All language subtitles for Agatha.Christies.Poirot.s02e01.Peril.at.End.House.part 1.1990.Bluray.720p.HEVC.x265.sharpysword

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

No!

Well, it does to me.

It does to everybody else.

Not to Poirot.

Oh, I suppose you don't think

that looks like a great mass
of cotton wool.

No!

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

That is true, mon ami.

But, fortunately,
you have enough for both of us.

It is extremely valuable to me.

Good morning, sir.

Good morning.

Ah, c'est magnifique.

Just the place
for a restful vacation.

The food will be inedible.

What do you think, Poirot --

down to the beach
this afternoon

or shall I have a round of golf?

The tennis court's pretty good,
I understand.

Waiter!

Still no news of Captain Seton.

Comment?

The round-the-world flight.

Ah.

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

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

Cannibals.

I say.

It makes you proud to be
an Englishman, though.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Do not be sorry, Hastings.

It is not a tragedy for me

that I was born on the wrong
side of the channel.

Ohh! This is intolerable!

I'm going to find a waiter.

Ah, mon Dieu.

Gar�on!

Waiter!

Ohh!

Are you all right?

I say!

Do not perturb yourself,
Hastings.

The turned ankle -- that is all.

I wish you'd let it be seen to.

Ah, in the pleasure
of your company, mademoiselle,

the pain -- it already passes.
Mm.

Ah, pardon --
this is Captain Hastings.

Hastings, imagine -- the house
over there on the point --

it belongs
to Mademoiselle Buckley.

Really?

It's called End House.

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

Oh, that is sad.

It's a big house.

Do you live there
all by yourself?

Oh, I'm away a good deal.

When I'm at home, there's
usually a rather rowdy crowd

coming and going.

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

haunted by a family curse.

Well, if it is haunted,

the ghost must be sent
to protect me.

I've had three escapes
from sudden death

in the last three days.

Escapes from death?

Oh, just accidents, you know.

Oh, curse these bees.

I hate the way they come
right past your face.

Ah.

Nick! Nick!

Here, George!
Here I am!

Come on, girl.
Freddie's frantic for a drink.

Hello.

This is Commander Challenger.

He's in the navy.

I have a great regard
for the Royal Navy.

Oh.

Well done, well done.

All right, George,
don't get overexcited.

Come on. Let's go and find
Freddie and Jim.

I hope the ankle
will be all right.

Merci.

Nice girl.

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

Oh, absolutely.

Oh, good dive!

Has he the tendresse for her?

What do you think, Hastings?

My dear Poirot,
how on earth should I know?

That's Miss Buckley's hat,
isn't it?

Yes, we are going to return it
to End House.

Thus, we shall have
the opportunity to see again

the charming Mademoiselle Nick.

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

Ah, no, no, no, no, no.

You are under a misapprehension,
mon ami.

The young lady --
she is very charming, yes,

but I am more interested
in her hat.

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

There's a hole in it.

Yes, indeed.

Did you do that?

Hastings, did you notice the way
Mademoiselle Nick flinched

as a bee flew past?

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

A bee couldn't make
a hole like this.

But a bullet could, my friend,

a bullet like this.

Mademoiselle Nick has
three escapes from death

in as many days.

Now a fourth.

These are not mere accidents,
mon ami.

You'd have to be a madman
to try and shoot someone

in a hotel garden
in broad daylight.

Ah.

Thank you.

G'day.

Morning.

Good day.

Quite impressive.

It looks as if it could do
with a bit of work.

I say.

Yes?

It's not exactly
courteous, Lazarus,

to ignore us like this.
What?

Jim is far too good a dancer
to be a gentleman.

Aren't you, darling?

Oh, so, Freddie.

An awful waste of an expensive
education, otherwise.

There are some men to see you,
miss.

Oh.

Hello again.

Pardon, mademoiselle.

Commander.

We have come to return your hat.

My hat?

I'd wondered
what had happened to it.

This is for you, George.

There is a matter
of the greatest urgency

I must discuss with you,
mademoiselle.

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

No.

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

Ah.

Now, what's all the mystery?

Mademoiselle...

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

It was this.

What is it?

It is a bullet.

Well, I'm damned.

Uh, Miss Buckley very kindly
helped my friend

when he twisted his ankle
this morning.

Ah. Yes, so they said.

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

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

Oh, it's quite a gift.

She had a marvelous story
the other day

about the brakes on her car
failing

and her nearly being killed.

All nonsense, Jim says.

Jim knows about cars.

Is that your Chevrolet Phantom outside?

Yes.
Pretty, isn't she?

Oh, I say, there's two watches
on the table, exactly the same.

Oh, we've all got one of those.

Don't touch, old boy.

Keep good time, do they?

They keep the best time
in the world.

Oh, I can't dance to that, Jim.

Of course you can, Freddie.

The first accident
was that picture.

I should think the painter
might have set that

when he'd finished it,
don't you?

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

Luckily for me, I've been
sleeping badly lately,

and I'd got up to make myself
a cup of tea.

Otherwise, it might have bashed
my head in.

And the other accidents?

The brakes on my car went west

as I was going down the hill
into St. Looe.

And the next day, a boulder
detached itself from the cliff

at the end of the garden

while I was on the rocks
underneath.

It's jolly nice of you
and all that,

but why are you so interested?

You do not understand,
mademoiselle?

You are in grave danger.

Oh, come off it.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
I tell it to you -- I.

You do know who I am?

No, I don't.

Ah.

I forget you are but a child,
hein?

Alors my friend here,
Captain Hastings --

he will tell it to you.

Well, M. Poirot is a detective.

Oh.

Um, a great detective.

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

Mais dit-on.

Say, then, to mademoiselle
that I am the detective unique,

unsurpassed,
the greatest that ever lived.

Well, there doesn't seem
much point now.

You've told her yourself.

Ah, yes,
but it is more agreeable

to preserve the modesty.

No, but seriously,
these were just accidents.

You are as obstinate
as the devil.

Aren't you clever?

That's where I got my name.

My grandfather was popularly

supposed to have sold his soul
to the devil.

I lived here with him,

so they called us Old Nick
and Young Nick.

My real name's Magdala.

That's unusual.

Yes, it's a kind of family name.

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

That's it.

That's where I was standing.

And the boulder
only just missed you?

Could someone have pushed it
from above?

No.

I tell you -- it was just
another accident.

Do you have any enemies,
mademoiselle?

I'm afraid I don't.

No. Sorry.

Is there anyone who would profit
by your death?

No.

That's why it all seems
such nonsense.

There's only the house,

but it's mortgaged up to
the hilt, and the roof leaks.

There's only the one bedroom
that's usable, you know.

All my friends stay
at the Majestic.

Who is your nearest relation?

My cousin Charles Vyse.

He's a local lawyer.

He gives me good advice

and tries to restrain
my extravagances.

He arranged the mortgage for me

and made me let the lodge
about a year ago.

We saw someone gardening there.

Mr. Croft -- very Australian,

you know, hearty
and that sort of thing.

I mean, terribly kind,

but Mrs. Croft's a cripple,
poor dear.

Have you ever made a will?

Yes, I did,
about six months ago,

the day before my op
for appendicitis.

And what were the terms
of that will?

I left End House to Charles.

I hadn't much else left
to leave,

but what there was
I left to Freddie.

Tell me about your friends.

Well, Freddie Rice is
practically my greatest friend.

She left her husband
about a year or two ago.

He just won't give her
a divorce.

And Commander Challenger?

He wishes you to marry him,
n'est-ce pas?

He does mention it
now and again,

after the second glass of port.

And you remain hardhearted?

Well, what would be the use

of George and I marrying
one another?

Neither of us have got a bean.

Ah.

Eh bien, apart from Mme. Rice,

is there any other friend
you can trust, mademoiselle?

There's Maggie, I suppose.

Aha. Who is Maggie?

She's a distant cousin,
lives in Yorkshire.

I usually have her to stay
sometime in the summer.

She's no fun, though.

Ah. The person ideal.

Telegraph her to come tomorrow.

-Ohh.
-Ah, ah.

Jim Lazarus,
Mrs. Rice's friend --

has he anything to do
with Lazarus art galleries?

That's the chap.

Oh, I was in there
the other day.

Oh?

The Lagonda overheated
just outside,

so I went in to ask if --

Hastings, this morning somebody
shot at Mlle. Buckley

with a Mauser pistol.

A Mauser?

Why? Do you know anyone
who has a Mauser?

Yes, I have.

It was Dad's.

He brought it back from the war.

It's gone.

You know, Poirot,

that Mrs. Rice says that Miss
Buckley's accident in her car

was all my eye.

She says Miss Buckley's
a terrific liar.

Really? That is most
interesting, Hastings.

It is interesting for itself,

and it is interesting
that Mme. Rice has said it.

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

Ah, these little
curious things --

I like to see them appear.

They point the way.

There's a darling.

This is all very well, Poirot,

but what we're trying to do
is impossible.

We're trying to detect
a murderer

before he's committed the crime.

Well said, Hastings.

I don't know where to start.

I don't like the look
of her friends very much.

Except Commander Challenger,
of course.

He's obviously a pukka sahib.

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

Really?

Yes, you have so strongly
the flair in the wrong direction

that I am almost tempted
to doubt the commander.

Who's there?

It is I, Poirot.

The office isn't open.

Oh, mais oui.
I pushed the door downstairs.

It was not locked.

You are M. Vyse?

Yes.

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

Hercule Poirot.

Boirot?

Poirot.

What kind of place is this?

Tell me, M. Vyse,
if I may ask --

and I have said nothing
about this to your cousin,

Mlle. Buckley, you understand --

is there any chance of End House
being on the market?

Oh, no.

Miss Buckley is absolutely
devoted to the place.

Nothing would induce her to sell
End House.

But I do not ask idly.

I myself am in search
of just such a property.

It's out of the question,
I'm afraid.

She's fanatically devoted
to the house.

Ah.

Why should Charles Vyse say

that Mlle. Buckley had a
fanatical devotion to the house?

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

No.

Nor to me.

What did the garage say?

Well, whatever I tell you,

you'll believe
just the opposite.

Oh, come now, Hastings.

Oh, very well, then.

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

had definitely been loosened.

Truly?

Then why did Mme. Rice say

that the car accident was all
an invention by Mlle. Buckley?

Permit?

Madame, I do not know
if your friend has told you,

but today her life
has been attempted.

What do you mean?

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

Did Nick tell you that?

Yes, but it is no fantasy
of mademoiselle's imagination,

you understand.

I happen to see it
with my own eyes.

Here is the bullet.

You see, madame, several very
curious accidents have occurred

during the last few days.

Ah, but you arrived here only...

Uh, yesterday.

And before that,
you were in London?

No, I was staying with friends
in Tavistock.

Ah, I wonder -- what were
the names of your friends

with whom you were staying?

Is there any reason
why I should tell you that?

No, no, no, no, no.

Mille pardons.
I was most maladroit, hein?

It's just that I myself,
having friends in Tavistock,

fancy that you might have met up
with them there.

Their name is Buchanan.

-No.
-Ah.

But go on about Nick.

Who shot at her and why?

As yet, we do not know.

But I shall find out.

I am, you know, a detective.

Oh.

What do you want me to do?

Watch over your friend.

Excuse me.

It's open.

Well, must be somebody here.

Hello?

Well, if they leave the house
open like this all the time,

I'm surprised they haven't
all been murdered in their beds.

All right.

I want you to come out
very slowly

with your hands above your head.

Ah, M. Croft.

Ah.

Stay where you are.

No, no, no, my friend.

I am Hercule Poirot.

Cooee!

Cooee!

Who do you think this is,
Mrs. C.?

The extra-special,
world-celebrated detective

Mr. Hercule Poirot.

I've brought him right along
to have a chat with you.

Well, isn't this too exciting
for words!

Enchant�, madame.

And Captain Hastings,
Mr. Poirot's associate.

Ah, I've read about you, too,
Captain.

Oh. Right.

They're friends
of Miss Buckley, Mrs. C.

Oh, well, isn't that nice?

What a dear child she is.

Not very well-liked in
this neighborhood, I've heard,

but isn't that just the way in
these stuck-up English places?

That beady-eyed cousin of hers

has no more chance of persuading
her to settle down here for good

than fly in the air.

Ah.

So, M. Charles Vyse is in love
with our little friend?

He's silly about her!

But she won't --

Don't gossip, Milly.

I have my reasons for being
interested in that girl.

I wonder, M. Poirot,

if you'd care to see
some snapshots of Australia?

Ah.

Well, uh --

Good.

The man who invented the camera

has a lot to answer for,
mon ami.

Nice people.

Typical Australians.

Hmm.

I do not know.

That cry of "cooee"?

The insistence on showing us
5,000 photographs?

Were they not playing the part
a little too thoroughly?

Ah. That's Mlle. Nick.

See you tonight then, George.

Righty ho.

Bonjour, mademoiselle.

Hello, M. Poirot,
Captain Hastings.

Morning.
Is this your boat?

How would I afford
a thing like that?

It's George's.

Ah.

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

the nurse and guardian
you insisted I send for

from darkest Yorkshire.

Bon.

I shall feel happier.

But you're wrong, you know,
about Maggie.

She's got no kind of brains.

Good works is about all
she's fit for --

that, and never seeing
the point of jokes.

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

Cheer up, M. Poirot.

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

and watch the fireworks?

Tell me, Hastings,

if the Commander Challenger
has not got a bean,

as Mlle. Nick has said,

how can he afford such a ship,
huh?

Oh, probably just, uh...

Well, maybe it's...

Maybe she meant...

I don't know.

Ellen?

Ah.

It's only you.

Ah, mademoiselle,
I am desolated.

Oh, I'm sorry.
It did sound rude.

Thank you.

Did you call, miss?

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

They haven't delivered my dress
to the back door, have they?

No, miss.

That's why I sounded so rude.

I thought you were my dress
being delivered.

The brutes promised faithfully.

Oh, here's Maggie.

Maggie, here are the sleuths

that are protecting me
from this secret assassin.

This is my cousin
Maggie Buckley.

That's a marvelous shawl, Nick.

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

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

I thought you hated black.

I do hate it.

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

That racket!

They shouldn't allow speedboats
in the harbor.

That's not a speedboat.

It's a seaplane.

I think these flying people
are absolutely marvelous.

Pity about Michael Seton.

He may still be all right.

Rather a mad family.

That uncle of his, Sir Matthew
Seton -- he was barmy.

Died about a week ago.

Wasn't he that millionaire
who ran bird sanctuaries?

Yeah, some girl chucked him
once.

He took to gannets
by way of consoling himself.

I don't see any reason

to assume Michael Seton
is dead yet.

Of course.
You knew him, didn't you?

I forgot.

We met him last year
at Le Touquet.

He was marvelous,
wasn't he, Freddie?

Don't ask me, darling.
He was your conquest, not mine.

Have you done any flying,
Captain Hastings?

Well, actually --

There's the telephone.

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

All the extra guests

will be arriving for
the fireworks soon, anyway.

Too bad Mrs. Croft
can't be here.

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

But she never complains.

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

Splendid view
of the festivities, eh?

Didn't you come last year?

I say, look at that.

What a display.

Beautiful.

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

Oh, let me.

No, you wouldn't know
where to find it.

Oh, Maggie,
can you get mine, too?

It's in my room.

She didn't hear.

I'll get it, Freddie.

I want my fur one.
This cape isn't nearly enough.

Thank you, darling.

It is monotonous,
do you not find, Hastings?

I like
the different-colored ones.

I fear the dampness of the feet.

I shall watch
the rest of the display

through a nice window
from the warmth of the house.

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

Poirot, look.

It's Miss Buckley.

Mon Dieu!

Sorry I've been so long, Maggie.

It's Maggie Buckley.

She's been shot.

How did it come about

that your cousin is wearing
your cape tonight?

I came in to fetch our coats,

and I just flung off the cape
on the sofa there.

I went upstairs,
and I was still in my room

when I heard Maggie call out
that she couldn't find her coat.

She said she'd take mine
if I didn't want it,

and I said, "All right,
I'll be out in a minute."

And when I did --
did come out...

I, um -- I won't ask
any more questions tonight.

I'm going to suggest,
Miss Buckley,

that you don't stay here.

You've had a shock,
you understand.

What you need is complete rest.

I know of
an excellent nursing home.

No.

But we want you to feel safe,
mon enfant.

Do you understand?

I understand, but you don't.

I'm not afraid any longer.

I've got nothing to live for
now.

If someone wants to murder me,
they can.

You can't say that,
Miss Buckley.

You mustn't.

Mademoiselle, I have failed you.

I, who promised you protection,
have not been able to protect.

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

with people around you
day and night.

What's going on?

It's not Nick, is it?

She's not dead?

No.

No, mon ami, she is alive.

Nick.

My darling,
I thought you were --

I thought you were dead.

It's all right, George.
Don't be an idiot.

I'm quite safe.

Then what's happened?

The policeman said
Miss Buckley was dead.

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

I'm sorry, George.

Ah.

It was Miss Maggie Buckley.

Oh, my God.

What a tragedy.

...statement
from the chancellor.

As announced
in our 9:00 bulletin,

hope has been abandoned

for the airplane pilot
Mr. Michael Seton.

Trobriand Island fishermen
have salvaged wreckage

believed to be parts
of The Albatross,

the seaplane built by Mr. Seton

for his attempt to fly
around the world.

The opposition...

No one, Dr. Graham, no one,

not even the dearest friend
of Mlle. Buckley

is to be allowed to see her.

Oh, M. Poirot --

Not even the King of England.

No one...

except me, Captain Hastings,
and your good self.

Mademoiselle,
I wish you good night.

Hastings.

How is she?

Safe.

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

that this is the work
of some wandering lunatic?

No.

The murderer is someone
in mademoiselle's own circle.

Do you think he realized
he killed the wrong person?

I am quite sure he did not.

Must have been
an unpleasant surprise

when he learned the truth.

Difficult not to give oneself
away in circumstances like that.

Answer me three questions,
Hastings.

What? What?

Three questions.

One -- why has Mlle. Nick
been sleeping so badly of late?

Two -- why does she own
a black evening dress

when she never wears black?

Three -- why did she say
last night,

"I have nothing to live for
now"?

Did she?

She did.
Answer the questions, Hastings.

Well, as to the sleep --
Well, she's been worried lately.

About what?

What?

Oh.

I don't know.

The black dress --
well, you heard --

the cleaners let her down.

Anyway, all women have
a black dress.

No, you have little appreciation

of the feminine temperament,
Hastings.

Well, anyway, the last --

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

No, no, no, no, no, no, mon ami,

it was not a natural thing
to say.

To be horror-struck
by her cousin's death,

to reproach herself for it --

yes, all that is natural enough.

But the other -- no.

Never before has she displayed
that attitude.

She has been defiant.

Hello? Yes.

Certainement. Yes.

Mme. Rice --
she wishes to see us.

I suppose there's no doubt

that the intended victim
was really Nick.

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

You asked some questions
about Tavistock the other day,

M. Poirot.

You'll find out sooner or later,

so I might as well tell you
the truth now.

I was not in Tavistock.

No, madame?

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

We stayed in a little place
called Challacombe... together.

I see.

I'm still a married woman,
technically.

May I be impertinent, madame?

Is there such a thing
these days?

You care for M. Lazarus?

He's rich.

Oh, l� l�.

That is an ugly thing to say.

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

You are very intelligent,
madame.

You'll be giving me a diploma
next.

I'm going to take some flowers
around to Nick

and see how she is.

Oh, that is very amiable of you.

And I thank you, madame,
for your frankness.

Very nice, very nice.

I'm at The Gulls, myself, a
stone's throw from the gasworks.

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

You do not stay here?

The Metropolitan Police
lodging allowance

doesn't quite run to this.

Ah.

Funny old business,
this End House malarkey, eh?

As you say, Chief Inspector.

You think these accidents
she had were all part of it?

Oh, there is no doubt.

Hmm. You might be right.

It would be a help if we could
get hold of the gun.

Probably at the bottom
of the sea by now,

if the murderer's got any sense.

They mostly haven't.

Right. Well, I better go
and have a word

with the dead girl's parents.

They've just got down
from Yorkshire.

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

Of that you may be sure,
Inspector.

Now, it is all very well
and very pretty for Mme. Rice

to force the richness of M.
Lazarus down our throats, hein?

Yes, I must say
that rather disgusted me.

Ah, mon ami, always you have
the right reaction

in the wrong place.

Hmm?

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

"I have a friend
who is very rich.

He can give me all I need.

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

I see.

Look here, Poirot.
What's the meaning of this?

They won't let me see her.

Is this your work?

Have you seen Dr. Graham?

Gave me all the usual guff --

"As well as can be expected,
passed a quiet night."

Think I don't know those tricks?

I've got an uncle
in Harley Street.

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

Listen to me, mon ami.
There is no fooling you.

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

You comprehend?

I see.

All or nothing,
as you might say.

We will say no more, hein?

The extreme prudence
is what is needed at the moment.

I can hold my tongue.

Mum's the word, eh?

I'll send her some flowers.

They like flowers, don't they?

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

You know?

Oh, well.

It doesn't matter who knows now,

now that it's all over...

now that I'll never see him
again.

Courage, mademoiselle.

I haven't any courage left.

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

waiting and hoping.

Captain Hastings does not know
what we are talking about.

Michael Seton, the airman --

I was engaged to be married
to him, and he's dead.

You heard the news last night?

On the wireless.

I made an excuse
about the telephone.

I wanted to hear the news alone,
in case...

I don't want to live.

I know. I know.

And to all of us, mademoiselle,

there comes a time when death
seems preferable to life.

But the grief -- it passes.

You think I'll forget?

Marry someone else?

Never.

But you are fortunate,
mademoiselle.

You have been loved
by a brave man.

When did you get engaged?

Just after Christmas.

But it had to be a secret
because of Michael's uncle.

Sir Matthew Seton?

He thought women ruined
a man's life.

He was frightfully proud
of Michael, though.

He financed the building
of The Albatross.

And if Michael had succeeded,

he would have been independent
of him.

He would have been a --

I don't know --
a kind of a world hero.

His uncle would have come round
in the end, anyway.

Yes. Yes, I see.

I never told anyone,
not even Freddie.

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

Well, it seemed a bit boastful
to do it

while the papers were full
of Michael's flight.

Michael would have hated that.

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

Mm.

Where is it, this will?

Oh, knocking around somewhere.

I'm frightfully untidy,
you know.

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

or maybe in the bedroom
or maybe --

I'm sorry.

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

If you want to.

I was right.

What, you mean
this engagement business

has some bearing on the crime?

Listen to me, mon ami,
just over a week ago,

Sir Matthew Seton dies,

and Sir Matthew Seton was one of
the wealthiest men in England.

-Yes.
-Attendez.

He has a nephew,
whom he idolizes

and to whom we may assume
he has left his vast fortune.

Last Tuesday,
this nephew, Michael Seton,

is reported missing,

and on Wednesday, the attacks on
the life of mademoiselle begin.

Now, suppose, Hastings,

that Michael Seton made his will
before he started his flight

and that he left all that he had
to his fianc�e.

In this case, it is not a paltry
inheritance that is at stake.

No, no!

It is an enormous fortune!

Ah!