All language subtitles for Agatha Christies Poirot (1989) - S06E03 - Murder on the Links (1080p BluRay x265 afm72)_Subtitles03_PGS-eng

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[mysterious jazz music]

♪♪

[cheerful instrumental music]

♪♪

- Narrator cue in five seconds,
Mr. Hotsworth.

♪♪

- The jury is out.

And all London holds its breath

for the verdict
in the infamous Beroldy trial.

Accusations against
the beautiful Madame Beroldy

over the brutal murder
of her husband, Arnold,

have shocked the entire nation.

After their wedding
ten years ago,

Monsieur and Madame Beroldy

took a prominent place
in London society,

with the couple
setting up permanent home here

12 months ago.

And it was good news
for the capital too,

as Mr. Beroldy
established his headquarters

in the port of London.

Together with
his English partner

Mr. George Connor,

seen here with Monsieur Beroldy,

they brought valuable income
to Britain.

[foreboding music]

Then tragedy.

Masked intruders
break into the Beroldy home.

Jean Beroldy is found tied up.

Her husband is stabbed
in the heart.

And at the memorial service
afterwards,

Mr. Connor comforts
the grieving widow.

Two months later,
a sensation,

as Jean Beroldy
is taken into custody

and charged
with her husband's murder.

The story of the intruders
was, they say,

a clever concoction
to divert suspicion.

Evidence comes to light
of a secret assignation

between Madame Beroldy
and Monsieur Beroldy's partner,

George Connor.

But before the police
can apprehend him,

George Connor
flees the country.

And so, as Jean Beroldy
faces the future alone,

her nine-year-old daughter,
Marthe,

fights to hold back the tears.

- All right, hold it.

- 85 seconds, Mr. Letts.

- Um, and I think
we should come back

to the Beroldy woman
at the end.

- That's all the footage
we've got, Mr. Letts.

- Uh, okay.

Uh, then let's see
those last shots again.

- Ah, good story.

George Connor
commits the crime,

then runs off
and abandons Jean Beroldy.

- Well, no,
from what I've heard,

they were in it together.

He may have held the knife,

but it was Madame Beroldy
who guided his hand.

- When's the verdict?
- Tomorrow.

- Well, maybe you can get
some more footage later.

- [laughs]
I doubt it.

If Madame Beroldy really did
kill her husband,

she won't be making
any more appearances.

- Ready, Mr. Letts.

- Run it.

[suspenseful music]

♪♪

Poor little girl.

Her mummy's going to hang.

[train whistle blowing]

[joyful instrumental music]

♪♪

[man speaking French over P.A.]

- Ah, Hastings.

To come again to France,
c'est magnifique.

It will be
the experience gastronomique.

- I'm sure Deauville
will be perfect for you, Poirot.

- So you said, mon ami,

when you chose for us
our destination.

- Well, it's famous
for its comfortable hotels,

excellent food,
sophisticated crowd.

- Yes, but it seems to me,
Hastings,

that these sophisticated people,

they interest themselves mainly
in les activites sportif.

- Yes, well, some people
come to Deauville for that,

but, uh, not everyone.

- No, for me, Hastings,

I interest myself
in le bonne cuisine maman.

- Absolutely.

- Hastings, this hotel
that you have reserved for us,

it has a chef
of the first order?

- Oh, top-notch, Poirot.
- Bon.

And the name of this hotel,
Hastings,

you neglected, I think,
to mention it to me.

- Pure coincidence, Poirot.

A lot of golfers are very
gastronomic, you know, Poirot.

Nothing like 18 holes
to build up an appetite.

You really ought to try it,
you know.

You might find
you actually enjoy it.

- To hit a little ball
into the little hole

in the middle
of a large open field—

no, but I think it is not
to the taste of Poirot.

- [speaking French]
- No.

- Oh, thank you.
- A votre service, monsieur.

- You have the options
on the land

adjoining the golf course,

but when the architect

asked me if he could see you
tomorrow afternoon,

he wants to know
what you think—

- Wait a minute.
That man.

- What, the little one
with the moustache?

- That's Hercule Poirot.

- The detective?

- Staying here.

Where's Laurence?
Damn him.

- He's just coming now.

[engine revving]

You don't need
a private detective,

do you, Paul?

- No.

Why do you ask?

- Well, you've been very...
preoccupied recently.

I just thought—

- I don't need
a private detective.

And it's none
of your damn business anyway.

You're my secretary, Stonor,

not my confidante.

- I'm sorry.

- It doesn't matter.

Laurence, you're taking my son
to the station this afternoon.

- Oui, monsieur.

- Then you've got your holiday;
is that right?

- Oui, monsieur.

- Good.

[car horn honking]

- Salut, Jack.

- That was my stepfather.
I have to go now.

- Jack, darling...

- I have to pack.

The ship leaves tonight.

- It's so far away.

Santiago's the other side
of the world.

I can't bear it.

- I have no choice.

A whole year training

for the most important
cycling event of the region,

and then a week
before they're off,

he springs this on me.

- Why not refuse?

You don't even like him.

Why don't you just tell him...
no?

- It's only three months.

I'll be back.

- Now I know what she felt like.

- Who?

- You know who.

Isabelle.

She lost you to me,

and now I'm losing you
to your stupid business.

- It's not the same.

I love you, Marthe.

- You loved her.

- Until I met you.

- Marthe.

- Mother.

- I understand
you're leaving us, Jack.

- Yes, Madame Daubreuil, I...

I have to go now.

- I shall miss you.

We both will.

- Write to me.

- Every day.

[birds chirping]

- [sighs]

- Are your cases ready, Jack?

- Yes, Mother.

They're in the hall.

- I told Laurence
to put them in the car.

- I wish you'd tell me
what this trip is all about.

Ten days crossing
to Buenos Aires

and then overland
to Santiago.

Seems like a hell of a long way
to go just on your say-so.

- You don't want to be part
of my business?

- I think you're getting me
out of the way,

because you don't want me
to see Marthe.

- That's a ridiculous
suggestion.

- Then why all the secrecy?

- You'll be met at Santiago.

Everything will be explained
to you.

- Thank you, Leonie.
That'll be all.

- Yes, Madame Renauld.

- You know,
separating Marthe and me

will not change
my feelings towards her.

- That's enough.

- You are only my stepfather.

You cannot rule my life.

- Jack.
- No.

I wish you were dead sometimes.

At least once in my life,

I could do as I pleased.

[foreboding instrumental music]

♪♪

[engine revving]

[relaxing music]

♪♪

[indistinct conversation]

- Was dinner all right, Poirot?

- Yes, thank you, Hastings.

It is indeed fortunate for you
that this is a hotel

of great comfort
and a cuisine most excellent.

- Thank goodness for that.

It's a marvelous golf course.

They say it'll be the best in
France when they've finished it.

- Oh, so this golf course,

it does not have
the necessary number of holes?

- Oh, no, it's got 18 holes,
but they're extending it,

adding a few more bunkers,
that sort of thing.

- These things,
what is it, a bunker?

- Oh, you know, a sand trap.

I'm afraid that's where
I usually end up.

- Ah, it is the same in French,
le bunker.

- Oh.

- And tomorrow, you play,

how do you say,
the circle?

- Oh, around.
Yes, yes.

They're lining me up
with some people.

- Mesdames et messieurs,

ladies and gentlemen,

je vous présent
Isabelle Duveen.

- ♪ Jattendrai le jour ♪

- What an absolutely
lovely girl.

- ♪ Jattendrai toujours
ton retour ♪

♪ J'attendrai car l'oiseau
qui s'en fuit ♪

♪ Vient chercher ♪

- Mr. Poirot?

My name is Paul Renauld.

May I join you?

- S'il vous plait,
Monsieur Renauld.

- Mr. Poirot, I happened
to see you this morning.

- Shh, shh, shh.

- It was a piece
of remarkable fortune,

because...
Mr. Poirot,

I will pay you anything
to help me.

- In what way, monsieur?

- I believe I am in danger
of my life.

- What makes you think that?

- I'm a rich man, Mr. Poirot.

I have enemies.

- May I ask what work is it
that you do?

- I own properties, hotels.

This hotel
and the golf course are mine.

- Ah.

- But I have another business
in precious stones.

I export them
out of Santiago in Chile.

And that's where
the trouble began.

Fraud, Mr. Poirot,

on a massive scale.

♪♪

I can't talk to you here.

It's too dangerous.

Will you come
to my villa tomorrow?

It's the Villa Genevieve
just past the Villa Marguerite

on the other side of the links.

- Oui, d'accord.

- Thank you, Mr. Poirot.

Thank you.

- De rien,
Monsieur Renauld.

- & J'attendrai car l'oiseau
qui s'en fuit ♪

♪ Vient chercher ♪

- It is most strange,
is it not, Hastings?

This Monsieur Renauld,
he says to me so much.

And yet he tells to me nothing.

- ♪ Passe et court ♪

- Hastings?

- & En battant tristement ♪

♪ Dans mon coeur si lourd ♪

♪ Et pourtant

♪ Jattendrai

♪ Ton retour ♪

[applause]

[dog barking]

[car door slams]

[footsteps crunching]

[foreboding instrumental music]

♪♪

- Be brave.

♪♪

[train engine whooshing]

[man speaking French over P.A.]

[brakes screeching]

[birds chirping]

- [yawns]

- Help me, Leonie.

Help me.

Help me!

- Madame!

- Toss for honors?

- Heads.

- Tails, I think.

[doorbell rings]

- Yes, monsieur.

- Bonjour, monsieur.

I have an appointment
with Monsieur Paul Renauld.

My name is—
- I-l know who you are.

You better come in.

- Merci.

- My name is Lucian Bex.

I'm commissary of the police
here in Deauville.

- Monsieur Bex.

Something has occurred
to Monsieur Renauld?

- What's going on, Bex?

What is, uh, your business
with Monsieur Renauld?

- That is a matter confidential,
monsieur.

Monsieur Renauld—
- He's not here.

I'm Giraud of The Sdreté.

- Giraud.

That is a name
that is known to me.

- It is a name known to many.

And you, monsieur?

- Monsieur Giraud,
this is Hercule Poirot.

It's remarkable—

- Wait a minute,
Commissar Bex.

Renauld asked you
to come here today?

- Oui.

- Why?

- He told me that he considered
his life to be in danger.

- Well, it looks like
he went to the wrong man.

Monsieur Renauld
was abducted last night.

- Are you at the Golf Hotel?

- Yes, I'm there every year.

- I don't suppose
you were in the bar last night?

There was a singer,
lovely voice.

- Do you mind?
- Sorry.

Lovely.

[birds chirping]

- I don't know what woke me up.

But when I opened my eyes,
there were two men in the room,

both wearing masks.

- So you cannot describe them
at all, madame?

- It was too dark.

- [scoffs]
Obviously.

It was the middle of the night.

- It was 2:00.

I heard the clock strike
on the mantelpiece.

- Fortunate.

- Yes, indeed.

- Go on.

- One of them forced a gag
into my mouth and tied me up.

The other one
was standing over Paul.

He'd taken a knife
from my dressing table here.

It was a gift
from my son, Jack.

Anyway, he was
threatening Paul with it.

- Did he speak?

- Yes, in South American
Spanish.

He was from Chile.
I'm sure of it.

That's where Paul and I met.

We lived there for many years.

- And what did he say?

- Sabe lo que queremos.

"You know what we want."

Those were his first words.

The other one:
"The papers, where are they?"

- Ah, yes, Monsieur Renauld,
he spoke to me of a fraud.

- What happened then?

- Well, I-l don't remember
anything else.

I-I think I must have fainted.

Oh, God, I...

- Oh, no, no, no, no, madame.

Console yourself.

Poirot will find him.

You permit, madame?

[clicks tongue]
Oh, Ja...

they must have
caused you great pain.

- I don't think my partner's
got his mind on the game.

I'l be digging one of those
new bunkers through there.

- Come on.
I'l help you find the ball.

- Oh, thanks.

- It's my fault, sir.

Every night, I lock the doors,
but last night, I was so tired.

- You failed in your duty.

- Tell me, Mademoiselle Leonie,

at what hour
did you retire to bed?

- At 9:00.
- Uh-huh.

And you heard nothing?

- No, sir.
I didn't hear a sound.

- And this?
- That's mine, sir.

I always have cocoa
in the evening.

- Tell me—
- Do you mind, Monsieur Poirot?

This is my investigation.

- [sniffs]

- There were just the three
of you in the house last night?

- Yes, sir.
- Isn't there a son?

- Master Jack is
Monsieur Renauld's stepson, sir.

He left yesterday
for South America.

- Ah, to Chile?

- Yes, sir, to Santiago.

- Do you know why?

- No, sir.

I believe it's to do
with his father's business.

He didn't want to go.

- No?

- No, sir.

As a matter of fact,

they argued about it
quite violently.

And Jack was very upset to miss
the Trophée De Deauville.

- Hmm?
- The cycle race.

- Ah.
- He'd been training very hard.

- Tell me, mademoiselle,

did Monsieur Renauld
and his stepson

argue together very often?

- Yes, sir, I'm afraid they did.

- Oh, for heaven's sake, Poirot.

Do you think Jack Renauld
kidnapped his stepfather?

- I think the thoughts
of Hercule Poirot, monsieur,

are far beyond
your comprehension.

- Was there anyone else
in the house?

No gardener or handyman?

- Laurence, the chauffeur,
should have been here, sir,

but he's on holiday.

- When did he leave?

- Yesterday, sir.

- He also?

C'est curieux.

[foreboding instrumental music]

♪♪

- No sign of it?

- No.

- Thank you.
Ah, Monsieur Giraud.

I've circulated Paul Renauld's
description across France,

and I have men making inquiries
at the station and the airport.

- We'll find him.

- Of that, I am not so sure,
monsieur.

- So...what's going on?

- Who are you?

- My name is Gabriel Stonor.

I'm Mr. Renauld's
private secretary.

Is there something wrong?

- Monsieur Renauld
has disappeared,

abducted by agents from Chile.

- But that's...

My God,
I thought something was up.

- What do you mean?

- Well, he's been very,
I don't know, nervous recently.

- How recently, Monsieur Stonor?

- In the past couple of weeks.

He only came to France
a couple of years ago, you know.

- And before that?

- He had a business
in precious stones in Chile.

That's where he made
his fortune.

But he's a very private man.

I don't know much more
than that.

- I see.

- Where's Eloise?
Madame Renauld?

- Upstairs.

- I must go to her.

- Yes, of course.

- You can go now,
Monsieur Poirot.

- Monsieur Giraud.

- Did you really think
you could just walk in here

and take over
this investigation?

This is my case.

And if anyone is going to find
Monsieur Paul Renauld,

I can assure you
it's going to be me.

[birds chirping]

- Still no luck?

- No.

I'll look over here.

[foreboding instrumental music]

♪♪

- Find anything?

- Good Lord.

♪♪

[camera shutter clicks]
- Well, Dr. Hautet?

- Killed at about 2:00
in the morning, I'd say.

Stabbed in the back.

Unusual weapon.

It's just a paper knife.

I'd say the stone in the hilt
was a sapphire.

- Renauld's wife said they took
a knife from her room,

a present from her son.

- Has anyone informed
Madame Renauld?

- No, Hastings.

And it is a duty
I would not wish to perform.

- There's a set of footprints
in there.

You didn't jump in, did you?

- Of course not.
- It looks as if someone did.

You can take him away now.

Poor devil, marched out here

in nothing but that coat
and his underclothes

and then killed.

It's no way to go.

- This is yours, I believe,
Captain Hastings.

- Oh, thank you.

- Hastings, what is it,
this white line that I see?

- Oh, they were going to dig
a new bunker here, Poirot.

This is where
it was going to be.

- Ah.

- This was by the grave.

Brand-new.

- What does it tell you,
Monsieur Giraud?

- Only that our friends
from Chile came prepared.

- Oh, so you assume
it was theirs?

- Of course.

- And what of this?

- It's a piece of lead pipe.

- Oui.

- Well, what of it?

- It also was beside the grave.

- Paul Renauld was stabbed,
not bludgeoned, you know.

That's probably been here
for weeks.

It's of no interest.
- Au contraire, monsieur.

To Poirot,
it is of great interest.

- [laughs]

Label the spade
and put it with the knife.

- Bien sur, le commissar.

- You can keep the lead pipe.

- Sir.

I found this
in the dead man's pocket, sir.

- Merci.

Hastings, if you please
to read it.

- "My dearest one,

"why haven't you written to me
for so long?

"lI am beginning to think
there's someone else.

"I think I would kill you

"if I thought
I was going to lose you.

"But you do love me.

"lI know you do,
as I love you.

Always,
your own adoring B.D."

- So Paul Renauld had a lover.

- That's what it looks like.

B.D.

- I'm sure Madame Renauld
will enlighten us.

- Well, you're not going to
ask her, are you?

She doesn't even know
her husband's been...

- Captain Hastings is right.

We better tell her.

- I will tell her.

- That is most strange,
is it not, Hastings?

- What's that, Poirot?

- Monsieur Renauld.

He wore his coat very long.

This Giraud, I have heard
much about him, Hastings.

- Who is he?

- They call him "The Pipe,"

because smokes
this pipe ridiculous.

- Well, he doesn't seem
very fond of you.

- No, that is because
he believes himself to be

the greatest detective
in France.

- Perhaps he is.
- No, no, no, Hastings.

Poirot, he is now in France.

Hastings, regarde.

- Oh, let me.

ow!

- Hastings, the briar,
it is sharp, huh?

- Mm.

- Viens, mon ami.

- So much for my golf.

- "Your own adoring B.D."

I don't know.

Unless...

- Monsieur Stonor?

- The villa next door,
the Villa Marguerite,

it's rented by
a Madame Daubreuil.

Bernadette Daubreuil.

- Do you know this woman?

- No, but it's
the damndest thing.

In the last three months,
Monsieur Renauld

made three large payments
from his bank account.

- To this Daubreuil woman?
- Yes.

They added up to 100,000 francs.

I did ask Renauld about them,
but he just snapped at me.

- You suspected blackmail,
Monsieur Stonor?

- Yes, I did, but...

if she sent him this letter,

maybe they were having
an affair.

- [scoffs]
Seems self-evident.

- It was so unlike him.

Renauld was an odd sort,
very secretive,

reclusive even, but...

he adored his wife.

[door rattles]

- You wanted to see me.

Gabriel, what's happened?

- Eloise, it's bad news.

- What?

- Madame Renauld,

I'm sorry to have to tell you

that your husband
has been found murdered.

- Oh, no.

- He was stabbed last night

with the knife
that was taken from your room.

- Oh, God.

Why?

Why Paul?

[sobs]

- Eloise...

- [sobbing]

- It's this one here.

- You don't believe her,
do you, Poirot?

- I do not know, Hastings.

This case,
it reminds me of something.

I just do not know.

- This may be unpleasant.

- Just one moment,
Monsieur Hautet.

Madame Renauld,
the identification, it can wait.

- No, I'd like
to get this over with.

Paul?

No.

Oh, no.

No.

- Take her back
to the Villa Genevieve.

- I am an imbecile.

Truly, if there was ever
love and grief

in the voice of a woman,
I heard it now.

[sighs]

Et bien, Hastings.

We must begin again.

- It's quite dreadful,
really quite dreadful,

the death of Monsieur Renauld.

- Do you have any suspects yet?

- At the present time,
mademoiselle,

suspicion is directed
towards two persons.

- Two?

- South Americans from Chile.

- Oh.

- Two suspects.

Is that why it requires
the services of two detectives?

- I-I'm handling this case,
madame.

Monsieur Poirot
is merely observing.

- Well, I have nothing
to tell you.

My daughter, Marthe, and I
lead quiet lives.

- How long have you lived here
in the Villa Marguerite, madame?

- Almost a year.

- My mother needed the sea air
for her health.

- So you arrived here
after Monsieur Renauld?

- Yes.
- Did you know him?

- We met a few times.

- You became friends?

- We became acquaintances.

- Madame Daubreuil,

on three occasions,

Paul Renauld made
large payments to you.

[raps pipe]

How do you explain that?

- I don't.

It is no business of yours.

- Madame—

- I'l handle this,

if you don't mind,
Monsieur Poirot.

Need I remind you, madame,

that we are investigating
a murder.

- Well, what of it?
I had nothing to do with it.

- Then will you tell me, please,
what was the exact nature

of your relationship
with Paul Renauld?

- I have nothing to say.
- Mother.

- Was there an assignation
between you?

- Monsieur, you insult me

in my own house
in front of my daughter.

You will leave now.

- [chuckles]

- Your methods leave something
to be desired, monsieur.

- My methods work,
Monsieur Poirot,

as, if you insist
on staying around,

you'll find out.

- Ah, well, on that,
I do insist, monsieur.

- Waste your time
if you want to.

But I will find the murderer
of Paul Renauld before you.

And that is a promise.

- You would stake on that
your reputation?

- I would stake anything.

In fact...

I'l tell you what.

How about a wager, Poirot?

- And what would you wager
against me, Monsieur Giraud?

- Name it.

- Very well.
I will tell you.

That famous pipe of yours.

- My pipe?
- Oui, monsieur.

It is, how you say,
your trademark.

If I solve this case before you,

I will have the pipe.

- Very well.

And what is your trademark,
Monsieur Poirot?

How about that famous moustache?

- You can't be serious.

- What better way
to show the world

who was the master here?

You lose,
you shave your moustache.

What do you say?

- Poirot.

I hope you know
what you're doing, Poirot.

- Oh, mon ami,

you must not concern yourself
with Giraud.

But tell me, Hastings,

what is your opinion
of the two ladies

that we met
at the Villa Marguerite?

- Well, I don't know
about Madame Daubreuil,

but it seems to me
that her daughter, Marthe,

was worried about something.

- She certainly had
the eyes most anxious,

did she not?

But the mother, Hastings,

where have I seen
that face before?

- I thought
I might go for a swim

before breakfast tomorrow,
Poirot.

- That is a madness that,
Hastings,

and suffered
only by the English.

- [laughs]

[seagulls squawking]

Oh, excuse me.

- Well, don't I know you?
- Do you?

- You're the singer
from the hotel the other night.

- You must have
a good memory for faces.

- Well, no,
but I thought you were splendid,

really wonderful.

- That's kind of you.

I'm Isabelle Duveen.

- Arthur Hastings.

Have you been in?
- Yes.

It's freezing.

- You're shivering.

- I was in Honfleur last year

and Paris before that.

But I like Deauville best.

- When did you come here?

- At the start of the season.

Deauville is so beautiful.

And I was happy here,

very happy.

I thought...

It all went wrong, really.

- Is that why your songs
are so sad?

- L'addition, monsieur.
- Oh, thank you.

Did you hear about that murder
that happened here yesterday?

- On the links?

- Yes, I was the one
who discovered the body.

- Gosh.

How thrilling.

I'm afraid I absolutely
dote on crimes.

- Oh, do you?

As a matter of fact,

I'm staying here
with Hercule Poirot.

- The detective?
- Yes.

- Is he as brilliant
as they say?

- Oh, absolutely.

- I must say,

I'd hate to have him
on my trail.

Where is he now?

- Oh, still having breakfast,
I should think.

Actually, I ought to be going.

Isabelle.

Do you think
I could see you again?

- We could go out for lunch
if you like.

- Oh, could we?

- This is my address.

Why don't you call for me?

- Right.

Rue des Escaliers.

- It's not very chic,
I'm afraid.

- Thank you.

- Bye.
- Bye.

[phone rings]

[phone rings]

- Hastings.

How very kind of you.

You arrive at last.

- Oh, steady, old Poirot.

As a matter of fact,
I just met someone.

- Someone?
A young lady, no doubt, eh?

Oh, Hastings.

Your face is as the open book.
[phone rings]

But there is no time to talk
about this now, mon ami.

We must go at once.

Monsieur Jack Renauld
has returned to Deauville,

and Giraud is interrogating him
at the préfecture.

- You have no right
to hold me here.

- I have every right.

- I told you...
[sighs]

I decided not to sail,

but at the same time,
I didn't want to go home.

I would just have had
another argument

with my stepfather.

- So on the night of the murder,

you remained in Cherbourg.

- Yes.

I stayed in Cherbourg all night.

I only saw the news
in the paper this morning.

- And you came straight home?

- [sighs]
That's right.

But my mother was out,

and I was waiting for her
when he called.

The next thing I know,
I was dragged here.

- For questioning.

- If you think
you can intimidate me,

you're wrong.

- Monsieur Renauld.

What was the purpose
of your journey to Santiago?

- [sighs]
My stepfather wouldn't say.

[phone rings]
[sighs]

He seemed to think
there was some—

some sort of fraud going on,

something to do with his
business in precious stones.

It couldn't have come
at a worse time for me.

- In what way?

- It's the race this week.

The Trophée de Deauville?

- You're taking part?

- Yes.

And I came fifth last year.

I mean to do better this time.

That is, unless you intend
to keep me here.

- No, no, no, Monsieur Renauld.

You may go.

- If you don't mind,
Monsieur Poirot,

that decision is mine to make.

- Pardon, monsieur.

You wish to arrest
Monsieur Renauld?

- Not yet.

- Oh, Jack.

Oh, darling.

- Oh, Mother.

[sighs]

- So you didn't go?

[chuckles]

Well, it doesn't matter now.

Not now.

- Monsieur Poirot.
- Oui?

Ah, merci.

- What is it?

- It is the coat
of Monsieur Renauld.

- Jack Renauld?

- Yes, sir,
I took it off him this morning.

Monsieur Poirot asked me
to hold it back.

- Merci.
If you please, Hastings.

- Hey, you take your orders
from me,

not from Monsieur Poirot.

Is that clear?

- Yes, sir.

Sorry, sir.

- What the hell
do you think you're doing?

- Measuring the coat.

- I can see that.

- Hmm.
Just as I thought.

- What?

- The coat, it is short.

Hastings, I must leave

on the first possible
train for London.

- What?
But why?

- Because the face
of Madame Daubreuil,

it is known to me.

I have seen it before.

Also, there is something
about this case

that is familiar to me.

- But why London?

- Because that is where
the answer is to be found.

[whistle tweets]
Hastings.

I wish to know at what hour
the last train left Deauville

on the night of the death
of Monsieur Renauld.

- Right.

- And go also to the office
of Monsieur Bex

and tell to him
where I have gone.

- When shall I say
you'll be back?

- Oh, when I have discovered
the truth, Hastings.

[train whistle blows]

[indistinct conversation]

- How's the Deauville sole?
- Delicious.

You're not married, are you?

- Oh, good heavens, no.

- Have you ever been?

- No.

I—oh, I suppose
I never found the right girl.

- You're lucky.

-Am I?

- The right girl,
the right man,

no one can hurt you more.

- How did you come to be hurt,
Isabelle?

- Forget it.

I don't want to spoil
a nice lunch.

Tell me about the case.

Have you found these mysterious
South Americans yet?

- No.

Poirot seems to think
they don't exist.

But it doesn't make sense.

- Go on.

- Paul Renauld,
a multimillionaire

who seems to have no background
or history,

is found stabbed in the back
on a golf course.

- Yes.

- Well, if he wasn't abducted
and taken there,

what was he doing
out on the links

in the middle of the night

wearing only a coat
and underclothes?

- I see what you mean.

- Personally,
I suspect his wife.

- Madame Renauld?
Why?

- Well, if Poirot's right,

and there were no intruders,

she must have made them up.

And the only reason
she'd do that

is if she killed him herself.

- But did she have a motive?

- Well, there's always money.

Paul Renauld
was a very rich man.

And it seems he was having
an affair with his neighbor,

Bernadette Daubreuil.

- How did you find out that?

- She wrote him a letter.

She signed it B.D.

- But that doesn't
necessarily mean she—

- Well, no,
but we also discovered

that Paul Renauld
paid Madame Daubreuil

a large sum of money.

Okay, Isabelle.

I really shouldn't be
telling you any of this.

- My lips are sealed.

- Thank you, Arthur.
That was a lovely lunch.

- Oh, don't thank me.

I can't remember the last time
I enjoyed myself so much.

- Where are you off to now?

- Oh, I have to do something
for Poirot.

He wants me to go and see
the Commissar of Police.

- Oh.
Do you mind if I tag along?

- Well, why would you
want to do that?

- I enjoy your company.

And I told you,

I'm absolutely fascinated
by crime.

- Right.

[phone rings]

- Monsieur Bex
said to wait in his office,

Captain Hastings.

He'll be with you shortly.

- Thank you very much.

- Is this where he lived?

- Yes.

- And that's where
you found him?

- Yes.

- Stabbed in the back.

- Look, Isabelle, I'm not sure
this is a very good idea.

- Don't worry.

I'm all for the horrors.

What's that?

- Uh, they're footprints
from the scene of the crime.

They took a cast.

- And this?

- Uh, that's the knife
that was used.

- The knife?
- Yes.

- Oh.
[stammering]

- Christ's sake.
Are you all right?

- Oh, yes.
- Are you sure?

- Yes.
- Come and sit down.

- Do you think you could get me
some water?

Please?

- I'll be back in a minute.

[doors rattling]

- Women and crime,
Captain Hastings,

they don't mix.

- She was all right to start...

She's gone.

- Was she interested in anything
in particular, Captain Hastings?

- Uh...

- What was it that upset her?

- I really have no idea.

- Monsieur Letts?

- Ah, Mr. Poirot.

And how may I help you?

Yes, I know exactly what you're
talking about, Monsieur Poirot.

Now, I entered
the newsroom myself.

And I was there at the trial.

- When was this, Monsieur Letts?

- Oh, must have been
a good ten years ago.

Ah, there we are.

The Beroldy case.

- I wonder if you could help me.
- Monsieur?

- I'm making inquiries
for a friend of mine.

I need to know what time
the last train left Deauville

two nights ago.

- Tuesday, monsieur?

That would have been the
7 minutes past 12:00 to Paris.

- You didn't happen to see
two foreigners getting on?

South Americans?

- No, monsieur.

- How about this man?

- Giraud.
- Have you seen him?

Well?

- Yes, monsieur.

But he wasn't getting
on the train.

- No?
- No.

He arrived on the last train
from Cherbourg.

I noticed him because
he appeared to be so...nervous.

- And what time was that?

- 11:40.

- Jack Renauld.

- Mm.

That story
about the masked intruders,

you know, the ones
who supposedly abducted

Arnold Beroldy,

it was all made up.

- And this Madame Beroldy,

it was her hands,
was it not?

They were not, um...

fastened together tightly?

- That's right.
It's what gave her away.

Her lover, George Connor,

didn't want to hurt her.

- Ah, yes,
it all comes back to me now.

Madame Beroldy,
she did not hang.

- No, she—
- Ready, Mr. Letts.

- Run it.

- Masked intruders break into...

- Before the verdict
was passed,

she admitted her story
was a lie,

threw herself on the mercy
of the jury.

The real murderer
was the partner,

George Connor,
she said.

It was all his plan.

He'd killed her husband

and forced her
to go along with him.

Personally, I think there was
more to it than that.

- If you would
please to tell me.

- Well, he may have
struck the blow,

but she planned it.

- Hmm.

And of course,
it was Madame Beroldy

who inherited from her husband

the money
from his coffee business.

- Absolutely.

She had nerves of steel,
that woman.

- Mm.

- In a way,
I think she was rather horrible.

- And this George Connor,
was he arrested?

- Uh, no.
That's him there.

- Monsieur Beroldy's partner,
George Connor.

But before the police
can apprehend him...

- Ah, yes.

A face that is to me
most familiar.

- Yeah, he managed
to escape the country.

- To South America.
- Yes.

The police never found him.

- And what of Madame Beroldy?

- [chuckles]

The amazing thing is,
is she was acquitted.

Well, it was quite
a performance.

- Uh-huh.

- Uh, that's her there
with her daughter

after the verdict.

She left the country later on,

changed her name.

- Oui.

To Madame Bernadette Daubreuil.

- With the station master
as evidence,

my case is getting stronger
by the minute.

- So Jack Renauld was lying
when he said

he was in Cherbourg the night
his stepfather was killed.

He was actually here
in Deauville.

- You better tell Poirot.

- Oh, I expect
he already knows.

- You can wait here.

I want another word
with Madame Renauld.

- Right.

[peaceful instrumental music]

♪♪

- Marthe, calm down.
Calm down.

It'll be all right.
It'll be all right.

- Why can't it be over, Jack,

this whole horrible business?

- It will be soon, darling.

- And then what about us?

- You know what I want, love.

I can't live without you.

[woman screams]

[woman screams]

[woman screams]

[woman screams]

[shrieks]

- What is it?
- It's another body.

- Oh, sir.

- The knife, Captain Hastings.

Look at the knife.

[train whistle blowing]

[man speaking French over P.A.]

[brakes squeaking]

- Hastings, you've received
my telegram?

Bon.
- Poirot.

- I have succeeded, mon ami.

I have succeeded to the marvel.

- Poirot, I have to tell you,
there's been another murder.

- A second murder?

- Committed with
an identical knife.

- Not an identical knife.

The same knife
that killed Paul Renauld,

which was stolen
from this very office

by the woman that
Captain Hastings brought here.

- We can't be sure of that,
Monsieur Giraud.

- The knife vanishes;
the knife reappears.

What more do you want?

- It is a very serious business,
Captain Hastings.

- To bring a complete stranger
into police headquarters

and then to just leave her here.

I can't believe
the incompetence of it.

- And you have not be able
to find this young woman?

- We're looking, but we only
have her description to go on.

- You wait until I get
my hands on her.

- You've no idea who she was?

- Uh, no.
We met on the beach.

She didn't tell me her name.

- She must have
told you something.

- No, not really.

- And you believe this to be
the same knife

that killed
Monsieur Paul Renauld.

- A paper knife with a stone
set in the hilt,

it certainly looks the same.

- But why take it to...

Doesn't make sense.

- Bonjour, Dr. Hautet.

- Well, the first thing
that you ought to know

is that this man was stabbed
after he died.

- What?

- Look at the wound.

The knife was lodged
in his heart,

but there's no blood.

- Then what did he die of?

- It's too soon to say.

But I'd guess
an epileptic fit.

- But why stab a man
who's already dead?

- To create an impression,
Hastings.

- What impression?

- The impression that
it very nearly did create.

- You've no idea who he is?

- No identification.
Nothing.

Look at his hair,
his fingernails.

I'd have said he was a tramp.

- And yet his clothes were those

of a man well-to-do,
n'est-ce pas?

C'est curieux.

- We found those in the shed.

Some old clothes.

They could be the tramp's or—

- The gardener's?

- Do you think so?
- Yes.

What about the time of death?

- No, he's been dead
quite a while.

Possibly four or five days.

- And so it would appear
that the death of this man

occurred before the death
of Monsieur Paul Renauld.

- You're just trying
to confuse the issue, Poirot.

- You do not find it
to be confused, Monsieur Giraud?

- Oh, no.

As a matter of fact,
I'm ready to make an arrest.

[chuckles]
- You are?

- It's that race this afternoon,
isn't it?

The Trophée de Deauville?

- Yes.

- What time is it
expected to end?

- 4:00.

- We'll do it then.

And what more suitable venue
than the finishing line?

- Right.

- Bad luck, Poirot.

But I told you, didn't I?

You've met the better man.

- And so you see, mon ami,

it is what I found out
in London.

And that is the key
to this mystery most bizarre.

- I just can't believe it,
Poirot.

Ten years ago,
Jean Beroldy is accused

of murdering her husband,

and now she's living here
in Deauville under the name of—

- Madame Daubreuil?
Exactement.

- Shouldn't you confront her
or something?

- I think it will serve
no useful purpose, Hastings,

and after all, to change a name,
itis no crime.

- But it must have been she
who murdered Paul Renauld.

- And the motive, Hastings?

- Well, the letter.

She said she would kill him
rather than lose him.

- Pardon.

But that is
because you still assume

that the B.D. of the letter
refers to Bernadette Daubreuil.

But of that,
we have no evidence.

- But it's the same crime,
Poirot.

The fake abduction.

- No, no, no, no, mon ami.
You forget.

It was ten years ago
that Madame Daubreuil,

or Jean Beroldy,
as she was then called,

invented a story
of the masked intruders.

Now, it is her neighbor,
Madame Renauld.

- Well, that's true.

- And there's one other question

you should ask yourself,
Hastings.

- What's that?

- What happened
to the true killer,

George Connor?

- Pardon, monsieur.

There's a young lady
in reception asking to see you.

- To see me?
- Oui, monsieur.

- Ah, perhaps
it is the young lady

of your acquaintance, Hastings.

- Oh, you mean...

- Ah, yes, of course, her name,

it is still unknown to you.

- Yes.

- Et bien, we shall see.

- Bon appétit.

- Monsieur Poirot.

I hope you'll forgive me
coming here.

I had to see you.

- Mademoiselle.

Please.

- I'm afraid, Mr. Poirot,
terribly afraid.

- Mademoiselle?

- That horrible man
has just been to see me.

Giraud.

- Ah.
- He's such a bully.

He's discovered that Jack was
here on the night of the murder.

- But if that is the case,
mademoiselle,

it was most unwise

of Monsieur Jack Renauld
to concede.

- I know,
but that doesn't mean...

Monsieur Poirot,

Giraud is going to arrest him.

You can't let him.
Please.

I love him.

- Mademoiselle.
Shh.

- He's innocent,
Monsieur Poirot.

I know he is.

- And who do you believe

the true killer to be,
mademoiselle?

- [gasping]
I know who it was.

- Tell it to me.

- The day before he died,

I heard someone
in Paul Renauld's garden.

- Mm-hmm.

- I climbed up
and looked over the wall,

and that was when I saw him.

- Who?

- A tramp.

He was a dreadful-looking
creature dressed in rags.

Paul Renauld
tried to calm him down,

but he wouldn't listen.

He was demanding money.

- And you believe
that this was the man?

- Jack and his stepfather
had their differences, but...

- Mademoiselle,

if I am to save
Monsieur Jack Renauld,

it is necessary that I speak
with him without delay.

- You're too late.

The race, it'll be starting
in a few minutes' time.

- The race
that Giraud mentioned?

- He said he was going to be
at the finish.

- Oui.

Mademoiselle, you
and your mother will be there?

- Yes.

- Hastings and I also.

Fear not, Mademoiselle.

All will be well.

- Thank you, Mr. Poirot.

Thank you.

- [sighs]
I wonder if she knows

about her mother's
true identity.

- Ah, she was but nine years
of age at the time, Hastings.

It is possible that the truth,
it has been shielded from her.

- Well, she's certainly in love
with Jack Renauld.

You should have seen them,
Poirot.

- Comment, mon ami?

- I heard them together.

Over the same garden wall,
as a matter of fact.

- Hastings, you did not
mention this to me.

- Didn't I?

Well...

- Do you not see of it
the significance?

- Oh, you think Paul Renauld
could have overheard them too?

- No, no, mon ami.

I think the exact opposite.

[festive marching band music]

♪♪

[man speaking French over P.A.]

- Bonjour, mademoiselle.

- Monsieur Poirot.

- Mademoiselle, if you please,

I wish to see the room
of Monsieur Jack Renauld.

- I'm sorry, sir,

but Monsieur Renauld
is not here.

- Mademoiselle Leonie,

I am perhaps all that stands

between your master
and the guillotine.

His life, it is in your hands.

♪♪

- There.
See him there?

♪♪

- [man speaking French]

[cheers and applause]

[man speaking French over P.A.]

- A vos marques, prét...

[gunshot]

[cheers and applause]

- Bonne chance.

- First his coat,
now his shoes.

What do you expect him to find?

- You remember
the two footprints

that were inside the grave,
Hastings?

- Yes.

- Voila.

- So Jack was there?
- Oui, mon ami.

And I have no doubt
that these would match

the cast in the office
of Monsieur Bex.

- I thought you were trying to
save him, not incriminate him.

- I'm trying to comprehend him,
Hastings.

- Well, I don't understand.

- Hastings?

You know this girl, Hastings?

- No, no.
I've never seen her before.

- There is only the signature.

"Bella Duveen."

- Bella?

[all cheering]

[suspenseful instrumental music]

♪♪

[all cheering]

- Pardon.
Pardon.

Pardon, madame.

- Poirot.

- Madame Renauld.

- Monsieur Poirot.

- Where are the cyclists?

- They should be here
any moment.

- No sign of Giraud.

- Why are you here?

- To speak with your son.

[all cheering]

[man speaking French over P.A.]

[cheers and applause]

- Third place
and a record time.

- Congratulations, monsieur.

Monsieur Renauld,
there are certain questions

I must ask you concerning
your late stepfather.

- What?
Here? Now?

- Yes, here and now.

Why did you return to Deauville
on the night of his death?

- I told you.

- The truth, monsieur!

- I wanted to see someone.

- Marthe Daubreuil.

- Yes.
- And did you see her?

- No.
- Why not?

- Out of the way!

Move!

Jack Renauld,
I'm arresting you

for the murder
of your stepfather.

- What?

- And also for the murder
of your unnamed accomplice.

Take him.

- Giraud, you've got it
all wrong.

- Giraud is never wrong.

Tell me, Monsieur Renauld,

do you deny it?

- Tell him, Jack.

- No, Monsieur Giraud,
I have nothing to say.

- You see?

You'd come here to arrest him
yourself, hadn't you, Poirot?

Well, I beat you...

by a whisker.

[mysterious jazz music]

♪♪

[sighs]

- Bonjour, Monsieur Stonor.

If you please, we wish to speak
to Madame Renauld.

- Come in.
- Merci.

Madame Renauld,

I am here in the interest
of your son, Jack Renauld.

- Is there anything
you can do for him?

- Mais oui.

But in order to help him,
the events of the night

that his stepfather died
must come to light.

- Of course.

- All of them.

Very well.

The real name of your husband,
madame,

was not Paul Renauld,

but George Connor,

was it not?

- Yes.

- You mean the man
wanted ten years ago

for the murder
of Arnold Beroldy?

- My God.

- And you met him
after he has escaped

from England
to South America?

- Yes.

But you must believe me,
Monsieur Poirot,

he wasn't a bad man.

That woman used him.

- Jean Beroldy.

- Madame Daubreuil,
as she calls herself now.

Ten years ago, she told Paul
that she was in love with him.

But it was all a lie.

She wanted her husband's money,

and she used Paul to get it.

- And she persuaded him
to murder her husband?

- Yes.

Then she laughed at him,

told him she wanted nothing more
to do with him.

And then when the police
discovered the truth,

she betrayed him.

- This George Connor,

he made his fortune in
the business of precious stones

whilst in Santiago.

And it was there that he met
you and your son?

- Yes, Jack worked for him.

That's how we met.

- And you married and came
to live together here?

- How do you know all this,
Monsieur Poirot?

- The eyes of Hercule Poirot,
madame,

they see everything.

Ten years after his escape
from England,

George Connor
comes to Deauville.

He has made for himself
a fortune in Chile,

and he now uses this money

to establish himself here
in France.

But somehow, his old lover,
Jean Beroldy,

has managed to track him down,

and now calling herself
Bernadette Daubreuil,

taunts him by taking
the very house next door.

The money that she has inherited

from the murder
of her first husband,

has long ago been spent.

But she now sees
that her knowledge,

it can bring her new fortune.

She uses this to blackmail
Paul Renauld.

And then,
matters already grave,

they are made worse.

Jack Renauld falls in love
with a beautiful girl

he sees almost daily,
Marthe,

the daughter of the woman that
Paul Renauld hates and fears.

Paul observes them together,

but he is powerless
to prevent the association

and thinks now only of escape.

- Yes.

Paul was being drained
by Madame Daubreuil.

Every day was a torment to him.

He had to get away.

- And the method that worked
for him ten years ago,

he decides to put to use again.

- Yes.

Only this time, it would seem

that he was the one
the intruders had killed.

I would move away.

And later, the two of us
would meet and start again.

- What about Jack?

He didn't know?

- I've never told him
about Paul's past.

I couldn't.

- And so the plan, it was made.

But then a few weeks later...

a tramp comes
to the Villa Genevieve.

- That is the way out.
- Money!

- He is violent, abusive,
and dangerously ill.

They struggle together.

And the tramp suffers
a seizure that is fatal.

If it is to be believed
that Paul Renauld is dead,

then a body,
it has to be found.

And now, as if by providence,

a body, it has been sent
in the form of the tramp.

Paul dresses the tramp
with a suit of his own clothes.

But there is worse.

To make
this deception convincing,

the body must look as though

it has been murdered
most brutally.

It is a dreadful deed that,
to make a semblance of murder.

- Sometimes
I wish you were dead.

- And so to the day itself.

- For once in my life,
I could do as I...

- Jack, the stepson
of Paul Renauld,

is sent away to Chile,

simply to remove him
from the scene.

In the same manner,

Laurence, the chauffeur,
is given a holiday.

And so the preparations,
they are complete.

[chuckles]
But Paul Renauld,

he uses every opportunity.

And when he sees me,
Hercule Poirot,

he decides to draw me
into his plan.

It is a pretty little charade
that he plays at the hotel.

He tells to us nothing,
only that there is a fraud,

and pretends to be afraid.

But this is all a performance

designed to give credence
to his plan.

Night falls,

and all is in readiness.

The maid, Leonie,
is sound asleep.

For the cup of cocoa
that she takes each night,

it has been drunk.

And now at last,

Paul Renauld
puts into action his plan,

repeating the events
of ten years before.

He ensures that the ropes,

they cut into the wrists
of his wife,

for this time,
there must be no mistake.

The hour, it is 10:00.

And not 2:00,
as you later tell me, madame.

But Paul Renauld
intends to leave

on the last train
from Deauville,

which leaves at 7 minutes
past 12:00.

He slips on an overcoat,

for it is his intention
to make his escape

dressed in the clothes
of the tramp.

And then both George Connor
and Paul Renauld

will once again
no longer exist.

Paul Renauld
plans to bury the tramp

where he is bound
to be discovered.

The new bunker, it is ideal.

He also has with him
the pipe made of lead

with which he intends
to disfigure the face

of the dead man.

Only then, the justice,

which he has
for so long eluded,

overtakes him.

Fantasy is made reality.

An unknown hand stabs him
in the back.

- Agh!

Agh!

[groaning]

- So someone learned of the plan
to fake his death

and used it to kill him.

- Oui, mon ami.

And...if I may say so, madame,

when you heard of his death
from Monsieur Bex,

your performance,
it was superb.

- But you weren't convinced.

- No.

But then when you saw his body
in the mortuary...

- But it was horrible.

Horrible.

It shouldn't have been Paul.

It shouldn't.

- You have suffered
an ordeal, madame.

I salute your courage.

- My God.

- You knew nothing of this,
Monsieur Stonor?

- No, of course not,
nothing at all.

- You never even suspected
that your employer,

he was in hiding
from the British authorities?

- No.
Why should I have?

- Monsieur Poirot,

I don't care what happens to me,

but can you help Jack?

- Et bien,
the preliminary hearing,

it is set for tomorrow,
is it not?

- Yes.

Giraud is certain

that he'll be committed
for full trial,

but I know that Jack
had nothing to do

with his stepfather's death.

- I, too, know it, madame.

And it is something,
also, I can prove.

- How can you prove that Jack
didn't murder Paul Renauld?

- Et bien,
that is simple, mon ami.

On that night,
there was a witness,

a witness who has yet
to come forward.

- Who?

- Ah, Hastings,
it is for you a dilemma,

is it not?

You search for the truth,

and yet of it,
you are always afraid.

- What do you mean?

- I speak of Mademoiselle
Bella Duveen, mon ami.

You can protect her no longer.

I must speak with her at once.

- Her name isn't Bella.
It's Isabelle.

- Isabelle to you, mon ami,

but Bella Duveen
to Jack Renauld.

Remember the B.D.
that we found in the letter?

- That letter was written
to Paul Renauld.

- No, no, no, Hastings.

It was addressed
to "my dearest one."

Why do you assume it was his?

- It was in his coat pocket.
- Uh-huh.

It was in the pocket
of the coat he was wearing,

but that coat,
it was not his.

Do you not see, Hastings?

When Jack Renauld,
he left for Cherbourg,

by accident, he took
the coat of his stepfather.

- And so that night...
- Exactement.

Paul Renauld, he was wearing
the coat of his stepson.

- So Isabelle was in love
with Jack Renauld.

- Oui.

Why have you been
torturing yourself, mon ami?

The photograph
you have not seen,

the name you do not know,

why must you protect this girl?

- I don't know,
I...

I suppose
I've fallen in love with her.

- Ah.

Then for you, mon ami,

I am most sad.

Bonjour, madame.

Mademoiselle Bella Duveen,
s'il vous plait.

- Miss Duveen,
why do you want her?

- She is required most urgently
in a court of law, madame.

It is her testimony
that would establish

the innocence of a young man.

- Well, I'm sorry.
She's not here.

- What?

- She went out yesterday
and did not return.

- Oh.

- Ah, Poirot,

there's something you owe me,
I think.

- The game is not over yet,
Monsieur Giraud.

- No?

- No.

The judge has still
to make his recommendations.

- Hanging on to the bitter end,
eh, Poirot?

Well, I can wait.

- [speaking French]

- I've examined the papers
set before me

by lawyers
for the prosecution and defense,

and I have just a few questions
I wish to ask.

Monsieur Renauld,

do you deny that you were
in Deauville

on the night of the crime?

- No, I was here.

- And did you say to
your stepfather that same day,

"I wish you were dead,

Then I could do as I please"?

- Your Honor,
my client has been

under considerable
nervous strain.

I wish to place it on record—

- Yes, yes, Mr. Grosier.

Do you understand,
Monsieur Renauld,

that on the answers
you have given me,

I have no alternative
but to commit you for trial?

[crowd murmuring]

- Yes.

- Very well then.

[man and woman
shouting indistinctly]

- Isabelle.

- My name is Bella Duveen.

I wish to give myself up
for the murder of Paul Renauld.

- [speaking French]

- You knew about this.

You tricked me.

- So, Mr. Poirot,

we meet at last.

Isn't that
what I'm meant to say?

- Mademoiselle Duveen,

why did you murder
Monsieur Paul Renauld?

- Why do you think?

- I think it was
because you were in love

with his stepson,
Jack Renauld.

- Yes.

- But he had left you
for Marthe Daubreuil.

And it was Jack Renauld

that you threatened to kill
in your letter.

- You got the wrong man.

You thought Paul Renauld
was his stepson.

It was dark,

and he was wearing
the wrong coat.

- I don't want to talk about it.

- Then tell me,
Mademoiselle Duveen,

why did you take the knife

from the office
of Monsieur Bex?

- To protect myself.

- And this knife, it was yours?

- Yes.

- Merci, Mademoiselle Duveen.

- Poirot.

- I shall be outside.

[keys jingling]

[door clangs]

[somber piano music]

♪♪

- [sighs]

I owe you an apology.

- No.

- Yes.

I saw you at your hotel.

- You recognized Poirot.

- Yes.

That's when I decided
to use you,

to find out what you knew.

But the things I said, Arthur,

I wasn't just pretending.

- You said you were in love
with Jack Renauld.

- I was once.

- And now?

- Just forget about me, Arthur.

You're a kind man.

If only we had met before,

maybe...

[laughter]

- Ladies and gentlemen,

I'd like to propose a toast

to...freedom.

all: Freedom.

[glasses clink]

- And to us, Jack.

- To a new life together.

[glasses clink]

- The wedding, it is to be soon,
Monsieur Renauld?

- Ah, yes.

I want to put this
very much behind us.

- Start again.

- Bella, I treated
her shamefully, Mr. Poirot.

- At least that awful Giraud
lost his wager with you,

Monsieur Poirot.

- Oui, but it is a wager
that Poirot has yet to win—

- Out of my way.
Let me through.

[man speaking French]

How can you, Jack?

How can you celebrate?

- Mother.

- You may be free,

but Paul's death
is on your hands.

- That's not fair.

- Sit down, Mother.
- No, Jack.

You never understood him.

You defied him,
mistrusted him.

And by your heartless treatment
of another woman,

you killed him.

- I didn't.

- Well, you'll never have
his money.

Tomorrow I intend to take steps
to disinherit you...

and that girl.

- Mother—
- You're no son of mine.

Take me home, Leonie.

- Jack, she...
didn't know what she was saying.

- She did.

- Jack, darling,

you can stay with us tonight.

- Yes, I think
that would be best.

- Poirot, I wish
you'd explain to me

what we're doing here.

- We're watching the house,
mon ami.

- Well, I know that,
but why?

There's only Madame Renauld
in there.

- Shh.

[footsteps approaching]

- Who is that?

- It's the true killer
of Monsieur Paul Renauld.

- What?
But Isabelle—

- No, no, no, Hastings,

Bella Duveen was not the killer
of Paul Renauld.

- Well, then who was?

[gunshot]

- [whispering in French]

The gun, it was not
according to my plan.

Allons-y vite.

This way, Hastings.

The bedroom of Madame Renauld.
C'est pres ici.

- She came just as you said
she would, Monsieur Poirot.

She tried to smother me.

- I was waiting just like
you told me to, but...

when she saw me,
she took out a gun.

There was a struggle,
and it went off.

I'm afraid she's dead.

- Who is it, Poirot?

- The true killer
of Paul Renauld, mon ami.

Marthe Daubreuil.

- No, you cannot arrest me.
I have done nothing.

- Madame Daubreuil,
you are being held

as an accomplice to murder.

- No!

I need to speak to Marthe.
Where's Marthe?

- Poirot.

- This crime...

Ah, yes.
Merci beaucoup.

It has indeed challenged
the little gray cells

of Hercule Poirot
to the extreme.

And yet from the start,

I knew that this was a crime
of the cold blood.

And so it was.

Marthe Daubreuil
knew of the plans

of Monsieur Paul Renauld
to create his fake death.

And with great cunning,
she set out to use those plans

for the purposes of her own.

- But, Monsieur Poirot,
how could she have known?

We told no one.

- So you believe, madame.

But when you made the plans,

it was by the garden wall,
was it not?

- Yes.

Paul and I,
we did talk there.

- I'll dig the grave at 10:00.

I'll be on the train
out of here

7 minutes past 12:00.

You'll have to identify
the body.

It won't be pleasant,

but you'll have to be
convincing.

- I'll do my best.

If it's really the only way

to rid you
of Bernadette Daubreuil forever,

then so be it.

- And that was
how Marthe Daubreuil,

she overheard.

Later, Hastings would hear
Marthe talking with Jack

over the same wall.

And that is what alerted me
to the possibility.

- Paul Renauld will be dead.

- But why did she do it?

- Mm.

Always, it was for money.

Monsieur Paul Renauld
planned to escape

from the blackmail
of Madame Daubreuil

by pretending to be dead.

But what if he were really dead?
What would happen then?

- Paul's money would come to me.

- Exactement.

But what if,
a short while later,

you were also to die, madame?

- Jack would have everything.

- And Marthe
would have Jack Renauld.

But this marriage,
it could only take place

if Paul Renauld
no longer stood in the way.

Oh, yes, Marthe and her mother

certainly planned
for the long term.

However, last night,
they discovered

that Madame Renauld
intended to change her will.

And that forced them
to act at once.

- My God, what devils.

- Oui.

Alors, Madame Renauld played
the part I suggested to her,

and that was to force
the hand of Madame Daubreuil.

- Oh, Bella.

Will you ever forgive me?

- Yes, Jack.

Of course.

- But this is what I don't
understand, Monsieur Poirot.

So these two
were protecting each other?

- Oui, Monsieur Bex.

Never before have I seen
SO many misconceptions.

And that was because
each thought the other

guilty of the murder.

- But why?

- Let me describe it to you
as I see it.

[man speaking French over P.A.]

On the night of the murder,

Jack Renauld
returns from Cherbourg.

He plans to visit
Marthe Daubreuil in secrecy,

but he is seen
by the station master.

Meanwhile,
Mademoiselle Bella Duveen,

tortured by her love
for Jack Renauld,

decides to visit him
one last time to plead with him,

unaware that he is supposed
to have departed for Santiago.

Her route, it will take her
across the golf links.

In the meantime,

Monsieur Paul Renauld
has completed his task

and is now ready to recover
the body of the tramp,

which lies nearby in the shed

with a knife he has placed
in the chest.

He plans, of course,
to bury the tramp in the grave.

And that is when
Marthe Daubreuil strikes.

- Agh!

Agh!

[groans]

- However, at this moment,
a figure approaches.

Marthe Daubreuil
flees from the scene.

The route
of Monsieur Jack Renauld,

it has taken him also
across the golf links

where he makes a discovery
most terrible,

the body of his stepfather.

Can it be true?

He climbs into the grave...

just as Mademoiselle
Bella Duveen arrives,

cutting her hand and tearing
her sleeve on some sharp briars,

which are near to the site
of the new bunker.

- [whimpers]

- And so to the moment of truth.

Jack Renauld looks up,
and what does he see?

Mademoiselle Bella Duveen
with blood on her clothes.

It must be the blood
of his stepfather.

Of that, he is sure.

She has mistaken the coat
and has killed a wrong man.

And Mademoiselle Bella Duveen,

she sees Jack Renauld
in the grave

with the body of his stepfather.

- [gasps]

- What is she to believe?

And from that moment,

each thought the other
the perpetrator of the crime.

And that, Monsieur Bex,

is why they were protecting
each other.

- It's true.
That's how it happened.

- But what about the knife?

Why take the knife
from my office?

- Mademoiselle?

- I thought it was Jack's.

You see, he had given me one
that was exactly the same.

- It's true.

I had them made when
I was working for my stepfather.

The sapphires
were from Santiago.

They were souvenirs
of my time there.

- Exactement.

But, Monsieur Renauld,

there were more than two knives,
were there not?

Oh, yes.

Three sapphires

and three knives.

The first knife
you gave to your mother.

This was the knife that was used
by Paul Renauld

by plunging it in the chest
of the dead tramp.

The second knife you gave
to Mademoiselle Bella Duveen.

But this knife,
it played no part

in the events that followed,

because it was the third knife

that Mademoiselle Bella Duveen

took from the office
of Monsieur Bex,

this was the knife that was used
to kill Monsieur Paul Renauld.

Tell me, Monsieur Jack,

this third knife,

to whom did it belong?

- I gave the third knife
to Marthe Daubreuil.

- Mm.
[knock at door]

Excuse me.

Entrez.

- Monsieur Poirot.

- Monsieur Giraud.

- This is yours, I think.

- No, monsieur.

You may keep your pipe.

But from this moment,

each time that you light it,

you will think
of Hercule Poirot.

- [inhales deeply]

Yes.

I will.

[mysterious jazz music]

♪♪

- Actually, Poirot,

I thought I might stay out here
a little while longer.

- But of course, Hastings.

You wish to improve
your disability on the links.

- What?
Oh, my handicap.

No, no, no.
It's not that.

Il just don't feel ready
to come home yet.

- Ah, you speak
of Mademoiselle Duveen.

- A girl who could do
what she did for Jack Renauld,

she must really love him.

- And yet, Hastings,
there are men

who do not deserve
such love from a woman.

Well, then...

return home only
when you are ready, mon ami.

Until then,
au revoir.

[engine turning over]

Merci.
- Au revoir, monsieur.

Merci.

[somber piano music]

♪♪

- If you please, monsieur,

I wish to make
the little detour.

- Bien, monsieur.

[seagulls squawking]

♪♪

[mysterious jazz music]

♪♪

- Arthur.

- Isabelle.

♪♪

♪♪

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