All language subtitles for Poirot S04E03 - One Two Buckle My Shoe x264 RB58

♪ One, two,
Buckle my shoe ♪

♪ Three, four,
Knock at the door ♪

♪ Five, six,
Pick up the sticks ♪

♪ Seven, eight,
Lay them straight ♪

♪ One, two
Buckle my shoe ♪

♪ One, two
Bucle my... ♪

" 1925, and the Prince of Wales
embarks on his tour

of the Indian subcontinent,

the welcoming cheers that greet
the heir to the imperial throne

prove positive
that India remains

just as steadfastly loyal
to the Crown

as it was in the days
of his great-grandmother

Queen Victoria ".

- Wait there a minute.

- Sir.

- Which is the lady
that I must seize upon?

- This same is she,
and I do give you her.

- Why, then she's mine.

Sweet, let me see your face.

I am your husband,
if you like of me.

Give me your hand
before this holy friar.

- Soft and fair, friar.

Which is Beatrice?

- I answer to that name.

What is your will?

- Do not you love me?

- Why, no,
no more than reason.

Do not you love me?
- Why, no,
no more than reason.

Do not you love me?

- Troth, no,
no more than reason.

- Why, then my cousin, Margaret,
and Ursula are much deceived,

for they did swear you did.

Oh, what a totally ghastly
audience.

I didn't think
they were too bad.
Oh, what a totally ghastly
audience.

I didn't think
they were too bad.

- And now for another
transformation scene.

How to make myself
look respectable

for Government House.

- Oh, I'm so excited!

- Me too.

- Is Mr. Blunt waiting?

- He better be.

- You're quite serious
about him, aren't you?

- I know you don't approve.

- Oh, it's not my place
to approve.

- Oh, don't be
so mamby-pamby, Mabelle.

You think he's not good enough
for me.

- I just don't understand you.

I mean, you're so ambitious,

and with your background,
you could--

Who is it?

- Come in.

- Well, come on, girls.
The prince is waiting.

" The young prince
immerses himself wholeheartedly

in the exhausting schedule
of duties entailed

in such a great enterprise.

In the stifling heat
of an Indian midsummer,

the grandest reception of all

is held at Government House,
Calcutta ".

- There she is.

Why aren't you dancing, Mabelle?

- Oh, it's so hot in there.

Did you meet the Prince
of Wales, Mr. Blunt?

- No, never got closer
than five yards.

- We've got something
to tell you.

- Oh, no, Gerda, please.
You promised--

- Alistair wants it kept secret
from his stuffy family,

but we're going to be married!

- Oh.

Oh, that's wonderful.

Congratulations, Mr. Blunt.

When will this be?

- Quite soon, actually.

Alistair's bank want him
back in London next month.

Oh, come on, Alistair.

I want to dance!

- Excuse us, please,
Miss Sainsbury Seale.

" And so at last,
time to say good-bye.

As he leaves India, the jewel
of Britain's vast empire,

the prince can look back
with pride

at a job well done.

We'd like to join
with the people of India

in saying thank you and
God bless the Prince of Wales ".

- Sit yourself down, Mr. Poirot.

Quite comfortable?

We'll start the preparatory work
today, Mr. Poirot.

- I'm so sorry to have kept you.

- Oh, that's all right.

Mr. Morley asked me
to make another appointment.

- Ah.

What about... the sixth of August
at eleven fourty five, Miss Sainsbury Seale?

- Uh, yes, that looks perfect.

- Should I get out here
and take a cab, Uncle Alistair?

- No, no, it's all right.
I'll walk back to the office.

Keep the car.
Finish your shopping.

As long as I have it back
by half past five o'clock.

- Excuse me. It's Alistair Blunt, isn't it?
- Yes?

- You don't remember me. Mabelle.
Mabelle Sainsbury Seale.

- I was your wife's friend.
- Yes.

Yes, of course I remember you.

Um, I'll see you at home later,
then, Jane.

- It was in India, if you remember.
Gerda and I were on tour together.

I've only just come back
after all these years.

Oh, I've been doing work for
the Zenana missions, you know.

- Well, it's wonderful
to see you again,

Miss Sainsbury Seale,
it really is, but I--

- I'd love to see Gerda again.

- Miss Seale.
- Sainsbury Seale. Yes?

Why, Mr. Amberiotis.

Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't
recognize you for a moment.

How nice.

- I came to return...this.

- My hot water bottle.

Oh! What must you think. This
gentleman and I were on the boat

coming back from India together.

I lent him my hot water bottle
when he had a toothache.

Have you been to a dentist yet

about that tooth,
Mr. Amberiotis?

- Not yet, no. It
doesn't hurt so much.

- That's very naughty of you.

You must go and see my man,
Mr Morley in Harley Street.

As a matter of fact,
it's rather a coincidence.

I saw him only this morning,
and as I was coming out,

I ran into another old friend
from India--

but from much longer ago,
of course.

His wife and I were together

in the touring company
I told you about.

- Oh, yes, yes. When
you were an actress.

- Quite.

And he's done awfully well,
I believe, since then.

Mr. Alistair Blunt.

- Mr. Alistair Blunt the banker?

- I believe so.

He certainly used to work
in a bank when he met Gerda.

- Gerda?

- His wife.

Oh, we were such pals. Of course,
she was a better actress than I.

I always said she'd get on
in the profession,

but she left it to marry Alistair,
and I left it to stay in India.

- Thank you, sir.

- Hold tight, please.

- Oh.
- Yes, ma'am.

- My name's Sainsbury Seale.
- Oh.
- Yes, ma'am.

- My name's Sainsbury Seale.

I want to see Mrs. Blunt. She's
staying with Mrs. Chapman.

- Mrs. Chapman, right.

This way, ma'am.

Number fourty five, ma'am, just there.

- Thank you so much.

Gerda!

After all these years.

- Where are you going
with those?

- Miss Sainsbury Seale
telephoned, miss.

She's moving
to the Carlisle Hotel

in South Kensington,
wants her bags sent on.

- Oh, yes.
Go on, then.

- That damn boy's late again.

And smoking
on the front doorstep.

Young people nowadays--
unreliable, self-centered.

The girls are as bad.

Gladys isn't coming in today.

Her aunt's had a stroke, and
she's had to go up to Yorkshire.

- That's hardly
the girl's fault.

- She's been different lately.

It's that Frank Carter fellow.

- Girls do fall in love, Henry.

- Love?

She's a cut above him,
I should hope.

You know he's in
with that Blackshirt mob.

Anyway, she shouldn't let it
affect her efficiency

as my secretary.

Let her fall in love
in her own time.

- Good morning, Mr. Amberiotis.

Is everything all right, sir?

- What?

No.

Yes, it's just a...toothache.

Take it away.

♪ Three, four,
Knock at the door; ♪

♪ Five, six,
Pick up sticks; ♪

♪ Seven, eight,
Lay them straight. ♪

♪ Nine, ten,
A big, fat hen ♪

♪ Eleven, twelve,
Dig and delve ♪

♪ Thirteen, fourteen,
Maids a-courting ♪

♪ Fifteen, sixteen,
Maids in the kitchen ♪

♪ Seventeen, eighteen,
Maids a-waiting ♪

♪ Nineteen, twenty,
My plate's empty ♪.

- Thank you.

- Mr. "Porridge"?

- Till the end
of the financial year.

- Thank you, Charles.

Any other business?

- There's the question
of the debenture issue.

- That was covered
on the agenda.

- Yes, but we left
the date open.

- Quite. That's all, I think.

Meeting closed. Thank
you, gentlemen.

- All right, Alistair?

- All right?
Yes, I'm fine.

- Can I give you a lift?
- No, my car's waiting. I'm going to the dentist.

- I see. That's why you were
in such a bad mood.

- We'll get your treatment
finished today, Mr. Poirot.

Now, as I was saying,

the important people,
they're always on time.

Now, I've got a most important
man coming this morning.

- Mr. Alistair Blunt.
- Alistair Blunt?

- Oh, yes. Always on time.

Nice, unassuming fellow.

Often sends his Rolls away
and walks back to the office

just like you and me.

You would never dream
he could buy up half Europe.

Well, good-bye, Mr. Poirot.

Wasn't too bad this time,
was it?

- No.

- Shall I ring for the lift
for you?

- No, no, no, thank you.
I shall walk down.

- I'll see you in six months.
- Indeed.

- Mr. Blunt.

- Excuse me.

- Ooh!

- Oh!

- So kind.

- Not at all, madame.

- Ooh!

- Oh, dear.

- Thank you.

- You're welcome, madame.
- Thank you so much.

- I have an appointment
with Mr. Morley.

- Name?

- Miss Sainsbury Seale.

- Well?

I have now been waiting
for fourty five minutes.

My appointment
was for half past twelve.

- Well, I know--

- I shall now go back
to Worthing!

You may tell Mr. Morley
that I am most displeased.

- "I am most displeased."

Oh, my god.

- Revolver grasped
in lifeless fingers.

Doesn't seem to be much doubt
about it, does there?

It has to be suicide.

- C'est incroyable.

- All right,
you can move him now.

- So tell me,
Chief Inspector Japp.

- Lived upstairs
with his sister.

Hasn't been moody or depressed.

I wondered
if you'd noticed anything

when you saw him this morning.

- Nothing at all.

He was, what shall I say,
normality itself.

When did it occur, this tragedy?

- Can't say exactly.

Nobody seems to have heard
the shot.

It was discovered about one thirty
by the pageboy, Alfred Biggs.

- At what time
did Monsieur Morley

last press the buzzer
for a new patient?

- Five past twelve,
and the boy showed up

the patient who was waiting,
a Mr. Amberiotis,

staying at the Astoria Hotel,
according to the appointment book.

- And at what time did he leave,
this Monsieur Amberiotis?

- Well, the boy
didn't show him out,

so he doesn't know.

But I rang up the Astoria,
and Mr. Amberiotis says

he looked at his watch
as he closed the front door

and it was exactly
twenty five past twelve.

- So at twenty five minutes
past twelve,

our dentist,
he is the normal dentist, eh--

cheerful, competent, urbane.

And the very next moment,
despair, misery, what you will,

and he shoots himself?

Non.

- It's quite incredible to me

that my brother
should have committed suicide.

- He'd been quite
his usual self, had he, madam?

Not upset in any way?

- He was annoyed.

He had a busy day
in front of him,

and his assistant
had received a telegram

to say her aunt had
had a stroke.

She left for Yorkshire
by an early train.

- And your brother,
he was annoyed at this?

- Well, the fact is...

His assistant's got engaged to
a rather unsuitable young man,

and it occurred to Henry
that this young man

had persuaded her
to take the day off.

- What does he do,
this young man?

- Frank Carter is--or was--
an insurance clerk.

He lost his job a few weeks ago
and seems unable to get another.

- Did your brother try and persuade
her to break off her engagement?

- Oh, yes, he did,
as a matter of fact.

- So this Frank Carter would
quite possibly have a grudge

against your brother.

- It's that Miss Neville. She's
back in a rare taking, she is.

- The whole thing was
a wicked practical joke.

There wasn't anything wrong
with Auntie at all.

She couldn't understand it
when I suddenly turned up.

- Are you quite sure it wasn't your
friend Mr. Carter who sent this telegram?

- Frank?
Whatever for?

Oh, I see what you mean.
A put-up job between us.

We wouldn't do
a thing like that.

- Tell me, mademoiselle, what
patients had Mr. Morley this morning?

- They're all in here.

Um, at ten o'clock, Mrs. Soames
about her new plate.

Ten thirty, Lady Gregson.
She's an elderly lady.

Eleven o'clock, Mr. Hercule Poirot.

Oh, that's you, isn't it?

Eleven thirty, Mr. Alistair Blunt--
you know, the banker.

Then Miss Sainsbury Seale.
She's just back from India.

Twelve o'clock, Mr. Amberiotis.
He was a new patient,

made his appointment
from the Astoria Hotel.

And twelve thirty, Mrs. Pinner.
She comes up from Worthing.

- If you please, Alfred,
tell me,

is it possible
for anyone to enter the house

without you
having to let them in?

- Nah.

No, not a chance.

Well, not unless they got a key,
anyway.

- But it is quite easy for them
to leave the house.

- Oh, yeah.

Yeah, most of them
come down the stairs

while I'm taking the new party
up in the lift, see.

- Did you see Mr. Amberiotis
leave?

- Nah.

No, he must have
let himself out.

- But you are quite sure
that nobody else came

to the house this morning,
only the patients.

- That Mrs. Neville's young man
came round.

In a bit of a paddy, he was,
not to find her here.

- We haven't heard about this
before.

- Well, when I told him Miss
Neville was out for the day,

he got quite shirty, said
he'd wait and see Mr. Morley.

Well, then he went into the waiting room.
You must have seen him there, sir.

- Ah, yes. The troubled young
man who would not sit down.

- Yeah, must have got tired
of waiting, I suppose.

He wasn't there later.

- Why, Chief Inspector Japp,
an officer of your eminence,

is he usually called in
to a case of apparent suicide?

- Alistair Blunt was here.

Mr. Blunt is the kind of person
we take care of, in this country.

- You mean that there are
certain people

who would like him
out of the way?

- You bet there are.

The Reds, to begin with.
And our Blackshirted friends.

This Blunt and his group
have a standing

behind the present government.

- That is more or less
as I guessed.

Tell me something about
Monsieur Blunt, Chief Inspector.

- Alistair Blunt?

He controls all
the Arnholt interests, in Europe

as well as the merchant banks.

He married into the family.

We oughtn't spend too long
with him.

I want to get on to the Astoria.

As it stands at the moment,
this Mr. Amberiotis

was the last person
to see Mr. Morley alive.

- This is the second occasion
this year

that my allowance has not been
paid on time, Alistair.

- You must talk to the bank,
Julia, or to the trustees.

- If only my poor dear sister
were still alive.

- If she were alive, Mother,

you couldn't benefit
from her will.

- That is a wicked thing to say,
Jane.

- It's not wicked; it's true.

- The truth is often wicked.

- I'm sorry, Julia;
this is not my business.

When I die, the capital
will come to you,

to do with, exactly as you wish.

Until then--

- Until then, I am expected
to exist--I won't say "live"--

on the pittance from the trust.

- Twenty five thousand dollars
a year

can scarcely be called
a pittance.

- Do you think Rebecca intended
me to live on your charity?

- It is not charity.

Yes, Miss Montressor.

- A Chief Inspector Japp and
a Mr Poirot to see you, sir.

- Really?
Would you show them in, please?

Chief Inspector Japp.

- How do you do, sir?

This is Mr Hercule Poirot.

- I know your name, of course,
Monsieur Poirot,

but surely, somewhere,
quite recently--

- This morning, Monsieur Blunt.

In the waiting room of the dentist,
the pauvre Monsieur Morley.

- Yes, of course.
I knew I'd seen you somewhere.

- "Pauvre"?

- Mr. Morley was found dead, sir,
shortly after you left,

an apparent suicide.

- Morley?

Suicide?

- What an extraordinary thing.

- Uh...

Forgive me.
I'm sorry.

This is my niece, Miss Olivera,
and her mother, Mrs Olivera.

- Mademoiselle, madame.

- I've never heard of a dentist
committing suicide before.

Wouldn't happen in the States;
you can be sure of that.

They're too damn rich
to kill themselves.

- He seemed in good health and
spirits this morning, Mr. Blunt?

- Well, I think so, yes.

- Have you seen him often?

- This is my third
or fourth visit.

- Monsieur Blunt, who was it

that recommended to you
Monsieur Morley originally?

- Arnholt, one of my directors.
Lionel Arnholt.

- We're just wondering, you see, sir,
whether it wasn't suicide, but murder

and the real target
was yourself.

- But that doesn't make
any sense at all.

- Well, none of it does
at the moment, sir.

That's the problem.

- Good evening.

- We'd like to see
Mr Amberiotis.

- I'm sorry, sir.
I'm afraid you can't.

- Oh, yes, I can, my lad.
Police.

- You don't understand, sir.

Mr. Amberiotis died
half an hour ago.

- Interesting.
- Interesting, Dr. Bennett?

- Mr. Amberiotis died
of heart failure.

- Heart failure?

- Brought about by an overdose
of adrenaline and novocaine.

- How large an overdose?

- Oh, I can't say yet.

These quantitative analyses
take time.

I'll be able to tell you
tomorrow.

- Novocaine's the stuff
dentists give you, isn't it?

- That's right, Chief Inspector.

The subject had been
to the dentist, I believe.

- What a washout.

- What do you mean,
Chief Inspector?

- Morley makes a mistake
and injects an overdose.

Then when Amberiotis is gone,
he realizes what he's done,

can't face the music,
and shoots himself.

- With a pistol
he is not known to possess?

- Relations don't know
everything.

- No, that is true, of course.

- Well, there we are, then.

- All the same, Chief Inspector,
it does not quite satisfy me.

- Ah, cheer up, Poirot.

We can't have
a nice juicy murder every time.

- Committed suicide?
Mr. Morley?

Poor man.

I suppose he had something
on his mind.

Such worrying times we live in.

- Did he seem worried to you,
Miss Sainsbury Seale?

- Well, I--I can't really say,
you know, that he did.

- Can you tell us who else
was in the waiting room

while you were there?

- Let me see.

There was just one young man
there when I went in.

I think he was in pain,

because he was muttering
to himself

and looking quite wild.

And then suddenly he jumped up
and went out.

- And he was the only other
patient that you noticed?

- A gentleman came
down the stairs and went out

just as I went up to Mr. Morley.

Oh, and I remember
a very peculiar foreigner

came out of the house
just as I arrived.

- That was I, madame.

- Oh.

Oh, dear.

Oh, do forgive me.

Oh.
Oh.

The light in here is so dim.

- Please calm yourself, madame.

- Well, I think
that's about all,

Miss Sainsbury Seale.

We may require you
to give evidence

at the inquest, of course.

- Oh, no!

I would be so nervous.

- Well, no need to be nervous, madam.
Just stand up and speak clearly.

- Oh! That's very
amusing, Chief Inspector.

- Is it?
- I used to be an actress.

Just small parts, you know.

Then I went on a world tour--

- Yes, well...

- Well, if my name should be
in the papers--

as a witness at the inquest,
I mean--

you will be sure that it's
spelled right, won't you?

Miss Mabelle Sainsbury Seale.

Mabelle spelled M-a-b-e-I-I-e.

- Blimey.

- I can only give you
a few moments,

I'm afraid, Mr. Poirot.

I'm going to see Traviata
at Covent Garden.

- Ah.
Thank you, Monsieur Arnholt.

- What's this all about?

- It is about the death of the
dentist Monsieur Henry Morley.

It was you, was it not,

who recommended him
to Monsieur Blunt?

- Yes, I've been going to him
for years.

You don't think I killed him,
do you?

- Oh, non, non, non, non, non.
Quelle idée. Non.

It is just that I'm given
to wonder

whether Monsieur Blunt was not
perhaps the intended victim.

- I don't quite see
how that works.

- Non.

At this moment,
Monsieur Arnholt, neither do I.

One grips at the straws.

But tell me, Madame Olivera,

the sister-in-law
to Monsieur Blunt,

she is une dame formidable,
n'est-ce pas?

- Oh, indeed.

- How did Madame Olivera take

to Monsieur Blunt marrying
her sister?

I mean, after all,

he was a mere employee
of the family business.

- I don't know about "mere."

Alistair was head of our
overseas investments department.

- But I don't think Aunt Julia
looked at it like that, anyway.

They were so obviously
crazy about each other.

Nobody, of course, knew,
but she was already suffering

from the disease that killed her
four years later.

- A tragedy.

- Yes.

- Pardon.

I must detain you no longer
from your Monsieur Verdi.

Monsieur Arnholt, I thank you
very much for your patience,

and I hope that you enjoy
the opera.

- Thank you.

- I formed the opinion

that Mr. Amberiotis died
of heart failure

caused by a large overdose

of a novocaine and adrenaline
mixture.

- The dentist who treated
Mr Amberiotis earlier

on the day of his death

is now himself dead,
I understand.

- So I understand, sir.

- Thank you, Dr Bennett.

- Thank you.

- Well, there doesn't seem
much doubt, gentlemen,

that this is a case
of accidental death,

a very unfortunate case.

Did Mr Morley
accidentally give his patient

too large a dose
of the anesthetic?

Or did Mr Amberiotis have
an unusual reaction to it?

Since Mr Morley
is now himself dead,

we shall never have the answer
to this.

Nevertheless, it is your duty,
of course,

gentlemen of the jury,
to consider all possibilities

before you arrive
at your verdict.

But I must remind you
before you...

- Nobody's seen hide nor hair
of Miss Sainsbury Seale

since Tuesday.

Such a nice type of woman,
and she seemed so happy here.

- I wouldn't have bothered you
with this, sir,

but I remember she'd been
a witness in that other case.

- No, quite right, Beddoes.

Why should she disappear?

- It is curious, you admit?

- There was nothing funny
about her, you know?

A cable to Calcutta.

Got the reply back last night.

She went out there as an actress
and then took to good works.

Got hand in glove with
the missionaries, apparently.

What I call a terrible woman

but definitely not the type
to get mixed up in a murder.

You got anything?

- Stockings.

Ten-inch, cheap silk.

Price: probably 2 shillings
and 11 pence.

- You're not valuing
for probate, Poirot.

- Mr Poirot.
- Mademoiselle Neville.

What a pleasant surprise.

- I'm so sorry to worry you
like this,

but I had to see you.

I was very upset by the inquest
this morning.

It couldn't happen
the way they said it did--

giving a patient an overdose,
I mean.

The dentists get into the habit

of giving the regulation amount
automatically.

- But you did not say this
in the coroner's court.

- I was afraid
of making things worse.

People might think
he did it deliberately.

- I see.

Shall we discuss this further?

Come.

I should like to know
a little bit more

about the telegram you received
calling you away on that day.

Do you, yourself, have any ideas
on the subject?

- Not really.

Frank, my friend,

accused me of wanting to go off
for the day with somebody else.

- He's been very moody
and suspicious lately.

Just losing his job

and not being able
to get another one, I suppose.

- And he was upset, was he not,
to discover

that you had gone away
on that day?

- Yes. You see, he'd
come round to tell me

how he'd got this marvelous
new job, £10 a week.

- He wanted me to know
right away.

- And what is it,
this new job?

- Oh, well, I don't know
all the details.

Some government department.

I have to write
to his London address,

and the letters get forwarded.

- Oh, la.

Does that not seem to you
to be a little strange?

- Well, I thought so,

but Frank says
it's often done nowadays.

- I should like to meet this
friend of yours, mademoiselle.

- His only free day is Sunday.

He's away in the country
all week.

- Eh bien, tomorrow is Sunday.

- I'm fed up with 'earing
about Morley's death,

to be quite honest.

There wasn't anything
so wonderful about him

that I could see.

- Tell me, Monsieur Carter,

why were you in Harley Street
that day?

I saw you there
in the waiting room.

- All right.

I was gonna tell Morley

that this business
of putting Gladys against me

had gone on long enough,
that I'd landed a good job,

and that it was about time
she handed in her notice

a thought about a trousseau.

- But you did not actually
tell him these things?

- I got fed up with waiting
in that dingy mausoleum,

so I left.

- At what time did you leave?

- I can't remember.

I've got to get going;
the march will be starting soon.

- It has been a great pleasure
to meet you, Monsieur Carter.

And, yes, I am delighted
to hear about your new job.

The work, it is interesting,
n'est-ce pas?

- Oh, yeah.

You know.

I'll see you next week, Gladys.

- Bye, Frank.

- Au revoir, Monsieur Carter.

Are you receiving visitors,
mon ami?

- Good heavens.
Poirot.

- Chief Inspector.

- What on Earth brings you
to Isleworth

on a Sunday afternoon?

- Business.
What else?

- Well, you better come inside
and have a cup of tea.

- Thank you.

- Madame Japp,
she is not at home?

- No, no.

Some blessed meeting.

Women's institute,
parish counsel, or something.

I don't know.

Do you take sugar, Poirot?

- Do you have perhaps a tisane?

- Come off it, Poirot.

This is Isleworth, you know,
not Juan-les-Pins.

What's the business, anyway?

- I wondered if you'd been able
to trace the telegram

that was sent
to Mademoiselle Gladys Neville.

- Yes, we did,
as a matter of fact.

Rather clever.

The aunt lives in Richmond
in Yorkshire.

The telegram was handed in
in Richmond, Surrey,

just down the road here.

- Do you know what I think,
Chief Inspector?

- What's that?

- I think that there are signs
of brains in this business.

- Well, the assistant commissioner
is satisfied that Morley killed himself.

- Is he satisfied
with the disappearing lady?

- Ah, the case
of the disappearing Seale.

No. I'm still working on that.

She's got to be somewhere.

Mm.
Garibaldi?

- And I really think my feelings
ought to be considered

in the matter, Alistair.

- But your feelings
have been considered, Mother.

- Yes, Julia, that is true.

- Mr. Poirot to see you,
Mr. Blunt.

- Thank you, Helen.

Monsieur Poirot,
it's very good of you to come.

- Monsieur Blunt.

- Well!

If you are going to talk
horrors, I shall leave.

- Allow me.

- I'll see you at home, Jane.

- Madame.

- You've met Miss Olivera,
I think.

- Oh, yes, indeed.
Mademoiselle.

- Please.
- Thank you.

- I hope
I haven't asked you here

on a wild goose chase,
Mr. Poirot.

It's about this missing woman
that the papers are full of,

Miss Sainsbury Seale.

- Yes.
- Jane?

I'm sure
this is utterly unimportant.

And why we are wasting
Mr. Poirot's time,

I really don't know.

- If you please, Mr. Blunt,
allow Poirot to decide.

- Well, Sainsbury Seale
is such a pompous name.

That's why I remembered.

It was the last time

Uncle Alistair went
to the dentist.

Well, I don't mean the other
day; I mean about a week ago.

I was with him,
and we stopped in Harley Street,

and just as he got out,
a woman came out of the dentist,

a middle-aged woman
with fussy hair

and rather dowdy clothes.

"Oh, Mr. Blunt, you don't
remember me, I'm sure."

- People are always saying that,

and I never do.

- "I was a great friend
of your wife's, you know."

- They usually say that too.
It always ends the same way:

a subscription
to some charity or other.

Five pounds to a Zenana mission
this time.

- And had she really known
your wife, Monsieur Blunt?

- Well...

the mention of the Zenana mission
made me think she may have done.

We were in India about four years
ago, just before my wife's death.

Perhaps we met once
at a reception.

- I think it's queer

the way she tried to scrape
an acquaintance with you.

- And she did not try to, um,
how do you say,

follow it up in any way?

- Why, no.

I'd forgotten her name, even,

until Jane spotted it
in the paper.

- Well, I just thought
you ought to be told,

Monsieur Poirot.

- Here.

Here, Alison?

- What?

- There's a thing here
about a woman who came here,

Miss Sainsbury Seale.

It says here she's missing.

- You don't have a passkey?

- No, I've never had one.

- We can't just break in.

- Well, suppose
something's happened to her.

- Yes, and suppose
she's gone off on holidays.

- Oh, no.
Oh, no.

- Go on, Sergeant.

Right.

- Mrs. Chapman!

- Leave it to us.

Mrs. Chapman!

- Sergeant.

Hello?

Anybody there?

Mrs. Chapman?

Hello?

Anybody here?

- This is the boxroom.

- What's that?

- Well, I don't know.

- Shall I open it, Sarge?

- Go on, then.

It's not particularly pleasant.

- That's the porter
being sick, sir.

I had to get him to have
another look at the body

to identify it.

- There's some brandy
in the other room.

- It was not pretty, that.

Tell me all about it,
Chief Inspector.

- The flat belongs
to a Mrs Albert Chapman.

Can't tell you much about her,
really.

Pays her bills.

Fond of a game of bridge.

Keeps herself to herself
more or less.

The neighbors say they've hardly
ever seen her, in fact.

Mr. Chapman's a commercial
traveller, apparently,

so he spends most of his time
away from home.

- And Mademoiselle
Sainsbury Seale?

- She came here on the evening
of our interview with her,

about seven fifteen.

The porter's wife
was cleaning up here

and saw her arrive.

She'd been here once before,
the porter says.

Now, one thing's for certain:

Sylvia Chapman
or Sylvia's friends

murdered the lady, put her
in the box, and made off.

- But why was the face
so battered?

- Sheer vindictiveness, maybe.

Or it may have been
with the idea

of concealing
the woman's identity.

I don't know.

No fingerprints anywhere,
as far as we can see.

- You mean every fingerprint
in the apartment

was removed after the murder?

- That's about the size of it.

Something worrying you, Poirot?

Yes.

Yes, I'm very seriously worried.

There is here, you see,
an insoluble problem.

- One patent leather shoe,
complete with buckle.

What's wrong with that?

- Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

All the same,
I do not understand.

Some bearers
belonging to Madame Chapman.

Ah.

Some old theater programs.

A leaflet
about the Zenana missions.

- We can guess
who brought that here.

- Nothing much of interest
in the address book either, sir.

- Non, so I see.

Hairdressers.

Dressmakers.

A dentist.

Morley, one sixty eight Harley Street.

- Not so strange

if she was a friend
of the Sainsbury Seale woman.

- Pardon.
- Mr. Poirot?

What brings you here?

- Tell me, if you please,

did your brother ever mention
to you in particular

a Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale
or a Madame Chapman?

- No.

No, I don't think so.

- I managed to make this

before they took everything,
Miss Morley.

- Oh, thank you, Agnes.

Would you like a cup, sir?

- Not for me, Agnes.
Thank you very much.

- Agnes is coming with me
to the country.

She's becoming
quite a good little cook,

- Excuse me, sir...
- Yes.

- For asking.
- Yes.

- But does anyone know
anything more

about the master's death, sir?

- Nothing fresh
has come to light, Agnes.

- They're still quite sure
he shot himself

because he'd made a mistake
with that drug.

- Yes.

Why do you ask?

- I only--
- Agnes?

- I just want to be sure, sir.

- Agnes!

- Ah, Chief Inspector.
- No time, Poirot.

We found
Mr and Mrs Albert Chapman.

- Where?

- They booked into the
Montague Hotel this morning.

- The Montague Hotel, Bloomsbury?

- That's right.

- It is odd, is it not,

being on the run after murdering
Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale,

that they have not run further?

- You never can tell
with the criminal mind, Poirot.

- Open up!

- Who is it?

- Police.

- Police?

- Just open the door,
Mr Chapman.

- Here!

- All right, there's no need
for anyone to get hurt.

You are Mr Albert Chapman?

- Yes.

- And this is Mrs Chapman?

- Yes. What's the
meaning of this?

- I'll ask the questions, sir.

Do you live
at number 45 Lichfield Court

in Battersea in the--

- No.

- What do you mean, "no"?

- Well, we don't.

Do we, Beryl?

- Beryl?

- What's wrong with "Beryl"?

We happen to know that your name
is Sylvia, Mrs Chapman.

- What are you talking about?

- We live in Budleigh Salterton,

not this...Lichfield place.

- You have proof of that,
I suppose.

- Well, no, I haven't--

Yes, I have.

- Watch him, Beddoes.

What's this?

- Our wedding lines,
if you must know.

- We were married this morning.

- I swear by almighty God that
the evidence I shall give

shall be the truth,
the whole truth,

and nothing but the truth.

- You are Mr John Leatheran?

- Yes, sir.

- And you are a dentist.

- Yes, sir.

I've taken over
the dental practice

of the late Mr. Henry Morley
at hundred sixty eight Harley Street.

- I see.

You were recently called

to examine the body
of the deceased

for purposes of identification.

Were you not?

- I was, sir.

The police believed the body

to be that of
Miss Mabelle Sainsbury Seale,

who was a patient
of Mr. Morley's.

- I see.

You've inherited, as it were,
the late Mr Morley's patients.

- That's right, sir.

- And, of course,
their dental records.

- Quite.

- And could you identify
the body from these records?

- I could, sir.

It was not Miss Sainsbury Seale.

It was Mrs Sylvia Chapman,
another patient of Mr Morley's.

- The fair Mabelle
put one over on us

good and proper.

I wouldn't have thought
she was capable of murder,

but that's what it looks like,
now.

Sylvia didn't murder Mabelle;
Mabelle murdered Sylvia.

- Perhaps.

- It crossed my mind that Morley
might have been killed

so he couldn't identify
the body.

- But, as you have just heard,
Chief Inspector,

the records
would still have existed.

- That's right.

Anyway, I'm going back to work.

- Oh, Chief Inspector.

This morning, I received
a letter from Monsieur Blunt.

He has invited me to his house
in the country.

He may have a commission for me.

- Well, you always did move
in exalted circles, Poirot.

- Helen isn't dining with us
tonight?

- I suggested that it would be
far better for her to rest

than to go to all the bother
of dressing herself up

and coming down.

She saw my point.

- Oh?

I thought it might make
a pleasant change for her.

- I really don't see why
you need a secretary

during the weekend anyway.

- She's new to the job.

There's a lot
she needs to learn.

Monsieur Poirot?

There is a great deal
about which

I am not entirely satisfied.

- What do you want of me,
Monsieur Blunt?

- I want you to find this woman
Sainsbury Seale.

- Alive or dead?

- You think she may be dead.

- I think...

She might be dead, yes.

- Why do you think so?

- Because of a pair of new
silk stockings I discovered.

You're an odd man,
Monsieur Poirot.

- Oh, yes, I am.

Very odd.

That is to say, I am methodical,
orderly, and logical,

and I do not like
to distort facts

to support a theory.

Good morning.

- Good morning, Monsieur Poirot.

Did you sleep well?

- Excellently.
Thank you, Monsieur Blunt.

Good morning, mademoiselle.

- Good morning, Mr Poirot.

I would prefer not to accept
any invitations, Mr Blunt,

while your American relations
are with you.

- Good morning.

Julia.

I'm afraid you rather hurt
Helen's feelings.

- Oh, for heaven's sake,
Alistair.

She's only a secretary.

- I notice
that you have a gardener

who you must have employed
recently.

- Yes, we took one on
a couple of weeks ago.

- Do you know
from where he came?

- I'm afraid not.

MacAlister, the head gardener,
engaged him.

- Oh.
What is his name?

- Well, I don't know.

Dunning, Sunbury,
something of the sort.

- Seems like lots of people are out
for your blood, Uncle Alistair.

- Oh, really?
What are you reading?

Oh, the debate in the House.

That's only Archerton.

If we'd let him have his way,

England would be bankrupt
within a week.

- Did you know there are
over 2 million unemployed

in this country?

- One can't make an omelet
without breaking eggs, Jane.

- I think we do pretty well,
all things considered.

Industrial production
was up three per cent, last year.

- Take no notice
of what Jane says.

You know what girls are.

They go to these parties
in studios,

and then they come home
and talk a lot of nonsense.

- Mother.

- I'm afraid I'm one of the last
of the old guard,

Monsieur Poirot.

- And if the old guard should
be removed, what would happen?

- Removed? I'll tell you.

A lot of damn fools

would try a lot
of very costly experiments.

It would be the end
of stability,

of common sense,
and of solvency.

- Ah.

Of course, we've always taken great
pride in our herbaceous borders here.

They're a lot of work, mind,

but well worth the effort,
I've always thought.

- Ah, now, these flowers here,
they are beautiful.

- Yes, they're particularly good
this year.

And look at these here.

Good God!

- Drop that gun!
- It wasn't me, I tell you.

- Oh, no? Just shooting
at the birds, I suppose.

Oh, Mr. Blunt!

I caught him right at it.

- I was just weeding the beds.

I heard a shot,
the gun fell right at my feet,

I picked it up, and this
stupid cow jumped on me.

- Now, then, Dunning, Dunbury--

what is your name?

- His name is Frank Carter.

- You. You've had it
in for me all along.

I never fired that shot!

- In that case, who did?

As you can see,
there is no one else here

but ourselves.

You really must not agitate
yourself, Mademoiselle Neville.

- First they tried to pretend

that Frank attempted
to murder Mr. Blunt,

and now they've accused him
of murdering poor Mr Morley.

- Sugar?
and now they've accused him
of murdering poor Mr Morley.

and now they've accused him
of murdering poor Mr Morley.

- No, thank you.

- I was down there, you know,
at Exsham,

when the shot was fired
at Monsieur Blunt.

- It's these Blackshirts.

They march around
waving their banners.

They have
this ridiculous salute.

And they work up these poor men
like Frank, until they think

they're doing something
wonderful and patriotic.

- And that is the defense
of Monsieur Carter?

- No! I haven't seen him,
of course.

They wouldn't let me.

- Buh-buh-buh-buh.

- He has a solicitor
working for him,

and he told me
what Frank had said.

He met a man in a public house

who said
he was in the secret service,

and he offered Frank
this wonderful job.

He was to take up the post
of gardener

and listen to all the other
gardeners' conversations

and sound them out
as to their Red tendencies.

He had to pretend to be
a bit of a Red himself.

- And this solicitor,
he is of the opinion

that his client would do better

to think of a story
that is more plausible?

- Lawyers.

You wouldn't believe
how difficult they are.

- Mademoiselle Neville.

What did you think
of the housemaid, Agnes?

- I didn't think at all
about her.

Mr. Morley's sister
kept a strict eye on the maids.

- Ah.

- Why are you asking?

- She wrote to me a letter,
and...

As yet, I do not know why.

Thank you.

- Your tea, madam.

- Thank you.

I hope you didn't mind me
writing you that letter, sir,

only I didn't want for you
to come to the house.

I mean, if I was to say anything
in front of Miss Morley,

she might say as how I ought
to have said something before.

Me and the cook,
we'd read in the papers

how the master had made
a mistake with that drug

and had shot himself.

So it did seem quite clear,
didn't it, sir?

- When did you begin
to feel differently, Agnes?

- Seeing in the paper, sir,
about that Frank Carter

shooting at that gentleman.

I mean, up till then,

neither of us thought he'd done
anything to Mr. Morley.

We just thought
it was a bit queer.

- What was queer, Agnes?

- It was that morning, sir. The
morning Mr. Morley shot himself.

I was wondering if I dared
run down and get the post,

so I went out on the landing, and
I looked down over the stairs.

And it was then that I saw him,

Frank Carter,
down on the stairs below.

He was just standing there,
like, waiting.

Then he seemed
to make up his mind,

and he sort of went
very quickly down the stairs

towards the master's surgery.

And I thought to myself,
"The master won't like that."

- Agnes!

- But just then, Cook called me,

and I went back
into the kitchen.

And afterwards, I heard
the master had shot himself,

and it was so awful, it just
drove everything out of my head.

- Tell me, Agnes.

Did you actually see
Frank Carter

enter the room
of Monsieur Morley?

- He must have done, sir.

- At what time was this?

- It must have been
about half past twelve, sir.

- I want to see Frank Carter.

- What's the big idea?

- You are unwilling?

- What do you want
to see Carter for?

Ask him
if he really murdered Morley?

- Yes.

- I suppose you think
he'll tell you if he did.

- He might tell me, yes.

- That can only mean that you've
got hold of something

that proves more or less
conclusively that he didn't.

You ought to play fair
with us, Poirot.

- I am playing fair with you,
Chief Inspector.

Believe me.

- It's a damned lie!

You paid her to say that.

- Anger and abuse will not
help you, Monsieur Carter.

Agnes is going to tell
her story,

and it is going to be believed.

You were on the stairs,
Agnes did see you,

and you did go into the room
of Monsieur Morley.

What happened then?

- It's a lie!

- No.

It is not a lie.

If you did not kill
Monsieur Morley,

your only hope is to tell me
the exact truth

of what happened that morning.

- God curse you
if you let me down now.

I did go in.

I went up the stairs and waited
above Morley's landing

till I could be sure
of getting him alone.

Then a bearded gent came out
and went down the stairs.

I was just making up my mind
to go

when another gent came out
and went down the stairs too.

I knew I had to be quick.

I went along and nicked
into his room without knocking.

I was all set
to have it out with him.

But he was lying there dead,

and I could see the bullet hole
in his head

where a black crust
of blood ran.

He was cold.

I knew I was in a jam, then.

They were going to say
I'd done it.

I hadn't touched anything

except his hand
and the doorknob.

I wiped that
with my handkerchief,

both sides,
as I went out.

There was nobody in the hall,
and I let myself out

and licked it
as fast as I could.

That's the truth.
He was dead already.

You've got to believe me.

- By telling me the truth,

you have just saved yourself
from being hanged.

- I don't see it.

They're going to say--

- Monsieur Carter.

Your story has confirmed
what I knew to be the truth.

You can leave it now to me.

- Japp.

Ah, Poirot.

Yes?

What?

No, Poirot, I--

Well, I have to get clearance
on this, you know.

Go on.

Yeah.

- All right, I'll do what I can.
- Thank you, Chief Inspector.

- Mr. Hercule Poirot, sir.

- Thank you.

- This is about
Miss Sainsbury Seale, is it?

Have you found her?

- I hope you do not object,
Monsieur Blunt,

but I have invited a few
other people to join us.

- I'm not walking through
the streets in handcuffs.

- You'll walk
through the streets

in anything I tell you, my lad.

- I hope this is a matter
of importance, Alistair.

That Belgian detective sent
a most insolent message to us.

- Mother.

- Miss Neville to see you, sir.

- Mademoiselle Neville.

- Are there many more,
Monsieur Poirot?

If so, we may be more
comfortable in the boardroom.

Is the boardroom free,
Miss Montressor?

- Yes, Mr Blunt.

- Frank!

- All right, all right. You're still
in His Majesty's custody, you know.

Show a bit of respect.
Come on.

- Mesdames et messieurs,

good afternoon.

Since the beginning
of this case,

three people have died:

pauvre Monsieur Morley,
pauvre Monsieur Amberiotis,

and pauvre
Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale.

- I thought she was
still missing.

- No, no, no, no, mademoiselle.

In fact, Mademoiselle
Sainsbury Seale was dead

even before the investigations
of this case began.

The porter at Lichfield Court
told us

that Mademoiselle
Sainsbury Seale

had been to visit
Madame Chapman.

He saw her go to the apartment
and be let in.

She never came out again, no?

Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale
was never, ever seen again

until the police, they broke in
to the boxroom

of Madame Chapman.

- You mean it was
Mabelle Sainsbury Seale's body

in that flat, after all?

- Indeed it was,
my dear Mademoiselle Neville.

You see, it was a very clever
double bluff.

The disfigured face was meant
to raise the question

of the identity of the woman.

But for me, the case,
it began with a shoe.

As I left the dentist's
after my séance,

a taxi stopped, a door opened,

and a foot of a woman
prepared to descend.

It was a foot
that was well shaped,

with a good ankle
and an expensive stocking.

The shoe was new, shining
patent leather

with a large, ornate buckle.

And when the rest of the lady
came into sight,

to be frank,
it was quite a disappointment.

As Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale
descended from the taxi,

she caught her shoe buckle,
and it was wrenched off.

I picked it up
and returned it to her.

Not at all, madame.

- Ooh.
- Oh, dear.

You are welcome, madame.

- Thank you so much.

- That was all.

The incident, it was closed.

- Oh, I'm sorry, Mr Blunt,
to interrupt.

I've finished the post.

Is it all right if I leave now?

- Oh, no, no, no, no.

Please, Mademoiselle Montressor.

Please come and join the party.

- Monsieur Poirot is expounding

some extremely entertaining
theories.

- Please.

- Go on, Poirot.

- Thank you.

When Chief Inspector Japp
summoned me to Lichfield Court

because a body
had been discovered,

the first thing that I noticed
was a shabby buckled shoe.

- Well?

- Ah, you have failed to appreciate
the point, Monsieur Blunt.

It was a shabby shoe.

It was a well-worn shoe.

But, you see,
Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale

visited the apartment
on the evening of the same day

of the murder
of Monsieur Morley.

So in the morning,
they were the new shoes.

In the evening,
they were the old shoes?

- I can't see why
that's important.

- Eh bien, mademoiselle.

Poirot does not like things
he cannot explain.

Madame Chapman took a size five
in shoes.

I knew that
Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale

wore a ten-inch stocking.

That is to say, she took
at least a size six in shoes.

So I went back
to reexamine the body.

My idea was that the face
had been disfigured

to hide the fact

that it really was the body
of Madame Chapman

dressed in the clothes of
Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale.

No, the shoe on the body
was size six,

so it looked as if it was
the body

of Mademoiselle
Sainsbury Seale after all.

But then why was the face
so disfigured?

By coincidence, the dentist
of Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale

was also the dentist
of Madame Chapman:

Monsieur Morley.

But he was dead.

However, the records, they
would have still existed, huh?

So the successor
to Monsieur Morley

would have been able
to positively identify the body

as that of
Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale.

- And could you identify
the body from these records?

- I could, sir. It was not
Miss Sainsbury Seale.

It was Mrs Sylvia Chapman,
another patient of Mr Morley's.

- But if it was the body
of Madame Chapman,

why was she dressed
in the clothes

of Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale?

An interesting problem,
n'est-ce pas?

So I cast my mind back

to the Mademoiselle
Sainsbury Seale whom I had met,

whom the Chief Inspector Japp
had met.

- I used to be an actress.

Just small parts, you know.

Then I went on a world tour,
and--

- And although everything
about her

and everything she said

was in perfect accord
with her given character,

I am now convinced that
the Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale

whom we have met

and the Mademoiselle
Sainsbury Seale

who accosted you,
Monsieur Blunt...

- You don't remember me. Mabelle.
Gerda and I were on tour together.

- They were not the same woman.

- You mean Miss Sainsbury Seale
was murdered

and someone else took over
her identity?

- Précisément.

Again, that is very dangerous,
n'est-ce pas?

But the rewards,
they were very high.

- Rewards? What rewards?

- In just one moment,
if you please, Madame Olivera.

- Perhaps Mr. Morley
was murdered

because he would have been able
to identify

Miss Sainsbury Seale's body
by her teeth.

- Perhaps.

However...

Now we must face the facts.

In the beginning, we believed
that the body of Monsieur Morley

was first discovered
by the pageboy, Alfred,

at about one thirty.

But the fact is, I now know that
the body was first discovered

by Monsieur Frank Carter
about one hour earlier,

at about twelve thirty.

Two things occurred

between the death
of Monsieur Morley

and the discovery of his body
by Monsieur Carter.

The lady whose shoe buckle
I retrieved

was shown into the surgery
of Monsieur Morley.

While her accomplice
dragged the body

into the office
of the secretary,

the second
Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale

changes the labels on the files
of Monsieur Morley,

to ensure that the body
would be identified

as that of Madame Chapman.

She then leaves.

Alfred shows in the next patient

to the surgery
of Monsieur Morley.

Now, Monsieur Amberiotis had
never before met the dentist,

Monsieur Morley.

- It's been troubling me
since the journey from India.

- So our murderer, he was able
to assume his identity.

This dentist tells
to Monsieur Amberiotis

that it would be best
to freeze the gum.

He then administers an injection

which contains a dose
of novocaine and adrenaline

which is sufficient to kill him
six hours later.

- But why?

Why would anyone want
to kill this man?

- Because Monsieur Amberiotis
had learned something

from Mademoiselle
Sainsbury Seale.

He had learned a secret...

And a secret that could make him
a very rich man.

- I wish to speak
to Mr. Alistair Blunt.

- And Monsieur Amberiotis,
he was a blackmailer.

- Are you seriously suggesting
Amberiotis was blackmailing me?

- How could he blackmail
Alistair?

Alistair has no secrets.

- With the greatest respect,
Madame Olivera,

there I must disagree with you.

Monsieur Blunt has
a very big secret,

a secret that must be kept
at all costs.

And there is only one method
that is totally effective

in dealing with a blackmailer,
and that is to silence him...

Forever.

Non. Monsieur Amberiotis,
he had to go.

And Monsieur Blunt had seen
the name of Monsieur Amberiotis

in the appointment book
belonging to Monsieur Morley.

His blackmailer used
the same dentist.

- That'll do for today, I think.

One more rinse, please.

- And so, Monsieur Blunt,
you devise a clever plan,

a very clever plan indeed.

You wait until your treatment
has been completed

by Monsieur Morley.

Then you shoot him.

While the dental records
are being falsified,

you drag the body into
the office of the secretary.

As I have said,
Monsieur Amberiotis

had never before met
Monsieur Morley,

so there was no reason
for him to suspect anything.

You administer to him
the fatal injection.

And when he has left,
you drag the body of Monsieur Morley

back into the surgery...

And arrange it
to look like suicide.

- I know, Monsieur Poirot,
you have a great reputation.

But I'm afraid in this case,

you are wrong
to a lunatic degree.

- Send him about his business,
Alistair.

Mr. Blunt's family stands
foursquare behind him.

- I am very pleased to hear it,
Madame Olivera.

But, you see,

when Monsieur Blunt
married your sister,

Mademoiselle Rebecca Arnholt,

he was not entirely honest
with her, no,

nor with her family,

because, as Monsieur Amberiotis
learned

from the real
Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale,

Monsieur Blunt
was already married.

- Look, there's no need
for the rest of you

to listen to any more of this.

- If you--
- Non, non, non, Monsieur Blunt.

You were dazzled
by the Arnholt family,

by the vista not so much
of wealth, but of power.

And so dazzled were you, that you
deliberately committed a bigamy

and your real wife acquiesced
in the situation.

- Oh, what rot!

- What a fine portrait is this,
Monsieur Blunt!

Such a portrait would be
to any boardroom an ornament!

Monsieur Blunt standing beside
his beloved wife,

the former
Mademoiselle Rebecca Arnholt!

However, mesdames et messieurs,

I have here in my pocket

a certificate of marriage

between Martin Alistair Blunt

and an actress by the name of
Mademoiselle Gerda Alexandra Grant,

dated April the twenty fifth,
ninetenn twenty five.

And Mademoiselle Gerda Grant
is still very much alive.

Yes.

Indeed, she is
in this very room.

- And when I lived,
I was your other wife.

And when you loved,
you were my other husband.

Husband.

- Which is Beatrice?

- I answer to that name.

What is your will?

- Do not you love me?

- Why, no,
no more than reason.

Don't be so mamby-pamby,
Mabelle.

You think he's not good enough
for me.

Come on, Alistair.
I want to dance!

Dance, dance, dance.

- Gerda got such a kick
out of it all.

Didn't you, old girl?

- It was your skills as an
actress, Mademoiselle Montressor,

that were the key
to the deception.

You connived at the bigamy
of your husband.

While he set about marrying
into the Arnholt family,

you assumed the identity
of Madame Sylvia Chapman.

- After all these years!

- Hello, Mabelle.

Come in.

- I've brought you some flowers.

- When the real
Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale

met again your husband,

you murder your old friend
in cold blood.

- Go into the sitting room
straight through there.

- But your skills as an actress
are put to the test once again

as the second
Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale.

- Ooh!

So kind.

- Not at all, madame.

- Ooh!

- Unfortunately for you,
it was Hercule Poirot

who retrieved your shoe buckle
that day.

But having safely deceived

the Chief Inspector Japp and
myself, or so you thought,

you took the opportunity
to be as close as possible

to your husband.

You assumed the name
of Helen Montressor

and joined him as
his new, efficient secretary.

- We'll never make these people
understand, will we, my darling?

Such ordinary, unimaginative
people.

I wish I could make you
understand, Monsieur Poirot,

about my meeting with Rebecca
and my marriage.

Gerda understood,
didn't you, old girl?

We could have married again
after Rebecca's death,

but, do you know, we'd come
to rather enjoy all the secrecy.

She's an actress
through and through.

She would have found it
very dull

being just one character.

Well...

I've killed three people, so
presumably I ought to hang.

But haven't I done something
for England?

I have held it firm.

I have kept it solvent.

I have kept it free
from dictators.

I am necessary to the continuing
peace and well-being of this nation.

- Is he saying
what I think he's saying?

- What about me?

He was gonna let me hang.

- Précisément.

Monsieur Blunt,
with his usual efficiency,

had provided for himself
a second line of defense.

If things went wrong,
you, Monsieur Carter,

you were to be
the scapegoat.

You see, by now,
Monsieur Blunt knows

of Monsieur Morley's opinion
regarding you,

and so he arranges
for you to be engaged

in a most mysterious fashion
as a gardener.

Ah, now, these flowers here,
they are beautiful.

And how easy
for Helen Montressor

to fire a shot
vaguely in your direction,

drop the pistol at your feet,

where you are bound
to pick it up?

- Drop that gun!
Help!

Oh, Mr Blunt!

- You are caught red-handed,

and of course nobody is going
to believe your story,

your ridiculous story

about being employed
by the secret service.

Non.

As far as Monsieur Blunt
is concerned,

you can end your short life
on the gallows.

- I don't waste pity
on people like him.

- Eh bien, Monsieur Blunt.

That is where you and I,
we do not see alike,

for to me, the lives
of those three people

are just as important
as your own life.

Monsieur Blunt,

you talk of the continued peace
of this nation, huh?

Oh, yes, that is very good.

But Poirot is not concerned
with nations.

Poirot is concerned
with private individuals,

who have the right not to have
taken from them their lives.

- Martin Alistair Blunt
and Gerda Alexandra Blunt,

I arrest you
on charges of murder.

- Please.

Oh, my--my poor dear sister.

I don't know why I'm crying.

- Come on, Mother.

- I never liked him anyway.

- Why don't we go back home?

To New York.

- That could have been me,
you know.

- I think I'm going to keep
a close eye on you in the future,

Frank Carter.

You're not safe out on your own.

Secret service.

- Look at it, Poirot,

the trappings
of wealth and power.

And yet, underneath it all...

- Yes, Chief Inspector?

- Well, I mean,
it just shows you, doesn't it?

They're no better than we are,
when it comes down to it.

It's the little chaps

that keep things
on an even keel,

chaps like you and me.

- Ah.

But there are no little chaps,
Chief Inspector,

particularly not Poirot.

Resync & correction by titta
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