All language subtitles for S09E03 - Death on the Nile-eng

Based on Agatha Christie's novel
DEATH ON THE NILE

- I'm sorry.
- It's alright, my darling.

I just can't believe
that they'd do this.

I know, I know...

- Everything I touch...
- You mustn't think like that.

We have each other,
and our whole lives to look forward to.

I'm broke, Jackie.
What sort of a future is that?

Well, I have some put aside.
That'll save us for a little while.

I'll think of something,
I promise.

I promise you, my darling.

We love each other and
that's all that matters, yes?

She's had the most terrible luck.

When we were students together,
in Paris,

her father ran off with some woman

and her mother lost all her money
in the stock market crash.

And Jackie was left absolute penniless.

I don't know how she's managed
these past few years.

- Oh, she wants something, I bet.
- I've offered to help, but she won't hear of it.

Isn't it awful when one's friends
fall on hard times?

One's simply got to drop them.

She sounded very excited,

but then she always does.
It's the Latine in her.

The boys' are back from their ramble.
England's manhood...!

You and Tim seem awfully close.
Is there something I don't know about?

Heavens, no! The only woman
in Tim Allerton's life is his mummy.

It's all far too "Sophoclean"
for my taste.

And what about the good Lord?
Still panting for you, is he?

He's not the panting type.

According to the gossip columnists,
you're halfway up the aisle.

No! Not yet! Not ever.
Not with him, anyway.

But, darling, he's absolutely rolling.

So am I.

Ah, so divine! I bet these cost
more than the house.

Looks and money.
I can't believe I like you.

- Joanna, darling, you don't like anyone.
- Don't I? Oh, well...

Yes?

Mademoiselle de Bellefort
will be here for supper.

Thank you, Louise.

What on earth's wrong with her?

Look, that ghastly boyfriend
is in trouble with the law

and can you believe she's asked me
to send bail for him? I said, ''On no account

Allow me.

God, I wonder what Jackie wants?

The fact is, darling, I'm engaged...

So, that's it! Who is he?

His name's Simon Doyle. And he's big,
and boyish and deliciously uncomplicated.

He worked in the City,

but they, well, are cutting down,
and he's out of his job.

Linnet, I'll die, if I can't marry him,
I shall simply die!

- Dear, you've got it bad!
- When I heard you had bought this place

I realized you'd be needing a land agent,
and then I thought ''Simon!''

Oh, darling, he'd be just perfect.

He loves the country
and knows all about estates

and if he doesn't do it right,
well, you can always sack him.

Say oui, Linnet! Please!

Oh, I knew you wouldn't let me down!

We want to go to Egypt for
our honeymoon. Can you imagine?

Walking down an avenue of Sphynxes
with the man you love?

Could anything be more romantic?

Bring him along
and I'll take a look.

- Well, actually he's here.
- What?

Just in case you said yes.
You'll adore him.

Simon!

This is Simon Doyle.
Simon, this is Linnet Ridgeway,

the most wonderful friend
a girl can have.

Well, now,
isn't this simply lovely.

Isn't that Hercule Poirot?

Do you mean that dwarfish looking creature
mincing down the stairs?

That's not very nice of you.

What on earth is he doing here?

I'd love someone would dance
with me.

But who on this planet would dance
with you?

- Perhaps someone would want me, if...
- And pigs might fly.

Remember, my dear,
why you're here...

- To be handy, cousin Marie.
- Precisely.

After you prepared my "coucher",
you may attend to my eggnog.

You're not getting grumpy,
are you, my darling?

- If there were more young people around...
- Whatever for?

- You'd like it if Joanna were here.
- No, no I wouldn't.

In fact, I wouldn't care
if I wouldn't see Joanna ever again.

I don't need Joanna
when I have you...

Oh! Darling...

- My God, did you see that?
- Keep your voice down.

- She could be his mother.
- She is his mother.

I need some air.

Merci.

Monsieur Poirot.

- Madame.
- Salome Otterbourne.

- Enchanté.
- That French charme.

- You French are all the same.
- I am Belgian, Madame.

I was thinking if you'd care
to take the magic trip avec moi?

- Trip?
- I know this is the wrong way round,

but, after all, we are...
liberated now.

I was a great supporter
of the "Suffragettes", you know...

So, are you here on business, Monsieur?
Are there great affairs to be dealt with?

You know, Madame,
I am simply the man of leisure.

Essential, n'est-ce pas,
to be out of London in January?

Poor man.
She's got her claws into him already.

I'm here for the local colour.
My new book,

''Snow on the Desert's Face'',
is set on these parts.

No doubt, of course,
it'll cause another furor,

but, no matter, I speak the truth.

Why is everyone so affraid
of sex?

The stars of the show.

You'd think she'd have
some sense of shame.

Don't be so old-fashioned.

She's rather lovely,
I must admit.

Linnet Doyle is the only heiress
in England who doesn't look like an horse.

Hello, Andrew.

Spectacular!

Right over here.

It seems that everybody who is anybody
is in Egypt, ce soir.

The lure of the fresh spot,
no doubt.

- Remember Simon?
- Yes.

Incredible, isn't it?

Millions unemployed,

a lunatic about to take the power
in Germany and all we read about is

some spoiled brat ditched a Lord
for her best friend's fiancé.

Some people have everything.

Depends on
what you think's worth having.

- Hello, Simon.
- Hi, how are you?

Hello, Tim.

Linnet, you're divine.

This Andrew Pennington, my american trustee.
We just bumped in him in Cairo.

Oh, yes, quite a coincidence...

Mother, I'm sure Monsieur Poirot
would like to rest.

Non, non, non...
I think that is a great idea.

Non, non, because my dinner seems
a little reluctant to settle.

If you'll excuse me...

Of course, Monsieur.
We shall resume très bientôt.

Au revoir.

Linnet!

What a simply divine surprise!

We just can't stop bumping
into each other, can we?

Hello, Simon.

You look a little tired, darling.
Wearing you out, is she?

I'd hang on tight, ducky (dear).
He's a slippery fish.

I'll be seeing you.

- Are you alright?
- I'm fine.

- Mademoiselle.
- I hope my mother

hasn't exhausted you.

- Not at all.
- I know how exhausting she can be.

- Linnet Doyle's very beautiful, isn't she?
- Oui, Mademoiselle.

And very rich too.

I read about her in the papers, of couse,
seen her photograph everywhere,

but nothing can quite prepare you
for how lovely she's in the flesh.

I don't think I've ever
hated anyone so much on first sight.

But not all that glitters...

Not in her case.
Life is not fair, Monsieur Poirot.

Has life been unfair to you,
Mademoiselle?

You've met my mother.

Monsieur Poirot.

- I didn't mean to startle you...
- Non, non, non...

... but I am very anxious
to speak to you.

At your service, Madame.

- You know who I am, perhaps?...
- Yes, I know exactly who you are.

I'll go straight to the point:

I'm a victim
of an intolerable persecution.

Persecution?

Perhaps if you could explain
a little further...?

It's really very simple.
Before I met my husband,

he was engaged to a friend of mine,
Jacqueline de Bellefort.

Now, they weren't remotely suited
and he broke it off.

She, I'm sorry to say,
has taken it rather badly,

and, out of pure spite, has chosen
to hound us wherever we go.

And you are here, I understand,
on your honeymoon...

That's right. Now, she first appeared
in Venice,

and then in Brindisi, then in Cairo,
and now here.

She simply cannot be allowed
to carry on like this.

But she's perfectly within
her rights.

I'm sorry, did you not see
the way she behaved just now?

Oui, but she did not
actually threaten you,

or cause you any bodily harm.

Non, evidently she is very much
aggrieved, Madame.

If you're implying that I stole
my friend's fiancé,

then I assure you're wrong.

She loved him, yes,

but her feelings
were not reciprocated.

Even before he met me,
he knew he'd make a mistake.

But wasn't there a moment
when you realized that you had a choice?

You have everything,
but your friend,

from what I understand,
had him only.

Non. Pardon my impertinence,
Madame, but

I suspect you're feeling
a little guilty.

Couldn't you, at least,
try to reason with her?

Madame, I am on holiday.

I'm sure we could come
to some kind of arrangement.

Non, Madame,

I am sure we could not.

Excuse me.

She did threaten to kill us,
you know.

But then, she does have a tendency
to be a little dramatic.

I suppose you saw
our little floor show...

Oui, Mademoiselle.

I'm affraid I rather lost my head.

They serve us
the most lethal Martinis in this place.

Bury your dead, Mademoiselle.

Mrs. Doyle sent you?
Got you on her payroll already, has she?

She has approached me,
that is true, but I declined.

You must look to the future.

- Oh, she'd love that!
- I'm thinking of you.

- You have before you your whole life.
- Simon is my life.

I can see that you loved him...

We loved each other, Monsieur Poirot.
And Linnet was my best friend.

- How could she...?
- It takes two.

She knew exactly what she was doing
and he fell for it.

One of the richest women
in England,

no wonder it went to his head.

You know, we had even planned
to come here for our honeymoon?

- He loves me, Monsieur Poirot.
- Even now?

No, not now.

Now I think he hates me.

Pretty, isn't it?

I've quite a good shot, actually.
My father taught me.

I have to admit it crossed
my mind to use it,

but then I thought... no.

Wouldn't it be much more fun
to just follow wherever they went

and just when they thought
it was safe to relax,

there I'd be,

the ghost of the banquet.

- You must stop this now.
- And let them get away with it?

Do not open your heart to evil,
Mademoiselle.

If you do, there'll be no turning back.

She has taken everything from me,
Monsieur Poirot.

And I want to hurt her,

to put my gun against her head

and, gently, pull the trigger...

Oh God, I'm so affraid.

What is it?

Over there...
someone was listening...

- I cannot see.
- I think they're gone.

I can not do what you ask,
Monsieur Poirot.

Good morning.

Bonjour, Monsieur Doyle.

- And how is Madame?
- Absolutely pooked (tired),

said she needed
a little more shutter.

God, I'm ravenous! Isn't it marvellous
they're doing English breakfast here?

I cannot stand those little brioche...
Do you?

Did you--
Have you managed to speak to Jacqueline...

- Miss de Bellefort?
- Oui.

- Did you get her to see sense, or...?
- Non, I'm affraid not.

But decent girls just
don't do that sort of thing!

She's making a complete ass of herself
and playing merry hell with Linnet's nerves!

- And yours, Monsieur?
- Oh, I'd like to wring her neck!

Between ourselves, Monsieur,
I've hatched a plan.

I'm letting been known
that Linnet and I

are staying put
for the next couple of days,

but I've in fact booked us
on a Nile cruise leaving tomorrow morning,

under false names, of course.
- Of course.

Then we'll make it look like
we're going on an excursion,

the maid will take charge
of the luggage,

we'll hop aboard on the last minute,
and "Bob's yer uncle"!

By the time Jacqueline realizes
we won't be coming back, it'll be too late.

So, what do you think?
Good wits?

She has the brains, Monsieur.
We shall see.

- I myself will also be in the cruise.
- Really?

Oui.

Oh! Not on any way, I hope,
on our account...

Non, non, non. Not at all. I make
my plans well in advance.

That is the only way
to succeed in life, n'est-ce pas?

Yes, I suppose it is...

- Who is that gentleman?
- A chap called Pennington,

Linnet's trustee.
Bumped in him by chance in Cairo.

I must say he was not far from sick
to find out she was married.

- Care to join us?
- Non, non, non.

But thank you very much.

Jolly nice to talk to you, anyway.
To have old kidneys back there.

Isn't that our trunk?
You think it will be alright?

Welcome.
Welcome to the S.S. Karnak.

- I'm so sorry.
- Do you mind?

Off! Off! Don't let them touch
the luggage. They don't wash!

Heavens, a floating tomb!
Don't push me to the sea.

Oh! The black hole of Calcuta!

It's so beautiful!

- Where's my other luggage?
- I left it with the man.

Merci.

Mademoiselle.

There's something about this place,
don't you think?

Something unsettling
one can't quite resist.

Oui.

I had no idea they were coming.

Oh, this is heaven, darling!

Darling, I thought
you were staying at the hotel!

What a hoot! I'm sure
we're having an absolute bore!

You refused to help, Monsieur Poirot,
look what happens.

But this is not my making, Madame.

How could she have known
that we would be on the boat?

- If you are suggesting...
- I am suggesting nothing,

Monsieur, but I will tell you this,
everybody hates me, ok?

I'm surrounded by enemies.

The way some of them look...

After all we've done for them...

- Monsieur Poirot!
- Madame. Monsieur Allerton.

Now, Mr. Poirot,

perhaps you could help put a face
on one or two of the passenger list.

- Dr. Bessner, for example.
- Over there, Madame.

Oh yes, the plump one,

with the shaved head
and the Bismarck moustache.

- German, no doubt.
- No, Austrian, I believe.

A boche, whatever.

So, by a process of elimination,
the rather glum looking gentleman

must be Mr. Ferguson.
- Oui, a progressive thinker,

so I understand.
- Bragging bolshy, more like.

Now, there's someone I'd throw
my cap into the arene for.

- Mother!
- That ruthless jaw.

And extremely rich.
As are most people here.

My, she's ugly!

Looks something unearthed
from a dig.

Isn't she lovely?

Madame.

She really knows
how to make an entrance.

- Good night, Mademoiselle.
- Good night, Monsieur Poirot.

You were surprised
to find me here?

I am more sorry than surprised.

You have chosen a path
that is most dangerous, Mademoiselle.

I doubt that you would turn back now,
even if you could.

Ah, well...

One must follow one's star.

Love is not everything.

But it is, it is.

You must know that, Monsieur Poirot.

Surely you understand.

It is terrible, Mademoiselle,

all that I have missed in life.

- Good night, Monsieur Poirot.
- Good night.

So, Mademoiselle Robson,
your companion, she does not come ashore?

Well, you see, cousin Marie has to be
very careful about her health,

but she was frightful kind and said
it would be alright for me to come.

- That is most gracious of her.
- Oh yes, she is.

It's simply wonderful of her

to bring me on this trip.
I'm such a lucky girl!

I always dreamed of traveling. It's amazing,
have you ever in your life...?

Isn't it miraculous
what Man can create?

People died building this,
you know?

So you preferred it there were no sfynxes,
no beautiful tombs, no temples?

It's people that matter,
not stones.

God, what were they actually for?

I never really thought about it.

Perhaps they were their equivalent
to garden gnomes.

Nice try, Simon,
but just a little wide of the mark.

The sphynx was, in fact,
a monster from Greek mythology

with a woman's head.

See? And a lionesse's body
and said--

Don't you want to know?
It said riddles to travelers

and killed those who got them wrong.

Just sign right there.

And this is the lease agreement
for the Fifth Avenue apartment.

Yes.

Yes, sign right there.

- It's perfectly in order.
- I'm sure it is, but I like to read everything.

Gosh, I never read
a legal document in my life!

- How careless of you.
- It's really straighforward, my dear.

- It's just a lot of legal jargon.
- I just sign at the dotted line.

Now that can be quite risky,
don't you think?

Darling, if you carry on this way
we'll be here all day.

- Why don't we... do this later?
- I think it's a very good idea.

It's getting frighfully hot up here.

- Where have you been?
- I'm sorry, cousin Marie,

but I couldn't find it.
- You're a really hopeless creature.

I can be rather stupid,
can't I?

You most certainly can.

Oh, you forgot your magazine.

What is the point of
someone like that?

And that rich kid? Signs
a few documents and then has to rest

because it's so frightully hot.

And what sets you apart,
Monsieur Ferguson?

I make people aware.

And I certainly don't swan around
like a fop.

Why are you actually here,
Monsieur Poirot?

I'm on holiday. And you?

I'm studying conditions.

- Monsieur Poirot...
- Madame.

I'm so sorry, it's all the motion.

I cant seem to find my sea legs.

All this pitching and jolting!

I think it would be best if--

- Where's that wretched girl?
- You do go back inside, Madame.

Leaving me to suffer,
hour upon hour...

God help if we go down,
Monsieur Poirot!

The thought of being nibbled
by haddock and carp...

- It is a little too dangerous out here, hm?
- Yes, yes...

You might be swept overboard.

And end my days in Neptun's arms,

covert in carbuncles
like an old wreck...

Non, non, non, non...

No doubt it was
a pleasant surprise

to run into Linette Doyle
and discover she was married.

Yes. Yes, it was.

Well, actually she did write me
about it,

I'd already left
New York,

on the Carmanic.
- Oh! The Carmanic?

Yes.

Most fortunate then,
that you had with you all of her documents.

That's truly none of your business.

But, as you mentioned it,

I had them sent over
after we met.

Now, if you'll excuse me...

Don't fall on the hole...

... the goddess Hathor was often depicted
as the winged cow of creation,

who gave birth to the entire universe.

Oh, my! She did keep herself busy.

And occasionally, she can be
mistaken for Isis,

magically impregnanted
with the seed of her own son.

- "Heavens to Betsy"!
- Cornelia!

I'm sorry...

A nice curvy girl...

This is what I like.

When are we gonna see
some more pyramids?

I thought Egypt was full of them.

Let go... we've had enough.
go away, little hauls!

Oh! What a wonderful way
to be remembered.

Maybe I'll have one build
in the ground

you can be buried in it, too.
- I'll say!

So we'll give the locals
something to talk about.

A-- Aagh!

My God!

- Madame, Monsieur...
- Are you hurt?

Isn't that fascinating!

The godess Hathor was a beautiful woman
with the head of a cow.

Still, I supose that's better than
being a cow

with the head of a beautiful woman.

This place is simply drenched in
historical goodies like that.

- I thought...
- Yes, Monsieur, I know.

I know what you thought.

Tim, what happened?

Bonjour.

Pardon... Je ne comprends pas,
Monsieur...

Did I fool you?
Poirot, you old dog!

- How's tricks?
- Colonel Race!

- I do not believe my eyes! How are you?
- Saddled and flittered.

- Otherwise, Tip Top.
- What a big surprise to see you here!

Well, I've been sorting out
a few local difficulties, you know

restless natives, odd assassinations,
that sort of thing.

- I say, that's pretty daring.
- Oh! Merci.

You know, you really must give me
the name of your taylor.

- Oui. Where are you heading?
- Back up the river with you.

With me? But surely you can go
on a government steamer.

In normal circumstances, yes.

But when I heard that my old chum Poirot
was on the vicinities,

I thought it would be much more fun.
Something always seem to happen around you.

- It might have already started, mon ami.
- Oh, jolly good!

Madame Allerton, Madame Otterbourne,
allow me to introduce a very old friend of mine,

Coronel Race.

- Miss Robson.
- Where have you been?

You're unusually breathless.

And blotchy.

I'm sorry, cousin Marie.
I was just outside...

And what have you done
with my velvet stole?

- Shall I see if it's in the cabin?
- It couldn't possibly be in the cabin.

I had it in here after dinner
and I haven't moved since,

have I, Dr. Bessner?
- No, Miss Van Schuyler.

It was on that chair
and it's not now.

- I thought you must have taken it.
- No, I'm afraid I didn't.

It was a gift
from Count von Mecklenburg.

Miss Van Schuyler,

Miss Robson.

Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle.

- You look tired, Monsieur Poirot.
- Oui, oui, c'est vrai.

It must, I think, be the heat.

Bonne nuit.

♪ Love is the sweetest thing ♪

♪ What else on eath could ever bring... ♪

♪ ... such happiness ... ♪

... ♫ ...

♪ Love is the sweetest thing ♪

Cornelia! Come and join me!

Right...

- Decided to make a night of it?
- No, no.

I just don't want to bed yet.
It's such a beautiful night.

It is lovely, isn't it?

Just perfect for a honeymoon.

- Two large gins.
- Oh, no! I couldn't.

Oh, nonsense!

What's our score, Simon?

Sorry...

We've made 120 below the line.

Not bad looking, don't you think?

Well, I don't know about that...

You better watch out,
there are no man-eaters around here.

I'm so sorry,
I suddenly got very tired.

And it is rather rowdy in here.

Yes, time to turn in.

- Are you coming, Simon?
- I'll...

I'll just finish my drink.

Good night.

- Well...
- My dear, you didn't have your night cup, yet.

- No...
- We girls must stick together.

- I'm absolutely gasping.
- Thank you.

To love, marriage,
stuff like that.

- Tell me all about yourself.
- Oh, dear!

There isn't really that much to tell.

I live at home, in Connecticut.
In a little town, called Bellfield,

this is my first trip to Europe
and I'm just loving every minute...

- Go on.
- I live with my mother,

whose health is, unfortunately,
a little delicate, at the moment.

She sleeps very badly and she eats
only in the middle day,

some days, just a piece of fruit or two,

some days, she'll only touch cereals...

- Do go on.
- Yes, yes. We're all ears.

- I really must go to bed.
- Don't go.

- I want to hear more.
- There isn't any more...

- Please.
- Well, I love art,

and I go to classes.
I sculpt a little and make pots...

Sounds a hoot.

- Ring the bell, Simon.
- It's after midnight.

- But I need a drink.
- You've had enough.

So what?

- A bit of fresh air.
- I think it's time...

Don't leave, Cornelia.

You see, Simon here is affraid

affraid that I tell you the story
of my life.

- Go to bed, Jackie.
- Affraid of a scene, are you?

Want me to behave decently,
like you behave to me?

Do you really think you can get away
with this?

You're drunk.

I said I'd kill you, and by God,
I meant it.

Miss de Bellefort!

I'll shoot you like a dog!
Like the dirty dog you are!

Mr. Ferguson! Mr. Ferguson!

Good God!

I didn't...

Ferguson, someone's coming.

Tell him it's an accident,
it is nothing.

Nothing to worry about.
Charades, that's all.

A game. Fun...

Yes... Yes.

Well, I don't think anyone else sould've heard.
It sounded like a cork popping.

- What have I done?
- It'll be alright.

Get her out of here, for God's sake,
take her to the cabin!

And don't let her be left alone,
whatever you do!

Don't worry, Mr. Doyle.
I'll stay with her.

Get Dr. Bessner
to take a look at this.

I'll kill myself...

Please, please don't let my wife
get wind of this...

This way, let's go.
It's alright...

His poor leg... My God,
and if he bleeds to death?

Miss de Bellefort,
I don't think that will happen.

Let go of me!
I want to drown!

That wouldn't solve things.

I'll call Dr. Bessner.

- Do you have any idea what time it is?
- We need your help! Someting's happenned.

Gott in Himmel!

It is bad. The bone is fractured
and he has lost a lot of blood.

Herr Ferguson, we must take him
to my cabin.

Gently...

Careful...

That's just the best I can do.

You've been a hero, my friend.

Now, I will give you something
to help you sleep.

- Has anyone told Frau Doyle?
- No. It can wait until tomorrow.

I... You mustn't blame Jackie.
It's my fault.

I was a creep.
She didn't know what she was doing.

- Ja, ja.
- She might hurt herself.

Someone ought to stay with her.

It's alright. Miss Robson is with her.

Good...

The pistol.
Can't leave it lying around.

Stewards will find it.

I'll get it.

- It's gone.
- Are you sure?

Yes. It dropped out of her hand,
she kicked it under a chair.

- I saw her do it. But it's not there.
- Who could have taken it?

Entrez!

Ah! My dear Coronel, what a
beautiful morning, n'est-ce pas?

I'm afraid someone's been shot.

- Who?
- Linnet Doyle, last night.

Shot through the head.

The pistol was held
close against her head.

- See? Where the skin is scorched?
- Oui.

There was no struggle.
She was shot in her sleep.

Time of death?

She's certainly been dead six hours,
and probably not longer than eight.

Between twelve and two.

May I ask you, Colonel,
with what authority you make these inquiries?

The Cruise Manager's asked me
to take matters in hands until we reach port.

I have some slight official standing,
you see?

- We are all at the disposal of the Coronel.
- Yes, quite.

- Now, what's all that about?
- What? This?

Well, it seems very simple,
does it not?

It would appear that she is dying,

she writes with her finger
dipped into her own blood,

the inicial of the name of the murderer:

Jacqueline de Bellefort,

a young lady who, less than a week ago,
declared to me that:

''I would like nothing better
than to place my gun against her head"

''and, gently, pull the trigger.''

So, I suppose her husband
is next door?

At the moment,
he is in my cabin, asleep.

He spent the night in your cabin,
Dr. Bessner?

Ja. Ach. I see you have not heard.

Mr. Doyle was also shot last night.

- What?
- In the leg.

Is there anyone else
we should know about?

That is all.

It seems that Mademoiselle de Bellefort
worked herself up, helped by a few drinks,

and finally took a shot at him.

The poor man is completely
immobilized.

Then she went down to
Linnet Doyle's cabin and shot her as well.

No, no, no, that's not possible.

You see, she was
in an hysterical state

and Doyle was most concerned
she should not harm herself,

so Miss Robson stayed with her
all night.

- Who discovered the crime?
- It was the maid, apparently, Miss Bourget.

- Coronel, my office is ready for you, sir.
- Thank you.

If you could be
as discreet as possible...

- It's our speciality, old chap.
- Yes, of course.

Now, we need to speak to Doyle.
You say he's still asleep?

I gave him a very strong opiate.

I would suggest I have my breakfast
and then I will see if he's ready to wake.

- Thank you, Doctor.
- Colonel.

So, at midnight Madame Doyle
was alive and well.

- Yes, I saw her to her cabin.
- Who was remaining in the lounge?

Doyle, Miss de Bellefort,
Miss Robson and myself.

- What were you all doing?
- Mr. Ferguson was reading a magazine,

and I'd got embroiderie
and Miss de Bellefort was...

- Drinking.
- Yes.

Like a fish.

And I tried to leave once or twice,
but she made me stay

and I was getting
very uncomfortable

and so was Mr. Ferguson,
he went out on deck.

It was pretty stuffy in there.

Then, Miss de Bellefort
pulled out a pistol

and shot Mr. Doyle in the leg
and I called for Mr. Ferguson.

And Mr. Doyle said not to make a fuss,
then one of the stewards came.

And Mr. Ferguson told him
it was all a sort of a game

and then Miss de Bellefort started to cry
and so we took her to her cabin.

And I stayed with her,
while Mr. Ferguson got Dr. Bessner.

- At what time was this?
- Mercy, I don't know.

About twenty past twelve,

because it was half past
when I finally turned in.

And you are quite sure that
Mademoiselle de Bellefort did not leave the cabin?

Positive.

And she couldn't have shot Mrs. Doyle
before, let's say at twenty past twelve?

How long did you remain with her,
Mademoiselle Robson?

Well, I was with her all night.
She never woke once.

I think it was probably the drink.

Bien. So far,
she has the alibi parfait.

And Monsieur Doyle,
I understand,

was most anxious
that she should not be left alone.

Yes, he was quite worried
that she might do something stupid.

She even said that she wanted
to kill herself.

And the pistol?

- What happenned to that?
- She dropped it.

And kicked it under a chair,

but when I went to get it,

it'd gone.

Gone?

Now we begin to arrive.

You are quite certain
that Mademoiselle de Bellefort

did not recover it
before she left the lounge?

- Yes.
- Absolutely.

And she had no opportunity
of returning to retrieve it.

So how long was it between the time

that you and you and Dr. Bessner
carried Monsieur Doyle out to the cabin

and when you returned to look
for the pistol?

- Five minutes?
- Five minutes.

In those five minutes,
someone removed the pistol

and that someone
was not Jacqueline de Bellefort.

Then we may assume
that this person has overheard

or seen
some of the events preceeding.

- But how d'you made that up?
- Because you told us

that the pistol was out of sight,
so it could hardly be discovered by accident.

Well, I saw no one on the deck
before the shot was fired.

- On which side were you, Monsieur?
- Starboard, I think.

So, if someone was on the port side,
you could not have seen them.

No, I suppose not.

Did anyone hear the shot,
appart from the steward?

I doubt it,

it sounded like a cork popping,
anyway.

Did you hear anything at all,
after retiring?

I think a heard a kind of ...splash,
just as I was dropping--

What time would that be?

What's the French for
''third degree''?

- Just answer the question.
- 1 h? 12:55? 1:05?

Who knows?
Now, would that be all?

Hm? Oh-- yes?
Thank you, Monsieur, for your help.

By the way...

- Who exactly are you?
- What a damn fool question!

Heat's getting too much for you,
is it?

Hm? No, but thank you
for your concern.

What a fightfully rude young man!

Oh, one thing more, Mademoiselle...

had you ever met Madame Doyle
before this trip?

- No. Never.
- Merci.

Good day.

I-I didn't do it,
you must believe me.

I was in such a state, I could
have killed Simon, but I didn't do it.

There, there...

We know , Mademoiselle.

- You do?
- Oh yes, it is proved, mon enfant,

it was not you.

Oh! Thank God for that!

- So, who was it?
- Ah! That is where we need help.

I can't think of anyone
who wanted her dead, except for me.

I wanted her dead,
and she is dead.

- And she died just like I said.
- Oui. Shot through the head.

See? I was right. There was someone
listening that night, at the hotel.

- Who could it have been?
- Are you certain it was a man?

No, I just assumed.

Entrez.

- Doyle is ready to see you now.
- Is he alright?

Of course he's not alright,
you shot him.

He's not going to die, is he?

He has the constitution of a peasant.

We will get him to civilization,
where he'll have an x-ray and proper treatment.

We now know that it was not Jacqueline
de Bellefort who shot your wife,

so, can you give to us any idea

of who you think that might have been?

Did she have any enemies
or someone who bore against her the grudge?

You see, Monsieur Doyle,

on the first day of the cruise, I had
a little encounter with your wife.

She was upset.
She said that everybody,

everybody, mark you, hated her
and she was surrounded by enemies.

Now, she was exaggerating,

but she did mean
more than one person.

There was a name,
on the passenger list...

- So, what name was that?
- She did next to tell me.

You see, her father
played the markets

several people got it in the neck.

Rolling in it one day,
and in the gutter the next.

Someone on board
whose father was one of those,

had it in for Linnet's old man.

She said how awful it was,
everyone hating her

without even knowing her.

She did not mention a name?

Tell me, Mademoiselle Bourget,

what time was it,
when you last saw alive your mistress?

- Sometime after midnight, Monsieur.
- And what then?

- Then I went to my cabin, Monsieur.
- You heard or saw anything?

- How could I?
- Well, that is for you to say, Mademoiselle.

My cabin is on the deck below,
on the other side.

It is not possible I should hear anything,

unless I could not sleep,

and came back up.
Then, perhaps I see something,

this monster enter or leave
my mistress' cabin.

Then-- Monsieur, I implore you!
You know as it is... what can I say?

Calm down, for Heaven's sake!

It'll be alright.
I'll look after you.

Nobody's accusing you of anything.

Monsieur is very good.

Do you know anyone who-- had a grudge
against your mistress?

Non, Monsieur.
Everybody loved her.

Tell me, Monsieur Doyle,

did your wife have with her, on this cruise
any jewelry that was valuable?

- The pearls.
- Do you know anything about these pearls?

- She was wearing them last night.
- But did you see them when you went to bed?

- Yes, Monsieur.
- And where she put them?

- On her bedside table.
- And where they this morning?

I did not see, because when
I come into the room

the only thing I notice was Madame...

... dead.
- Oui bien, Mademoiselle, but I did see

and there were no pearls
on her bedside table this morning.

Merci.

I think I heard a splash
and someone running.

Or was it the other way about?

- Do you know what time that was?
- An hour after I went to bed?

Or maybe more,
I can't be sure.

- Did you ever met Madame Doyle before?
- No,

but I'd heard a lot about her
through a relative of ours, Joanna Southwood.

And through Tim, of course,
who had met her.

One more question, Madame.

Did your family ever suffer
financially

with the dealings of the father
of Madame Doyle?

No. The family finances never
suffered except by dwindling.

Our poverty has never been
melodramatic.

I was woken by lots of different voices,

then somebody running
along the deck,

then a splash.

You sure it was not a shot
that you heard?

It might have been.

I did hear a cork pop.

Perhaps that was the shot
and I imagined the splash.

You know, sort of association,
a cork popping, liquid splashing...

- And after that?
- Oblivion.

I heard somebody on the deck
and then a splash.

- Do you know what time this was?
- 01:10. I looked in my clock.

- You did not hear a shot?
- No, I did not.

Have you any idea
of what might have caused the splash?

- Oh, yes.
- You do?

I know exactly what it was.

I went to the door of my cabin.

The daughter of that hedious woman
in the turban

was leaning over the rail,
she just dropped something into the water.

- You quite sure?
- Why else would I have said it?

- Yes?
- We've found it, Colonel.

Good job.

Is this the gun
you saw at the hotel?

Yes, it is.

Two shots fired.
This must be the weapon.

What about my stole?
Look at the state of it!

Where did you last see this?

- I had it in the lounge, yesterday evening.
- Please, do observe.

Hélas!

So, the murderer must have used this
as a silencer.

The impertinence!

Er... Miss Van Schuyler,
would you excuse us, please?

Count Van Mecklamburg
will be most displeased.

Non, non! It does not make sense!

If the murderer wishes us to believe
that Jaqueline de Bellefort is the culprit,

why throw the revolver,
the evidence the most accusing of all,

into the River Nile?

I told you, I never left my cabin.

Well, that is strange, Mademoiselle,
because someone said that saw you.

- Who?
- Mademoiselle Van Schuyler.

She looked outside her cabin,
and saw you throwing something over the side.

- And what else did she claim to have seen?
- Nothing,

but she heard something: someone
moving about the cabin of Madame Doyle.

Of course, mademoiselle,

there might be a reason
that is perfectly innocent

for throwing something overboard.

But, then again...

- Is that what she was killed with?
- Oui, mademoiselle.

Hmm... And you think
that I might have done it?

Mademoiselle Van Schuyler
is prepared to swear

that she saw you quite clearly
in the moonlight.

It wasn't me.

I was dead to the world...

... like poor Madame Doyle
is now, in fact.

A crime passionnel,
wouldn't you say, Monsieur Poirot?

That girl, Jacqueline, half latin,
you know, creeping along the deck,

pistol in full cock.
Or Mr. Doyle, deranged by desire,

lust pumping through his veins.

Or perhaps Miss Robson,
the repressed virgin, tragically plain,

driven to distraction by the proximity
of honeymoon passion...

Tell me, Monsieur Pennington,
are you aware of anyone

who wished to see
Madame Doyle dead?

Well, there is that Madam,
that Miss de Bellefort.

- Now, if looks could kill...
- Thank you for that, Monsieur.

You may, perhaps also recall that
Madame Doyle had a very near escape,

at the temple of Hathor.
- Well, I did hear about that,

but I was inside the temple
at the time.

Mr. Doyle mentioned that
there was someone on board

who bore a grudge against her family.

- Do you know who that could be?
- I'm afraid I don't.

No business dealings of her father
that might have resulted

in ruin for some rival?

Not that I am aware of, no.

So, why should the murderer
take the stole before the event?

After all, nobody knew that
Mademoiselle de Bellefort

et Monsieur Doyle
were going to... have a scene.

Perhaps he found it
when he went in to get the pistol.

Why was it not discovered
when the search for it was made?

Non, non, my friend,
it makes no sense.

Well, don't be downhearted.
We'll get to the bottom of it.

Oh, I know I will!

Doyle has asked if he may see
Mademoiselle de Bellefort.

- Oui, I will bring her to him.
- Very good.

Did you know that Monsieur Pennington
told to us a lie?

Did he?

He said that he was in the temple
when the statuette fell. He was not.

I had just come from there myself.

Come in.

I thought you might be worrying,

and I wanted you to know that it's--
it's alright.

I behaved absolutely rotten
to you.

Oh! Simon, I'm so sorry...

I'm so sorry...

How could you do this to me?
How could you?

You know I need it!

- It's for your own good, mother.
- Ungrateful wretch!

- Have you any idea how I suffer?
- You don't let me forget!

Mademoiselle,
may I have a few words?

I won't "beat about the bushes",

but your mother, she drinks,
n'est-ce pas?

No need for you to talk.

When I first met you,
I saw at once

that you were protecting her
from something

and soon I discovered
what that something was.

The secret drinker, with the secret
cunning of the drunken,

had a secret supply hidden away.

I believe that you yesterday discovered
her supply

and, while your mother was
sound asleep,

you threw overboard the bottles.
I am right, am I not?

It all began when her books
stopped selling

and that hurt her dreadfully.

She made a complete fool of herself,

it was awful.

I had to keep my eye on her all the time.
And she began to hate me.

- Pauvre petite.
- Don't pity me, for God's sake!

I know people think
I'm stuck-up, bad tempered,

but the truth is, I forgot
how to be nice.

You won't tell anyone, will you?

Non, but now I need you to tell me
what I need to know.

At what time did you throw
overboard the bottles?

- At 01:10, perhaps?
- About that, yes.

As I have already told you,

Mademoiselle Van Schuyler
saw you from her cabin door.

Now you tell me: did you see her?

No, I didn't. I looked along the deck,
out to the river.

But did you see anyone,
when you looked along the deck?

Anyone at all?

No, I saw nobody.

Merci.

Stolen?

- I'm afraid it is so, Madame.
- Those beautiful pearls!

Remember that party
at the Portarlington,

when poor Lady Hooper's diamonds
were stolen?

The Police gave you
quite a grilling.

Poor child!
She looks dreadfully unhappy.

Well, she shouldn't go around
shooting people.

I mean, who does she think she is,
Annie Oakley?

French have blood on their hands,
we have blood on our hands

and one day we'll all pay for all
dearly, I tell you!

Yeah, and I tell you
to shut up and eat!

Why couldn't you wait for me?

I had something to do.

I remember reading
about the diamonds of Lady Hooper.

Well... As usual, mother has got
the whole thing hopelessly wrong.

I wasn't there when they're actually
stolen, just when it was discovered

that the old bag was wearing
paste around her fat neck.

Some say she was in on it
herself.

- Joanna, no doubt.
- Joanna wasn't there, mother.

If I may have your attention...

It's come to our notice that
a valuable string of pearls,

belonging to the late Mrs. Doyle,
is gone missing.

What?

A search in the boat is just about
to take place.

I'd be grateful if you would all
remain here until it's completed.

And thereafter, I'd be most grateful

if you'd all submit yourselves
to a search.

Sir, there is a lady that says
it's urgent

she speak to you.

- Bring her in.
- Please.

- Miss Robson.
- Mademoiselle.

What can we do for you?

- You took them?
- No, I didn't. Cousin Marie did.

- Mademoiselle Van Schuyler?
- She can't help it.

It's her little idiosyncrasy.

That's why I'm here,
to keep an eye on her.

- Where did you find them?
- They were on her stoking,this morning.

That's where she usually hides things.
I knew whose they were, of course,

so I went along to return them,

but there was a steward en garde,
who told me about the murder.

I've been in absolute stale all morning.

The Van Schuyler, you see,
are very particular.

I mean, it would never do
if this got into the papers.

- But it won't, will it?
- Well, it depends, Miss Robson.

Non, non, non, non, non...

We shall do our very best for you,
of course, Mademoiselle.

- Thank you so much.
- Please.

Thank you, Monsieur...

Poirot.

Imitation, my friend.

Now we begin our search
for the real thing.

I doubt we will find them
in Mrs. Doyle's cabin.

We never know what
we might find, Colonel.

''Das Kapital''...
Conrad Ferguson is a bolschie.

I always knew there was
something fishy about the chap.

A bolschie is not all that he is...

Monsieur Allerton, it would seem,
is most religious.

The glue... Now, what would he
want with this, I wonder?

Well, I dunno...

Monsieur Pennington.
S.S. Normandie.

Poirot.

The passengers have been
searched, sir.

- And...?
- Nothing,

except for Miss Rosalie Otterbourne,

there was a small revolver
in her handbag.

- So, how did she react?
- She did not notice.

I had my back turned to her,
at the time.

And still there is one person
we have not searched.

- Who's that?
- The maid, Louise Bourget.

We can not find her
anywhere.

Dead not more than an hour.
Instantaneous.

Stabbed through the heart.

With what?

With something like this.

I suppose that none of your knives
is missing.

Do you think I would kill a little
miserable femme de chambre?

No, I just wondered...

All my knives are
present and correct.

Good, good.

Well, now if you'll excuse me...

She was holding this.

It's the corner of
one thousand franc note.

What did she say
when we questioned her?

''It is not possible that I should
hear anything,

"unless I could not sleep

''and came back up.
Then perhaps I see something,

''this monster enter or leave
my mistresse's cabin.''

This is exactly what happened!
She did return to the top deck.

She did someone enter
or leave the cabin.

- Blackmail.
- Yes. So the murdered enters,

gives to her the money,
and, while she is counting it...

You talk the scandal,
mesdemoiselles?

We were just comparing lipsticks.

- What's wrong, Monsieur Poirot?
- The maid of Madame Doyle

she has been killed.
- Louise?

She saw something she was not
meant to see.

What?

Someone enter or leave the cabin
of Madame Doyle last night.

Did she say who?

Miss Jacqueline, if you please,
do excuse us.

Oh! Of course.

- Why did you not tell me the truth?
- I have.

Non, you did not tell me everything
you saw last night.

And you did not tell me that you have
in your handbag, the little revolver.

I don't!

- I want the truth!
- And what is the truth?

That you saw last night someone come out
of the cabin of Linnet Doyle.

I'm right, am I not, Mademoiselle?

I've told you I saw no one!

You're not thinking of jumping in,
are you, old chap?

Why would I want to do that,

just when things begin to
fall into place?

Just a few questions,
that is all, Doctor.

I'll return in three minutes,
then positively you go.

Merci.

I will not detain you for long,
Monsieur Doyle.

So, what is it?

Monsieur Poirot!
Monsieur Poirot!

Monsieur Poirot, I must speak with you,

I have vital information!

- I know who killed Linnet Doyle!
- What?

- Yes, and I have evidence to prove it!
- S'il vous plaît, Madame.

Merci. My theories
about primeval urges

are completely justified.

You will agree that
whoever killed Louise,

what's her name,
also killed Linnet Doyle?

I saw the person
with my own eyes.

You saw the person
who killed my wife?

It was just before lunch.

I had an arrangement with
one of the "ship's personnel"

to get me...
something I needed,

we were to meet on the
lower deck.

As I walked along,
a cabin door opened

and this girl, Louise...
Budget?...

popped her head out.

I think she was expecting someone,
but when she saw it was me,

she darted back inside.

I thought nothing of it,
of course went along,

got the-- from the man, and started
back. Just as I did,

I saw someone knock on the...
maids door and go inside!

Yes?

Yes!

- But who was it?
- Didn't I say?

It was...

What the devil was that?

- Did you see anyone?
- No.

That's Pennington's gun.
I saw him cleaning it the other day.

So, how do you account
for your gun being used?

- I have no idea.
- Was anybody aware that you had one?

I made no secret of it.

Tell me, Monsieur Pennington,

Linnet Doyle was not yet
of age when she married, yes?

She would turn 21 next July.

Which is when she would have
taken control of her fortune?

According of her father's will,

Linnet was to take control over the dowry
when she turned 21

or when she married.

And did this marriage, that was so sudden,
cause you any consternation?

- Why should it?
- Perhaps because her affairs

weren't in the perfect order
that they should be.

- What are you suggesting?
- Which she would have noticed

when she took control
on her return to England.

And that prospect so alarmed you,
- did it not? - that you rushed over

and arranged for a meeting that was
apparently fortuitous in Cairo?

I did not! Her letter arrived a day
after I sailed on the Carmanic.

Then why did you,
on your luggage,

you have only the labels of the Normandie,
that sailed two days later?

Non, Mr. Paddington. It is the easiest thing
in the world to check the list of passengers.

I believe that you came over here
to find a way out of the mess you were in

and endeavored, without success,

to obtain the signature of Mme. Doyle
to certain documents.

And while you were walking along the roof
of the Temple of Hathor,

you dislodged a statue head, which fell
very close to it's objective...

- That is crazy!
- And when a similar opportunity

presented itself on the return
journey home,

when her death would, almost certainly,
be described to somebody else,

not forgetting the fact, irrefutable,

that it was your gun that was used
to shoot and kill

a woman that was about to reveal
the identity of the murderer.

Three murders, Monsieur Pennington!

You may rest assured that the authorities
will conduct an investigation

that will be most thorough to the
condition of the estate of Madame Doyle.

All right!

It's because of this goddamn slum.
I was hoping that, with a little bit of luck,

I would have straightened everything up
by the time she would take control.

And the statue head was what?
Was it an opportunity too tempting?

It was an accident! I tripped
over my golf club.

And I didn't kill her either!

Do you hear me?

You're not gonna pin that on me,
and you never will.

A spoiled brat, a domestic parasite
and a drunken old bag,

who cares whether they're dead
or not?

You really are the rudest man...

It's the future that matters, woman,
not the past.

Have you ever considered, for a single
second, that somebody, somewhere,

might be grieving by the poor maid
or how distraught Rosalie might be?

And as for Linnet Doyle,
well, she was just so beautiful...

Ah! Unbelievable, isn't it?

Did you know that Cornelia's father
was practically ruined

by Linnet's old man

and all she say is how beautiful
she was. Incredible!

I thought you said it's the future
that mattered, not the past.

Touché.

Will you marry me?

- What?!
- It goes against all my principles,

I know, but I really think you should.
How about it?

It's a disgusting idea.

Is that a ''No''?

You are opinionated, unreliable,

scrubby, unpleasant

and utterly...
utterly irritating.

- But apart from that...
- You see?

Definitely smitten, I say. I think
I'll have a word with the old crow!

Quite a filled day for you, isn't it?

Everybody dropping like flies!

Good afternoon.

To come straight to the point,
I want to marry your cousin.

In fact, I've already asked her.
Unfortunately, she declined,

but don't worry,

I'll keep on her turn, until
she says yes.

I can assure, sir,
I shall take steps to see

that she's not be subjected
to such persecution.

What exactly do you have against me?

I'm not that bad, you see.
Anatomically, everything's in the right place,

it's in perfect working order
and I'm really quite bright,

so what seems to be the problem?

- Social position, Mr. Ferguson.
- Oh, I see.

Cornelia, come here. Have you been
behaving wrongly with this young man?

No! No, of course not...

Your cousin says
that I'm not good enough for you.

In the natural order of things,

she thinks that I'm the equivalent
of pond life.

- Is that how you see me?
- It's not that.

- It's-- It's...?
- Yes...?

Isn't she wonderful?

Rather eccentric, I'm afraid,
like most of his family.

Well, he refuses to wear his title
because of his ideas progressive.

- Title?
- Oui, Lord Dawlish. You did not know?

Oh, he is, how do you say it,
rolling in money, of course,

but he became a communist on Oxford.

Lord... Dawlish?

I recognized him
from a picture on the paper,

then I discovered the signet ring,

with the Dawlish coat of arms
on it.

There can be no doubt,
I assure you!

I am very much obliged to you,
Monsieur Poirot.

Ah! Monsieur Allerton,

I would like very much
to have a little word with you.

- What can I do for you?
- There's nothing you can do for me, Monsieur,

but to sit and to listen.
- Right... well,

I'm very good at that.

You can rely on me to say
''Whoa!'' on the right moments.

''Whoa!'' will do nicely.
Thank you.

Merci.

So, to begin, your friendship
with your cousin, Joanna Southwood.

For the past three years, Scotland Yard
has been preoccupied

with a number of jewelry robberies.

And we know that the method
has been always the same.

Oui, the substitution of the original
with an imitation.

Attention soon focused
on Mademoiselle Southwood.

You see, everyone of the victims
had been either a friend or an acquaintance.

It also became clear that she did not
make the substitution herself.

Non, non, non. She had a jeweler
who made a copy

and the substitution would be made
by someone else.

But the identity of this person
has remained a mystery.

- Whoa!
- Oui.

But over the past few days,
certain facts have emerged,

that have been most helpful.

Your attendance at the house party
where had one of such robbery occurred,

your obvious resentments
of my presence here,

and the discovery that the pearls belonging
to Linnet Doyle were missing.

But what do I find?

I find that the pearls that were
stolen and returned

were an imitation,

previously substituted for
the real thing.

It would have been easy to Mademoiselle
Southwood find an opportunity

to examine the pearls of her friend
and to have made a copy.

And it was then just a question
of waiting for the right moment

for you to make the substitution.

Et bien! But you learned that Linnet Doyle
was to honeymoon in Egypt, so hum!?...

Parfait, hein?

Mademoiselle Southwood
sent you the imitation,

concealed, I suggest in a packet
of books,

to you then, find your time.

Finally, you made the substitution,

returned to your cabin...

... and concealed them by gluing them
into a rosary.

unfortunately for you, the night you chose
to do the did

was the same night
when Linnet Doyle was murdered.

But more unfortunately was the fact
that someone saw you leave her cabin.

"Whoa!", would you not say,
Monsieur Allerton?

- Who saw me?
- Mademoiselle Rosalie Otterbourne.

- And she told you?
- Non. In fact, when I taxed her with it,

she lied.
- Why?

Perhaps because she thought the man
she saw

was the murderer.

Surely, not thinking that...

Was Madame Doyle alive or dead
when you stole the pearls?

I don't know. I... really don't know.

Could you hear her breathing?

I--I couldn't say.

Now listen, you young twerp,

Monsieur Poirot here, can build
a case against you, that's so rock solid

that you'll be hanging
from some gallows

before you can even draw
a breath to say "False!".

I didn't murder anyone! I admit
I substituted the pearls,

but murder no! I swear!

It would make a very good case,
I assure you.

I suggest that, when I examine
the rosary, I will find nothing there,

and, since
Mademoiselle Otterbourne

asserts on saying
that she saw no one

on the deck last night,
for this particular theft,

there is no case against you.

The pearls were taken
by a kleptomaniac

who has since returned.

I... don't know what to say, Mr. P.

Under the circumstances,
Mr. A,

I will suggest that this is not
a bad thing.

So that's that.

Now all I have to do is return
the real thing to Mr. Poirot.

- Why didn't you say you'd seen me?
- I thought they might suspect you.

- Did you suspect me?
- No.

- I knew you couldn't kill anyone.
- A miserable little thief, that's all I am.

Barking up the wrong tree,
I'm afraid.

Timothy...

Mademoiselle,

Messieurs,

I am pleased to inform you

that the picture,
it is finally complete.

Et bien, where to begin?

You know, our big mistake,

and unbelievable that
I should go along with it,

was to suppose that this crime was
spontaneous. Not so.

It was worked out meticulously
in every detail,

even to the drugging of
the bottle of wine of Hercule Poirot!

I was put to sleep, so there
should be no possibility of participating

in the events of the night.

Nothing easier than to place
a narcotic into my bottle,

which stands on the table
of the dining room.

And my sleepinness... Et bien,
it had been a hot day.

The drugging of the wine, it had
to take place before dinner, at 19:30,

but, you know, even then,

premeditation was very far
from my mind.

The first blow
to our preconceived idea

was when the revolver
was recovered from the River Nile.

If we had been correct,

the revolver would never have been
thrown overboard.

Also the stole which was wrapped
around the pistol

showed the signs
that it had been fired through,

but the bullet wounds
showed signs of scorching.

Which is to say the revolver had
been placed against her head

and we knew the stole was not
used against you, Monsieur Doyle,

because there are two witnesses
to prove it.

Therefore, a third shot must have been
fired, about which we knew nothing.

Next came the two bottles.

Madame Doyle always painted
her nails ''Cardinal'',

a red color that was deep
and dark.

The other bottle was ''Rose'',
a shade of pink.

But the few drops that were remaining
were bright red

and, instead of the usual odor
of pale drops,

this bottle smelled of ink.

This linked it with
the handkerchief

that was also stained
bright red,

and wrapped around the revolver.

Then an event occurred which
rended all the doubts superfluous.

When I asked Louise Bourget,
the maid, if she'd seen anything, she said.:

It is not possible
I should hear anything,

unless I could not sleep
and came back up.

Then perhaps I see something,

this... monster enter or leave
my mistress' cabin.

But why say all this to us?

If she knew who was the murderer,
why not tell it to us,

or hold her tongue and
demand money from the guilty person?

But she does neither.
Why?

There could only be one reason,

because she was hinting
to the murderer.

Therefore, the murderer
must have been present.

Oh! You're accusing me?

But why would you kill her, Dr. Bessner?
And you, Monsieur Doyle?

There are witnesses to swear that
you didn't leave the lounge

before the quarrel broke out,

and then you were wounded in the leg,
making it physically impossible.

So no, Dr. Bessner
must be the guilty one,

but... why should Louise, the maid,
be hinting to Dr. Bessner?

She could have spoken to him
any time she wanted.

So... non! There was one person,
and one person only,

who corresponded to her necessity.

Simon Doyle!

I say!

Poppycock (nonsense)!
Absolute poppycock!

You were constantly attended to,
she might not have another chance.

Monsieur, I implore you!
You know how it is... What can I say?

Calm down, for Heaven's sake!

You'll be alright.
I'll look after you.

And that was the assurance that
she wanted and she got it.

- Impossible! The man could not move!
- Exactly!

- This is an outrage!
- But what had actually been seen?

Miss de Bellefort!

I'll shoot you like a dog!
Like the dirty dog that you are!

Mr. Ferguson! Mr. Ferguson!

And what then?

Get her out of here, for God's sake!
Take her to her cabin!

And don't let her be left alone,
whatever you do!

Oh, don't worry, Mr. Doyle!
I'll stay with her.

And get Dr. Bessner
to take care of me.

But all of these cabins
were on the port side.

The cabin of your wife,
Monsieur Doyle,

it was on the starboard side.

So, this was your only chance

and a few minutes were
all that you needed.

You see, what had been witnessed

was not
what actually happened.

Monsieur Allerton
heard a pop...

He heard a splash,

and he heard something else:

the footsteps of someone
running past his door.

Now, who could possibly be running
on the starboard side? No one.

Except Simon Doyle.

You cooked all that up yourself?

But that's all nonsense!
Downright slander!

As I have said,

it looked as if this crime could have
been committed in the spur of the moment.

But, non, non, it was not.

It was not an accident that you had
in your pocket red ink,

it was not an accident that the revolver
was kicked under the chair.

- Jacqueline!
- Oui.

Who gives to Monsieur Doyle his alibi?

The shooting of him by Jacqueline.
Who gives to Jacqueline hers?

You, Mademoiselle Robson, staying
with her all of the night at his insistence.

Oh, the two halves of the murder,
with all the qualities required:

the cool, resourceful plan
of Jacqueline,

and the man of action to carry it out.
They had been lovers...

Realize that they are still lovers
and it all makes sense.

But then, your plan goes horribly wrong,
does it not, Monsieur Doyle?

For Louise, the maid, sees you
and hints you that she requires

the money for hushing her up.

You manage to inform Jacqueline

and tell to her where Doctor Hessner
keeps his scalpels.

Et presto!...
She returns the scalpel,

hurries into lunch,
rather late and breathless.

But still, all is not well,
Madame Otterbourne saw her,

rushes in to tell us.
You raised your voice to her...

You saw the person who killed
my wife?

Nerves, I thought.
But the door was open

and you were hinting of the danger

to your partner in crime...
she acted like lightening.

She remembered that Monsieur Pennington
had in his cabin a gun.

Cracked behind the curtain here, and...

Another problem solved.

I am correct, am I not, Monsieur Doyle?

What happened to the first bullet
fired by the girl?

What is the matter, Monsieur Doyle,
has the cat got you by the tongue?

It went into the settee.

Removed it and threw it out
of the window.

You also carried with you
a spare cartridge

to make it look as if two bullets
had been fired...

Did you not, Monsieur Doyle?

A crime that was almost parfait,

you kill your wife, you inherit her money
and, in due course,

you marry your true love.

It seems as if you did thought of everything,
Monsieur Doyle, except for one thing.

Hercule Poirot.

I'm sorry... I'm sorry!

Oh, there, there, Monsieur Doyle.

The executioner here

is very efficient.

Non, the mechanism
it works like clockwork...

... as a rule.

I love him to death.
I can't help it.

As I say,
love makes you do things...

We... worked everything out,
so carefully,

but even then he went and wrote a ''J''
in the wall in her blood,

such a stupid thing,

but absolutely typical.

So, we got away with it.

Until Louise Bourget,

how do you say,
put a spinel in the works.

- Yes, I can't believe I did that.
- And then Madame Otterbourne.

It's so dreadfully easy killing people,
Monsieur Poirot.

You begin to feel it doesn't matter.

That evening, in the grounds of the hotel,
when you said you saw someone...

... there was no person there, was there?

Just a little red herring,

to keep you on your toes.

Do you remember when I said
I must follow my star?

It's finally burned out, hasn't it?

Monsieur Pennington, you must be
happy to return home.

I'm not sure
if I got a home to go, still,

but thanks for asking.

- I'm sure he'll get by.
- Oui.

Mademoiselle.

Monsieur Poirot! Wonderful news!
I've decided to get married!

That is most wonderful,
indeed, Mademoiselle.

- Who is the lucky man?
- Dr. Bessner.

- Bessner?!
- He asked me last night.

He's so kind. He says I can
help him in his work.

He's gonna teach me all about neurosis.

May I offer you my congratulations,
Mademoiselle?

- Hear, hear.
- Thank you.

- Have you told your cousin this news?
- Oh, yes! She's absolutely thrilled.

Dr. Bessner, I offer you
my congratulations, also.

Danke schon, danke schon,
we are very happy.

Yes.

- I'm sorry.
- Yes. I'm not very experienced

in these matters, you see?
I thought I'd struck gold.

It happens, Monsieur Ferguson,

more often
than one might suppose.

- Goodbye.
- Au revoir.

Colonel.

Who would have thought
it would come to this?

It was you, Mademoiselle who said
that life was unfair.

Hello, Simon.

I messed up again, didn't I?
Confessed a lot. I'm sorry...

It's a fool's game, my darling,
and we've lost, that's all.

Please, may I kiss him? I'm not sure
I'll get another chance.

Goodbye, my darling.

You know how much I love you...

Goodbye.

- Where the devil did she get that?
- She had two of them.

She set it in your handbag, Mademoiselle,
in the day of the search

and retrieved later,
when she visited your cabin.

You knew?

It is not always that simple.

♪ ... love is the sweetest thing ...♪

♪... what else on earth
could ever bring ... ♪

... ♪
♪
♪ ...

Translated & resync by titta
for Addic7ed.com