All language subtitles for And Then There Were None s01e01

I love you.

Cyril!

The, uh, position
is for a secretary.

Then the agency shouldn't
have given you my name.

My typing and shorthand
isn't good enough.

Assistant, then, with some minor
secretarial duties.

I sent her all the details.
She chose you.

Really?

You're a teacher?

A games mistress.
Yes.

Teachers are good at organizing.

Mrs. Owen is expecting
a lot of guests.

Whereabouts in the country?

The Devon coast.
Soldier Island.

The coast?

Audrey's been telling me
about it from her magazines.

Haven't you, Audrey?

Some Hollywood film star
was supposed to have bought it.

But no.

It's Mr. and Mrs. Owen.

And you've met them?

No.
Everything by letter.

An island... by the sea?

Islands are generally
by the sea.

The box, if you please, Audrey.

Um, I-| don't...
Maybe I'm not suited.

You are who she wants.

And it's very well paid.

There's a permanent position
on offer if you fit the bill.

Yes, but...

For immediate expenses.

Zibbity-zabba-zee,
zibbity-zabba-zoh,

Zibbity-zabba-zah,
zibbity-zabba-zoh.

And... And this is for a play...
in the West End?

And will I be credited
in the program?

Ladies and gentlemen,
silence, please.

You are charged
with the following indictments.

Good God!

Bloody hell!

Damn you, you stupid bastard!

Well.
Here are the others.

I'm Miss Claythorne,
Mrs. Owen's secretary.

Are you Mr. Narracott?

Well, ain't no one else
holding a sign.

I've already taken two over...

Fussy old maid
and some flashy young lad.

Been in and out of this harbor
like a fiddler's elbow.

Sea dogs.
They have their own etiquette.

Well, good afternoon.

General MacArthur.

Good Lord.

What an honor to meet you.

Warg rave.

Justice Wargrave?

- The honor is all mine, sir.
- Retired from justice now.

Mister...

Lombard.
Philip.

And you, sir?

Davis.

Are you coming or not?

Well, shall we?

This way. Just up here.

Good afternoon!

Welcome to Soldier Island.

Right.

Come along.

Sorry.
Is there a problem?

Well, that's as far as my feet
will take me, sir.

God's sake.

Davis?

Davis?

I'd be grateful.

Of course.

Well, Rogers.

Our hosts...
When can we expect to meet them?

We should be a full house
by tonight, sir.

Afternoon.

Tony Marston.

Well, I look forward
to meeting you all at dinner.

A stiff G&T in my room.

Sir.

Did Mrs. Owen leave
any instructions for me?

I'm the secretary.

Only to ensure
that you were comfortable

and had everything
you wished for, Miss Claythorne.

Now, if the gentlemen
would follow me,

Mrs. Rogers will escort
the lady.

Thank you, Davis.

Did my friend Mrs. Culmington...
Mrs. Constance Culmington...

Did she change her plans,
do you know?

No, I'm afraid I don't.

Ridiculously vague.

I'm sorry. I only just
recently got the job.

No, no, no, no, no.
Not you, Miss Claythorne.

I mean this whole arrangement.

The Owens invited me here
to meet my friend,

and she's not even here.

Very strange.

Very strange indeed.

Can I help you?
Here.

Too kind.

Leave me alone.

Look at the state of you.

I've got to baste my beef.

And my soufflés, Thomas.
What about my soufflé?

Well, I can't dress her, can I?

Go on.

Was it a childhood affliction?

Your eyes.

No, madam.

Came on all suddenly.

A shock, maybe.

A sudden change.

Begging your pardon, madam,
I don't know.

You must know.

Begging your pardon, madam,
I don't.

I always think
it's rather a weakness

to be so affected by something
in one's circumstances.

Rather indulgent.
Almost vain.

We must be strong, Mrs. Rogers,
especially in these times.

We must be valiant...
and virtuous.

We must be Englishwomen.

Yes, madam.

And a little advice.

In future,
a splash of eau de cologne

before you come upstairs
to attend on the ladies.

I appreciate it's hot work
in the kitchen,

but there's no need to announce
it quite so emphatically.

Beg your pardon, madam.

Tinned goods.

Troops.
The war. The war.

Tinned goods.

Judge Wargrave,
I'm terribly sorry

for the clumsy introduction.

I'm... a terrible traveler.

Completely lose me bearings.

Are we on time?

Only just.

Sir.

You're ready sooner
than we'd anticipated.

What's up there?

Just roof space, sir.

Sir, I've been advised

that the footing isn't
particularly sturdy up there.

Best avoided, lest you make
an unexpected entrance

into one of the bedrooms, sir...
By way of the ceiling.

May I show you
to the drawing room, sir?

Perhaps an aperitif whilst you
await the other guests?

Mr. Davis.

You look like a man
who could use a drink.

How very congenial.

Perhaps a small... snifter.

Mr. Rogers, lead the way.

Miss?

Is there something
you're looking for, Miss?

Because this is
the belowstairs, Miss.

For staff.

Well, I am staff.

Miss, we had
very strict instructions

that you were to be treated
as a guest.

Guests don't come belowstairs.

It rather sounds as though
you're asking me to leave.

How many more are you expecting,
with the Owens?

We shall know when they arrive.

And how will you cope,
just the two of you?

Rogers and myself is competent.

More than.

So if you please.

Well done, girl.

What an idyllic evening.

The sky!

How can one not believe
in a creator?

Davis.

Emily Brent.

Edward Armstrong.

There's one in my room too.

I imagine there's one
in every room.

Well, Soldier Island.
It makes sense.

It's amusing.

I have a strong suspicion our
hosts are inclined to whimsy.

I cannot comment on our hosts.

Good little secretary.

Excuse me.

We've got off on the wrong foot,
haven't we?

But you do have
very pretty legs.

I would have been remiss
not to admire them.

Mr. Lombard, you seem to be
under the impression

that I am a particular kind
of woman.

And I assure you that I am not.

I do not like to be looked at.

I get instincts about people.

I have an instinct about you.

I think you're pretending.

A drink, Mr. Marston?

Pink gin.

Pink as a virgin's blush.

Didn't catch your name.

Philip Lombard.

Irish.

You must know the Corcorans.

Great churns of mine.

Endlessly simpatico.

Anyone who's anyone knows them.

Are you a betting man, Lombard?

It depends.

At some point this evening, one
of those crumbling old relics

will start talking
about the war.

And they'll ask us both
if we aren't damned sorry

to have missed the last one
and how we should be gung ho

to do our duty in the next.

Not that there's going to be
a next one.

There's always a next one.

So how about it?

A bet?

The odds are too short.

Listen to them.
Clinging on.

I mean, they think
they still mean something

but nobody at all would notice
or care if they just...

I'm going to be
exceptionally charming to them.

Oh, all right, Miss Claythorne.

If it'll make you happy,
I'm sorry for staring.

Mr. Lombard, I doubt
you're ever sorry for anything.

Smart girl.

Ladies and gentlemen,
lobster souffle.

I hope it's not too rich.

I always dine so modestly
at home.

I won't, thank you.

Thank you.

We've met before, you know.

Forgive me.
My memory is not what it was.

Perhaps you gave evidence
before me.

No. No, it wasn't that.

I'd remember that.
Something else.

It'll come to me.

I'm not at all sure about these.

They look very... pagan.

They're the 10
little soldiers...

You know, from the poem.

I know it off by heart.

When I was a little boy, my
nanny used to recite it to me.

I imagine she wanted to
terrify me into being...

Into being good.

Did it work?

Well, I've always been
a stickler, yes.

Stickler for the rules.

I was probably
a rather dull boy.

I really can't
imagine that, General.

Although, you shouldn't call it
a poem, Miss Claythorne.

It's doggerel.

Poetry should be uplifting.

I agree with you, Miss Brent.

Well, that just shows
how wrong first impressions are.

I didn't think
you were the type of gentleman

to appreciate poetry.

Mr. Davis has hidden depths.

The soufflé is delicious.

Very light.

Over 40 years in criminal law,

I have come face-to-face

with the most depraved examples
of mankind and felt no fear.

But I quail in terror,
Miss Claythorne,

at the thought of young ladies
brandishing hockey sticks.

They're not so bad, Judge.

A little overexcited
and noisy sometimes.

Oh, the prerogative of youth.

And I'm sure you set them
a very fine example.

Sometimes you dread what filth
they're going to serve,

but this is actually
very decent.

The Owens are always
generous hosts.

Friends of yours, Mr. Davis?

Business acquaintances.

I'm in tinned goods.

The firm started off
supplying troops with stew.

Tinned goods is what helped us
win the war.

Well, I suppose... I suppose
an army marches on its stomach.

Here we go.

God, I remember that stew.

RAMC, I presume, Dr. Armstrong.

That's right.

Clearing stations and then
hospitals in Belgium and France.

Perhaps you're being interviewed as well.

Interviewed, General?

Yes.

Mr. Owen is an amateur

but very knowledgeable
military historian.

He's writing about France,
about the decisive actions...

For God's sake, it's over.

...in 1917.

No, I'm, I'm just here
to get away from it all.

Interesting man, Mr. Owen...

And an interesting name.

Ulick Norman.

How funny.

Mrs. Owen is Una Nancy.

Matching initials.

I must confess I was a little
worried about the "Ulick."

Given the current climate,
it might be seen as somewhat...

Teutonic.

You couldn't hope to meet
a more patriotic man.

And what could be more English
than "Norman"?

Oh!

It's magical.

Mrs. Rogers has the gift.

She might look like the undead,
but she can definitely cook.

When might we expect
the Owens?

Have they not telephoned?

There's no telephone
on the island, madam.

Mr. Narracott brings messages

along with the post and
kitchen supplies every morning.

And I imagine tomorrow

he will bring either a telegram
from the Owens

or they will accompany him.

Rogers, give that
Narracott chap a couple of bob.

Ask him to watch my car.

It's parked up by the harbor.

The Jensen.

Of course, sir.

And I shall pass on your
compliments to Mrs. Rogers.

Look here, Davis.

The Owens...
Are they... fun-loving types?

Fun-loving?

Yeah. 'Cause there's something
a tad off here.

Now, I had a letter inviting me
to a house party.

Pretty young things, you know,
champagne, music.

And apart from Lombard,

who looks like he could cut up
a bit lively,

the rest of you don't really look
like fun-loving, house-party types-

No offense.

Your car.
The Jensen.

Oh, you saw her.

Isn't she a beauty?

I honestly can't imagine
loving a person

as much as I worship and adore
the Jensen.

You ran me off the road.

No, I didn't.

You ran me off the road.

When?

I was driving along,
minding my own business,

and you overtook me
going God knows how fast,

and you ran me off the road.

Well, I saw someone going
at a pitiful speed.

Now, look here, Marston.

I think an apology and
a handshake between gentlemen

would be just the thing here.

But I haven't done anything
wrong.

- You ran me off the road.
- I might have overtaken you,

but my great-aunt drives
with more zip,

and if you can't control
your car,

you really shouldn't be behind
the wheel.

You little shit!

You ran me off the road

and then you have the temerity
to tell me it's my fault?!

Careful, old boy.
Going a little red in the face.

Gentlemen, please.
There are ladies present.

I'm sorry.

It's been a long week.

You're right, General.

A handshake between gentlemen.

Come on, Armstrong.

Put it there.

Let's be pals.

Nearly there.

Good work, Et.

Rogers, I'm out of cigarettes.

Yes, sir.

So, what battles
were you involved with, General?

Well, I served
on the North-West Frontier,

in South Africa,
and, of course, in France.

Win any?

I loathe this convention...

Leaving the men to their cigars
and their stories.

Convention, Miss Claythorne,
is what keeps us together

in the face of impending chaos.

Is it time?

You start serving.

No, no.
No. I'll pour the coffee.

You must be very busy
in the kitchen.

Miss

Excellent dinner, Mrs. Rogers.

The Owens are lucky to have you,

and I will certainly
be telling them so.

Thank you, madam.

Whereabouts is your school?

Um, I doubt you've heard of it.

It's not particularly
well known.

Nor particularly good either.

Why do you say that?

Otherwise, you would not
be needing employment

in the summer months.

Their fees are not high enough,
nor is their pay.

Not that I disapprove
of you seeking employment

and being busy.

Far from it.

But why teach
in a third-rate establishment

producing third-rate girls?

Barely worth your time and
effort, I would have thought.

Ladies and gentlemen,

silence, please.

Who is that?

You are charged

with the following indictments.

Edward George Armstrong...

That you murdered Louisa Mary Clees.

- Who is this?
- I don't know, sir.

Emily Caroline Brent...

That you murdered
Beatrice Taylor.

- Who is this?!
- What's the meaning of this?

William Henry Blore...

That you did murder
James Stephen Landor.

God almighty.

Vera Elizabeth Claythorne...

That you did murder
Cyril Ogilvie Hamilton.

Philip Lombard...
That you did murder 21 men,

members of an East African
tribe.

John Gordon MacArthur... that
you did murder Henry Richmond.

Where is this coming from?

Anthony James Marston...

Let's go, Rogers.

that you did murder John

and Lucy Combes.

I never heard of them.

Lawrence John Wargrave...

That you did murder
Edward Seton.

Get out of my way.

Thomas and Ethel Rogers...

that you did murder Jennifer Brady.

Thomas.

Prisoners at the bar,

how do you plead?

Mrs. Rogers?

She just took a turn.

- I'll go fetch my bag.
- She'll be all right.

I'll be the judge of that.

A record?

It's called "Swan Song."

What the hell
are they playing at?

Huh?

What the hell
are they playing at?!

Your pals... the damn Owens!

Let him go, Marston.
He doesn't know them.

He's not Davis.

I'm Blore.

Detective Sergeant
William Blore.

How did you know?

Instinct.

I need a drink.

Really.

These grotesque
false accusations.

Indeed, General.

We should wait for the doctor
and Rogers.

We should wait until
everyone is together.

Well said, Tubs.

Let's all listen to the policeman.

Miss Claythorne?

Here.

It's mild,
but it will help you sleep.

I suspect, Rogers, that there
are questions about our hosts

that only you can answer.

Yes, sir.

A few minutes,
then, to settle your wife.

Sir.

I told you.

I told you!

Pull yourself together, woman!

Stop flapping your trap,
you dozy bitch.

Thank you.

Rogers is coming.

- Well, Rogers?
- See?

On my instructions... to put
the record on at such a time.

We were told
it was to be a surprise,

a party game.

Some party game.

But you were in the room with us.

There's a delay on the record.

Somebody went to a lot of time
and expense.

If I'd have known
what was on the record,

I'd never have been a part of it.

What he said about me
and Mrs. Rogers.

Never.

Nothing in it, then?

Miss Brady were like
family to us.

We did everything for her.

She weren't well.
Frail as a bird.

But on account of how she'd
left us a small legacy, well...

some folk
will say anything to hurt.

There's a lot of jealousy
amongst domestic service,

I'm afraid to say.

Belowstairs is very often
a nest of vipers.

Thank you, Rogers.

We'll ring if we require
anything further.

I've had more than my fair share
of lazy and vindictive staff.

I believe Rogers.

It doesn't make any sense.

I never even met a John
and Lucy Combes.

Malicious nonsense.

Louisa Clees was
a surgical patient.

It was risky.

There were complications.
Everyone knew that.

But the moment
anything goes wrong,

it's blame the bloody surgeon.

No one's blaming you, Doctor.

Well, someone is.

Henry Richmond was one of
my very finest young officers,

who fell in the pursuit
of his gallant duty

for king and country.

It is repugnant

that these vile rumors
should be given credence.

Repugnant!

Edward Seton was guilty.

I was party to, urn, evidence

that was not admissible
before the court.

But he was guilty.

The only time
I laid hands on Landor

was to put handcuffs on him.

He was a degenerate and a drunk.

He choked on his own puke.

Cyril.

The little boy.

L-I was his governess, and...

He wasn't supposed to swim.

He wasn't strong.

But he sneaked off.

And I...
I wasn't a good enough swimmer.

I just wasn't good enough.

I tried.

I really tried to save him.

His poor mother was... broken.

She was so broken.

I-I had to be rescued.

I almost drowned.

Who... Who could say something
like this?

Some sort of vicious joke.

Well, if that's your
sense of humor,

there's something wrong
with your wiring.

Time for the funny farm.

It was pinpoint accurate about me.

Twenty-one men?

I always thought someone would blab.

It's amazing how people get
an attack of conscience

when they're safely tucked away
in their beds.

You terrible man.

You terrible, terrible man!

It's people like you,
men like you,

that put our missionaries
in such danger!

Oh, your missionaries, with
their God and their syphilis.

I am not the only white killer
in Africa, Miss Brand.

Lombard, you, sir,
are a bloody butcher.

And I'm holding my hands up
to it.

So either I'm embellishing
a story for shocking effect

or I'm the only one telling the
truth in a room full of liars.

- How dare you.
- Take that back, sir.

Please, ladies and gentlemen.
Enough.

What good can it do?

My feeling
is that we should retire

and be ready to leave tomorrow
with Mr. Narracott.

What if the Owens are with him?

We confront them.

But we leave.

And despite Mr. Lombard's
devastating confession,

we are all victims
of a cruel hoax.

And we shouldn't dignify
these accusations

with any more debate.

Agreed?

- Certainly.
- Hear, hear.

John and Lucy Combes.

They must have been
those two kids.

I mean, what sort of parents

let their kids play
out in the dark, for God's sake?

It's completely irresponsible.

L-I lost my license
for six months.

It was a terrific nuisance.

Oh, you were driving, were you?

What a surprise.

It was jolly bad luck.
That's all.

I didn't stand a chance.

Those poor children.

You're a bloody maniac, Marston.

I wasn't even driving that fast.

You can't... not in England.
It's not like the Continent.

They understand motoring
over there.

Say what you like
about the Krauts,

but their roads are magnificent.

The Jensen loves them.

I can really open her up
and let her rip.

All right?

He's choking!

Oh!
He's bleeding!

Get him down.

Get him off me!

Get him down.

He's dead.

Heavenly father,
watch over this soul in torment

and protect us.

Armstrong.

Come here.

Well, perhaps we ought to
get rid of the stimulant

out of respect to the family.

Don't want to cause a scandal.

It's a police matter now,
Doctor.

Same set of rules
if you're posh or not.

Very well.

We're damned, Thomas.

We're damned.

We're going to hell.

Yes?

Who is it?

Doctor, please.

Don't touch me.

I know what I'm doing.

Dr. Armstrong?

Yes?

What is it?

Can you come, please?

She's been dead for some hours.

I'll, I'll inform the others
not to expect too much

in the way of breakfast,
given the circumstances.

No, sir.

Full breakfast will be provided.

Good man.

Best not to dwell.

Keep busy.

Dr. Armstrong?

I heard you get up.

Has Mrs. Rogers got worse?

Somewhat.

She's dead.

Dead?

Died in her sleep.
It was quite peaceful.

Nothing to be alarmed about.

Wait.
Wait.

I, urn, I came down here to wait
for you, and... and I saw this.

Please.

A bit late
for the kiss of life, Tubs.

A right smart-arse you are.

Have a sniff yourself.

There were 10 of them.

From the nursery rhyme...
The poem.

- Yes.
- Yes.

Count them for me, please,
Dr. Armstrong.

There are eight, aren't there?

Eight figures
for the eight people here.

Tell me I'm right.

Please tell me I'm right.

I'm sure there's a perfectly
rational explanation for this.

Almonds.

Almonds be buggered.

Cyanide.

I trust you're not going to
unravel on us, Miss Claythorne.

Hysterical women are so boring.

Thank you for trying.

Thank you for trying.

Thank you.
Thank you for trying.

Oh, God.

I want to swim to the rocks!

Cyril, darling,
you know you can't.

You're not strong enough.

I am!

Cyril, behave yourself.

Listen to Miss Claythorne,
dearest.

No!

That's incredibly naughty.

I'm so sorry, Miss Claythorne.

Oh, dear.
He's getting all worked up.

Cyril, you will make yourself ill.

What's all this, now?

Uncle Hugo!

I can hear you shouting from
miles away, you young rascal.

Oh, thank heavens.
In the nick of time.

Olivia, you look
absolutely radiant, as ever.

Empty flattery. I'm completely
raddled and utterly hideous.

I don't believe I've had
the pleasure.

Hugo, this is Miss Claythorne,

who was doing so much to help
Cyril in the schoolroom.

Have you been for a paddle,
General?

What are you, Lombard?

A mercenary?

Gun for hire?

Soldier?

Not from any army I'd recognize,
but still a soldier of sorts.

You don't need to worry
about what I am.

There's always a moment,
isn't there?

Before the attack, the advance,
the bombardment, the chaos.

A moment of absolute calm.

Listen.

Doesn't this feel like...
that moment?

I was never a man for calm,
General.

We can't see the harbor
from here.

Which means they can't see us.

We are cut off.

Rats in a barrel.

This is the peace
before the carnage.

People do not just die
for no reason.

They die because something
was done to them by someone.

There's a Fenian sat over there
with a bloody gun!

No one's coming for us.

This is the end.

Don't you dare touch
my possessions!

What have you got to hide?

The whole morning,
clearing up guts.

You've got
some right brass neck.

We are all being hunted.

There's someone else
on this island,

and when I find him,
I'm gonna make him number 22.