All language subtitles for 01 - The Adventure of the Egyptian Tomb

The Pyramids of Egypt, the last
surviving of the seven wonders of the

The latest expedition by famous
archaeologist Sir John Willard may soon

more of this ancient world's mysteries
with the discovery of the tomb of

Egyptian king Ben -Hara.

No doubt there will be rivalry between
Dr. Oswald of the British Museum...

and Dr. Schneider of the Metropolitan
Museum of New York.

But keep it friendly, eh, chaps?

The local workers, fear of a death
curse, laid down on the tomb over 3 ,000

years ago, hasn't scared off expedition
financier Felix Blybner.

He's been joined for the opening by his
nephew, Rupert, and secretary, Nigel

Harper, photographing the occasion.

Smile, men, hurrah!

It's going to take us some time to get
the seal off intact, Sir John.

No, no, no. Break the ankle.

It'll only take five minutes, John. For
God's sake, Mr. Blybner. That seal

hasn't been broken for over 3 ,000
years.

Then it's time it was.

The burial chamber of King Men -Hurrah.

Tragedy strikes in the Valley of the
Kings.

Just minutes after breaking into the
ancient tomb of Egyptian pharaoh

eminent archaeologist Sir John Willard
is struck down by a fatal heart attack.

Local rumors of an ancient curse on all
those who enter the tomb have been

dismissed as preposterous.

Any messages, Miss Limmel? No, Mr
Poirot, no.

Oh, yes, one.

Lady Willard telephoned. She wants to
consult you.

Huh?

I know.

Isn't it awful?

It does seem almost as if something were
avenging itself for desecrating the

tomb.

unexpected. You come in.

Thank you.

My son has always been against my
calling on your assistance, Monsieur

He thinks I'm listening to all this
silly talk about a curse.

But my husband's death came as a very
great shock to me. Yes, of course.

And now my son wishes to go out to
Egypt.

To continue his father's work.

I cannot tell you why, Monsieur Poirot.

This whole enterprise has filled me with
foreboding.

All those Americans, all those young men
from Yale, seem to have been trying to

take over the dig right from the start.

Mother, really?

Mr. Blydener put up the money for the
entire show, and without him there

wouldn't be any dig.

Well, I never trusted Felix Blydener.
He's just a wealthy dabbler.

I think he's got his nephew out there
now, too.

Rupert's only there to visit his uncle.

Excuse me, Lady Willard.

How may I be of service to you?

I imagine that there is no doubt that
the death of your husband was from the

causes quite natural.

Well, I... No doubt at all.

I'm so sorry.

It appears we've wasted your time.

Mr. Poirot.

I gave him a thorough examination before
we came out here.

His heart was sound as a bell.

It is, uh, weird, though, isn't it?

I mean, just the very instant the burial
chamber was opened. I don't care about

any rotten curse.

I'm off to New York on Thursday.

When's the happy day?

14th of next month.

Unless Bob saves my life again.

He really did save my life once, you
know.

No kidding. I can save you from poor
seamanship, Rupert, but I'm no good on

impending marriages.

You three were together at Yale, right?

God, does that seem an age ago.

Who's going to take over the excavation,
do you think?

Well, that kind of depends on your
uncle.

He is the money.

Do I get the impression that Dr.

Foswell would not be averse?

Sure, the British Museum has got to be
in the running.

What about the Metropolitan?

Oh, modesty forbids.

Isn't it time you people were in bed?

Won't you join us, Uncle?

No, no, I just can't sleep.

Could you have a look at this thumb in
the morning?

I'll have a look at it right now, if you
like, Mr. Blodner, before I go to bed.

It's, um, that cut I got the other day.

Okay.

Good night, gentlemen.

Mr. Hammond, if you please, would you
come through for a moment with your

notepad and pencil?

I want that you send a telegram to the
Assistant Commissioner Bergman in the

Police Department of New York.

Please supply all available biographical
material on Monsieur

Rupert Blydener, nephew to the worthy
Monsieur Felix Blydener.

Best wishes.

Hercule Poirot.

I could say biog.

Comment?

Instead of biographical, I could say
biog.

Is that a word, Miss Lemmon?

It sounds efficient. I heard someone say
it in a picture.

Give me the biog on Dutch Schultz, Miss
Longfellow.

Biographical material will do very
nicely. Thank you, Miss Lemmon.

Oh. What is it, Miss Lemmon?

There's no need for you to cable
Assistant Commissioner Bergman.

Why is that, Miss Lemon?

You can cable Captain Hastings instead.

But Captain Hastings, he is in
California, Miss Lemon.

No, he's on his way back.

He's staying in New York until Friday.

Who is it?

Oh, it's Arthur Hastings, actually.

Who?

Arthur Hastings.

I'm a friend of your uncle.

Well, more of an acquaintance, really.

He said I should look you up.

Uncle Felix?

Yes. You went out to Egypt to visit him
recently, I gather.

How do you know him?

How?

Oh, well...

Just as one does, you know, socially.

How did you find it out there?

Egypt, I mean.

Hot.

Look, Mr.

Hastings, I guess I'm not feeling all
that sociable today.

No, no, no, no, I quite understand.

Goodbye.

Nice to meet you.

Look at you again sometime.

I'll have tea and porridge and bacon and
eggs, please.

Eggs will be easy?

Ah, no.

The other.

Two eggs.

It's only fried up.

Canadian bacon.

Oh, yes.

Thank you.

Good Lord.

Felix Blydener is dead.

He died three days ago.

He's dead.

He died three days ago.

I'm sorry, I thought you already knew.

It was horrible.

The most horrible death.

He was blind at the end.

Where's the doctor?

Dr. Ames.

I'll take you to him.

Now, mind the links.

Wouldn't it be better to wrap it? No.

No, I don't think so. It's better
they're able to see what they're doing.

Oh, Dr.

Ames, can I trouble you for a moment?

This is Sir Guy Willard, Sir John Sark.
Dr. Ames, how do you do? Hello.

And this is Mr. Harper.

How do you do? And Dr.

Schneider. Dr. Schneider. Hi.

Sir Guy has come to take charge of the
excavation.

Dr. Ames, I'm devastated by the news of
Mr. Blythner.

It was at the senior.

Yes, but how did it start?

A scratch on his thumb.

Nothing we could do to him to stop it.

Dr. Ames amputated his left arm last
week, but... Amputated?

Why was I not informed?

Well, I... we weren't aware you were
involved.

Well, I am involved.

The British Museum have agreed that I
should take over the excavation.

But surely Mr. Blinders' death changes
the situation.

Well, indeed it does, Dr. Schneider.

I suggest we carry on as we are until
the wishes of Mr. Blyton's estate are

known.

In the meantime, perhaps you'd be good
enough to show me to my quarters, Dr.

Foswell.

Gentlemen.

Mr. Blydener?

Mr.

Blydener?

Give me the police.

It came as a big surprise to everyone?

Absolutely. No one can understand it.

There just seemed no earthly reason why
he should have killed himself.

He was only 30.

He told it was good?

Fitted the plea, it appears.

Something about sportsmen, too, as a
matter of fact.

Played football at school, held some
sort of local record with 100 yards.

golfer. Played off scratch.

Playing the good golf is no reason not
to commit suicide, Hastings.

You just don't understand golf, Poirot.

What was his livelihood?

Well, up until about six months ago,
he'd been in Hawaii learning the hotel

business.

Did he have any problems emotionally?

Oh, girls, you mean? Good Lord, no. He
was all set to marry this absolute

corker, Melanie Wise. Then he goes and
shoots himself.

Mind you, the first time I saw him, he
did seem very, well, abstracted.

I mean, it was halfway through the
afternoon and he was still in his

Looked as if he hadn't washed for a
week, too.

Oh, and he was wearing white gloves.

White gloves?

Yes, you know, white cotton gloves.

Did he have any problems over money?

None at all, as far as I could tell.
Even less when old Blydener died.

The Blydener millions came to him.

I say, that's a point.

I wonder who'll get the money now.

Oh, he left a note, you know.

No, Hastings, I did not know.

I made a copy of it.

There is no point in going on. I am a
leper, an outcast.

It's better that I should end my life
now than bring misery to the people I

love. Rupert Blythe.

I didn't think you looked too well at
breakfast, Schneider.

Does it hurt here?

A little.

If I move your arm like this, does that
hurt?

No. There's a sort of dull ache, though,
around my shoulders and neck all the

time.

Do you have any trouble swallowing?

Well, as a matter of fact, I do. It
started a few days ago.

How'd you know that?

Hassan. Oh, Dr. Ames. Yes.

I'm going to drive to Cairo, to the
British hospital.

I've got to persuade them to give me
some antitoxic serum.

When will you be back, sir?

By Friday, I hope, if I drive day and
night.

Be careful, sir.

Oh, and Hassan, try and get through to
Cairo by telephone. Let them know I'm on

my way.

Thank you.

It goes on, Mr. Poirot.

First my husband, then Mr. Pleidner.

Then his nephew.

Try to continue, Lady Willard.

Suppose there is some truth in all this
talk about a curse.

Tell me what has happened.

Mr. Schneider, from the Metropolitan
Museum of New York, is very

ill with tetanus.

My son just sent me this telegram.

Sorry, you were thinking very silly and
superstitious.

No, no, no, not at all, Lady Medard.

I also believe in the force of
superstition.

It is one of the greatest forces that
the world has ever known.

And you wish that Poirot should protect
your son against these forces?

Is it possible?

But first I must allow to do their work,
their little grace.

You're not pushing it, are you? Of
course I'm not pushing it.

What's it writing?

I can't see.

I can't make it out.

It seems to have stopped.

Let's see what it's written.

Can't make it out?

Yes.

There's a C.

That's an L.

It's not very clear.

It's definitely trying to say something,
though.

Perhaps it's not writing in English.

Looks like Arabic or something. What?

It's supposed to be King Menhara trying
to get through.

Miss Lip... Hastings, what means this
with the planchette?

Oh, we're just fooling around.

It's interesting, though. We think this
could be from King Menhara.

Hastings, please pull yourself together.

We have business to which we must
attend.

Tomorrow, we fly to Cairo.

Cairo?

in Egypt Hastings, and thence to the
Valley of the Kings.

His jaw's broken.

Broken? The muscles contract so
violently it breaks the bones.

God.

Is there anything we can do?

He's not responding to the serum.

It must be Monsieur Poirot.

What he's left of him yet.

I'm Leonard Foswell, British Museum.

Ah, Monsieur Foswell.

We've got Lady Willard's cable.

I'm sorry, this isn't a good time.

Let me show you your tent. Won't mind
sharing, will you? No, not at all. I'm

Arthur Hastings, by the way. Yes, Lady
Willard said you'd be coming.

Hassan will assign one of the fellaheen
to look after you, get you hot water and

so on.

Oh, this looks fine.

Tell me, Dr. Coswell.

Thank you.

Why is this not a good time?

It's Dr.

Schneider. He has the malady, yes?

He's... I

can't

understand much more of this.

He's not responding.

No.

Seems to be getting worse.

Oh, God.

Who is it? The detective, my mother, Sir
Keenan.

Sir Guy?

Aye.

He's dead.

And you are quite sure you're not Dr.
Ames?

That the death of Monsieur Snyder was
caused by tetanus.

Sure. It could not have been, for
instance, a case of the strychnine

Strychnine? No, Monsieur Poirot. There's
been no suggestion of anything like

that. This was a clear case of tetanus.

Did you inject antiserum? Of course we
did.

Every conceivable thing that could be
done was done.

Monsieur Blybner now.

He died of something completely
different.

Mr. Blydener had a scratch on his thumb.
It became poisoned and septicemia set

in. It sounds pretty much the same to a
layman, I imagine, but the two things

are

entirely

different.

You must ask us any questions you need
to, Monsieur Poirot.

We're all dumbfounded by this series of
disasters.

But it isn't any... It can't be anything
but coincidence.

I see.

And you are determined, Sir Guy, to
continue with this excavation?

Monsieur Poirot, no matter what happens,
my father's work is going on.

I see.

Alors, évidemment, we must find out
exactly what is the position.

Alabaster perfume box.

Height, seven and a half inches. Depth,
five and a quarter inches.

Sniffle. Oh, Jasmine.

3 ,000 -year -old Jasmine.

How long have you been interested in
Egyptology, Mr. Harper?

Oh, ever since I started working as Mr.
Blyden's secretary.

Ever since college, almost.

You were at Yale with Rupert Blydener?

Yes, I was there on a Hendrickson
exchange scholarship.

Ames was with us, too.

All Yalees, you see.

Class of 27.

That is most interesting.

There are four people involved in this
expedition who have known each other for

some considerable time.

The Dr. Ames, Rupert Blythner, yourself,
all together at the college, and, of

course, the uncle of Rupert Blythner.
That's right.

Two of them are now dead.

Are you trying to give me the creeps?

Tell me about Monsieur Rupert.

I really don't understand him doing what
he did.

When he first arrived here, he was in
good health?

Yes, I don't think he had a day's real
illness his entire life.

He had a hypochondriac there. Always got
a lot of little aches and pains he was

always worrying about.

But when last you saw him, he was not
suffering?

No, I don't remember anything in
particular.

Oh, well, yes, he had a little eczema on
his hands he was making a great to -do

about.

I must speak with you.

Oh, right.

Good evening.

I served my Lord Sir John, and now I
serve his son.

Yes, quite.

You are a wise one, they say.

Oh, you know.

A learned in dealing with evil spirits.

I beg of you, let the young master
depart from here.

There is evil in the air around us.

Well, it's not really up to me. You
see...

We have had four deaths, all totally
dissimilar.

One heart failure, one poisoning, one
tetanus, and one suicide.

Exactly.

Is there nothing which might link
together these four?

Something they have in common? No.

I'm sorry, Mr. Poirot, I don't quite
understand this.

Then, Mr. Harper, let me make myself
perfectly clear.

Was there any act committed by these men
or these victims which might seem to

denote some disrespect to the spirit of
Menhera?

Good grief, man, that is all rot, as
well you know.

You're talking through your hat.

You do not believe that such a thing is
possible?

No, I do not.

We're men of science, and I believe what
science teaches.

Indeed.

Was there no science then in ancient
Egypt? Oh, no, no, no, please, do not

answer. But tell me this.

The native workmen, what do they think?

Well, if the white folk lose their
heads, then the natives aren't going to

far behind.

Yes.

Yes, I'll admit they're getting scared,
but they've got no cause to be.

Excuse me, I'm... James, are you all
right?

Oh, I'm sorry.

What's the matter?

Let me get him to the tent.

Would a breath help?

No, I don't think so, Willa. We'll get
him to bed.

you want another photograph?

Not yet.

Did you know, Monsieur Poirot, that a
wreath of flowers from the funeral

ceremony was still lying on the
antechamber floor when my father opened

tomb? It is amazing, is it not,
Hastings? Absolutely.

How is Dr. Ames today?

He's still not well.

He got up today.

To tell the truth, I'm rather worried
about him.

I think we're ready.

Lift away, then.

Tyre. I'm gone.

He has lain here in perfect silence
since a thousand years before Troy was

besieged.

Rome rose and fell.

Wars and catastrophes changed the face
of the earth.

And still this king...

Dr. Foswell?

Come.

What a moment, Dr.

Foswell.

What? Well, to have had the privilege of
merely standing by as the leader of the

sarcophagus, it was open.

Oh, yes.

Oh, yes. I'm just writing it up.

Oh. Do you write the reports for the
expedition, Esper?

For the expedition?

No, no, no, no, no. By no means.

A daily report for the eyes of Sir
Andrew Cairns only.

May I?

Please. Thank you.

Now, Sir Andrew Cairns.

He is the keeper of antiquities at the
British Museum, n 'est -ce pas?

Quite.

The others can do their own reports,
though Frankie... Well, no matter.

And Monsieur Snyder, when he was
alive...

He would have made the reports for the
Metropolitan Museum.

I suppose so, yes.

I mean, I don't want to speak ill of the
dead, but it does just show the quality

of their scholarship, doesn't it? When
the Metropolitan have to send out

somebody like Schneider.

Poor fellow.

The BM would never have sent anyone but
their most senior archaeologist.

And the future keeper of the
antiquities, perhaps.

What? Oh, well, I don't know about that.

Of course.

Sir Andrew is due for retirement in two
years.

And if I make a fair fist at this,
well...

Oh, you're in bed.

This is a work most interesting,
Hastings.

Listen to this.

May your knives not get hold of me. May
my hands not touch the poison.

May I not fall into your slaughterhouse,
for I know your names, and my heart is

with Osiris.

Look here, Poirot, are you feeling all
right?

Perfectly, Hastings. I mean, you've had
a lot of sun these last few days. You're

not used to it like I am. I am perfectly
well. Thank you, Hastings.

Hastings, what is the matter with Miss
Lemon?

Miss Lemon?

Nothing, as far as I know.

Come, Hastings, do not do the shilly
-shally with me.

You yourself play with her in the
planchette.

Well, I think it's her cat.

You know, the one she used to call
Catherine the Great, because it liked

sleeping in the fireplace.

That cat, it died, did it not? Well,
exactly.

She's fearfully cut up about it.

I think she's trying to get in touch
with it.

I mean, I think it's... Hastings, look!

Deliver me from that God whose face is
that of a hound, but whose skin is that

of a man, who liveth upon the damned,
digesting human hearts and

voiding filth.

Hastings, what are you doing?

I'm having my siesta.

No, no, no, no, Hastings. Get up. We
have work to do. Come.

Whose tent is this, Hastings? Uh, Dr.
Ant.

You must remain here on guard, my
friend, while I make the search.

Search? Oh, no.

Poirot. Poirot.

Well, well, well.

I beg your pardon?

Feeling a bit better, are you, Dr.
Raines?

Are you waiting for me? No, no, no, no.
I was waiting for Poirot, actually.

I haven't seen him at all, have you?

Yes, she was, but... What do you mean?

Yes, she was, but... Where is Scott?

Poirot!

Can I come past? What?

I want to go to my tent. Oh, this is
your tent, is it?

I didn't realise that. They're very
good, these tents, aren't they?

Please, Captain Hastings.

Murrow, you really are the limit. I
can't hit the sand. It gets everywhere.

Ames must think I'm a complete idiot.

Plenty of sand in Belgium, isn't there?

Not in Brussels, Hastings.

Hello,

Miss Lemon. Can you hear me?

Yes, I've found Mr.

Blyden's solicitor. I spoke to him.

One moment, if you please, Miss Lemon.

Now, you said he read to you the will?

Bon, what did he say?

Yes?

Yes? Cigarette case, Miss Lemon?

I think it was just a joke, Mr.

Poirot. I see.

Go on, if you please.

You want some pocket money?

All right, but only if you're good.

I have half a mind to volunteer to stay,
you know, Poirot.

What for, you think?

Take up this archaeology.

Can't you feel the fascination?

Desert life, probing into the heart of a
vanished civilization.

Come, Mikey -san. Thank you, Hassan. On
the table next to my bed, if you please.

Wish we were getting somewhere with this
case, though.

Sometimes I think it's not a case at
all. Just three natural deaths and one

suicide.

What do you think, Poirot?

You don't seem to have any theories at
all.

Do you?

Oh, my God, Poirot!

Dr. Ames!

Poirot, quick!

Hastings. It's Poirot. He's ill. Dead. I
don't know. He's become a Marti. Don't

let Hassan leave the camp.

He's still a Pope.

What's going on?

It's Poirot. He's collapsed.

Do you smell anything?

Almonds.

Cyanide. Which, fortunately, I did not
drink.

Thank you, Hastings.

When my good friend Captain Hastings was
calling for help...

I took the opportunity of pouring the
contents from that glass into

this little bottle.

And this little bottle will go to the
analytical chemist.

The first day.

Need not come into our calculations
except for one thing.

The quite natural death of your father,
Sagai, was what gave to our murderer his

idea.

The more deaths that occurred, the more
everyone would talk about the curse of

Menhera.

But the less everyone would ask the
proper questions.

I'm afraid we thought you were just as
superstitious as the rest.

But that was my intention.

You see, I wanted to lull the murderer
into a full sense of security until I

ready.

And in that, I was successful.

The murderer thought that one more
little nudge would send Hastings and

scurrying off back to England.

Good God!

He thought that a cheap trick might do
it. Mais non.

I had to make him act.

And I have now done something that has
so alarmed him that he feels he must now

add me to his role of victims.

What is it that I have done that has so
alarmed our murderer?

Flushed him out and made him try to
poison me.

Let us go back to the first murder.

That of Monsieur Felix Blydener.

Isn't it time you people were in bed?

Won't you join us, uncle?

I asked myself, who would want to murder
Mr. Felix Bleibner?

Alors, he was a man who was very rich.

Therefore, my first assumption would be
his heir and nephew, Mr.

Rupert Bleibner.

Mais non.

Mr. Rupert Bleibner committed the
suicide even before he heard of the

his uncle.

And so my next question was...

Why should Monsieur Rupert Blydener wish
to take his own life? Allah, he was a

man who was young, happy, successful.

He had no thought of death. He had not
even made a proper will.

I could never understand him doing it.

And yet, Dr. Foswell, he told to us the
reasons quite plainly and precisely in a

note that he left.

So plainly, indeed, that we thought he
was speaking metaphorically.

He wrote, did he not?

I am a leper.

And an outcast.

It's better that I should end my life
now than bring misery to the people I

love. On the threshold of marriage?

And a life that was happy and
successful?

Monsieur Rupert Blydener believed that
he was doomed?

He believed he had leprosy.

During his last days, he even took to
wearing the white gloves to hide the

unsightly signs of the disease.

But why should he think he had leprosy?

Because, Hastings, it was told to him
that he had.

And he had every good reason to believe
it.

For some time he had been living in
Hawaii, where the disease, it is

And while in Hawaii, he would have come
across Chamugra oil.

Now, he may not have heard of the more
modern drugs that have now superseded

but he would definitely have come across
Chamugra oil.

What is this Chamugra oil?

Chamugra oil, Hastings, was once the
only treatment for leprosy.

But in this case, it was used merely as
the window dressing to convince Rupert

Blythner of his condition.

But how do you know that?

I know that, Hastings, because I have
stolen some chumugra oil from

the murderer.

Hercule Poirot has discovered his
secret.

What secret?

What is all this?

Monsieur Rupert Blydenau went to Dr.
Ames with a mild case of eczema.

And Dr. Ames diagnosed leprosy.

And poor Monsieur Rupert Blydenau saw no
way out but death.

Malicious nonsense.

I mean, why would I want Rupert to kill
himself? He was my friend.

We were at college together.

In the possession of the lawyers of
Monsieur Rupert Blydener is a sheet of

paper. It is old. It is creased.

Probably written on while at college
during some fit of the drunken

but the handwriting is that of Monsieur
Rupert Blydener.

It reads as follows.

This is the last will and testament of
Rupert Blydener. I leave my cigarette

case, which he admires so much, and all
of which I die possessed, to my good

friend Robert Ames.

who once saved my life from drowning.

You see, Dr. Ames, you knew that on the
death of Monsieur Felix Blydener, his

fortune in entirety would go to his heir
and nephew, Monsieur Rupert Blydener.

But were Monsieur Rupert Blydener to
die... All

right. I'll keep back all of you.

Get off!

Let me go!

You have already three deaths on your
head, Dr.

Ames.

Is that not enough?

But Dr.

Ames did not kill my husband.

No, Lady Well.

The death of your husband, Sir John, was
from the causes quite natural.

You see, the only deaths that interested
Dr. Ames were those of Mr. Felix

Blydener, who perished from septicemia
introduced into his cut hand by Dr. Ames

himself, and Mr.

Rupert Blydener, who Dr.

Ames drove to suicide by convincing him
that he suffers from the leprosy.

And Dr.

Schneider? Indeed.

Dr. Ames injected poor Henry Schneider
with tetanus bacillus merely to lend

strength to the curse of Menhera.

I think you've been wonderfully clever.

Goodbye, sir. I return to the Valley of
the Kings tomorrow.

This time with my blessing.

Bonne chance. Au revoir.

Miss Lemon, would you come through for a
moment?

Miss Lemon, in addition to solving this
case that has been most difficult,

Hastings and I, we have brought you back
a little gift from the very tomb of

King Menhera.

From the tomb?

Oui.

Voila.

It is the very likeness of the favorite
cat of King Menhera, buried with him in

his tomb to keep him company on his long
journey.

Oh, he's beautiful.

Go to bed this evening with him in your
hand, and Catherine the Great will visit

you during the night.

Oh, Mr.

Poirot, thank you.

I don't know how you can tell I'm such a
guff, Poirot.

No, no, no, no, no, Hastings, it is not
a guff.

It is, as I said at the beginning of
this case to Lady Willard, the power of

superstition.

It is a power that is very great indeed.