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[mysterious jazz music]

[music]

The pyramids of Egypt.

The last surviving of the seven wonders of the world.

The latest expedition by famous archaeologist Sir John Willard

may soon reveal more of this ancient world's mysteries

with the discovery of the tomb of Egyptian king Men-her-Ra.

No doubt there will be rivalry between Dr. Fosswell

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 Bleibner.

He's been joined for the opening by his nephew Rupert

and secretary Nigel Harper, photographing the occasion.

Smile, Men-her-Ra.

[flash bulb popping]

It's gonna take us some time

to get the seal off intact, Sir John.

No, no, no. Break the seal.

It'll only take five minutes, John

For God's sake, Mr. Bleibner-

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

Then it's time it was.

Gentlemen,

the burial chamber of King Men-her-Ra.

[stone scraping]

[grunting]

Dr. Ames, quickly. He's ill.

[gasping]

[moaning]

[camera shutter clicks]

[telegraph beeping]

Tragedy strikes in the Valley of the Kings.

Just minutes after breaking into the ancient tomb

of Egyptian pharaoh Men-her-Ra,

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.

[door closes]

Any messages, Miss Lemon?

No, Mr. Poirot. No.

Oh, yes. One.

Lady Willard telephoned.

She wants to consult you.

Huh.

I know.

Isn't it awful?

Does seem almost as if something were avenging itself

for desecrating the tomb.

[rain spattering]

Bonjour, mademoiselle.

I am expected.

- Do come in. - Thank you.

Merci.

My son has always been against

my calling on your assistance, Monsieur Poirot.

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.

It's all those Americans, all those young men from Yale.

Seems they've been trying to take over the dig

right from the start.

Mother, really.

Mr. Bleibner put up the money for the entire show,

and without him, there wouldn't be any dig.

Well, I never trusted Felix Bleibner.

He's just a wealthy dabbler.

I see he's got his nephew up in there 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...

No doubt at all.

I'm so sorry.

It appears we've wasted your time,

Mr. Poirot.

[indistinct chatter]

[dog barking]

I gave him a thorough examination

before we came out here.

His heart was sound as a bell.

[sighs]

It is weird, though, isn't it?

I mean, just the very instant the burial chamber was opened?

Well, 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.

[chuckles]

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.

[laughter]

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. Fosswell would not be averse?

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

And what about the Metropolitan?

Oh, modesty forbids.

[all chuckle]

Isn't it time you people were in bed?

Won't you join us, Uncle?

Oh, 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. Bleibner,

before I go to bed.

It's, um...

that cut I got the other day.

Okay.

Good night, gentlemen.

Miss Lemon, 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 Bleibner,

nephew to the wealthy Monsieur Felix Bleibner.

Best wishes, Hercule Poirot.

I could say "biog".

Comment?

Instead of "biographical", I could say "biog".

Is that a word, Miss Lemon?

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 Lemon.

- Oh. - What is it, Miss Lemon?

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.

[doorbell buzzing]

[doorbell buzzing]

[lock clicking]

- Who is it? - Oh.

It's Arthur Hastings, actually.

Who?

Arthur Hastings.

I'm a friend of your uncle's.

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.

Just 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.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I quite understand.

Good-bye.

Nice to meet you.

Look in again sometime.

[stone scraping]

[moaning]

[gasping]

Thank you.

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

Eggs over easy?

Uh, no. The other.

Two eggs, sunny side up.

Canadian bacon?

Oh, uh, yes. Thank you.

Good Lord.

Felix Bleibner is 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 legs.

[scraping sound]

Mind the legs!

Wouldn't it be better to wrap it?

No.

No, no, I don't think so.

It's better they be able to see what they're moving.

Oh, Dr. Ames, can I trouble you for a moment?

This is Sir Guy Willard, Sir John's son.

- 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. Bleibner.

It was septicemia.

Yes, but how did it start?

A scratch on his thumb.

Nothing we could do seemed 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. Bleibnefs death changes the situation.

Well, indeed it does, Dr. Schneider.

I suggest we carry on as we are

until the wishes of Mr. Bleibnefs estate are known.

In the meantime, perhaps you'd be good enough

to show me to my quarters, Dr. Fosswell.

Gentlemen.

[doorbell buzzing]

Mr. Bleibner?

Mr. Bleibner?

Switchboard.

- Give me the police. - Yes, sir.

[horn blaring]

[horn blaring]

It came as a big surprise to everyone?

Absolutely.

No one can understand it.

They just see no Earthly reason

why he should have killed himself.

He was only 30.

His health, it was good?

Fit as a flea, it appears.

Something of a sportsman too, as a matter of fact.

Played football at school,

held some sort of local record for the 100 yards, good golfer.

Played off scratch.

You 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 emotionable?

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 pajamas.

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 Bleibner died.

The Bleibner millions came to him.

I say, that's a point.

I wonder who will 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 Bleibner".

[indistinct chatter]

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... but 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?

[indistinct chatter]

[camel grunting]

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?

Well, 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, Monsieur Poirot.

First my husband. Then Mr. Bleibner.

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

of the Metropolitan Museum of New York,

he's very ill with tetanus.

My son just sent me this telegram.

[sniffling]

I'm sorry.

You must think it very silly and superstitious.

No, no, no. Not at all, Lady Willard.

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

the little gray cells.

[echoing crash]

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.

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.

Well, it's not very clear.

It's definitely trying to say something, though.

Perhaps it's not writing in English.

[door closing]

Looks like Arabic or something. I say.

What?

Suppose it's King Men-her-Ra trying to get through?

[door opening]

Miss Le-

Hastings, what means this with the planchette?

Oh, we're just fooling around.

It's interesting, though.

We think this could be from King Men-her-Ra.

Hastings, please, pull yourself together.

We have business to which we must attend.

Tomorrow we fly to Cairo.

Cairo?

- In Egypt, Hastings. - I know.

And then to the Valley of the Kings.

[indistinct chatter]

[wincing]

His jaw is 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.

[coughing]

You must be Monsieur Poirot.

What is left of him, yes.

I'm Leonard Fosswell, British Museum.

Ah, Monsieur Fosswell.

We got Lady Willard's cable.

I'm sorry. This isn't a good time.

Now let me show you to 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 fellahin to look after you,

to get you hot water and so on.

Oh, this looks fine.

" [Coughs]

Tell me, Dr. Fosswell...

[grunts]

Why is this not a good time?

It's Dr. Schneider.

He has the malady, yes?

He's

[screaming]

Cannot stand much more of this.

He's not responding?

No.

He, uh, seems to be getting worse.

Oh, God. Who is it?

That detective my mother's so keen on.

Sir Guy.

Uh...

uh... he's dead.

And you are quite sure, are you not, Dr. Ames,

that the death of Monsieur Schneider was caused by tetanus?

Sure.

It could not have been, for instance,

a case of the strychnine poisoning?

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.

But Monsieur Bleibner now,

he died of something completely different?

Mr. Bleibner 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.

[indistinct chatter]

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-

Cant 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, �videmment,

we must find out exactly what is the position here.

Alabaster perfume box.

Height, 71/2 inches. Depth, 51/4 inches.

Sniff.

[sniffing]

Ah, jasmine.

3,000-year-old jasmine.

How long have you been interested in Egyptology,

Monsieur Harper?

Oh, ever since I started working

as Mr. Bleibnefs secretary.

I was in his college almost.

You were at Yale with Rupert Bleibner.

Yes, I was there

on a Hendrickson exchange scholarship.

Ames was with us too.

All Yalies, 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.

With Dr. Ames, Rupert Bleibner,

yourself all together at the college,

and of course the uncle of Rupert Bleibner.

That's right.

Two of them are now dead.

Are you trying to give me the creeps?

[chuckles]

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?

[chuckles]

Yes, I don't think he'd had a day's real illness

his entire life.

Terrible hypochondriac, though.

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, can't remember anything in particular.

Oh, well, yes, he had a little eczema on his hand

he was making a great to-do about.

[indistinct chatter]

Master, 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.

Well, you know.

And 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, uh, 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, Monsieur Harper, let me make myself perfectly clear.

Was there any act committed by these men, these victims,

which might seem to denote some disrespect

to the spirit of Men-her-Ra?

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, 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 gonna be far behind.

Yes.

Yes, I'll admit they're getting scared,

but they've got no cause to be.

Excuse me, I'm-

Ames, are you all right?

[grunts]

- Good heavens. - Hassan.

Help me get him to his tent.

Would a brandy help?

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

Good Lord.

Poor fellow.

[indistinct chatter]

[flash bulb pops]

Tell me when 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 the tomb?

Oh.

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.

Tie off.

Good God.

He has lain here in perfect silence

since 1,000 years before Troy was besieged.

Rome rose and fell.

Wars and catastrophes changed the face of the Earth.

But still, this king, he waited.

Forgotten by all those people we read about.

[typewriter clacking]

Dr. Fosswell? Come.

[typewriter clacking]

What a moment, Dr. Fosswell, eh?

What?

Well, to have had the privilege

of merely standing by

as the lid of the sarcophagus, it was opened.

Oh, yes. Yes, I'm just writing it out.

Ah, you write the reports for the expedition, n'est-ce pas?

For the expedition? No, no, no, no, no.

By no means.

I daily report for the eyes of Sir Andrew Caens only.

Ah.

- May I? - Please.

Thank you.

Now, Sir Andrew Caens,

he is the keeper of antiquities at the British museum,

n'est-ce pas?

Quite.

The others can do their own reports, though frankly...

Well, no matter.

And Monsieur Schneider, 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...

[insect buzzing]

[tent flap rustling]

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.

Yourself play with her on 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.

- Oh. - I mean, I think it's-

Hastings, look!

Good God.

"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, voiding filth.

One seeth him not".

[yawns]

[indistinct chatter]

Hastings, what are you doing?

Well, I'm having my siesta.

No, no, no, no, Hastings.

Get up. We have work to do.

Come.

[indistinct chatter]

Whose tent is this, Hastings?

Uh, Dr. Ames'.

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. Ames?

Are you waiting for me?

No, no. No. No.

I was waiting for Poirot, actually.

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

[indistinct chatter]

Poirot?

- Can I come past? - What?

I want to go to my tent.

Oh, this is your tent, is it?

Uh, I didn't realize that.

They're very good, these tents, aren't they?

Please, Captain Hastings.

Poirot, you really are the limit.

My God, Hastings. 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.

[phone ringing]

Hello, Miss Lemon, can you hear me?

Yes, I found Mr. Bleibnefs solicitor.

I spoke to him.

One moment, if you please, Miss Lemon.

Hello?

Now you said he read to you the will?

Bon, what did it say'?

Yes. Yes.

Cigarette case, Miss Lemon?

I think it was just a joke, Mr. Poirot.

I see.

Go on if you please.

Thank you, Miss Lemon. Au revoir.

[all speaking at once]

What? What? You want some what?

All right, but only if you're good.

I have half a mind to volunteer to stay,

you know, Poirot.

What for, Hastings?

Take up this archaeology.

Can't you feel the fascination?

Desert life,

probing into the heart of vanished civilization.

Thank you, Hassan.

On the table next to my bed, if you please.

Thank you.

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.

[rustling sound]

What do you think, Poirot?

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

DO you?

[gagging]

Oh, my God. Poirot!

Dr. Ames!

It's Poirot. Quick.

It's Poirot. He's ill, dead, I don't know.

It's the chamomile tea.

Don't let Hassan leave the camp.

There's still a pulse.

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.

While 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 death need not come into our calculations

except for one thing.

The quite natural death of your father, Sir Guy,

was what gave to our murderer his idea.

The more deaths that occurred,

the more everyone would talk about the curse of Men-her-Ra,

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 false sense of security until I was ready.

And in that, I was successful.

The murderer thought that one more little nudge

would send Hastings and myself 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 roll 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 Bleibner.

Isn't it time you people were in bed?

Won't you join us, Uncle?

I asked myself who would want

to murder Monsieur Felix Bleibner.

Alors, he was a man who was very rich,

therefore, my first assumption would be his heir and nephew,

Monsieur Rupert Bleibner.

Mais non.

Monsieur Rupert Bleibner committed a suicide

even before he heard of the death of his uncle,

and so my next question was,

why should Monsieur Rupert Bleibner wish

to take his own life?

Alors, 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. Fosswell, he told to us the reasons quite plainly

and precisely in a note that he left,

so plainly indeed that we thought

we 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 Bleibner 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 first 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 endemic.

And while in Hawaii,

he would have come across chaulmoogra oil.

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

that have now superseded it,

but he would definitely have come across chaulmoogra oil.

What is this chaulmoogra oil?

Chaulmoogra oil, Hastings,

was once the only treatment for leprosy.

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

to convince Rupert Bleibner of his condition.

But how do you know that?

I know that, Hastings,

because I have stolen some chaulmoogra oil

from the murderer.

Hercule Poirot has discovered his secret.

[sniffing]

What secret?

What is all this?

Monsieur Rupert Bleibner went to Dr. Ames

with a mild case of eczema,

and Dr. Ames diagnosed leprosy.

And pauvre Monsieur Rupert Bleibner

saw no way out but death.

This is 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 Bleibner is a sheet of paper.

It is old. It is creased.

Probably written on while at college

during some fit of a drunken merriment,

but the handwriting is that of Monsieur Rupert Bleibner.

It reads as follows.

"This is the last will and testament of Rupert Bleibner.

"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 Bleibner,

his fortune in entirety would go to his heir and nephew,

Monsieur Rupert Bleibner,

but were Monsieur Rupert Bleibner to die...

All right.

Now, keep back, all of you.

[gunshot]

Get off.

Let me go!

[all grunting]

You have already three deaths on your head, Dr. Ames.

Is that not enough?

But Dr. Ames did not kill my husband.

No, Lady Willard.

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 Monsieur Felix Bleibner,

who perished from septicemia introduced into his cut hand

by Dr. Ames himself,

and Monsieur Rupert Bleibner,

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 Men-her-Ra.

I think you've been wonderfully clever.

- Good-bye, sir. - Sir Guy.

I return to the Valley of the Kings tomorrow.

This time with my blessing.

- Bonjour. - Yes, well then.

Au revoir.

[typewriter clacking]

Miss Lemon, would you come through for a moment?

Miss Lemon, in addition to serving this case

that has been most difficult, Hastings and I,

we have brought you back a little gift

from the very tomb of King Men-her-Ra.

From the tomb?

Oui.

Voil�.

It is the very likeness of the favorite cat

of King Men-her-Ra 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 her such 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 that is very great indeed.

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