All language subtitles for 01. Peril At End House

Looks just like a patchwork quilt,
doesn't it?

No.

Oh, it does to me.

Not to everybody else.

Not to Poirot.

That looks like a great mass of cotton
wool.

No.

I don't think you've got any imagination
at all, Poirot.

That is true, mon ami.

But fortunately, you have enough for
both of us. It is extremely valuable to

Good morning, sir.

Good morning.

Ah, c 'est magnifique.

Just the place. The food will be
inevitable.

What do you think, Poirot?

Down to the beach this afternoon, or
shall I have a round of golf?

Tennis court's pretty good, I
understand.

Waiter!

Still no news of Captain Featon.

Come on.

The round -the -world flight.

They haven't given up hope yet, though,
apparently.

He may have made it to one of the
Pacific Islands.

Cannibals.

Aye, aye.

Makes you proud to be an Englishman,
though.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Do not be sorry, Hastings.

It is not a tragedy for me that I was
born on the wrong side of the channel.

This is intolerable.

I'm going to find a waiter.

Garçon!

Do not perturb yourself, Hastings. The
turned ankle, that is all. I wish you'd

let it be seen to.

Ah, in the pleasure of your company,
mademoiselle, the pain is already

Ah, pardon. This is Captain Hastings.

Hastings, imagine.

The house over there on the point, it
belongs to mademoiselle Buckley.

Really? Called Ent House.

I love it, but it's going to rack and
ruin, I'm afraid.

Oh, that is sad.

It's a big house. Do you live there all
by yourself?

Oh, I'm away a good deal.

When I'm at home, there's usually a
rather rowdy crowd coming and going.

I was beginning to imagine you in a
dark, mysterious mansion, haunted by a

family curse.

Well, if it is haunted, the ghost must
be sent to protect me.

I've had three escapes from sudden death
in the last three days.

Escapes from death?

Well, just accidents, you know.

Curse these bees. I hate the way they
come right past your face.

Ah.

Nick! Nick!

Here, George. Here I am.

Come. Oh, the girlfriend is frantic for
a drink.

Hello? This is Commander Challenger.

He's in the Navy.

I have a great regard for the Royal
Navy.

Oh. Well done. Well done.

All right, George, don't get
overexcited. Come on, let's go and find

Jim.

I hope the ankle will be all right.

Merci.

Nice girl.

Is Commander Challenger what you might
call the good chap, yes?

Oh, absolutely.

Oh, good guy.

Has he the toned dress for her?

What do you think, Hastings?

My dear fellow, how on earth should I
know?

Well, it's Miss Buckley's hat, isn't it?
Yes, we are going to return it to End

House.

Thus, we shall have the opportunity to
see again the charming Mademoiselle

Do you know, I do believe you've fallen
for her.

No, no, no, no, no.

You are under a misapprehension, mon
ami. The young lady, she is very

yes. But I am more interested in her
hat.

I don't see why you'd be interested in
her hat.

It was a hole.

Yes, indeed.

Did you do that?

Hastings, did you notice the way
Mademoiselle Nick flinched as a bee flew

A bee in the bonnet, a hole in the hat.

A bee couldn't make a hole like this.

But a bullet could, my friend.

A bullet like this.

Mademoiselle Nick has three escapes from
death in as many days. Now a four.

These are not mere accidents, mon ami.

You'd have to be a madman to try and
shoot someone in a hotel garden in broad

daylight.

Good night.

Morning.

Good day.

Quite impressive.

Looks as if it could do with a bit of
work.

Yes?

It's not exactly cursed, Lazarus, to
ignore us like this. What?

Then it's part of what it's done, sir,
to be a gentleman.

Aren't you, darling?

I hope so, Freddie. An awful waste of an
expensive education otherwise.

They're from Manchester, you miss.

Oh, there again.

Pardon, mademoiselle.

Commander.

We have come to return your hat.

I wondered what had happened to it.

This is for you, George.

There is a matter of the greatest
urgency I must discuss with you,

Well, don't say you're selling
something.

No.

With that moustache and staying at the
Majestic, can't be.

What's all the mystery?

Mademoiselle.

It was not a bee that flew past your
face this morning.

It was this.

What is it?

It is a bullet.

Miss Buckley very kindly helped my
friend when he twisted his ankle this

morning. Ah, yes, only it's there.

I am glad she didn't invent the whole
thing.

She's the most brave and liar that ever
existed, you know.

Oh, it's quite a gift.

She had a marvellous story the other day
about the brakes on her car failing and

her nearly being killed.

All nonsense, Jim said.

Jim knows about cars.

Is that your Chevrolet Phantom outside?

Yes. Pretty, isn't she?

I'd say the two watches on the table are
exactly the same.

Oh, we've all got one of those.

Don't touch, old boy.

Keep good time, do they?

They keep for the best time in the
world.

Oh, I can't after that.

Of course you can, Freddie.

They must have known just how I like it.
Because everything's coming my way.

Who's been teaching all the birds how to
sing around the lake?

They must have known just how I like it.

Because everything's coming my way.

The first accident was that picture.

I should think the painter might have
said that when he'd finished it, don't

you?

Anyway, it came down crash in the middle
of the night.

Luckily for me, I've been sleeping badly
lately and I'd got up to make myself a

cup of tea.

Otherwise, it might have bashed my head
in.

And the other accidents?

The brakes on my car went west as I was
going down the hill into St. Lou.

And the next day, a boulder detached
itself from the cliff at the end of the

garden while I was on the rocks
underneath.

It's jolly nice of you and all that, but
why are you so interested?

You do not understand, mademoiselle.

You are in grave danger.

Oh, come off it. Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
I tell it to you, I.

You do know who I am.

No, I don't.

I forget you are but a child.

Hello, my friend here, Captain Hastings.
He will tell it to you.

Well, Monsieur Poirot is a detective.

A great detective.

My friend, is that all you can find to
say?

Mais dis donc, say then to mademoiselle
that I am the detective unique.

I've surpassed the greatest that ever
lived.

Well, it doesn't see much point, pal.
You've told her yourself.

Ah, yes, but it is more agreeable to
preserve the modesty.

No, but seriously, these were just
accidents.

You are as obstinate as the devil.

Aren't you clever?

That's where I got my name.

My grandfather was popularly supposed to
have sold his soul to the devil.

I lived here with him.

So they called us Old Nick and Young
Nick.

My real name's Magdala.

That's unusual.

Yes, it's a kind of family name.

There's been a lot of Magdalas in the
Buckley family.

That's it.

That's where I was standing.

Had the boulder only just missed you?

Could someone have pushed it from above?

No. I tell you, it was just another
accident.

Do you have any enemies, mademoiselle?

I'm afraid I don't.

No, sorry.

Is there anyone who would profit by your
death?

No. That's why it all seems such
nonsense.

There's only the house, but it's
mortgaged up to the health and the roof

There's only the one bedroom that's
feasible, you know. All my friends say

they're majestic.

Who is your nearest relation?

My cousin Charles Wise.

He's a local lawyer.

Gives me good advice and tries to
restrain my extravagances.

He arranged the mortgage for me and made
me let the lodge about a year ago.

We saw someone gardening there.

Mr Croft.

Very Australian.

You know, hearty and that sort of thing.
I mean, terribly kind, but Mrs Croft's

a cripple, poor dear.

Have you ever made a will?

Yes, I did, about six months ago, the
day before my op for appendicitis. And

what were the terms of that will?

I left Endhouse to Charles.

I hadn't much else left to leave, but
what there was I left to Freddy.

Tell me about your friends.

Well, Freddy Rice is practically my
greatest friend.

She left her husband about a year or two
ago. He just won't give her a divorce.

And, uh, Commander Challenger?

He wishes you to marry him, that's part.

He doesn't mention it now and again.

After the second glass of port.

And your men hard -hearted?

Well, what would be the use of George
and I marrying one another?

Neither of us have got a being.

Eh bien, apart from Madame Rice, is
there any other friend you can trust,

mademoiselle?

It's Maggie, I suppose.

Who is Maggie?

She's a distant cousin, lives in
Yorkshire.

I usually have her to stay sometime in
the summer.

She's no fun, though.

Ah, the person ideal.

Telegraph her to come tomorrow.

Oh. Jim Lazarus, Mrs. Rice's friend.

Has he nothing to do with Lazarus Art
Galleries?

Oh, I was in there the other day.

But the Lagonda overheated just outside,
so I went in to our... Two things.

This morning, somebody shot at
Mademoiselle Buckley with a Mauser

A Mauser?

Why, do you know anyone who has a
Mauser?

Yes, I have.

With Dad's.

He brought it back from the war.

It's gone.

You know, Poirot, that Mrs. Wright says
that Miss Buckley's accident in her car

was on my eye.

She says Miss Buckley's a terrific liar.

Really? That is most interesting, I
think.

It is interesting for itself, and it is
interesting that Madam Rice has said it.

But why should she say it, even if it
were true?

Ah, these little curious things.

I like to see them appear.

They point the way.

This is all very well, Poirot, but what
we're

trying to do is impossible.

We're trying to detect a murderer before
he's committed the crime.

Well said, Hastings.

I don't know where to start.

I don't know the look of our friends
very much.

Except Commander Challenger, of course.
He's obviously a Pakistan.

You know, Hastings, you have the most
extraordinary effect on me.

Really? Yes.

You have so strongly the flare in the
wrong direction that I am almost tempted

to doubt the commander.

Who's that?

It is I, Poirot.

The office isn't open.

Oh, may we? I pushed the door
downstairs. It was not locked.

You are Monsieur Weiss?

Yes.

It is very good of you to see me at the
weekend.

Au revoir, Poirot.

Poirot?

Poirot.

Tell me, Monsieur Valles, if I may ask,
and I have said nothing about this to

your cousin, Mademoiselle Buckley, you
understand, is there any chance of End

House being on the market?

Oh, no.

Miss Buckley is absolutely devoted to
the place.

Nothing would induce her to sell End
House.

But I do not ask idly.

I myself am in search of just such a
property.

It's out of the question I'm afraid
she's fanatically devoted to the house

Why should Charles Weiss say that
Mademoiselle Buckley had a fanatical

to the house?

Did it seem like a fanatical devotion to
you, Hastings?

No.

No.

Not to me.

What did the garage say?

Well...

Whatever I tell you, you'll believe just
the opposite.

Oh, come now, Hastings.

Oh, very well, then.

The garage said that the valve on the
back of the brake drum had definitely

loosened.

Truly?

Then why did Madame Rice say that the
car accident was all an invention by

Mademoiselle Buckley?

Permit. Madame, I do not know if your
friend has told you, but today her life

has been attempted.

What do you mean?

Mademoiselle Buckley was shot at in the
gardens of this hotel.

Did Nick tell you that?

Yes, but it is no fantasy of
Mademoiselle's imagination, you

I happen to see it with my own eyes.

Here is the bullet.

You see, madame, several very curious
accidents have occurred during the last

few days.

Ah, but you arrived here only... Ah,
yesterday.

And before that you were in London?

No, I was staying with friends in
Tabitha.

Ah, I wonder what were the names of your
friends with whom you were staying?

Is there any reason why I should tell
you that?

No, no, no, no, no, no.

Mille pardon.

I was most maladroit, huh?

It's just that I myself, having friends
in Tavistock, fancy that you might have

met up with them there. Their name is
Buchanan?

No.

But go on about Nick.

Who shot at her?

Why?

As yet we do not know.

But I shall find out.

I am, you know, a detective.

What do you want me to do?

Watch over your friend.

It's over.

I must be hungry here.

Hello?

Well, if they leave the house open like
this all the time, I'm surprised they

haven't all been murdered in their beds.

All right.

I want you to come out very slowly with
your hands above your head.

No, no, no, my friend.

I am Hercule Poirot.

Who do

you think this is, Mrs. C?

The extra special world celebrity
detective, Mr. Hercule Poirot.

I've brought him right along to have a
chat with you. Well, isn't this too

exciting for words?

Enchanté, madame.

And Captain Hastings, Mr. Prorale's
associate?

I've read about you too, Captain.

Oh, great.

They're friends of Miss Buckley, Mrs. C.
Oh, well, isn't that nice? What a dear

child she is.

Not very well liked in this
neighbourhood, I've heard, but isn't

way in these stuck -up English places?

That beady -eyed cousin of hers has no
more chance of persuading her to settle

down here for good than fly in the air.

Ah, so Monsieur Charles Viles is in love
with our little friend?

He's silly about her, but she... Don't
gossip, Millie.

I have my reasons for being interested
in that girl.

I wonder, Mr. Prorow, if you'd care to
see some snapshots of Australia?

Well... Good.

The man who invented the camera has a
lot to answer for, mon ami.

Nice people.

Typical Australians.

Hmm.

I do not know.

That cry of Cooey?

The insistence on showing us 5 ,000
photographs?

Were they not playing the part a little
too thoroughly?

That's Mademoiselle Mig.

See you tonight then, George.

Righty -ho.

Bonjour, Mademoiselle.

Hello, Monsieur Poirot.

Captain Hastings. Morning.

Is this your boat?

How would I afford a thing like that?
It's George's.

I'm just rushing to the station to meet
Maggie.

The nurse and guardian you insisted I
send for from darkest Yorkshire.

Bon.

I shall feel happier.

What you're wrong you know about Maggie.
She's got no kind of brains.

Good work is about all she's fit for.

That and never seeing the point of
jokes.

But there is no joke here, I think,
mademoiselle.

Cheer up, Monsieur Poirot.

Tell you what, why don't you both come
to dinner tonight and watch the

fireworks?

Tell me, Hastings, if the Commander
Challenger has not got the beam, as

Mademoiselle Nicker said, how can he
afford such a ship, huh?

Oh, probably just... Oh, maybe it...

Maybe she meant... I don't know.

Only you.

Mademoiselle, I am desolated. Oh, I'm
sorry. It did sound rude.

Thank you.

Did you call, miss?

Oh, it's all right, Helen. I answered it
myself.

They haven't delivered my dress to the
back door, have they? No, ma 'am.

That's why I found it so rude. I thought
you were my dress being delivered.

The brutes promised faithfully.

Oh, here's Maggie.

Maggie. Here are the sleuths that are
protecting me from the secret assassin.

This is my cousin, Maggie Buckley.

That's a marvellous show, Nick.

Yes, it'll be warm when we're watching
the fireworks.

I've never seen you in a black dress
before, Nick.

I thought you hated black. I do hate it.

The cleaners didn't deliver the one I
wanted to wear.

That racket.

They shouldn't allow speedboats in the
harbour. It's not a speedboat.

It's a seaplane.

I think these flying people are
absolutely marvellous.

Pity about Michael Seaton.

He may still be all right.

Rather a mad family.

That uncle of his, Sir Matthew Seaton,
he was balmy.

Tried about it, would you go?

Wasn't he that millionaire who ran bird
sanctuaries?

Yeah, some girl chucked him once. He
took to gannets by way of consoling

himself.

I don't see any reason to assume Michael
Seaton is dead yet.

Of course, you knew him, didn't you? I
forgot.

We met him last year at the 2K. He was a
marvellous, wasn't he, Freddy?

Don't ask me, darling.

He was your conquest, not mine.

Have you done any flying, Captain
Hastings?

Well, actually... There's the telephone.

Oh, don't wait for me. I don't eat
dessert.

All the extra guests will be arriving
for the fireworks soon anyway.

The bad Mrs. Croft can't be here.

It's bad luck on poor old Mrs. C
altogether.

But she never complains.

You know, that woman's got the sweetest
night.

Splendid view of the festivities, eh?

Didn't he come last year?

Hi. Hey, look at that. What a display.

You people.

I think I'll just run inside and get a
coat.

Oh, let me.

You wouldn't wear surprises.

Oh, Maggie, can you get mine, too? It's
in my room.

She didn't hear.

I'll get it, Freddie.

I want my fur on this cape. Isn't nearly
enough.

Thank you, darling.

It is monotonous. Do you not find,
Hastings?

I like the different colors.

I fear the dampness of the feet.

I shall watch the rest of the display
through a nice window from the wall of

house.

I wouldn't mind putting something on
myself, actually.

Buckley!

You... There have been too long, Maggie.

It's Maggie Buckley. She's been shot.

How did it come about that your cousin
is wearing your cape tonight?

We came in to fetch our coats and I just
flung off the cape on the sofa there.

I went upstairs and I was still in my
room and I heard Maggie call out that

couldn't find her coat.

She said she'd take mine if I didn't
want it. And I said, all right, I'll be

in a minute. And when I did...

Don't ask any more questions tonight.

I'm going to suggest, Miss Buckley, that
you don't stay here.

You've had a shock, you understand?

What you need is complete rest.

I know of an excellent nursing home.

No.

But we want you to feel safe, my love.

Do you understand?

I understand, but you don't.

I'm not afraid any longer.

I've got nothing to live for now.

Someone wants to murder me, they can.

You can't say that, Miss Buckley. You
mustn't.

Mademoiselle, I have failed you. I, who
promised you protection, have not been

able to protect.

But now I want to know that you are in
safe hands, huh?

With people around you, day and night.

What's going on?

It's not naked.

She's not dead.

No.

No, mon ami.

She is alive.

My darling, I thought you were dead.

It's all right, George.

Don't be an idiot. I'm quite safe.

Then what happened?

The policeman said Miss Buckley was
dead.

The sooner you get to your bed, the
better, Miss Buckley.

I'm sorry, George.

Ah.

It was Miss Maggie Buckley.

Oh, my God.

What a tragedy.

Statement from the Chancellor.

As announced in our nine o 'clock
bulletin, Oak has been abandoned for the

of their pilot, Mr. Michael Seaton.

Troper and Island fishermen have
salvaged wreckage believed to be parts

Albatross, the seaplane built by Mr.
Seaton for his attempt to fly around the

world.

The opposition... No one, Dr. Graham.

No one.

Not even the dearest friend of Mlle.
Buckley is to be allowed to see her.

Oh, M.

Poirot. Not even the King of England.

No one.

Except me, Captain Hastings, and your
good cell phone.

Mademoiselle, I wish you good night.

Hastings?

How is she?

Safe.

You don't think the police could be
right to you, Poirot?

So this is the work of some wandering
lunatic.

No.

The murderer is someone who members of
his own circle.

Do you think he realized he'd killed the
wrong person?

I am quite sure he did not.

Must have been an unpleasant surprise
when he learned the truth.

Difficult not to give oneself away in
circumstances like that.

Answer me three questions, Hastings.
What?

What? Three questions.

One, why has Mademoiselle Nick been
sleeping so badly of late?

Two, why does she own a black evening
dress when she never wears black?

Three, why did she say last night, I
have nothing to live for now?

Did she? She did. Answer the questions,
Hastings.

Well, after the sleep, she's been
worried lately.

About what?

What? Oh.

I don't know.

The black dress.

Well, you heard.

The cleaners let her down.

Anyway, all women have a black dress.

You have little appreciation of the
feminine temperament, Hastings.

Well, anyway.

The last, well, it was a natural thing
to say after that awful shock.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, mon ami. It
was not a natural thing to say.

To be horror -struck by her cousin's
death, to reproach herself for it, yes.

that is natural enough. But the other...

Never before has she displayed that
attitude. She has been defiant.

Hello? Yes?

Certainement. Yes.

Madame Rice. She wishes to see us.

I suppose there's no doubt that the
intended victim was really Nick.

I should say, madame, that there was no
doubt at all.

You asked some questions about Tavistock
the other day, Mr. Poirot.

You'll find out sooner or later, so I
might as well tell you the truth now.

I was not in Tavistock.

No, madame?

I motored down from London last week
with Mr. Lazarus.

We stayed in a little place called
Shalakum.

Together.

I'm still a married woman, technically.

May I be impertinent, madame?

Is there such a thing these days?

You care for Monsieur Lazarus?

He's rich.

Well, that is an ugly thing to say.

Better to say it myself than to have you
say it for me.

You are very intelligent, madame.

You'll be giving me a diploma next.

I'm going to take some flowers round to
Nick and see how she is.

Well, that is very amiable of you.

And I thank you, madame, for your
frankness.

Very nice.

Very nice.

I'm at the gulls myself.

Stone's throw from the gasworks.

My dear Chief Inspector, it is so good
to see you.

You do not stay here?

The Metropolitan Police lodging
allowance doesn't quite run to this.

Funny old business, this end -house
malarkey, eh?

As you say, Chief Inspector.

You think these accidents he had were
all part of it? Oh, there's no doubt.

Hmm, you might be right.

Be a help if we could get hold of the
gun.

Probably at the bottom of the sea by
now, if the murder has got any sense.

They mostly haven't.

Right, well, I'd better go and have a
word with the dead girl's parents.

They've just got down from Yorkshire.

Let me know if you have any ideas, won't
you?

Of that you may be sure, Inspector.

It is all very well and very pretty for
Madame Rice to force the richness of

Monsieur Lazarus down her throat, sir.

Yes, I must say, that rather disgusted
me.

Ah, mon ami.

Always you have the right reaction in
the wrong place.

No, no, no, Madame Rice was trying to
tell us something.

I have a friend who is very rich.

He can give me all I need.

I do not need to murder my dearest
friend for a pittance.

I see.

Look here, Poirot, what's the meaning of
this?

They won't let me see her. Is this your
work?

Have you seen Dr. Graham?

Gave me all the usual guff, as well as
can be expected, past a quiet night.

Think I don't know those tricks?

I've got an uncle in Harley Street.

I think you're at the bottom of this,
Poirot.

Listen to me, mon ami.

There is no fooling you.

If one guest is to be admitted, others
cannot be kept out.

You comprehend?

I see.

All or nothing, as you might say.

We will say no more.

Extreme prudence is what is needed at
the moment.

I can hold my tongue.

Mum's the word, eh?

I'll send her some flowers.

You like flowers, don't they?

May I offer you, mademoiselle, my very
deepest sympathy?

You know... Oh, well.

Doesn't matter who knows now.

Now that it's all over.

Now that I'll never see him again.

Courage, mademoiselle.

I haven't any courage left.

I've used up every bit in these last
weeks.

Waiting. And hoping.

Captain Hastings does not know what we
are talking about.

Michael Houghton.

The airman.

I was engaged to be married to him.

And he's dead.

You heard the news last night?

On the wireless.

I made an excuse about the telephone.

I wanted to hear the news alone in case.

I don't want to live.

I don't want to live.

I know.

I know.

To all of us, mademoiselle, there comes
a time when death seems preferable to

life.

With the grief, it passes.

You think I'll forget?

Marry someone else?

Never.

But you are fortunate, mademoiselle.

You have been loved by a brave man.

When did you get engaged?

Just after Christmas.

But it had to be a secret.

Because of Michael's uncle.

Sir Matthew Seaton.

He thought women ruined a man's life.

He was frightfully proud of Michael,
though.

He financed the building of the
Albatross.

But if Michael had succeeded, he would
have been independent of him.

He would have been a, I don't know, kind
of a world hero.

His uncle would have come round in the
end anyway.

Yes, yes, I see.

I never told anyone.

Not even Freddy.

Even when the uncle of Michael Seaton
died a week ago?

Well, it seemed a bit boastful to do it
while the papers were full of Michael's

flight.

Michael would have hated that.

Mademoiselle, you once mentioned that
you had made a will.

Where is it, this will?

Knocking around somewhere.

I'm frightfully untidy, you know.

Papers and things are mostly in the
writing table in the library.

Or maybe in the bedroom.

Or maybe... I'm sorry.

You will permit me to make a search for
it, yes?

If you want to.

I was right.

What do you mean? This engagement
business has some bearing on the crime.

Listen to me, my lady.

Just over a week ago, Sir Matthew Seaton
died.

And Sir Matthew Seaton was one of the
wealthiest men in England.

Yes. Attendez, he has a nephew whom he
idolizes and to whom he may assume he

left his vast fortune.

Last Tuesday, this nephew, Michael
Seaton, is reported missing.

And on Wednesday, the attacks on the
life of Mademoiselle begin.

Now, suppose, Hastings, that Michael
Seaton made his will before he started

flight and that he left all that he had
to his fiancée. In this case, it is not

a paltry inheritance that is at stake.
No, no.

It is an enormous fortune.

I say.

You any farther?

Come on.

You are going to get the bottom of this,
aren't you?

I am the dog who... stays on a scent,
Commander, and does not leave him.

Hope my alibi's in order. There are
other things besides alibis, Commander.

You would like, I think, to marry
Mademoiselle Nick?

I've always wanted to marry her.

Precisement. Eh bien, Mademoiselle was
the fiancée of another man.

A motive, perhaps, for killing, as well.

But there would have been no need.

The other man dies the death of a hero.

So it's true.

Nick was engaged to this Michael, see?

There's a rumour about it all over town
today.

Well, I didn't know about it. Oh, hello,
Freddie.

So neither of you knew that mademoiselle
was engaged to Monsieur Seaton?

Nick's a close little devil when she
likes.

But I understand now why she's been so
nervy lately.

Have you got my watch, darling?

Yes, I have.

I got it done this morning.

It's a bore.

Always something going wrong with it.
You said it kept wonderful time.

Yes. Well, it does. It's just a strap, a
little buckle thing.

I've got a bit of a headache. I'm going
to go and lie down.

Compliments of Hercule

Poirot.

Merci, madame.

I sent her some flowers already.

Might send her some fruit, I suppose.

Ah, the eatable? It is not permitted,
commander.

You don't think someone's still going to
try it?

Good Lord!

So on the night of the fireworks, you
were in the kitchen?

That's right.

You help your wife with the cleaning up,
do you?

That's right. And there's company I do.

That's where the lady was killed, there,
by the steps.

I've seen a pig kill once, haven't I,
Dad?

That's right, son.

I liked it.

Dad used to kill pigs when he worked on
the farm, didn't you, Dad?

I've seen pigs killed. I liked it.

Young 'uns like to see pigs killed.

Shot with a pistol, the lady was. She
didn't have her throat cut, did she,

They all like that round here.

Poor Mick Buckley. She was in quite a
state, wasn't she?

Didn't seem to have any idea where she'd
put the will.

Most people have a sort of secret place
where they keep things like that.

Not here.

Aren't there any secret panels or that
sort of thing in the house, do you know?

Well, there is, as a matter of fact.

I remember being shown it as a girl.

I can't remember just now exactly where
it is.

In here or in the drawing room.

Big enough for someone to hide in?

Oh, no, sir.

It's just a little cupboard sort of a
place.

About a foot square.

Oh.

Thank you very much, sir.

Secret panels.

I like to cover every eventuality.

Eventuality, huh?

Here's an eventuality for you, Hastings.
Who's it from? Madame Rice.

Darling, the party was too marvellous.

Feeling rather doomy today. You were
wise not to touch that stuff. Don't ever

start, sweetie.

It's so damn hard to give up.

I'm writing the boyfriend to hurry up
the supply. What hell it all is. Love,

Freddie.

Dated last February.

She takes cocaine, of course.

Triber's license.

Breath -maker's bill.

Perfectly good dividend, Warren.

The young girls nowadays, Hastings, they
are not properly trained.

Order and method are left out of their
bringing up.

There's a cheque here for 20 pounds
from... What are you doing?

We are searching for the Wilman, I mean.

But those are... Oh.

Underclothes, are they?

My poor Hastings, decidedly you belong
to the Victorian era.

This is Monsieur Michael Seaton?

Yes. And his love letters, if I mistake
not. Poirot, you really can't do

that. It isn't playing the game.

We are not playing a game, Hastings. We
are hunting down a murderer.

Here, you better read them as well as
me.

Two pairs of eyes are no worse than one
pair.

I don't like this sort of thing, Poirot.

January the 3rd.

Darling, it seems too good to be true
that you should actually love me.

Oh, look here.

March the 2nd.

My dearest, this is pretty rotten, all
this beastly concealment, isn't it?

But Uncle Matthew has an absolute bee in
his bonnet.

I say, Poirot, listen to this.

Dear it, I'm off tomorrow feeling
tremendously excited.

By the way, somebody said I ought to
make a will, tactful fellow, so I have,

half a sheet of notepaper and sent it to
old Whitfield.

I remembered your name with Magdala,
which was clever of me. A couple of the

fellows witnessed it. So you were right,
he did make a will.

Yes, and anyone who read these letters
would know the fact.

We looked everywhere.

Try to remember, mademoiselle, where you
last saw your will.

I can't.

You didn't put it in the secret panel by
any chance, did you?

The secret what?

Ellen said there was one in the drawing
room or the library.

Nonsense. I've never heard of such a
thing.

Ellen said so.

Maybe.

But we are wandering from the subject.

The last will and testament of Magdala
Buckley.

Did you use a will for?

There wasn't time.

I was just going off to have my appendix
out.

Besides, Mr Croft said that will forms
were very dangerous.

Mr Croft was there?

Yes, it was his idea to make the will at
all.

He is very helpful, the excellent Mr
Croft. Yes, he... Oh, what an idiot.

Letting you hunt round End House.

Charles has got it, of course.

My cousin, Charles Byth.

Ah. Mr. Croft said the proper person to
have charge of it was a lawyer.

So we stuck it in an envelope and sent
it off to him straight away.

Charles has got it.

He'll show it to you if you really want
to see it.

Not without an authorization from you.

I hope, mademoiselle.

No, I suppose not.

No. What's the matter?

You must eat nothing that comes from the
outside, mademoiselle.

You think they're still trying?

You think it isn't over yet?

I think it is not over yet.

Well, even if the murderer did throw the
gun in the sea, oh, this is a waste of

time.

Poirot says that 93 % of all police work
is a waste of time.

Duhon.

He's a peculiar so -and -so, isn't he?
Oh, yes.

But sharp.

Duhon. Of course, he's picked up a lot
from me over the years.

Keep your eyes down, lads.

My dear sir, no will has been entrusted
to my keeping.

She wrote it herself, I understand, on a
sheet of plain paper and posted it to

you.

No. Now look here, Mr. Vyse.

I never received anything of the kind,
Captain Hastings.

In that case, monsieur, there is nothing
more to be said.

There must be some mistake.

Here you are, sir. That's six flats.

Thank you, sir. Thank you.

And peppermint rock.

Lovely peppermint rock.

Ah, there you are.

I've got some information on the Lazarus
Gallery I thought might interest you.

Tell me, Chief Inspector.

They're not far off Queer Street.

A slump in pictures has hit them badly.

Antique furniture, too.

They built new premises last year and
overreached themselves.

Thank you, Inspector.

That's a good motive, eh, Poirot?

I just asked her if she'd made a will.

More of a joke than anything else.

Yes.

She wrote it out, then and there.

Who witnessed it?

Oh, Ellen, the maid, and her husband.

And afterwards, what was done with it?

We posted it to Mr. Vi.

The lawyer, you know.

You know that it was posted?

I'll pass it to myself.

Why would I be bothered by the guy?

Looks all right.

But who is lying, I wonder?

Mr. Burt Croft or Mr. Charles Weiss?

I see no reason for Mr. Croft to lie.

To suppress the will would be of no
advantage to him.

What are we doing here, Para?

Apparently,

Dr.

McAllister is what they call a woman's
doctor.

A gynecologist?

No.

Woman seems to be a general term for
neurotic.

Who is this Dr McAllister?

Miss Lemon is trying to tell us his
things.

So I went to his place in Harley Street.

He's got a nursing home there and
another place in Paris.

I didn't like it.

There was something unpleasant about it.

It is respectable? Yes.

Very smart, though.

Anyway, I told him I wasn't sleeping
very well and I was depressed.

Oh.

It was only a rule, Captain Hastings.

A rule is right.

I managed to chat to one of the nurses.
She said, your Commander Challenger

comes to the clinic at least once every
ten days.

Does he indeed?

Miss Lemon, you have done well.

Johnny, well, who is Dr. McAllister?

Oh, Hastings.

He is the uncle of Commander Challenger.

The uncle he told us about.

Right.

But you should have seen the waiting
room.

Lady Lowestoft was there.

And Mrs.

Bindoff. Tiny.

None of them was with the doctor more
than five minutes.

No, no, no, Hastings, you do not come.

You are going to visit a Mr.

Whitfield for us.

Who's Mr. Whitfield?

He is the lawyer that Michael Seaton
mentions in his letter.

Says he sent his will to him.

Precisement. I want you to find out if
that was true and what were the terms of

the will.

Well, if all the dips is coming to Miss
Buckley, he'll never tell me that.

Then you must use your powers of
persuasion, Hastings.

He's in London, isn't he?

There is a train to Plymouth in seven
minutes, and from there you can catch

train to London.

The Majestic Hotel, if you please,
driver.

He's kind enough to take his box for me.

Mr. Poirot? Yes?

There's an urgent message for you.

It's from Dr. Graham.

Will you telephone him at the nursing
home? He said it was most important.

Yes, of course.

Would you make the call for me on your
telephone?

Grange Nursing Home, please.

I do not like these urgent messages,
Mrs. Lamont. I never reply to urgent

messages. I know they're going to be
unpleasant.

There you are, sir.

Thank you.

Hello, Dr. Graham?

Inspector Japp, it's you?

What's happened?

It's been poisoned.

The chocolate's cut in half
horizontally.

Cocaine mixed with a filling.

Chocolate stuck together again.

How could she be so idiotic?

It was only this morning that I warned
her.

Our killer's a bit cleverer than you
give him credit for.

This came with the chocolates.

The compliments of Hercule Poirot.

I did not write this, and yet it is in
my handwriting.

Got it from the car. You sent me some
flowers.

Quite well copied, too.

How is Miss Buckley?

I have failed, Muslim.

I have failed utterly and completely.

Mademoiselle Buckley died ten minutes
ago.

He loved to be all ruffled with him, but
not behind the bolted door with him.

What did she do? I leave it to you. She
did just what you do too.

That's terrible.

I know.

Poor old Poirot.

He must be feeling dreadful. He is.

He won't come out of his room.

I wanted him to come to dinner with me,
but he wouldn't.

How did you get on with that lawyer in
London?

Very well, as a matter of fact. I
remembered I'd been at school with his

He's a partner now, and so... Anyway,
the upshot is, yes, Michael Featon did

send a will to him. And?

He left everything to Miss Buckley.

Millions and millions, apparently,
because of his uncle dying just before.

Now, I want you to tell me exactly how
and when the parcel for Miss Buckley

arrived. A dark -haired gentleman
brought it. Came up in a big red car.

Ah, Lazarus, eh?

And what did you do with it?

I just put it on the end of the table
here.

About half past two it was.

Everything that comes in for the
patients is left here for the nurses to

up.

Well, I came on duty at three o 'clock.

Well, five -two, actually, because I got
a lift up the hill from Dr Graham.

Anyway, I took her up the parcel then.

So for nearly one half hour, it was left
unguarded on the table?

There was the box of chocolates, there
was a bunch of flowers from a Mr. and

Mrs. Croft, and there was a parcel that
had come in the post.

And that was a box of Fuller's
chocolates, too.

Come on.

A second box?

Yes, it was a coincidence.

Anyway, Miss Buckley unwrapped them
both.

And your card was in one of them, so she
said that was all right, and I was to

take the other one away.

Who was the other one from?

There wasn't a card.

But which was the one that was meant to
be from me?

The one that came by post, or the one
that was delivered by hand?

Oh.

Oh, I'm not sure.

Miss Buckley had unwrapped them both
before she looked inside them.

I really couldn't say.

You left a box of chocolates for the
nursing home for Miss Buckley yesterday

afternoon, Mr. Leverett. Yes, I did.

That was very amiable of you, Monsieur.

As a matter of fact, they were from
Freddy, Mrs. Rice. She asked me to get

I see.

So you've still got no leads, then?

I wouldn't say that.

I want to see them hanged, whoever did
this.

She don't want to see nobody, she says.

Well, you just tell her. No, no, no, no,
no, no.

Would you please inform Madame Rice that
it is her friend, her cute Poirot?

She says, will you please go away?

This is a murder investigation, Mrs.
Rice, not a vicarage tea party.

You sent a box of chocolates to Miss
Buckley yesterday.

I won't be bullied.

Two people have been murdered, Mrs.
Rice.

Your friend was killed with poisoned
chocolate. We have information that you

sent her a box of chocolates.

You think I killed Nick?

We have to investigate every
possibility, madame.

Even the remotest.

Nick telephoned me yesterday and asked
me to get her a two -pound box full of

chocolates.

She asked you to get them?

Yes.

So I did.

How did she sound on the telephone?

Sound?

All right.

Her voice sounded a bit weak. I didn't
realize who it was at first.

Until she told you who it was?

Yes.

Are you sure, madame, that it was your
friend?

Yes, of course.

Well... Who else could it have been?

Well, that didn't get us very far.

I understand nothing.

Nothing.

I am in the dark.

I am a little child.

Who stands to gain by the death of
mademoiselle?

Madame Rice.

Who buys the chocolates?

Admitted.

And then tells a story about being rung
up on the telephone that does not for

one minute hold the water?

Madame Rice.

No, it is too simple.

Stupid. But she takes cocaine, you say?
That there is no mistake.

And there was cocaine in those
chocolates?

She is not stupid.

The killer tried four times and failed
the fifth time.

What did he want?

What was going to happen when
Mademoiselle Nick died that he so dearly

happen?

Well, we shall see.

Today, perhaps, all will become clear.

I cannot eat these eggs.

They are of totally different fathoms.

Mr. Poirot?

Yes? Telephone for you, sir. In the
foyer.

Who is it?

A Mr. Charles Vyse.

Ah.

Things begin to happen, huh?

Excuse me.

When?

This morning?

Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no. We cannot
wait so long.

What's going on?

Really?

Wish your child's voice was just in for
me.

But this morning, through the post, he
has received a will signed by his

Mademoiselle Buckley, and dated the 25th
of February last.

Well, it turned up after six months in
the post.

Just at the right moment, n 'est -ce
pas?

But does she leave everything to Mrs.
Rice?

Monsieur Weiss was far too correct to
say anything about the contents of the

will, but there seems no doubt that it
is the same will, and it is witnessed by

Ellen Wilson and her husband.

Which brings us back to Frederica Rice.

Such a pretty name, Frederica.

Mais oui.

Prettier than what a friend's called,
eh?

Freddie?

Ce n 'est pas joli for a young lady.

Well, there aren't many abbreviations
for Frederica.

It's not like Elizabeth where you can
have double.

Eliza, Liz.

Betty, Betsy, Beth. Thank you, Miss
Lemon, yes, that's very... Oh, Margaret,

that has a lot, too.

Maggie, Madge.

Margot. Peggy.

Margie.

Meg? Maggie? Ah, there you are, Poirot.
I've been looking for you.

What's your name, Chief Inspector?

Name? What name?

Your first name.

James.

James Japp.

Jim.

Jimmy Japp. Jamie Japp. Chief Inspector
Japp and I will leave you to play.

What about Hercule?

There aren't any for actual... Help?

It may be what the murderer has been
waiting for, Inspector.

But we cannot be sure.

This is a matter of complex and hidden
motives.

And... Oh, mon dieu.

What's up?

I have been blind.

Blind.

Complex, I have said, mais non.

Of a simplicity extreme.

Extreme.

And the miserable one that I am.

You make a nice change for me. I'm not
that old bird. Look, we don't sit next

that nice cat's name.

Hello.

Good.

That is all, I think, Monsieur Burt.

In an ordinary case, The Will of a
Deceased Person is read after the

In fact, I am proposing to read it now.

Although dated last February, it only
reached me by post this morning.

However, although it is a most informal
document, it is properly attested.

This is the last will and testament of
Magdala Buckley.

I appoint my cousin, Charles Vyse, as my
executor.

I leave everything of which I die
possessed to Mildred Croft in

grateful recognition of the services
rendered by her to my father, Philip

Buckley, which services nothing can ever
repay.

Signed, Magdala Buckley.

It's true.

Not that I ever meant to let on about
it.

Philip Buckley was out in Australia.

It hadn't been for me.

Well, I don't want to go into that.

Well, I think perhaps you ought to, Mrs
Croft.

A secret it's been, and a secret is a
better remain.

She knew about it, though.

Nick, I mean.

I guess her father must have told her.

says that there is no gratitude in this
world, I shall tell them that they're

wrong and that this proves it.

I presume, Monsieur Vyse, that as the
next of kin you could contest that will.

There is, I understand, a vast fortune
at stake, which was not the case when

will was made.

I should not dream of contesting my
cousin's disposal of her property.

You are a very honest fellow.

And I shall see that you do not lose by
it.

Well, as you see, this is a surprise.

Dear sweet girl.

I wish she could look down now and see
us.

Perhaps she does.

Who knows?

A little idea.

We are fortunate indeed to have with us
this evening Mademoiselle Le Mans.

Now, I know that she does not like to
have it brooded about, but Mademoiselle

Félicité Le Mans has the pronounced
powers of the medium.

Now, we are all here. We are seated
around the table.

Let us hold a séance.

Oh, I don't... Wonderful idea.

A sale?

But surely... This is nonsense.

No, no.

It will be most interesting.

Why not?

All ready, Mademoiselle Le Mans? No.
I'll turn the lights out.

Now, we must all join hands.

Is that not so, Mademoiselle Le Mans?

Well... Everybody join hands and...

Now, please, if you please, we must have
the complete silence.

Well, mademoiselle Lamont, goes he to
her trance?

Do you think... Quiet, please.

It's time we stopped fooling about.

You're real.

I'm real, all right.

Thank God.

Thank God.

Who was responsible for this, Farago,
then?

It was I who persuaded Mademoiselle Nick
to pretend to be dead, I'm afraid.

Thank you so much, Mrs. Croft, for what
you did for my father.

But I'm afraid you won't be able to
enjoy the benefits of that will you

just yet.

Oh, dear.

Just a joke.

Oh, it really is very funny. Just a bit
of a laugh, that's all.

That will was a forgery.

Oh, yes.

And a very fine one, too.

You've got nothing on me.

Nothing.

You forge my will.

And then when I don't die to suit you,
you try to murder me.

Oh. You don't succeed.

Let you kill my poor cousin by mistake
and you say nothing?

We never had nothing to do with that.
Don't say anything, Bert. Don't say

anything. We might have forged the will.
Bert!

We never had nothing to do with no
killing.

Take them away, Inspector.

Take them out of my house.

We never had nothing to do with that
girl dying.

Oh, it's so wonderful now that it's all
over.

I really hated doing it.

Deceiving you, all my nice friends.

As long as you're all right, really.

I think it's time for a celebration.

Yes. Perhaps.

Or perhaps it is time for the truth.

Chief Inspector Japp.

Early this evening, acting on
information received from Mr. Poirot, I

myself behind a screen in the library.

When everyone was assembled in the
dining room, another person entered the

house.

This person made their way to a secret
panel in the library.

They then took out the object that was
in there and went out into the hall.

Now, this person comes out here and does
a very curious thing.

They put the object they'd removed from
behind the secret panel in the pocket of

one of those coats hanging there.

Mrs. Rice?

Yes? Just help me out, will you?

Go and look in the pocket of your coat.
Show me what's in there. There's nothing

in there.

Apart from my gloves.

Humour me, Mrs Rice.

Glove.

Try the other pocket.

It's not mine.

If you're trying to frame her... Someone
is trying to frame Madame Rice.

But it is not Inspector Japp.

And it is not... Fuero.

Merci.

Maggie Buckley was killed. That was
inescapable.

But surely...

It was Mademoiselle Nick that someone
was trying to kill.

But that did not make sense.

Mademoiselle Nick loves the end house,
huh?

Is that not so, Mademoiselle Nick?

But she is in desperate need of money in
order to keep it.

So what good fortune she thinks when she
meets the wealthy young aviator Michael

Seaton at Le Touquet.

But he does not fall in love with her.

He falls in love with someone else.

This is rubbish.

So an outrageous plan begins to form in
the pretty head of our young lady.

And when I think of this, I think of
some silly things that Captain Hastings

Miss Lemon were saying. That there were
many abbreviations for the name of

Margaret.

Maggie, Margo, Madge, etc. Yes.

And it occurred to me to ask myself the
question.

What was the real name of Maggie
Buckley?

And to don't go, it came to me.

There were two Magdala Buckleys.

Oh, my God. This is rubbish, Freddie.

It's blanderous, too. Charles, you're my
lawyer.

Magdala was a family name.

But Michael Seaton did not know that
Mademoiselle Nick was called also

He only knows her as Nick.

And in his very informal will, he just
says he leaves everything to Magdala

Buckley. This is untrue.

It's untrue, every word of it.

Voilà the person.

The person who shot Mademoiselle Maggie.

Mademoiselle Nick.

Are you mad?

Why should I kill Maggie? In order to
inherit the money left to her by Michael

Seaton.

It was to her he was secretly engaged,
not you.

It was with her he was in love.

Not you.

You silly little man.

You don't know anything.

You're all so stupid.

Let me get my watch.

Come on, man.

She'd never have got away with it, of
course.

My dear Chief Inspector, she very nearly
did get away with it.

Even Poirot has taken it, huh?

The murder of Maggie Buckley was easy,
but to make it doubly convincing,

Mademoiselle Nick continued with more
tales of attempts on her own life.

What first put you on to it?

The love letters of Michael Seton.

You see, Mademoiselle Nick stole only
those letters which did not contain the

name of Maggie.

But there was something else about those
letters.

On the 27th of February last,
Mademoiselle Nick underwent an operation

appendicitis. But there was a letter
dated March the 2nd from Michael Seton,

he does not mention it.

She was such a queer little girl.

She couldn't help herself, you know?

It's going to be a very unpleasant
business.

I must see about some kind of defense
for her, I suppose.

I think there will be no need.

If I mistake not, the wristwatch of
Mademoiselle Nick will obviate the

for a trial.

Because it is there, is it not, that you
conceal the cocaine?

What?

What the hell do you mean?

No, do not try to deceive me, Commander,
with your hearty, good fellow manner.

You make a good thing of it, do you not?
The trafficking of the drugs?

You and your uncle in Harley Street?

Now, look here.

What do you think, Inspector, about the
trafficking of drugs?

I'm not keen on it, as a matter of fact.

I think we'd better go and have a little
talk, Commander.

Good God.

Cocaine in the wristwatches.

And that is why she wanted her watch in
the spa.

Oh, that's awful.

Indeed it is, Miss Lemon.

But it is better than the rope of a
hangman.

It is satisfying, is it not, Chief
Inspector? In a case when at last one

everything. I thought you knew
everything anyway, Poirot.

Well.

Oh.

There's one for you, Chief Inspector.

Oh, thank you. None for Mr. Poirot,
because I read an article on the train

ice cream was extremely bad for the
little grey cell.

And two for me, because mine are dead
already.

They are very amusing, are they not,
Chief Inspector?

The sea air obviously agrees with them.

I think perhaps when I return to
London...

I shall leave them here.

Thank you.

Santé.