All language subtitles for A Extravagância do Morto

Yes, sir?

Don't you have any more optimistic fish?

They all look so depressed.

Hercule Poirot!

Don't tell me, it's Olivia.

- No, Ariadne Oliver!
- Yes.

What are you doing here,
beneath the ocean?

You've become a mermaid.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

I'm upstairs, autographing my new book,
Hatchets, Blood and a Parakeet.

Parakeet.

- Have you read it?
- No.

Well, then,
l'll give you a copy, autographed.

Come over here.

- You know, l was going to call you.
- Oh?

You see, l'm doing a murder hunt.

A murder hunt?

Yes, it's like a treasure hunt,

only the players look for clues
to a murder that l have devised.

But surely, you of all people don't need
my help in your fictitious creation.

Oh, no, no, no. l should say not.
I've had plenty of that.

That's part of the problem.

More and more
l feel that something is wrong.

Oh, l can't explain
it. lt's just an intuition.

Couldn't you just give me the tiniest hint
of what it's all about?

- A very small clue?
- Oh, no, no, no. Not here. l can't do that.

Not here in the food hall?

Is there danger involved?

Mr. Poirot, your work is solving murders,

mine is to create them in fiction.

I have the feeling that mine won't be
the only one at Nasse House this weekend.

Give me the instructions how to get there.

Oh, thank you.
L'll write them down for you.

Oh, no need! My mind is very clear.

Well, you can get there by car.

But, it's shorter and more scenic
if you take the ferry on the river.

Poirot, look at those
magnificent old houses!

Couldn't you just imagine yourself
living somewhere like this?

Oh, they're not houses as such
anymore, sir.

No, death taxes take them away
from the old families, one by one.

We stay at Hoodown!

Oh, that's the estate next to Nasse House.
It's a youth hostel now.

From Germany l am coming.

I'm in England for two-week holiday.

Where do you come from, young lady?

She does not much English speak.

From ltaly she is be coming.

But we both have a little French.

- You are the French, no?
- I am the Belgian, yes.

Too bad.

Always a Folliat at Nasse, lass

- Mr. Poirot.
- Mrs. Oliver.

You know my friend, Hastings?

- Oh, yes. How do you do?
- How do you do?

You brought weekend guests?

I would that they were. l mean...

The man here does not like
we make shortcut to hostel,

but it is long walking on the road.

Bye.

Ciao.

Mr. Poirot, now that you're here,
l am embarrassed.

You see, this was supposed to be
my murder hunt,

but then l started getting suggestions
for changes.

Oh, little things mostly,
like moving the scene of the crime

or having somebody else
play the dead body.

Well, you must know
how we writers hate suggestions.

Writers? Detectives are worse.

I hate suggestion...
Who made these suggestions?

Oh, Lady Stubbs. But l feel she's been
influenced by one of the others.

- Who?
- I'm hoping you can tell me.

Well, first l must know who everyone is.

Well, the river cottage is Amy Folliat's.

This estate was hers

till she lost it to death taxes
when her husband died.

The present owner, Sir George,
is letting her stay here for life.

Then Michael Weyman,
architect and critic.

You should hear him go on
about that folly.

Sir George put the folly up in a rush
the very week he arrived at Nasse House.

Sir George insisted it be perched up
on a pile of loose earth!

It doesn't even have a view!

Oh, did l mention
there's a fair this weekend?

It was an annual event with the Folliats,

but Sir George hated the idea.

Then he changed his mind
about three months ago.

Then we have Alec and Sally Legge.

I wanted Sally for my dead body,

but Lady Stubbs insisted
she be the fortune teller instead.

Alec's getting over a nervous breakdown.

And if you ask me,
the marriage won't last.

Nasse House, returned to its former glory
by Sir George Stubbs.

Very interesting man, Sir George.

Absolutely devoted to Lady Stubbs.

A self-made millionaire,
don't ask me how, but rolling in money.

A large chunk of which
he spent restoring the place.

I should say.

Sir George is very athletic.

Younger than you'd expect.

His wife is even younger.
Hattie, she's American.

Probably married him for his money.

She's very beautiful but a little dim,

if you know what l mean.

Right through here.

Sir George, Sir George,
your call from Zurich.

Amanda Brewis, devoted secretary.

This lady?

Zurich!

Monsieur Poirot.

- And Hastings, isn't it?
- That's right, yes. How do you do?

- Pleasure to meet you.
- Sir George, it is important.

Where's Hattie?

Would you go and get her, Amanda?
And the others. lt's time for tea.

Excuse me, please.

Hello?

Well, what do you think?

Don't you sense something abnormal
in the atmosphere?

Abnormal? No.

But then, of course, l haven't had
the privilege of meeting with...

Lady Stubbs?

Lady Stubbs,

may l present Hercule Poirot
and Arthur Hastings.

- Delighted to meet you.
- Oh, hi.

It's brand new. George gave it to me.

They're emeralds.

If l may say so, they're nothing
compared with their wearer.

See, it's winking at me.

You're trespassing. Go back.

Damned youth hostel next door.
I'd like to see it shut down.

They use it as a shortcut,
go traipsing across to the ferry boat.

No respect for private property!
All communists, l shouldn't wonder.

Oh, thank you.

Shall l fix you some tea, madam?

Tea tastes like medicine.

The countryside looks wonderful
at this time of year, don't you agree?

During the day, when it's not raining.

But there aren't any nightclubs.

- Oh, you like nightclubs?
- Oh, yes.

'Cause there's music and you can dance.

Right, Michael?

And l can wear my nicest clothes
and bracelets and rings.

And all the other women
have nice jewelry and clothes as well,

but not as nice as mine.

- And that's important?
- Oh, sure.

Or else you're plain and nobody.

Like poor Amanda.

- I'm going upstairs now.
- You've been in bed all day.

- Not feeling well?
- Oh, l have a headache.

I'll attend to her.

I'll be better tomorrow.

She's very beautiful.

Yes, she is extremely...

But only in a decorative sort of way,
not functional.

I... How...

A building needs a good foundation,
not just an ornamental facade.

Okay, everybody!

Pay attention,
l'm going to explain my murder hunt.

This is a map of the grounds
and our cast of characters.

The first is our nuclear scientist,

possibly in the employ of spies.

His first wife is dead or may not be.

His second wife has just left him

and is hiding next door
in the youth hostel.

She's Yugoslavian.

Now, you'll find your first clue
in the picture at the bottom of the page.

I think it's obviously a net of some sort.

- Tennis net or hair net.
- Very good!

- Tennis net?
- Yes, leave it to the professionals!

Now, remember,
all clues lead to the boathouse

where the Yugoslavian wife
has been strangled with a clothesline.

Any questions so far?

I think l must go and see
if Hattie needs anything.

And l'm sure that Monsieur Poirot
and Captain Hastings

would like to be shown their rooms
so they can freshen up before dinner.

- How well you understand.
- Yes, thank you very much indeed.

- Take this.
- Oh, right, old boy.

- And Captain Hastings is next door.
- Really?

- Hello.
- Hello!

I hope everything will be satisfactory.

To whom do we owe these considerations?

Is it you, Miss Brewis,
or is it our charming hostess?

Lady Stubbs' time is fully taken up
in being charming.

- Well, she's a very decorative person.
- As you say.

Perhaps, her intellectual attainments
are not of the same...

l should not have said that.

Lady Stubbs, besides being,
as you say, decorative,

is also extremely shrewd.

Oh, yours, l believe?

Oh, yeah.

Thank you.

Poirot, come look at this.

Why is she taking her shoes off?

- That's Weyman.
- I know who it is.

It's Weyman.

Don't lose them from sight.

- Sorry.
- Where? Where?

The early evening air
is so very good for the lungs.

Forty-six, forty-seven...

Are you all right, Monsieur Poirot?

- Let me walk you to your home.
- Thank you.

It was l who introduced Hattie
to Sir George.

- Oh?
- Yes.

I deliberately influenced her.

Well, that was a very far-sighted move
on your part.

Why do you say that?

Well, after all,
you got a haven of your own out of it.

Do you know those lines of Spenser?

"Sleep after toil

"port after stormy seas

"ease after war

"death after life doth greatly please"

lt's a very wicked world, Monsieur Poirot.

And there are very wicked people in it.

Well, you probably know that
as well as l do.

I don't say so before the younger people,
it might discourage them.

But the world is very wicked.

Ferry, sir?

You mustn't do that!
That's extremely dangerous. l was...

Ferry, sir?

Ferry? No, thank you.
I'm going for a walk from Nasse House.

She's back like she was in the old days.

Last squire, Folliat, let her run to seed.

Only interested in the horses

and the bottle, he was.

Lost a pretty packet at both, he did.

Me, l concentrate me vices.

No, no! Look here, please, no. l don't.

- Frenchie, are you?
- Il'm Belgie.

Oh.

- Sure you won't have a dram, then?
- Very much. You're very kind.

Rare and cunning, the Folliats are.

Why do you say that?

There'll always be a Folliat
at Nasse House.

Well, that's not true.
You've now got Sir George Stubbs.

Come in the night, he did.

Him and his ladyship.

Worst gale as ever l remember.

Trees down right and left.

Even the big oak where he put the folly.

Gone.

All gone.

Tell me more about the Folliats.

Always a Folliat at Nasse, lass

Always a Folliat at Nasse, lass

Always a Folliat

Folly, folly, folly, oh

Always a Folliat at Nasse, Nasse, Nasse

Always a Folliat at Nasse

Always a Folliat at Nasse, lass

Always a Folliat at Nasse, lass

Always a Folliat...

- Morning.
- Morning.

You're up bright and early.

- I expect you've come to see Marilyn Gale?
- Who?

- Morning.
- Good morning.

Marilyn Gale, the film star who's coming
to open the fair personally.

- Hi.
- Hi.

- Good morning.
- Good morning, Sir George.

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

- Good morning, Alec.
- The Legges.

Hi, everybody.

- Hello, darling.
- Good morning.

Sir George,
l can't seem to find today's mail.

Lady Stubbs,
you know the mail is my responsibility.

Oh, well, l just wanted
to look at my Vogue. Here.

Well, let me see if l have anything else.

Thank you.

Oh!

What is it, darling?

Eddie South is coming.

Today!

Who?

Eddie South,

a boy from my hometown.

He was...

He was what?

Nothing. Nothing, it was a long time ago.

I have a headache.

I'm going to lie down.

No, no. Lady Stubbs
has left her reading matter.

I'm already up.

Oh, my lady.

- You have forgotten this.
- Oh, thanks.

Excuse me,

but your news from an old friend
seems to distress you somewhat.

Eddie's no friend. l don't want to see him.

I don't like him. He's bad.

He does very bad things.

Hattie, my poor darling.

- Let me come and tuck you up.
- He does very bad things, George.

Headache, my foot!

- Oh, Mr. Poirot, you forgot your book.
- My book.

Now, do you see what l mean?
Things just aren't normal around here.

- Oh, they seem normal enough to me.
- Oh, you must be kidding!

Doesn't your intuition tell you that
there's something strange going on?

My intuition tells me that...

l've not yet finished breakfast.

Well, this is my big day.

Hello!

Well, l'm sorry this is not a shortcut!
This is private property!

You're trespassing!

- Please?
- You're trespassing!

You can't come through here!
This is private!

But we come for carnival.

Bloody hell!

It's not open yet,
and you need a ticket from the gate.

- Gate?
- Yes, gate.

You know, bars, locked.

Road! Comprendo road?

What's that, Hattie?

Oh, all right. Never mind. Be my guests.

All right, Hattie darling, l'm coming.

Marlene! There you are, darling!

- That's my new dead body.
- Oh.

Nobody's going to believe
that she's the Yugoslavian second wife

- of a nuclear scientist.
- No.

You look adorable, darling.

This is Marlene, our murder victim.

- Mr. Poirot and Captain Hastings.
- How do you do?

But l'm not going to have
any blood on me.

Oh, dear! What a frightful shame!

A murder ought to have blood!

And there should be a sex maniac!

Was even one around here once.

My granddad saw a dead woman
down by the woods.

At least that's what he says,
but Granddad's daft.

Oh, yes.

Well, let's go down to the boathouse
and get you settled in for the murder.

Excuse us, please.

What a pleasure it is for me
to welcome you

and to welcome the return
of this marvelous fair

in the lovely grounds

of Sir George and Lady Stubbs'
darling house.

And now, if we're ready,

l hereby declare this fair open!

Dorothy, it's been ages.

We had to come
to see Nasse back in its glory.

I came to see that Marilyn Gale.
That her in the big hat?

No! That's Lady Stubbs.

Tell me, Amy,
is she always quite so overdone?

She's a perfectly charming young woman.

You'll meet her later.
I'm sure you'll like her.

You don't happen to have the time,
do you?

I'm dying for my tea.
And l'm due a half hour break at 4:00.

It's 10 minutes to 4:00.

Just long enough to tell my fortune.

Very well. Give me your palm.

This one?

Don't do that!

You will come into a great deal of money,

take a sea voyage

and get everything you want
for Christmas.

Oh, incidentally it is

nine minutes before 4:00.

Bye.

Hoopla! Hoopla!

Three hoops 30 pence.

All right.

You have broken my rhythm!

It is unforgivable
to break someone's rhythm.

Do forgive me. Please.

- Bad luck!
- Bad luck!

Could l have three please? Hold this.

- Here you are, sir.
- And pay him.

- 30 pence.
- 30.

I did not yet have time
to acquire my rhythm,

you understand, sir?
Please, l want this one.

- Here you are, sir, a dolly.
- Thank you very much.

- It is yours.
- L did not win. l do not deserve.

Ladies and gentlemen,

Ariadne Oliver's murder hunt
is about to begin.

Maps giving the first clue
to the murder hunt

are available at the south portico.

Ariadne Oliver's murder hunt
is about to begin.

Make way for the big people.

Excuse me, l thought that this was
the home of a guy named Stubbs?

- Oh, it is.
- My name's Eddie South.

Oh. Oh, yes.

Yeah, l wrote to Mrs. Stubbs that l'd be
arriving but l don't know that she...

Yes, they talked about you at breakfast.

- Then she did get my letter?
- Yes.

That's funny, she never wrote me back.

Oh, mademoiselle!

Would you tell us where Lady Stubbs is
for this gentleman?

No, l've been looking
all over the place for her.

She's late for judging
the children's fancy dress.

Well, then l suggest
we do the next best thing

and find Sir George for you.
Come along, sir.

Sir George!

Sir George, may l present Eddie South,

the friend of Lady Stubbs.

How do you do?

- It's quite a place you have here.
- I'd be happy to show you around.

Well, that sounds great,
but l'd really like to see Hattie.

Oh, she's probably around somewhere.

Probably off on the murder hunt
with that ghastly woman.

Do be a good chap, Poirot,
and see if you can scare her up.

The first clue, if l remember rightly,
is a tennis net.

- I can't see anything here, Poirot.
- I have something here.

Tennis net over this water.

- Is there a waterfall near here?
- Just hang on, old man.

Yes! Here, it says "cascade."

Cascade?

Mrs. Oliver!

You're enjoying your cascade.

Well, l was hoping you were somebody
who was playing my game.

- I'm afraid l made the clues too hard.
- Not at all.

No, Mrs. Oliver.

That's Orpheus, Greek god of music.

What is the name of that building?

The Music Temple.

Greek God.
See, it's got columns, classical.

- The next clue must be...
- Right!

Oh, you're amazing!
I don't know how you do it.

Little gray cells.

Now, you must row out there
and see if you can find the next clue.

- Over the water?
- Yes.

- Oh, no, no, no. No.
- Oh, yes.

In any case, we must find Lady Stubbs.

Oh, you can do that later.

Go on, get in your boat and l'll
wait for you down at the boathouse.

But don't tell us where you're
going to wait for us, madame.

Spoils all the fun.

- Help the others if you wish but not us.
- Right.

Get in first, tell me if it's dangerous.

You're going away. You're going away.

Come back. Listen.

Hang on to the oar.
Hang on to the oar, old man.

- There you are.
- We're there?

- Yes, give me your hand.
- Both of them?

That's right. Put your weight...

- All right.
- I'll give you a push.

- All right. All right.
- There you go.

There you are!

Now, remember,
l'll see you at the boathouse.

Hang on.
Sorry, would you hang onto that?

- There. l'm almost there.
- Terribly sorry, old man.

- Follow me!
- Righto.

- That's a treble clef if l'm not mistaken.
- Yes.

Key of F.

- Key of F.
- Yes.

Key of F. Key of F.

- And why the holly?
- Oh, yes, holly.

- Holly, key of F.
- F.

Holly.

F, holly...

- Folly! Folly!
- Folly! Folly!

Hold on! Hold on, old man!

- The key to the boathouse...
- Yes?

- ...is in the folly!
- The folly!

The folly, that's it!

Mr. Poirot!

Mr. Poirot! Captain Hastings!

Come quickly to the boathouse!

Oh, please,
quickly come to the boathouse!

Please come quickly!

It's just like my murder.

Yes, it is, Mrs. Oliver.
Exactly like your murder.

Except this young lady

is dead.

It was my murder. My murder, and l did it.

I did it. l did it. lt was my murder.

- I did it. l did it. lt was my murder.
- Mrs. Oliver, be a man.

- You must not blame yourself.
- Oh, but l do. l do.

Didn't l tell you my murder might not be

the only one that was committed here
this weekend?

The lnspector.

It was my murder. l did it.

- Who are you?
- My name is Hercule Poirot.

- And this...
- Of course, you are!

I was present when you solved
the ABC murders.

Extraordinary performance.

- Well, l've filled out a bit since then.
- Oh, who has not filled out?

- Actually l haven't.
- No, no, you have not filled out.

You probably don't remember me.

Oh, wait a minute. l do. ABC murders.

You were a Detective Sergeant
at the time.

Now you must be...

You must be a Detective lnspector
or something.

Your name began with an "H."

- Bland, that's who you are.
- But that was 15 years ago.

You remember me.
Why should l not remember you?

And this is...

- Hastings, old man.
- Hastings. lt is Hastings.

- How do you do?
- And that is Mrs. Oliver.

Oliver?

Ariadne Oliver,
the American detective writer?

- Why, yes.
- I've just read your latest book,

"Hatchets, Blood and a Parakeet."

- Quite absorbing.
- Oh, thank you.

Oh, but this isn't fiction.

Why did l ever allow that poor child

to play the Yugoslavian second wife
of a nuclear scientist?

The dead girl was the wife
of a Yugoslavian scientist?

No, no, no!

She was the Yugoslavian wife
of a nuclear scientist.

Perhaps l may be allowed to elucidate?

Mrs. Oliver here
invented a murder hunt, a game,

in which clues were left here and there.

We had to find them
and whoever won, would win the prize.

But unfortunately life itself

has begun mysteriously
to intrude upon this game.

Could you be more specific?

Well, it could have been somebody
who likes killing little girls.

Or she might have recognized somebody

who was trying to conceal his identity.

Blackmail is always a possibility.

Or what if she saw somebody
on that yacht out there

throw a body into the river.

- Or...
- Thank you, Mrs. Oliver.

- Does Sir George know what's happened?
- Certainly not.

Sir George always does his laps
at this time of day.

- His what?
- Laps. Swimming.

Sir George always does 50 laps before tea.

I should like to talk to him straightaway.

Inspector, can Hastings and l
accompany you?

Unofficially, of course.

By all means. l'd be honored.

May l come, too, please?

There may be a book in it.

Sir George, l regret to inform you

that a murder has been committed
on your property.

Really, Mrs. Oliver,
isn't this carrying things too far?

Low comedy police.

I mean, this chap looks like something
out of the burlesque.

Detective lnspector Bland, sir.

Oh!

- Sorry.
- It's Marlene.

Down at the boathouse.
She's been murdered.

- Yes, l know.
- I mean really murdered.

Where's Hattie? Does she know?

- Lady Stubbs cannot be located.
- Damn it all!

This news will frighten her.

Amanda, give these gentlemen
all the help that they require.

What a terrible tragedy.

And find Hattie.

Well, simple and straightforward
as it can be.

The girl was garroted with a clothesline.
No struggle.

I'd say the poor kid didn't know
what was happening till it happened.

- Signs of sexual assault?
- None.

Inspector, may l make a contribution?

Probably quite insignificant,

but there is here a tray with a plate
and glass on it.

Well, l brought that.

Lady Stubbs thought it'd be nice
to take the poor girl some refreshment.

So l did.

- At what time?
- At about 4:00.

- Estimated time of death?
- Between 4:00 and 4:30.

Miss Brewis,

on your way down here
or on your way back,

- did you encounter anyone?
- No one.

You know what this is, don't you?

A copycat killing.

Somebody studied my murder
and decided to commit one of their own.

- Quite possibly, Mrs. Oliver...
- l know where Lady Stubbs is.

- Oh?
- Hiding.

Hiding where?

I don't know where.

But somewhere she's hiding from that...

Hattie received a letter from him
this morning at breakfast.

Oh, Eddie South.

Yes, Eddie South.

That is his yacht over there, lnspector.

She received a letter
announcing his arrival today

and it seemed to distress her somewhat.

Officer! A launch.
I want a word with Mr. South.

May we come aboard? Police business.

Mr. South,

a girl has been found murdered
in the boathouse over there.

- What? You're kidding!
- Around the time that you arrived.

- Can you turn that off, please?
- Oh, yeah.

I don't suppose you heard or noticed any

specific activities in the boathouse
as you came ashore?

No.

Look, l just pulled in, you know?

These two guys right here
introduced me to Lord George.

- Sir George.
- Yeah, whatever.

- Have you met Lady Stubbs yet?
- Hattie? No.

I mean, l hung around with Lord...

Her husband, for a while
but he didn't seem to like me too much

so l came on back here to the boat.

He said he was gonna call me
when she turned up.

- Where is she?
- Missing.

Missing?

What do you mean, missing?
Like, like vanished?

Or may be like she just
zipped into town for a six pack?

Mr. South, when we say that
someone is missing,

it means that we don't know.

- Now, Mr. South...
- Eddie's fine.

Mr. South,

when did you first meet Hattie...

- Frimple.
- Frimple?

Hattie Frimple.

Well, she was the beautiful, rich girl
back in my hometown

and l was this poor, fat kid, you know?

And l worked in a record store
where all the kids hung out.

She'd come in the store
and we'd talk about music

and how much l wanted to make it
in this business.

I remember she used to say to me,
"Just do it, Eddie.

"l believe in you."

So one day l did.

I now manage some of the
biggest rock acts in this business.

You see, she knew that
l had the right stuff up here.

Little gray cells.

Continue, please.

Well, after that she graduated
and came to England,

and her parents died,
and after that l lost track.

Till about three months ago.

I came over here
to pick up this little life's ambition

and there was her name,
boom, right there in the papers.

Some kind of a society thing, l guess.
So l dropped her a note.

You dropped her a note three months ago?

Yeah, give or take.

Was that the only note you dropped her?

Yeah.

She never wrote me back but...

l don't know, l decided
l was just gonna sail on down anyway.

I figured she'd get a kick out of seeing
how the kid turned out.

I trust you won't object
if my men search your boat.

What for?

- Oh, you think l killed that girl.
- I don't know.

Maybe you figure that l've got Hattie
stowed away here some place.

But aren't you supposed to have

some kind of a warrant
to go poking around?

Yes.

Go ahead. l got nothing to hide.

Seems to be a fairly
straightforward sort of a chap.

I wonder why Lady Stubbs
is afraid of him.

If in fact she is afraid of him.

Marlene was such a good little girl.

I know we had our disagreements,
all parents do.

I didn't approve
of all that makeup she wore,

or the boyfriends she ran around with.

Staying out to all hours.

Missing school.

Them tramp girlfriends of hers
lying about the house all day

painting their toenails,
never turning the music down.

What'll we do without her?

Mrs. Tucker, how did Marlene
come to be involved

with this murder hunt?

Well, Tuckers have always worked
for the Folliats

ever since there was a Nasse House.

Did she have any enemies
that you know of?

No, she had boyfriends.

Now look here, Bland,
l want a word with you.

I am sorry, Mrs. Tucker.

My condolences.

Thank you, Mrs. Tucker. That will be all.
Officer, please see the lady out.

Yes, Sir George?

I gather that Lady Stubbs
has not been found yet.

- What are you doing about it?
- Looking for her.

A question, perhaps?

Thank you very much.

Sir George, did you receive a letter
from Eddie South

three months ago?

No, only that one this morning.

Why do you think that Lady Stubbs
was so terrified of Eddie South?

Well, she wasn't very articulate about it.

Just went on in a childish sort of way.

I don't set much stock
by what Hattie says sometimes.

Might l know her precise words, please?

About Eddie South?

Yes.

She said,

"He kills people."

"He kills people"?

I shouldn't take what she says
too seriously.

I am devoted to Hattie but...

But to say, "He kills people."

How many keys were there
to the boathouse?

- Amanda?
- Three.

I have one.

And there's one hidden in the folly
for the murder hunt.

Which makes two.

The third is in the drawer over there.

Yes. That's it.

Mrs. Oliver,

l believe that the girl, Marlene's duty

was to lie still and play dead

if she heard the noise
of someone approaching.

Yes, that's right.

But in light of the fact that
all the keys are now identified,

is it not possible
that she did the opposite?

She rose and she opened the door
to her murderer

simply because she recognized him?

Or her?

All right, l agree with Mrs. Oliver.

The murderer must have known
about the murder hunt.

Excuse me.

I think l'll go and see
if Hattie's returned to her room.

She's not in her room.

She's obviously avoiding Eddie South.

That's what l said.

We only have her word for the fact
that she was frightened of Eddie South.

How do we know she's telling the truth?

Women often say things they don't mean.

How do you know?

I don't wish to discuss it.

Between 4:00 and 4:30.

That was my break from fortune telling.

I had tea.

- In the tea tent?
- Yes, certainly.

Was Mrs. Folliat there?

No.

Mr. Legge, where were you?

Well, that was about the time
l returned to our cottage.

I stayed there until l was sent for.

You are ill, of course.

Well, l was sick.

Sick and tired.

Michael Weyman
does his architect work here.

Hastings.

Well, Poirot, don't you want to hear
what Michael Weyman has to say?

He seems to me to be a bit...

Yes, but l'd rather hear
what Mrs. Folliat has to say

before the police have a crack at her.

Where were you between 4:00 and 4:30?

- That when she got it?
- Go on.

How do you pin it down so exactly?

At about 4:00,
Lady Stubbs asked Miss Brewis here

to take down a tray of refreshments
to Marlene Tucker.

- The dead body was...
- l don't believe it for a minute.

What don't you believe?

You claim dear Hattie sent you
on an errand for someone else.

- She did!
- Never. Totally out of character.

Hattie is a girl
completely obsessed with herself.

She wouldn't think of sending
cough drops to Camille.

- Oh.
- Oh, hi.

- May we come in?
- Oh, yes. Yes, l...

l expect you've come
to talk about the tragedy.

That poor, poor girl.

You said only yesterday
that it's a very wicked world.

But l never thought
anything like this would happen.

May I offer you tea?
I'll put the kettle to boil.

No, no, no. We can only stay a moment.

Can you prove
where you were all afternoon?

No, l can't prove where
l was all afternoon.

I knocked about a bit,
watched the tourists behave like tourists.

Chatted up the film star.
Now there's a piece of work.

Did you also happen to chat up
Lady Stubbs?

No chance.

Parading around
like a department store mannequin.

When was the last time
you saw Lady Stubbs?

I don't know.

3:30, l guess. Why?

That was about the last time
anyone saw her.

She seems to have vanished.

Vanished?

Oh, wonderful.

You find it amusing,
that Lady Stubbs is missing?

Oh, Hattie plays the helpless ing? nue

but she knows exactly what she's doing.

I can vouch for that.

Can you?

I think Mrs. Folliat taught her a lot.

Even introduced her to Sir George.
Did you know that?

Mrs. Folliat may not be
mistress of the manor anymore

but she could teach survival skills
to the Marines.

No family portraits, Mrs. Folliat?

When one has lost a family,
portraits are only memory.

And memory is like dead wood.

It must be cut away if one is to go on.

They tell me you lost both your sons?

Yes.

Henry, through an illness.

Jamie,

my younger,

died in the Army.

My husband's tragedy
was that he lived too long,

letting the family wealth
trickle through his fingers.

Did you know that Lady Stubbs
is nowhere to be found?

Don't speak to me of Hattie.
I don't want to think about her.

And yet only this morning she also
was talking about wickedness.

She was referring, of course,
to the young American on his yacht.

There seems to be wickedness
everywhere suddenly.

What a coincidence.

For Hattie there are no shadings,
only black and white.

- Good and evil.
- Like a child.

Children are erratic, or so l'm told.

I do not have the privilege
of knowing many personally.

But a child can be docile at one moment

and the next moment,
have a temper tantrum.

And if you get an adult
with childish characteristics,

this tantrum can become a rage so violent

that he or she

can kill.

Hattie was never like that.

I won't allow you
to say such things about her.

She was a gentle, warm-hearted girl.

My Hattie would never kill anyone.

Sorry to disturb.
Detective lnspector Bland.

- Might l have a few words with you?
- Yes, do come in, all of you.

Where was l between 4:00 and 4:30?
Oh, that was teatime.

- Iwas helping serve in the tea tent.
- Tea tent.

Did you happen to notice within the...
Oh, l'm so sorry. lt's your...

- No, no, please.
- No, l was rude.

- No, feel free.
- Really?

- A vec plaisir.
- Oh.

Did you notice Mrs. Legge in the tent?

No, l don't think l did.

- Could you have missed her?
- Oh, no.

No, l made a point of going round
to greet everyone.

Of course, Miss Brewis said that

Lady Stubbs told her to take
the refreshments down to Marlene.

And Michael Weyman contends
that it is unlikely.

I agree with him.

Mrs. Legge said that she was having tea
between 4:00 and 4:30.

Mrs. Folliat says she wasn't.

- Sir George was doing his laps.
- Well, no one saw him do them.

And that old man could've seen
Eddie South getting off his boat.

- You haven't interrogated him yet.
- I shall do so in the morning.

Alec Legge has no alibi
for the time in question.

Nor has Michael Weyman.

This is all so fascinating!

And you get to do it every day.

- Well, old man, any conclusions?
- Yes.

Quite a few conclusions.

Well, who do you think
our murderer was, then?

The murderer of Marlene or Lady Stubbs?

Lady Stubbs?
Well, you don't think she's been killed?

Yes, l do think she's been killed.

I can't imagine why.

Because Mrs. Folliat
thinks she's been killed.

She never said that.

Whatever Mrs. Folliat thinks
or says or pretends to think,

she believes that Hattie has been killed.

Mrs. Folliat knows more than we do.

You know, this whole thing is incredible.

Marlene, then Hattie disappearing.

Why would she run away?
Damn pleased with her new ring.

Got all dolled up for the fair.

Believe me, you never know
what fool things women can do.

One can never know.

Sorry.

Something must be done.

Amanda, put a notice
in the newspapers for her.

She never reads the newspapers.
I could put an advertisement in Vogue.

- That might catch her eye.
- Anything, anything.

I'm going to phone Bland.

Men are such fools.

And why should you make
such an observation, mademoiselle?

Most of the time they're quite shrewd.

Then they go off
and marry the wrong woman.

Oh, l see. You mean Lady Stubbs was...

- ls the wrong woman.
- Totally.

She makes a fool of him.
Him and Michael Weyman.

Oh, Mr. Weyman would be in sorry shape

if he didn't have another kettle to boil.

To what kettle are you referring?

Sally Legge.

She was the one who recommended him
to Sir George as architect.

She and Mr. Weyman
knew each other in Chelsea.

She was an aspiring artist.
Before she was married, of course, but...

l don't like to gossip.

But as to Sir George,
with the proper wife at his side,

oh, he could achieve wonderful things
in politics, business.

His abilities and potential
are being smothered by that...

You will excuse me.
I have my duties to perform.

- Mr. Poirot!
- Where are you?

You and l have to talk.
I'm coming right down.

Poirot, l'd wager
you're a wine connoisseur.

Oh, in my small way.

May l show you the cellar?
I need to speak to you privately.

Oh, in that case, the cellar.

Oh, Sally. Good morning.

Mr. Weyman!

Well, he can't think
things are normal now.

I laid down a few bottles about a year ago.

- As an investment, of course.
- Yes.

It's all grape juice to me.

No! You mustn't do that. Please.

You know, every wine, even a small wine,

has its own personality
with its own secret past

and its own promises
of pleasure in the future.

And so those of us who have been

witnesses of death, as we have,

for them this is a manifestation of life.

What is it? Let's see.

"Lynch Bages, 1944."

You know that when these grapes
were being picked,

the battle was raging
all the way round the vineyard.

But picked they were, that's life.

And now, after the battlefield
and all that is forgotten,

these grapes have turned into juice
and are quietly in the bottle

developing strength and character
and subtlety.

Life.

I'll give you every bottle of this stuff
if you'll find my wife.

I think you should begin
to consider the fact that perhaps

the unfortunate Lady Stubbs...

No!

Hattie's alive.

I want you to find her.

Why don't you express your conviction
to Bland?

I have.

He's an idiot!

Please.

Find her.

We meet again.

I am the rhythm breaker. Remember?

- Oh, yes.
- Zdrastvuitye or something of a kind.

- You are at the hostel?
- Hostel. Yes.

In that case you are...
You are trespassing.

- Yes, trespassing.
- Yes, you will have to go back.

Go back. Yes, l go back.

Do svidaniya, am l right?

Oh, Mr. Poirot. l didn't hear you.

You have lost something, perhaps?

- No, no, not exactly.
- No?

In that case it must be
a secret rendezvous?

I really think you ought to
mind your own business.

Oh, l can't, you know, l've tried so hard.

Is your husband the jealous type?

Not even close.

Do you know, l think l could walk
through that fair stark naked

and he wouldn't even notice.

Oh, that l'd have to see to believe.

Are you married, Mr. Poirot?

No, l am the carefree bachelor.

Very wise.

Marriage can be a big mistake.

You wish you were still
the bohemian artist from Chelsea?

You seem to know all about me.

I keep my ear open.

Something's troubling Alec.

He just won't loosen up.

At first l tried sympathy and...

Well, now l'm trying other things.

But he won't even talk to me.

I thought for a while
it was another woman.

I am the jealous type.

Did you enjoy your tea yesterday?

Tea?

Yes!

The fortune telling
was terribly trying, though.

Could it be this that you're looking for?

Oh, yes.

- I've been looking for this for days.
- For days?

I saw it on your wrist when you were
telling my fortune yesterday.

Yes, l only noticed
that it was missing this morning.

Anyway, thank you. Thank you very much.

And now the lover.

Oh, no.

I was expecting someone else.

Who did you expect?

Oh, but the young man you were expecting,

he's gone back to the youth hostel.

He's Russian, isn't he?
Or Bulgarian at a pinch.

What do you mean?

What do l mean? Nothing.

The young man's gone back
to the youth hostel.

You're down here to spy on me,
aren't you?

Well, l'm not gonna tell them
what they want.

Whether you believe me or not.

But l...

l can't prove it so you go right ahead.
You turn me in.

That's what you're paid for, isn't it?

I don't give a damn anyway.

Oh, dear. lt's rush hour.

- Poirot! Poirot!
- Hello.

Come here.
They found something in the river.

What? Wait for me!

Wait for me!

Wait for me!

Inspector. We found a woman's hat.
Or what's left of it.

This is Hattie's.

- She was wearing it yesterday.
- Oh, yes. l recognize it.

- What is going on?
- They found my wife's hat in the river.

Inspector, the divers downstream
just found a body.

They're bringing it in.

Poirot! Poirot!
I've got something to show you.

Now, look.

Object of the exercise,
Nasse House murders, solution of.

Now here we have Amanda Brewis.

Did she kill Marlene Tucker?

Eddie South.

Did he drown old Merdell?

Sir George Stubbs.
Did he kill Lady Stubbs?

I think we should assume
that she's still alive

so l'm gonna pin her up here.

- Any objections?
- No, goodbye Lady Stubbs.

- Do you agree with me so far?
- So far? Oh, yes.

Now, you'll see that l put the Legges,
l grouped them with Michael Weyman.

- Yes.
- Now, here's the foreign young man.

Here we have...

Oh, Ariadne Oliver.
Oh, l don't think she's a suspect.

Oh, no. Do be careful there.

That could be...

Poirot, l'm sorry, but you're beginning
to get on my nerves.

I mean, just because
you never write anything down

doesn't mean that you're superior
or that l'm less efficient.

I mean, here l am.
I mean, l've got all these facts marshaled.

- And you just sit there...
- My poor Hastings.

The last thing l want to do
is to hurt your feelings.

But you must realize, sooner or later,

there is a considerable difference
between military intelligence

and normal intelligence.

Rather than surrender to unpleasantness
let us join forces once more.

Tell me where in your scheme of things
you place Mrs. Folliat.

Mrs. Folliat?

Yes, l've wracked my brains

and l can't, for the life of me,
think where to put Mrs. Folliat.

You see, we arrive at the same conclusion.

You, by rather cumbersome methods.
And l, by something a little more...

Different ones.

Let us bury the hatchet.

And go together
and take Mrs. Folliat by surprise.

- What do you say to that?
- Very good.

Gentlemen.

If you've come to see Sir George...

As a matter of fact
we have come to see you.

Oh.

Well.

In that case you must allow me
to offer you tea this time.

Of course.

Look how my hand shakes.

- I'm very tired.
- Gunners.

Royal Artillery. Your husband?

Family regiment.

I shall be not only ready

but very thankful when my time comes,
Monsieur Poirot.

Surely you exaggerate.

The deaths here have upset me greatly.

I'm sorry to hear that.

But it's strange that you who have lost

a husband, two sons, your home,

suddenly go to pieces

because a couple of
relative strangers are killed.

I'm older now.

Mrs. Folliat,
you know who killed Marlene Tucker

and you know why.

You know if old Merdell was murdered
and by whom.

And you know
what happened to Hattie Stubbs.

You are mistaken, Mr. Poirot.

Oh. But you must have a guess in you,
like everybody else.

May we have the benefit of those guesses?

Mrs. Folliat, who did these awful things?

I have nothing more to say. l've given up.

Nothing can be done. lt's all over.

Well, l have not given up, Mrs. Folliat.

And l will not give up.

Hercule Poirot never gives up.

- Hello.
- It's two men, Mum.

- We don't want any.
- Very good.

We don't want to disturb you.
My name is Poirot.

We met before at Nasse House
on the day of your tragedy. We...

May we come in?

- Thank you very much.
- Thank you.

Mrs. Tucker, could your daughter
have known her assailant?

Marlene didn't know
any homicidal maniacs.

No, of course not.

But it's difficult to identify
homicidal maniacs before they strike.

I mean, was there someone
who was nice to her?

Who gave her presents?

Oh, that's Mrs. Legge.

But she wasn't a homicidal maniac.

Mrs. Legge gave her presents?

Yes, all that terrible makeup.

Lipstick, eye-shadow, all that.

Of course l didn't approve, but then
l didn't know she was a homicidal maniac.

Mrs. Legge didn't murder my daughter,
did she?

Yes, well, things don't come singly,
they say.

First Marlene,
and then my father right after.

Drowned down the ferry landing.

It's a wonder it didn't come sooner.

He was known to take
a few drinks too many sometimes.

Are you telling me
that Mr. Merdell was your father?

- That he was Marlene's grandfather?
- Yes.

Can you remember a little tune
he used to sing? Something like...

Oh, there'll always be a Folliat at Nasse

Always a Folliat

Folly, folly, folly, oh

Always a Folliat at Nasse, lass

Thank you both so very much and...

l'm so...
We are so sorry for what happened and...

- Don't bother to see us out.
- Thank you.

Quick.

Wait.

Nobody gave Marlene the makeup.
She bought it.

Lots more, too, that Mum never found.

Where did she find the money
to buy such things?

Well, see, Grandpa Merdell
told her something

and somebody was paying her
not to pass it on.

She'd never tell me what or who.
See, Marlene didn't really like me.

She may have saved your life.

Remember that.

We will go back to London

where you will use your influence
on your old friends at the Secret Service

to make available to us

certain information
from the military archives.

If what l suspect is true,

it will be time to summon who?

The principals.

Good morning, Captain Hastings.

- Good morning, Mr. Poirot.
- Good morning, Miss Oliver.

Everybody is here.

Including lnspector Bland,
he's waiting inside.

Who did it? Do you know the murderer?

- No. l was relying on your intuition.
- Oh, no, no.

I only have impressions.
Nothing you can put your finger on.

- I don't like Michael Weyman.
- Oh, neither do l.

And Sally and Alec Legge
are drifting further and further apart.

Well, l'm sorry to hear that.

Miss Brewis hardly ever leaves
Sir George's side now.

Now that doesn't surprise me a bit.

Mrs. Folliat just wanders around
with her pruning shears

clipping everything in sight.

- Hastings.
- So, shall l come with you?

You know perfectly well
what you have to do, Hastings.

Capito?

Oh, yes. Righto, yes.

Well, what did you come up with?
I'm dying to know.

- So am l.
- Oh.

Good morning.

Captain Hastings will join us presently.

First of all l want to thank
lnspector Bland for his courtesy.

And l would like to ask you all
a few questions.

Mrs. Oliver,

l would like to direct
my first question at you.

Oh, don't be alarmed.

Nobody here should be alarmed
by the questions,

only by the answers.

Mrs. Oliver, have you ever
met a nuclear scientist?

Oh, no, no. l don't think so.

And yet you made a nuclear scientist

one of your suspects in your murder hunt.

Well, last Christmas
l bought presents for my two nephews

and everything is nuclear.

I guess that's where l got the idea.

And then l found that
if l needed any technical advice,

l could always ask Mr. Legge.

You're some sort of scientist,
aren't you, Mr. Legge?

Mr. Legge?

Yes, l'm a nuclear physicist.

Then l do know a nuclear scientist.

That's amazing.

And yet his wife is not Yugoslav.

Well, l needed that foreign menace,
you know.

And l used to see those youth hostel girls
crossing the property,

talking with foreign accents
so l came up with a Yugoslavian wife.

Yes, whereas Mrs. Legge is the opposite.

She is British and deeply unhappy.

I don't know what you mean.

Why don't you drop the act, Sally?

She's leaving me.

Not that l give a damn.

You're going to shop me
before l have a chance to clear myself.

It doesn't really matter, does it?

Alec, what are you talking about?

Perhaps l may cast some light on this.

Mr. Legge, when he was younger,
perhaps in his university years,

became deeply impressed
by certain aspects of

Marxist philosophy.

And then he became a reputable scientist

and foreign agents began to work on him,

hoping to force him to give away secrets

and threatening to reveal
his former political affiliations.

And naturally, who can blame him,

he suffered a severe depression.

Yes, l didn't want to throw away
everything l'd worked for.

But, at the same time, l couldn't
just hand over classified information.

One of their people followed me here.

He was at the fair.

That was when l finally
bucked up the courage

to tell him that there could be no deal.

Alec, why didn't you tell me?

Because l didn't want
to involve you, Sally.

But l thought you were rejecting me.

- I thought you'd given up on us.
- Oh, don't be ridiculous.

I was just using Michael
to make you jealous.

Using?

Oh, Alec, l do love you.

Listen, l love you too, Sally.

This is all very touching,

but what has it got to do
with the murders?

Doesn't it warm
at least one cockle of your heart?

I don't know. During the ABC murders
you were much more...

Yes, you were.

My question was absolutely
everything to do with the murder.

It started with my question to Mrs. Oliver.

She embodies all that is good
and that is, pardon me, bad with instinct.

Good, is it something
quite uncanny at times.

Something l can't explain
and nor can anyone.

Sometimes it's excessive and stupid.

It was good with Mr. Legge

because she knew instinctively
that he was a nuclear scientist.

It was less good with the Yugoslav wife,
which is very stupid.

Forgive me.

And you irritated me so very much.
Very much. l'm sorry.

Yes, yes, but only until the moment

that l realized you had gifts
which are denied to me,

chauvinist cochon that l am.

- Oh, yes. Yes!
- Oh, no, Mr. Poirot.

You see, it was when her vibrations
began to tell us all

that something abnormal
had occurred here,

that l eventually sent Hastings
back to his friends in the Secret Service,

and he used his connections there

to find some military archives
which interested me.

Particularly those
of Lieutenant James Folliat.

I'm sorry, madame,
to cause you such pain.

But the truth of the matter is
that not both of your sons are dead.

One of them, Jamie,
your favorite, is still alive.

He joined the Army
and was released from it

under circumstances
which are at least shrouded in mystery,

Her Majesty having no further need
for his services.

Those are the archives,
in case it interests anyone.

Sir George?

What's this all about?

Are you James Folliat?

I see no point in denying it,
under the circumstances.

Well, then, Mr. Folliat,
what have you been up to for 20 years?

Mother, do be quiet.

Young James found himself
to be incompatible with Army life.

It was your fault, my dear.
You spoiled him.

James was such a sweet little boy.

I could deny him nothing.

Well, what happened
between his leaving the Army

and marrying Hattie Frimple
is anybody's guess.

And who better than the greatest guesser
of us all, huh, madame?

- Okay! He's on the run!
- But you see...

One disguise after another
to keep ahead of the cops.

His father dies, his mother is destitute,

Nasse House is lost to death duties,

and James Folliat
can't do one thing about it!

- And then...
- No, until, until, until... Please.

Until his mother
introduces him to Hattie Frimple

and hides from anybody the knowledge
that he is not dead at all

but has merely changed his identity
and, as far as possible, his appearance.

- You see...
- Right! So, Sir George Stubbs

charms the naive, beautiful,

young, rich American girl.

He buys back Nasse House with her money

and brings her back here
to live happily ever after.

Thank you, Mrs. Oliver.

But then a letter arrives
from a boy that Hattie used to know.

She's terrified of him.

She tries to hide from him
but Eddie South finds her,

drags her onto his boat, murders her,
and dumps her body in the river.

Wait a minute! l never murdered anybody!

My wife is not dead.

- That is also the truth.
- Where is she then?

Much as l abhor physical intimidation,
she wouldn't come of her own volition.

May l present Lady Stubbs.

But...

- That's not Hattie.
- Yes, it is.

- No, it isn't!
- Oh, yes, it is!

Well, is it or isn't it?

No, it isn't.

And yet it's difficult to explain.

You see, James Folliat

alias Sir George Stubbs

did marry a Hattie,

Hattie Frimple

in America. She was an heiress.

And her inheritance
restored the Folliat fortune

and this house to its former glory.

The poor girl didn't enjoy very much
of her newfound happiness

because this man,
repaying her as only he could,

killed her.

You!

- What proof have you got, Poirot?
- The proof?

The proof l believe to lie under the folly.

That night was a famous one locally.

A terrible storm, trees were uprooted.

And into the hole
produced by one these fallen trees

this man buried Hattie Frimple.

But trying to regain his cottage
in the storm came old Merdell.

He saw what was happening.
He was horrified.

He ran away.

And what was left of his poor mind
was permanently affected.

In a short time, the folly was built

over the body of the dead woman.

And this lady took the place
of Hattie Frimple.

She became just Hattie Stubbs.

I shall need a warrant
for some excavations on this property.

Monsieur Poirot, there's only
one real criminal in this room

and her name is Bernice Radford.

She killed Marlene in the boathouse.

You'd do anything to save your hide,
wouldn't you?

She also drowned Merdell in the river!

You're not gonna lay all this on me.

He killed the old man!

I should've known you'd fold.

The old lady's got all the guts
in your family.

I didn't know Jamie was married to her

when l introduced Hattie to him.

I hoped we could come here, back home,

and l could take care of them.

Look after Hattie and my son.

Instead, you allowed a murder
to go unreported.

I wanted to say but l couldn't.

I couldn't.

Jamie is my son.

All right.

I still don't understand
how Marlene Tucker

and the old man were murdered or why.

Oh, that's easy.

- These are, l think, exhibits.
- Thank you.

You see, the old man,
through his alcoholic stupor,

recognized James Folliat

behind the facade of Sir George Stubbs.

He tried to communicate his discovery.
He sang his stupid little song.

And no one listened, of course,
to his nonsense except young Marlene.

She could always be bought off with
a little pocket money but for how long?

Suddenly something happened.

Three months ago
they got news from Eddie South,

who was coming to visit them.

He was the only one that had
actually known the original Hattie Frimple.

Sir George had always been
opposed to public fetes

and festivals on his land.

Now here was an opportunity to have one,

including a murder hunt.

And if it was cleverly arranged
and stage managed,

he could get rid of
the two embarrassing witnesses

of his previous crime.

I hate it here.

This decrepit old house is like a jail.

Well, we'll soon know from you
if it's true, madame.

Tell me, how did you know it was me?

I thought it was a pretty good disguise.

It was an excellent disguise

but there's always something wrong
with every disguise.

In this case, the hands.

Notice if you will
how much paler they are than the face.

That was an initial mistake.

And then l remembered

a beautiful young woman
near the swimming pool

trying to catch the light of the sun
in an emerald.

It was your lovely white hands
which gave you away, madame.

Poirot, this is all very impressive,
as always,

but could you be more specific?

Their scenario continued
on Saturday morning at breakfast

when the lady,
we will still call Lady Stubbs

for the sake of convenience,

came downstairs with the mail.

Now this was usually
Miss Brewis' function

and she was extremely irritated
by the initiative taken by Lady Stubbs,

who surrendered the mail to her
but kept back one envelope, a blue one,

which had been posted
actually three months before

and announced the imminent arrival,
on that very day,

of a Mr. Eddie South.

She developed
an extraordinarily rapid headache

and went upstairs to her room.

She was not there for very long

because she changed
into the costume of an ltalian girl,

who was at the youth hostel,
and appeared in the garden

together with a German girl
she had found on the way

and then Sir George shouted at her
to get off the land.

Then seemed to be summoned
from inside the house

by another voice nobody could hear

but it was evidently,
judging from his reaction,

his wife pleading for calm and generosity

and he allowed the girls to go through.

Lady Stubbs reappeared in the garden

ready to open the fete as Lady Stubbs
just before tea time.

She instructed Miss Brewis
to deliver some refreshments

to the little girl Marlene
in the boathouse.

It was to prove to Miss Brewis

that Marlene was still alive

at a time very shortly before her murder.

Her ladyship hovered around
the fortune telling tent

waiting for Mrs. Legge to leave

for her rendezvous
with Michael Weyman in the folly.

Upon which she entered
and changed once again

into her ltalian outfit with the black wig.

Then she goes down to the boathouse

and calls out for little Marlene.

Marlene, no doubt
delighted to hear Lady Stubbs

gets up, looks, sees no one,
opens the door,

and finds an entirely unknown presence

bearing down upon her.

Is that specific enough for you, lnspector,

or should we go into greater detail still

and go into the motives
and the sensations?

Was it amusing killing that girl?

Was it easy, as it is in the cinema?

Or is it much more difficult
as the noose slowly tightens?

Or perhaps there is some pleasure
to be derived from it?

She was a fat, stupid, greedy little kid

that got exactly what she deserved
for trying to blackmail us!

You may not judge her!

You have absolutely no right to take
something that doesn't belong to you.

Greedy, did you say?

What could be greedier
than just destroying something

because it stands in the way
of your own miserable ambitions?

Why, you're very lucky, you know,

that l am not responsible
for your punishment.

- Where were we?
- The boathouse, old man.

The boathouse. Yes.

Well, then this lady
comes out of the boathouse.

She has time to toss
Lady Stubbs'hat into the water

and she goes back to her hostel.

Her part of the conspiracy is now finished.

Finally we pass to Sir George,

the swimmer of laps.

Is he perhaps a health fanatic?

No, Sir George was in training
for a specific event,

a deadly event,

which was performed
not after Marlene's murder but before.

For Sir George
this task was a pitifully easy one,

especially after such rigorous training.

A short swim to the boat landing

and poor drunken old Merdell
is pulled under.

His song is silenced forever.

Voil?

Sir George,

you are nicked, my old sir.

I did all this for you, Mother.

To give you back Nasse House.

God forgive me
for loving you too much, Son.

I can't help you now.

No one can.

Why not?

You always have before.

Mother!

Take your hands off me!
I wish to speak with my mother!

You've done it again, Poirot.
Congratulations.

Oh, it's all right.

Maybe a touch more long-winded
than the ABC murders.

But you're still right up there
with the best.

I mean, compared to you,
l'm just a flatfoot.

- No.
- A policeman.

No. Oh, you know,

there are some people who have
to exercise their little gray cells,

others who merely lock people into them.

"Long-winded."

Well, Mr. Poirot,

thanks to you l have my next novel,

The Copycat Killing.

The Copycat Killing?

I enjoyed your last one.

I finished it but l have lost it somewhere.

Oh, here, here.
I want you to keep that copy.

Tell me, when did you first suspect

that the time bomb
was surgically implanted in the parakeet?

On Tuesday.

Oh. Oh.

- Very good.
- Yes.

- Is it any good?
- You tell me.

But l'll tell you something.

We'll both be in the next one.