly two years
since the last occasion.

- Good Lord.

- And you say six places?

Monsieur Barton Russell
and five others?

- A reunion?

- Hastings, I need a guide
to the London theaters.

- Let's take it
from the top, please.

One, two, three, and...

Okay, that's it till tonight.
Thank you very much.

Thank you.

- Mademoiselle,

I was wondering whether
you remember that fateful night

in Le Jardin des Cygnes,

when were in Buenos Aires.

- Of course I remember.

That terrible night,
the police--such brutes.

They asked so many questions,
and why?

It was obvious.

- You believe that
Madame Iris Russell,

she committed suicide?

- Of course
she committed suicide.

- But for what reason?

- Because she knew
Barton no longer loved her.

- How well did you know her?

- I didn't know her.

She never talked to me,
to a dancer.

- Have you seen since that time
Monsieur Barton Russell?

- Yes.
He's a good friend to me.

And I need the friends.

I have lost everything.

- Did you have to leave
the Argentine?

- The new regime.

I had too many friends
in the old government.

And now I am in exile.

- It is the loss
of the Argentine.

- Oh.

You are kind.

But tell me, Se�or Poirot,

what is your purpose
of your visit?

- We came, Hastings and I,
to welcome you personally

to this country

and to inform you that we will
be attending your performance

on Friday night.

Then I'm afraid
I must disappoint you.

There is no performance.

I have an arrangement
for dinner.

- Oh.

- It is, in fact, amusing.

You know there is now a new
Jardin des Cygnes in London?

Well, I go there.

- How could you write this?

I just don't understand you.

- Pauline, I'm a journalist!

- Anthony, you're a fink!

thud!

- Pauline!
Come back, Pauline!

Mr. Poirot.

- Very nice to see you again,
Monsieur Chapell.

My associate,
Captain Hastings.

- Oh.
Come in.

- Thank you.

- Talk about history
repeating itself.

Another row with Pauline,
and suddenly,

you show up again.

And there's this dinner
on Friday.

- Oh, so you're invited too?
- Yes, and Pauline.

We're engaged to be married.

At least, we were.

After this little contratante,
who knows?

- It's for this reason
we are here.

You have spoken to
Monsieur Barton Russell?

- No.
He's lying low.

If you want to know
the honest truth,

it's Stephen Carter
I feel sorry for.

- For what reason?

He was never in Barton's league.

He was basically a subcontractor
for the British government.

They were backing him
to find oil

somewhere up
in the north of England,

Derbyshire or somewhere.

- So why on earth did Barton
want to work with him?

- That's a good question.

Anyway, Carter wanted
the big time.

The oil concession's
worth millions.

- This oil business,
it is always full of the risks,

n'est-ce pas?

- Yes, but they had
the concession in their hands.

They won it from a chap
called Pereira.

- Pereira.

Wasn't he the one
who arrested you?

- General Pereira, yes.

- After the coup,
he became Minister of Oil.

- But in your article, you say
that he is no longer in power?

- Exactly.

It seems he's been found

with his hand in the till
once too often

even for the Argentine
government.

It looks like he's for the chop,
and if he goes,

Sovereign Oil will go with him.

- Cargen.

Apunten.

Fuego!

- It's Mr. Poirot.

Mr. Poirot,
is there not any comment

about financial thieves...

- Mr. Poirot, can you give us
any comment?

Please, sir?

- Yes, Mr. Poirot,
I'm getting out.

Going back to what
I'm best at.

- And what is that,
Monsieur Carter?

- I had my own business,
you know,

before Sovereign Oil,

before Barton Russell.

- And you now return
to this business?

- Yes, if I can untangle it
from this mess.

- But I understand that much
of your finance came

from the government.

- Yes.

We were excavating for them

in Derbyshire
and up in Scotland.

Interesting work.

Although, of course,
there were only small returns.

- I suppose that's what
attracted you to Sovereign.

- Yes.

It was an adventure.

That strike in Santa Cruz.

And if we'd held onto it...

- But now you have lost
the concession, Monsieur Carter.

- Yes.

Just two more weeks,

and we'd have had
that oil flowing.

We won that contract
fair and square, Mr. Poirot.

And now we've got nothing.

And I'm out.

- Thank you,
Monsieur Carter.

One last question, if I may,
Monsieur Carter.

Are you to see again
Monsieur Barton Russell?

- As a matter of fact,

I'm dining with him
this week.

- At Le Jardin des Cygnes.

- Yes.

I had a feeling that's why
you'd come here.

Two years to the day.

- I don't really see what
business it is of yours,

Monsieur Poirot,

if I choose to have
a private meal with friends.

- You say friends,
and yet,

one of them,
he is a journalist

who has just written something
about you

that is most unflattering,

and the other is a businessman
who has decided

that he will do with you
no further business.

- I see you've been busy.

- Oui, bien s�r.

And there is one thing
that I still do not understand.

- What is that?

- Anthony Chapell,
Stephen Carter, Lola Valdez,

Mademoiselle Pauline,
and your good self.

That is five persons, huh?

And yet the table,
it is for six.

- As I said, Mr. Poirot,
it's none of your business.

- The sixth place is for Iris.

- Comment?

- It's a commemorative dinner:

The second anniversary
of her death,

and we've all got to be there.

- Pauline.

- Well, I think
it's a horrible idea.

I don't want to go.

- You will go, Pauline.

- Yes.

But you can't boss me around
forever, Barton.

Just one more month.

Excuse me.
I'm going to go home.

- Mademoiselle.

I'm sorry.

Please.

- Thank you.

- Anyway, now you know.

- Monsieur Russell,
if you would be so kind

as to tell me,
this dinner,

why do you have it, huh?

Why do you wish to re-create

the night of the death
of your wife?

- All right,
I'll tell you.

It's very simple,
Mr. Poirot.

I know--

I have always known.

Iris did not commit suicide.

She was killed
by one of the people

sitting at that table.

And tomorrow night,
I intend to find out which.

- Hastings, I must reserve
for myself immediately

for tomorrow night a table
at Le Jardin des Cygnes.

- You want to be in
at the kill, eh?

- It is exactly that, Hastings.

Twice it is arranged:

the dinner, the restaurant,
the guests.

And tomorrow night,
I must be there

to prevent a second death.

- I don't like you going
to this restaurant, Mr. Poirot.

It could be dangerous.

- Ah, but when Poirot himself
is involved,

he, too, is dangerous,
Miss Lemon.

- I still Captain Hastings
were going with you.

- Ah, yes.

The good captain Hastings.

By now he should be in Norfolk,
the village of Reepham.

- Why did you send him there,
Mr. Poirot?

What do you want him to find?

- A motive for murder.

- Two years.

Two years to the day.

- I hope you don't mind
my coming here, Mr. Grove.

- I'm very glad you did,
Captain Hastings.

You see, I was
her father's solicitor.

Lord Wetherby, you know.

A wonderful man.

Showed him the Ramsay MacDonald.

- And Iris Russell inherited
his fortune.

And his ideals.

She was such a beautiful girl.

It was a tragedy.

- You were telling me
about Iris' will.

- Oh, there's no secret
about it.

You see, her husband,
Barton Russell,

was a wealthy man
in his own right,

so her money was passed across
to her sister, Pauline,

to be held in trust
until her 21st birthday.

- I suppose you were
the trust's administrator.

- Oh, no.

Mr. Russell is
the administrator.

His wife made him
Pauline's guardian.

- So if Pauline were to die,

does that mean that Barton
would inherit the trust?

- Uh, no.

You see, Pauline has made
a will of her own.

Although--well, I mustn't
speculate

about Pauline's intentions.

And yet...

Sometimes, I feel afraid
for her.

Captain Hastings,
what I can tell you is this:

when she signed the will,

she was accompanied
by a young man.

I assumed him to be
her fianc�.

Make of that what you will.

- Madame, welcome
to Le Jardin des Cygnes.

Sir.

- After you.

- Thank you.

- So...

Here we all are.

- Signor Poirot.

- Signor Luigi,
bonsoir.

They are all here?
- Si.

And I have a message for you.

- Merci.

Ah, from Captain Hastings.
C'est bien.

Signor Luigi,
that table you have for me?

I have for it no further need.

- I know it seems
a little odd,

celebrating
the second anniversary

of a death in this way,
but I have a reason.

And I think it's time
I explained.

Two years ago,
my wife died

at a table like this
in a room like this.

The same five people
surrounded her.

The police--
The Argentine police--

recorded a verdict
of suicide.

But I have known--
I have always known--

- And tonight, you wish
to establish the truth,

Monsieur Russell.

- Mr. Poirot.

I wasn't expecting you.

- But I was there
on the first night, was I not?

- That's true.

- And I also have a desire
to establish the truth,

if you permit.

- Let him stay, Barton.

- You're right, Mr. Poirot.
You should be here.

You're welcome to join us.

- Thank you.

- What's going on?

What were you going to say,
Barton?

- Monsieur Russell was
about to say

that he believes his wife
was murdered

by someone seated
around this table.

Wait a minute.

- Who would've harmed her?

It's--it's crazy.

- Of course it is.

Iris committed suicide.

Everybody knows that.

- I do not believe
that she committed suicide.

- And I can prove it.

I have to speak to the band.

I have a surprise for you.

- Mr. Poirot,
can't you stop him?

- Do not worry yourself,
Monsieur Carter.

- Mr. Poirot,

I'm afraid.

- There is no need,
mademoiselle.

My God.

It's the same song.

- The hell is he playing at?

- It takes you back,
doesn't it?

Come on, Carter.
Raise your glass.

What was our toast
two years ago?

To Iris.

- Absolument.

To Iris.

- Damn you, then.

To Iris.

- To Iris.
- To Iris.

- To Iris.

- So what now, Barton?

What other things
are you going--

- Oh, my goodness.

- What on earth!

- Good gracious.
- She's fallen dead.

- No, that's not meant
to happen!

- It is the same.

- Oh, God.

- Pauline!

- She is dead.

La pauvre petite.

And I, who thought
I could protect her.

- Protect her.

You helped kill her.

- I'm cold.

- I have sent for some coffee,
mademoiselle.

- I'd prefer something stronger.

- It's my fault.

I should've known.

Pauline always said

she knew something about Iris.

That was why she was killed.

- No, Monsieur Russell.

That was not the reason why
Mademoiselle Pauline had to die.

- Then why?
- No, no, no, no, no, no.

That is not the question
we must ask.

We have here two murders.

And in order to solve
the second,

we must return two years
to the first.

Why did Madame Iris Russell
have to die?

- So you agree.
She was killed!

- C'est �vident.

And there were perhaps
several reasons.

For example,

she stood in between you
and Monsieur Russell.

- Between us?

Ridiculous!

- She also stood between
her younger sister

and the great fortune.

- Pauline never cared
about the money.

- But you care
for Mademoiselle Pauline.

You would not have been happy,
perhaps, to marry an heiress?

- What?

So I killed Iris
so Pauline could inherit?

- And finally, she stood
in the way of you, Monsieur.

- Me?
- Yes, you, Monsieur Carter.

You and the biggest gamble
of your career.

In the hotel in Buenos Aires,

I overheard.

- Iris!

You'll destroy me!

- You should've thought of that
before you got involved

in an affair like this.

- What does it matter?

Nobody knows about it.

- I know!

But I can't live with it,
Stephen.

- What was the affair of which
Madame Iris Russell spoke?

- There was no affair.

- No love affair, perhaps,
but the business affair.

Monsieur Carter, I can see
with the eyes of my mind,

and I will speak.

Please show us what you have
in your breast pocket.

- What?

What are you saying?

- Do what he says.

You put it there!

- Potassium cyanide.

The case,
it is complete.

- Carter.

I always knew it was you!

- Why?

- Why do you not tell us
what really happened

in Buenos Aires,
Monsieur Carter?

- I can't.

- The shadow of a noose
hangs over you!

- No!
- Very well.

Then I will tell it!

- Your coffee, sir.

- Bring it in.

The oil concessions
that were acquired

by yourself
and Monsieur Russell,

they were not acquired
from the legitimate government

of President Yrigoyen.

- You're right.

It was Barton's idea.

- So, General,
do we have a deal?

- He could tell there was going
to be a coup.

- Government bonds, hmm?

- So he went straight to
the rebels to General Pereira.

- And the money
that was paid,

the money that would assist
the rebels to gain power,

from where had it come?

- It was mine.
- No, Monsieur Carter!

It was money entrusted to you
by the government of Britain

for excavations
in this country!

- My God.

- And that is Madame Iris
Russell had discovered,

and that is why
she had to be silenced!

The daughter of a Labor Peer,

could she stand by and watch
as government funds were used

to support the military junta?

Of course not!
- And you killed her, Carter.

- No.
Wait.

Everything you say is true,
but I didn't kill her.

It was him!

He had as much to lose as me!

- But, Monsieur Carter,
you forget

that Monsieur Russell,
he was not even at the table

when the champagne,
it was being served.

- Exactly.
- And tonight also.

Barton was not there.

- But wait a minute.

If Carter had put the poison
in Pauline's glass,

I'd have seen him.

I was next to her.

- Exactement.

- So you mean
he didn't kill her.

- It was not I who said
that he did.

Merci.

- Well, if it wasn't Carter,
who was it?

- Who, indeed?

- In Buenos Aires,

who could approach the table
with impunity,

invisible in the crowd?

Poison a drink,

and at the same time

provide the evidence
of a suicide?

And tonight also,

who circled around the table
holding a bottle of champagne?

Only this time,
it was Mademoiselle Pauline

who was to be the victim,

and Monsieur Carter
who was to take the blame.

In the dark, when the attention
of everyone is elsewhere,

seen by everyone and yet unseen,

the murderer can plant
the evidence

and then vanish again

if he is disguised
as a waiter,

can he not,
Monsieur Russell?

- What are you saying?

Why should I have wanted
to kill Pauline?

- This evening, I learned
that you are the guardian

of Mademoiselle Pauline

and that you hold her money
in trust until she is 21.

- What of it?

- That time is to be very soon.

I understand that you have also
suffered huge losses

in the Argentine.

I think it will be discovered

that the money
of Mademoiselle Pauline,

it is gone,
and that you have spent it.

- This is ridiculous!

I mean, this waiter business.

Are you really telling me
nobody would've noticed?

- Did you notice the waitress
who served you with coffee

just a few moments ago?

- What?

Pauline.

I don't understand.

- How is it possible?

- Pauline.

I thought I'd lost you.

- Mr. Poirot told me
when he sat next to me.

He said not to touch
the champagne.

I was just to pretend
to drink it

and then pretend
to be dead.

- And you played the part
but to perfection, Mademoiselle.

But tell me,
Mademoiselle Pauline,

it was you, was it not,
who sent me the yellow iris?

- I was very frightened.

I didn't want to believe it,

but I knew.

I have always known.

- And so you called
for Poirot.

And Poirot,
he was there.

- Poirot.

- Ah, Hastings.

Mon ami.
- How did it go?

- Well, the case,
it is solved,

and your message, Hastings,
it was most useful.

- Oh.
Good.

- There is just one thing.

- What's that?

- With all this affair,
I have not been able to eat.

- Oh, I say,
that's a bit rough.

Not going to be easy
finding somewhere

at this time of night.

- Oh, that is true.

- I do know one place,
though.

English cuisine.

There's nothing like it
in the world.

You must agree, Poirot.

- Eh bien, Hastings,
when it is cold and dark,

and there is nothing else
to eat,

it is...

passable.