Original subtitles

- Narrator cue in five seconds, Mr. Hotsworth.

- The jury is out.

And all London holds its breath

for the verdict in the infamous Beroldy trial.

Accusations against the beautiful Madame Beroldy

over the brutal murder of her husband, Arnold,

have shocked the entire nation.

After their wedding ten years ago,

Monsieur and Madame Beroldy

took a prominent place in London society,

with the couple setting up permanent home here

12 months ago.

And it was good news for the capital too,

as Mr. Beroldy established his headquarters

in the port of London.

Together with his English partner

Mr. George Connor,

seen here with Monsieur Beroldy,

they brought valuable income to Britain.

Then tragedy.

Masked intruders break into the Beroldy home.

Jean Beroldy is found tied up.

Her husband is stabbed in the heart.

And at the memorial service afterwards,

Mr. Connor comforts the grieving widow.

Two months later, a sensation,

as Jean Beroldy is taken into custody

and charged with her husband's murder.

The story of the intruders was, they say,

a clever concoction to divert suspicion.

Evidence comes to light of a secret assignation

between Madame Beroldy and Monsieur Beroldy's partner,

George Connor.

But before the police can apprehend him,

George Connor flees the country.

And so, as Jean Beroldy faces the future alone,

her nine-year-old daughter, Marthe,

fights to hold back the tears.

- All right, hold it.

- 85 seconds, Mr. Letts.

- Um, and I think we should come back

to the Beroldy woman at the end.

- That's all the footage we've got, Mr. Letts.

- Uh, okay.

Uh, then let's see those last shots again.

- Ah, good story.

George Connor commits the crime,

then runs off and abandons Jean Beroldy.

- Well, no, from what I've heard,

they were in it together.

He may have held the knife,

but it was Madame Beroldy who guided his hand.

- When's the verdict? - Tomorrow.

- Well, maybe you can get some more footage later.

I doubt it.

If Madame Beroldy really did kill her husband,

she won't be making any more appearances.

- Ready, Mr. Letts.

- Run it.

Poor little girl.

Her mummy's going to hang.

- Ah, Hastings.

To come again to France, c'est magnifique.

It will be the experience gastronomique.

- I'm sure Deauville will be perfect for you, Poirot.

- So you said, mon ami,

when you chose for us our destination.

- Well, it's famous for its comfortable hotels,

excellent food, sophisticated crowd.

- Yes, but it seems to me, Hastings,

that these sophisticated people,

they interest themselves mainly in les activites sportif.

- Yes, well, some people come to Deauville for that,

but, uh, not everyone.

- No, for me, Hastings,

I interest myself in le bonne cuisine maman.

- Absolutely.

- Hastings, this hotel that you have reserved for us,

it has a chef of the first order?

- Oh, top-notch, Poirot. - Bon.

And the name of this hotel, Hastings,

you neglected, I think, to mention it to me.

- Pure coincidence, Poirot.

A lot of golfers are very gastronomic, you know, Poirot.

Nothing like 18 holes to build up an appetite.

You really ought to try it, you know.

You might find you actually enjoy it.

- To hit a little ball into the little hole

in the middle of a large open field--

no, but I think it is not to the taste of Poirot.

No.

- Oh, thank you. - � votre service, monsieur.

- You have the options on the land

adjoining the golf course,

but when the architect

asked me if he could see you tomorrow afternoon,

he wants to know what you think--

- Wait a minute. That man.

- What, the little one with the moustache?

- That's Hercule Poirot.

- The detective?

- Staying here.

Where's Laurence? Damn him.

- He's just coming now.

You don't need a private detective,

do you, Paul?

- No.

Why do you ask?

- Well, you've been very... preoccupied recently.

I just thought--

- I don't need a private detective.

And it's none of your damn business anyway.

You're my secretary, Stonor,

not my confidante.

- I'm sorry.

- It doesn't matter.

Laurence, you're taking my son to the station this afternoon.

- Oui, monsieur.

- Then you've got your holiday; is that right?

- Oui, monsieur.

- Good.

- Salut, Jack.

- That was my stepfather. I have to go now.

- Jack, darling...

- I have to pack.

The ship leaves tonight.

- It's so far away.

Santiago's the other side of the world.

I can't bear it.

- I have no choice.

A whole year training

for the most important cycling event of the region,

and then a week before they're off,

he springs this on me.

- Why not refuse?

You don't even like him.

Why don't you just tell him... no?

- It's only three months.

I'll be back.

- Now I know what she felt like.

- Who?

- You know who.

Isabelle.

She lost you to me,

and now I'm losing you to your stupid business.

- It's not the same.

I love you, Marthe.

- You loved her.

- Until I met you.

- Marthe.

- Mother.

- I understand you're leaving us, Jack.

- Yes, Madame Daubreuil, I...

I have to go now.

- I shall miss you.

We both will.

- Write to me.

- Every day.

- Are your cases ready, Jack?

- Yes, Mother.

They're in the hall.

- I told Laurence to put them in the car.

- I wish you'd tell me what this trip is all about.

Ten days crossing to Buenos Aires

and then overland to Santiago.

Seems like a hell of a long way to go just on your say-so.

- You don't want to be part of my business?

- I think you're getting me out of the way,

because you don't want me to see Marthe.

- That's a ridiculous suggestion.

- Then why all the secrecy?

- You'll be met at Santiago.

Everything will be explained to you.

- Thank you, Leonie. That'll be all.

- Yes, Madame Renauld.

- You know, separating Marthe and me

will not change my feelings towards her.

- That's enough.

- You are only my stepfather.

You cannot rule my life.

- Jack. - No.

I wish you were dead sometimes.

At least once in my life,

I could do as I pleased.

- Was dinner all right, Poirot?

- Yes, thank you, Hastings.

It is indeed fortunate for you that this is a hotel

of great comfort and a cuisine most excellent.

- Thank goodness for that.

It's a marvelous golf course.

They say it'll be the best in France when they've finished it.

- Oh, so this golf course,

it does not have the necessary number of holes?

- Oh, no, it's got 18 holes, but they're extending it,

adding a few more bunkers, that sort of thing.

- These things, what is it, a bunker?

- Oh, you know, a sand trap.

I'm afraid that's where I usually end up.

- Ah, it is the same in French, le bunker.

- Oh.

- And tomorrow, you play,

how do you say, the circle?

- Oh, around. Yes, yes.

They're lining me up with some people.

- Mesdames et messieurs,

ladies and gentlemen,

je vous pr�sent Isabelle Duveen.

- What an absolutely lovely girl.

- Mr. Poirot?

My name is Paul Renauld.

May I join you?

- S'il vous pla�t, Monsieur Renauld.

- Mr. Poirot, I happened to see you this morning.

- Shh, shh, shh.

- It was a piece of remarkable fortune,

because... Mr. Poirot,

I will pay you anything to help me.

- In what way, monsieur?

- I believe I am in danger of my life.

- What makes you think that?

- I'm a rich man, Mr. Poirot.

I have enemies.

- May I ask what work is it that you do?

- I own properties, hotels.

This hotel and the golf course are mine.

- Ah.

- But I have another business in precious stones.

I export them out of Santiago in Chile.

And that's where the trouble began.

Fraud, Mr. Poirot,

on a massive scale.

I can't talk to you here.

It's too dangerous.

Will you come to my villa tomorrow?

It's the Villa Genevieve just past the Villa Marguerite

on the other side of the links.

- Oui, d'accord.

- Thank you, Mr. Poirot.

Thank you.

- De rien, Monsieur Renauld.

- It is most strange, is it not, Hastings?

This Monsieur Renauld, he says to me so much.

And yet he tells to me nothing.

- Hastings?

- Be brave.

- Help me, Leonie.

Help me.

Help me!

- Madame!

- Toss for honors?

- Heads.

- Tails, I think.

- Yes, monsieur.

- Bonjour, monsieur.

I have an appointment with Monsieur Paul Renauld.

My name is-- - I-I know who you are.

You better come in.

- Merci.

- My name is Lucian Bex.

I'm commissary of the police here in Deauville.

- Monsieur Bex.

Something has occurred to Monsieur Renauld?

- What's going on, Bex?

What is, uh, your business with Monsieur Renauld?

- That is a matter confidential, monsieur.

Monsieur Renauld-- - He's not here.

I'm Giraud of The S�ret�.

- Giraud.

That is a name that is known to me.

- It is a name known to many.

And you, monsieur?

- Monsieur Giraud, this is Hercule Poirot.

It's remarkable--

- Wait a minute, Commissar Bex.

Renauld asked you to come here today?

- Oui.

- Why?

- He told me that he considered his life to be in danger.

- Well, it looks like he went to the wrong man.

Monsieur Renauld was abducted last night.

- Are you at the Golf Hotel?

- Yes, I'm there every year.

- I don't suppose you were in the bar last night?

There was a singer, lovely voice.

- Do you mind? - Sorry.

Lovely.

- I don't know what woke me up.

But when I opened my eyes, there were two men in the room,

both wearing masks.

- So you cannot describe them at all, madame?

- It was too dark.

Obviously.

It was the middle of the night.

- It was 2:00.

I heard the clock strike on the mantelpiece.

- Fortunate.

- Yes, indeed.

- Go on.

- One of them forced a gag into my mouth and tied me up.

The other one was standing over Paul.

He'd taken a knife from my dressing table here.

It was a gift from my son, Jack.

Anyway, he was threatening Paul with it.

- Did he speak?

- Yes, in South American Spanish.

He was from Chile. I'm sure of it.

That's where Paul and I met.

We lived there for many years.

- And what did he say?

- Sabe lo que queremos.

"You know what we want."

Those were his first words.

The other one: "The papers, where are they?"

- Ah, yes, Monsieur Renauld, he spoke to me of a fraud.

- What happened then?

- Well, I-I don't remember anything else.

I-I think I must have fainted.

Oh, God, I...

- Oh, no, no, no, no, madame.

Console yourself.

Poirot will find him.

You permit, madame?

Oh, la...

they must have caused you great pain.

- I don't think my partner's got his mind on the game.

I'll be digging one of those new bunkers through there.

- Come on. I'll help you find the ball.

- Oh, thanks.

- It's my fault, sir.

Every night, I lock the doors, but last night, I was so tired.

- You failed in your duty.

- Tell me, Mademoiselle Leonie,

at what hour did you retire to bed?

- At 9:00. - Uh-huh.

And you heard nothing?

- No, sir. I didn't hear a sound.

- And this? - That's mine, sir.

I always have cocoa in the evening.

- Tell me-- - Do you mind, Monsieur Poirot?

This is my investigation.

- There were just the three of you in the house last night?

- Yes, sir. - Isn't there a son?

- Master Jack is Monsieur Renauld's stepson, sir.

He left yesterday for South America.

- Ah, to Chile?

- Yes, sir, to Santiago.

- Do you know why?

- No, sir.

I believe it's to do with his father's business.

He didn't want to go.

- No?

- No, sir.

As a matter of fact,

they argued about it quite violently.

And Jack was very upset to miss the Troph�e De Deauville.

- Hmm? - The cycle race.

- Ah. - He'd been training very hard.

- Tell me, mademoiselle,

did Monsieur Renauld and his stepson

argue together very often?

- Yes, sir, I'm afraid they did.

- Oh, for heaven's sake, Poirot.

Do you think Jack Renauld kidnapped his stepfather?

- I think the thoughts of Hercule Poirot, monsieur,

are far beyond your comprehension.

- Was there anyone else in the house?

No gardener or handyman?

- Laurence, the chauffeur, should have been here, sir,

but he's on holiday.

- When did he leave?

- Yesterday, sir.

- He also?

C'est curieux.

- No sign of it?

- No.

- Thank you. Ah, Monsieur Giraud.

I've circulated Paul Renauld's description across France,

and I have men making inquiries at the station and the airport.

- We'll find him.

- Of that, I am not so sure, monsieur.

- So...what's going on?

- Who are you?

- My name is Gabriel Stonor.

I'm Mr. Renauld's private secretary.

Is there something wrong?

- Monsieur Renauld has disappeared,

abducted by agents from Chile.

- But that's...

My God, I thought something was up.

- What do you mean?

- Well, he's been very, I don't know, nervous recently.

- How recently, Monsieur Stonor?

- In the past couple of weeks.

He only came to France a couple of years ago, you know.

- And before that?

- He had a business in precious stones in Chile.

That's where he made his fortune.

But he's a very private man.

I don't know much more than that.

- I see.

- Where's Eloise? Madame Renauld?

- Upstairs.

- I must go to her.

- Yes, of course.

- You can go now, Monsieur Poirot.

- Monsieur Giraud.

- Did you really think you could just walk in here

and take over this investigation?

This is my case.

And if anyone is going to find Monsieur Paul Renauld,

I can assure you it's going to be me.

- Still no luck?

- No.

I'll look over here.

- Find anything?

- Good Lord.

Well, Dr. Hautet?

- Killed at about 2:00 in the morning, I'd say.

Stabbed in the back.

Unusual weapon.

It's just a paper knife.

I'd say the stone in the hilt was a sapphire.

- Renauld's wife said they took a knife from her room,

a present from her son.

- Has anyone informed Madame Renauld?

- No, Hastings.

And it is a duty I would not wish to perform.

- There's a set of footprints in there.

You didn�t jump in, did you?

- Of course not. - It looks as if someone did.

You can take him away now.

Poor devil, marched out here

in nothing but that coat and his underclothes

and then killed.

It's no way to go.

- This is yours, I believe, Captain Hastings.

- Oh, thank you.

- Hastings, what is it, this white line that I see?

- Oh, they were going to dig a new bunker here, Poirot.

This is where it was going to be.

- Ah.

- This was by the grave.

Brand-new.

- What does it tell you, Monsieur Giraud?

- Only that our friends from Chile came prepared.

- Oh, so you assume it was theirs?

- Of course.

- And what of this?

- It's a piece of lead pipe.

- Oui.

- Well, what of it?

- It also was beside the grave.

- Paul Renauld was stabbed, not bludgeoned, you know.

That's probably been here for weeks.

It's of no interest. - Au contraire, monsieur.

To Poirot, it is of great interest.

Label the spade and put it with the knife.

- Bien sur, le commissar.

- You can keep the lead pipe.

- Sir.

I found this in the dead man's pocket, sir.

- Merci.

Hastings, if you please to read it.

- "My dearest one,

"why haven't you written to me for so long?

"I am beginning to think there's someone else.

"I think I would kill you

"if I thought I was going to lose you.

"But you do love me.

"I know you do, as I love you.

Always, your own adoring B.D."

- So Paul Renauld had a lover.

- That's what it looks like.

B.D.

- I'm sure Madame Renauld will enlighten us.

- Well, you're not going to ask her, are you?

She doesn't even know her husband's been...

- Captain Hastings is right.

We better tell her.

- I will tell her.

- That is most strange, is it not, Hastings?

- What's that, Poirot?

- Monsieur Renauld.

He wore his coat very long.

This Giraud, I have heard much about him, Hastings.

- Who is he?

- They call him "The Pipe,"

because smokes this pipe ridiculous.

- Well, he doesn't seem very fond of you.

- No, that is because he believes himself to be

the greatest detective in France.

- Perhaps he is. - No, no, no, Hastings.

Poirot, he is now in France.

Hastings, regarde.

- Oh, let me.

Ow!

- Hastings, the briar, it is sharp, huh?

- Mm.

- Viens, mon ami.

- So much for my golf.

- "Your own adoring B.D."

I don't know.

Unless...

- Monsieur Stonor?

- The villa next door, the Villa Marguerite,

it's rented by a Madame Daubreuil.

Bernadette Daubreuil.

- Do you know this woman?

- No, but it's the damndest thing.

In the last three months, Monsieur Renauld

made three large payments from his bank account.

- To this Daubreuil woman? - Yes.

They added up to 100,000 francs.

I did ask Renauld about them, but he just snapped at me.

- You suspected blackmail, Monsieur Stonor?

- Yes, I did, but...

if she sent him this letter,

maybe they were having an affair.

Seems self-evident.

- It was so unlike him.

Renauld was an odd sort, very secretive,

reclusive even, but...

he adored his wife.

- You wanted to see me.

Gabriel, what's happened?

- Eloise, it's bad news.

- What?

- Madame Renauld,

I'm sorry to have to tell you

that your husband has been found murdered.

- Oh, no.

- He was stabbed last night

with the knife that was taken from your room.

- Oh, God.

Why?

Why Paul?

- Eloise...

- It's this one here.

- You don't believe her, do you, Poirot?

- I do not know, Hastings.

This case, it reminds me of something.

I just do not know.

- This may be unpleasant.

- Just one moment, Monsieur Hautet.

Madame Renauld, the identification, it can wait.

- No, I'd like to get this over with.

Paul?

No.

Oh, no.

No.

- Take her back to the Villa Genevieve.

- I am an imbecile.

Truly, if there was ever love and grief

in the voice of a woman, I heard it now.

Et bien, Hastings.

We must begin again.

- It's quite dreadful, really quite dreadful,

the death of Monsieur Renauld.

- Do you have any suspects yet?

- At the present time, mademoiselle,

suspicion is directed towards two persons.

- Two?

- South Americans from Chile.

- Oh.

- Two suspects.

Is that why it requires the services of two detectives?

- I-I'm handling this case, madame.

Monsieur Poirot is merely observing.

- Well, I have nothing to tell you.

My daughter, Marthe, and I lead quiet lives.

- How long have you lived here in the Villa Marguerite, madame?

- Almost a year.

- My mother needed the sea air for her health.

- So you arrived here after Monsieur Renauld?

- Yes. - Did you know him?

- We met a few times.

- You became friends?

- We became acquaintances.

- Madame Daubreuil,

on three occasions,

Paul Renauld made large payments to you.

How do you explain that?

- I don't.

It is no business of yours.

- Madame--

- I'll handle this,

if you don't mind, Monsieur Poirot.

Need I remind you, madame,

that we are investigating a murder.

- Well, what of it? I had nothing to do with it.

- Then will you tell me, please, what was the exact nature

of your relationship with Paul Renauld?

- I have nothing to say. - Mother.

- Was there an assignation between you?

- Monsieur, you insult me

in my own house in front of my daughter.

You will leave now.

- Your methods leave something to be desired, monsieur.

- My methods work, Monsieur Poirot,

as, if you insist on staying around,

you'll find out.

- Ah, well, on that, I do insist, monsieur.

- Waste your time if you want to.

But I will find the murderer of Paul Renauld before you.

And that is a promise.

- You would stake on that your reputation?

- I would stake anything.

In fact...

I'll tell you what.

How about a wager, Poirot?

- And what would you wager against me, Monsieur Giraud?

- Name it.

- Very well. I will tell you.

That famous pipe of yours.

- My pipe? - Oui, monsieur.

It is, how you say, your trademark.

If I solve this case before you,

I will have the pipe.

- Very well.

And what is your trademark, Monsieur Poirot?

How about that famous moustache?

- You can't be serious.

- What better way to show the world

who was the master here?

You lose, you shave your moustache.

What do you say?

- Poirot.

I hope you know what you're doing, Poirot.

- Oh, mon ami,

you must not concern yourself with Giraud.

But tell me, Hastings,

what is your opinion of the two ladies

that we met at the Villa Marguerite?

- Well, I don't know about Madame Daubreuil,

but it seems to me that her daughter, Marthe,

was worried about something.

- She certainly had the eyes most anxious,

did she not?

But the mother, Hastings,

where have I seen that face before?

- I thought I might go for a swim

before breakfast tomorrow, Poirot.

- That is a madness that, Hastings,

and suffered only by the English.

Oh, excuse me.

- Well, don't I know you? - Do you?

- You're the singer from the hotel the other night.

- You must have a good memory for faces.

- Well, no, but I thought you were splendid,

really wonderful.

- That's kind of you.

I'm Isabelle Duveen.

- Arthur Hastings.

Have you been in? - Yes.

It's freezing.

- You're shivering.

- I was in Honfleur last year

and Paris before that.

But I like Deauville best.

- When did you come here?

- At the start of the season.

Deauville is so beautiful.

And I was happy here,

very happy.

I thought...

It all went wrong, really.

- Is that why your songs are so sad?

- L'addition, monsieur. - Oh, thank you.

Did you hear about that murder that happened here yesterday?

- On the links?

- Yes, I was the one who discovered the body.

- Gosh.

How thrilling.

I'm afraid I absolutely dote on crimes.

- Oh, do you?

As a matter of fact,

I'm staying here with Hercule Poirot.

- The detective? - Yes.

- Is he as brilliant as they say?

- Oh, absolutely.

- I must say,

I'd hate to have him on my trail.

Where is he now?

- Oh, still having breakfast, I should think.

Actually, I ought to be going.

Isabelle.

Do you think I could see you again?

- We could go out for lunch if you like.

- Oh, could we?

- This is my address.

Why don't you call for me?

- Right.

Rue des Escaliers.

- It's not very chic, I'm afraid.

- Thank you.

- Bye. - Bye.

- Hastings.

How very kind of you.

You arrive at last.

- Oh, steady, old Poirot.

As a matter of fact, I just met someone.

- Someone? A young lady, no doubt, eh?

Oh, Hastings.

Your face is as the open book.

But there is no time to talk about this now, mon ami.

We must go at once.

Monsieur Jack Renauld has returned to Deauville,

and Giraud is interrogating him at the pr�fecture.

- You have no right to hold me here.

- I have every right.

- I told you...

I decided not to sail,

but at the same time, I didn't want to go home.

I would just have had another argument

with my stepfather.

- So on the night of the murder,

you remained in Cherbourg.

- Yes.

I stayed in Cherbourg all night.

I only saw the news in the paper this morning.

- And you came straight home?

That's right.

But my mother was out,

and I was waiting for her when he called.

The next thing I know, I was dragged here.

- For questioning.

- If you think you can intimidate me,

you're wrong.

- Monsieur Renauld.

What was the purpose of your journey to Santiago?

My stepfather wouldn't say.

He seemed to think there was some--

some sort of fraud going on,

something to do with his business in precious stones.

It couldn't have come at a worse time for me.

- In what way?

- It's the race this week.

The Troph�e de Deauville?

- You're taking part?

- Yes.

And I came fifth last year.

I mean to do better this time.

That is, unless you intend to keep me here.

- No, no, no, Monsieur Renauld.

You may go.

- If you don't mind, Monsieur Poirot,

that decision is mine to make.

- Pardon, monsieur.

You wish to arrest Monsieur Renauld?

- Not yet.

- Oh, Jack.

Oh, darling.

- Oh, Mother.

- So you didn't go?

Well, it doesn't matter now.

Not now.

- Monsieur Poirot. - Oui?

Ah, merci.

- What is it?

- It is the coat of Monsieur Renauld.

- Jack Renauld?

- Yes, sir, I took it off him this morning.

Monsieur Poirot asked me to hold it back.

- Merci. If you please, Hastings.

- Hey, you take your orders from me,

not from Monsieur Poirot.

Is that clear?

- Yes, sir.

Sorry, sir.

- What the hell do you think you're doing?

- Measuring the coat.

- I can see that.

- Hmm. Just as I thought.

- What?

- The coat, it is short.

Hastings, I must leave

on the first possible train for London.

- What? But why?

- Because the face of Madame Daubreuil,

it is known to me.

I have seen it before.

Also, there is something about this case

that is familiar to me.

- But why London?

- Because that is where the answer is to be found.

Hastings.

I wish to know at what hour the last train left Deauville

on the night of the death of Monsieur Renauld.

- Right.

- And go also to the office of Monsieur Bex

and tell to him where I have gone.

- When shall I say you'll be back?

- Oh, when I have discovered the truth, Hastings.

- How's the Deauville sole? - Delicious.

You're not married, are you?

- Oh, good heavens, no.

- Have you ever been?

- No.

I--oh, I suppose I never found the right girl.

- You're lucky.

- Am I?

- The right girl, the right man,

no one can hurt you more.

- How did you come to be hurt, Isabelle?

- Forget it.

I don't want to spoil a nice lunch.

Tell me about the case.

Have you found these mysterious South Americans yet?

- No.

Poirot seems to think they don't exist.

But it doesn't make sense.

- Go on.

- Paul Renauld, a multimillionaire

who seems to have no background or history,

is found stabbed in the back on a golf course.

- Yes.

- Well, if he wasn't abducted and taken there,

what was he doing out on the links

in the middle of the night

wearing only a coat and underclothes?

- I see what you mean.

- Personally, I suspect his wife.

- Madame Renauld? Why?

- Well, if Poirot's right,

and there were no intruders,

she must have made them up.

And the only reason she'd do that

is if she killed him herself.

- But did she have a motive?

- Well, there's always money.

Paul Renauld was a very rich man.

And it seems he was having an affair with his neighbor,

Bernadette Daubreuil.

- How did you find out that?

- She wrote him a letter.

She signed it B.D.

- But that doesn't necessarily mean she--

- Well, no, but we also discovered

that Paul Renauld paid Madame Daubreuil

a large sum of money.

Okay, Isabelle.

I really shouldn't be telling you any of this.

- My lips are sealed.

- Thank you, Arthur. That was a lovely lunch.

- Oh, don't thank me.

I can't remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much.

- Where are you off to now?

- Oh, I have to do something for Poirot.

He wants me to go and see the Commissar of Police.

- Oh. Do you mind if I tag along?

- Well, why would you want to do that?

- I enjoy your company.

And I told you,

I'm absolutely fascinated by crime.

- Right.

- Monsieur Bex said to wait in his office,

Captain Hastings.

He'll be with you shortly.

- Thank you very much.

- Is this where he lived?

- Yes.

- And that's where you found him?

- Yes.

- Stabbed in the back.

- Look, Isabelle, I'm not sure this is a very good idea.

- Don't worry.

I'm all for the horrors.

What's that?

- Uh, they're footprints from the scene of the crime.

They took a cast.

- And this?

- Uh, that's the knife that was used.

- The knife? - Yes.

- Oh.

- Christ's sake. Are you all right?

- Oh, yes. - Are you sure?

- Yes. - Come and sit down.

- Do you think you could get me some water?

Please?

- I'll be back in a minute.

- Women and crime, Captain Hastings,

they don't mix.

- She was all right to start...

She's gone.

- Was she interested in anything in particular, Captain Hastings?

- Uh...

- What was it that upset her?

- I really have no idea.

- Monsieur Letts?

- Ah, Mr. Poirot.

And how may I help you?

Yes, I know exactly what you're talking about, Monsieur Poirot.

Now, I entered the newsroom myself.

And I was there at the trial.

- When was this, Monsieur Letts?

- Oh, must have been a good ten years ago.

Ah, there we are.

The Beroldy case.

- I wonder if you could help me. - Monsieur?

- I'm making inquiries for a friend of mine.

I need to know what time the last train left Deauville

two nights ago.

- Tuesday, monsieur?

That would have been the 7 minutes past 12:00 to Paris.

- You didn't happen to see two foreigners getting on?

South Americans?

- No, monsieur.

- How about this man?

- Giraud. - Have you seen him?

Well?

- Yes, monsieur.

But he wasn't getting on the train.

- No? - No.

He arrived on the last train from Cherbourg.

I noticed him because he appeared to be so...nervous.

- And what time was that?

- 11:40.

- Jack Renauld.

- Mm.

That story about the masked intruders,

you know, the ones who supposedly abducted

Arnold Beroldy,

it was all made up.

- And this Madame Beroldy,

it was her hands, was it not?

They were not, um...

fastened together tightly?

- That's right. It's what gave her away.

Her lover, George Connor,

didn't want to hurt her.

- Ah, yes, it all comes back to me now.

Madame Beroldy, she did not hang.

- No, she-- - Ready, Mr. Letts.

- Run it.

- Masked intruders break into...

- Before the verdict was passed,

she admitted her story was a lie,

threw herself on the mercy of the jury.

The real murderer was the partner,

George Connor, she said.

It was all his plan.

He'd killed her husband

and forced her to go along with him.

Personally, I think there was more to it than that.

- If you would please to tell me.

- Well, he may have struck the blow,

but she planned it.

- Hmm.

And of course, it was Madame Beroldy

who inherited from her husband

the money from his coffee business.

- Absolutely.

She had nerves of steel, that woman.

- Mm.

- In a way, I think she was rather horrible.

- And this George Connor, was he arrested?

- Uh, no. That's him there.

- Monsieur Beroldy's partner, George Connor.

But before the police can apprehend him...

- Ah, yes.

A face that is to me most familiar.

- Yeah, he managed to escape the country.

- To South America. - Yes.

The police never found him.

- And what of Madame Beroldy?

The amazing thing is, is she was acquitted.

Well, it was quite a performance.

- Uh-huh.

- Uh, that's her there with her daughter

after the verdict.

She left the country later on,

changed her name.

- Oui.

To Madame Bernadette Daubreuil.

- With the station master as evidence,

my case is getting stronger by the minute.

- So Jack Renauld was lying when he said

he was in Cherbourg the night his stepfather was killed.

He was actually here in Deauville.

- You better tell Poirot.

- Oh, I expect he already knows.

- You can wait here.

I want another word with Madame Renauld.

- Right.

- Marthe, calm down. Calm down.

It'll be all right. It'll be all right.

- Why can't it be over, Jack,

this whole horrible business?

- It will be soon, darling.

- And then what about us?

- You know what I want, love.

I can't live without you.

- What is it? - It's another body.

- Oh, sir.

- The knife, Captain Hastings.

Look at the knife.

- Hastings, you've received my telegram?

Bon. - Poirot.

- I have succeeded, mon ami.

I have succeeded to the marvel.

- Poirot, I have to tell you, there's been another murder.

- A second murder?

- Committed with an identical knife.

- Not an identical knife.

The same knife that killed Paul Renauld,

which was stolen from this very office

by the woman that Captain Hastings brought here.

- We can't be sure of that, Monsieur Giraud.

- The knife vanishes; the knife reappears.

What more do you want?

- It is a very serious business, Captain Hastings.

- To bring a complete stranger into police headquarters

and then to just leave her here.

I can't believe the incompetence of it.

- And you have not be able to find this young woman?

- We're looking, but we only have her description to go on.

- You wait until I get my hands on her.

- You've no idea who she was?

- Uh, no. We met on the beach.

She didn't tell me her name.

- She must have told you something.

- No, not really.

- And you believe this to be the same knife

that killed Monsieur Paul Renauld.

- A paper knife with a stone set in the hilt,

it certainly looks the same.

- But why take it to...

Doesn't make sense.

- Bonjour, Dr. Hautet.

- Well, the first thing that you ought to know

is that this man was stabbed after he died.

- What?

- Look at the wound.

The knife was lodged in his heart,

but there's no blood.

- Then what did he die of?

- It's too soon to say.

But I'd guess an epileptic fit.

- But why stab a man who's already dead?

- To create an impression, Hastings.

- What impression?

- The impression that it very nearly did create.

- You've no idea who he is?

- No identification. Nothing.

Look at his hair, his fingernails.

I'd have said he was a tramp.

- And yet his clothes were those

of a man well-to-do, n'est-ce pas?

C'est curieux.

- We found those in the shed.

Some old clothes.

They could be the tramp's or--

- The gardener's?

- Do you think so? - Yes.

What about the time of death?

- No, he's been dead quite a while.

Possibly four or five days.

- And so it would appear that the death of this man

occurred before the death of Monsieur Paul Renauld.

- You're just trying to confuse the issue, Poirot.

- You do not find it to be confused, Monsieur Giraud?

- Oh, no.

As a matter of fact, I'm ready to make an arrest.

You are?

- It's that race this afternoon, isn't it?

The Troph�e de Deauville?

- Yes.

- What time is it expected to end?

- 4:00.

- We'll do it then.

And what more suitable venue than the finishing line?

- Right.

- Bad luck, Poirot.

But I told you, didn't I?

You've met the better man.

- And so you see, mon ami,

it is what I found out in London.

And that is the key to this mystery most bizarre.

- I just can't believe it, Poirot.

Ten years ago, Jean Beroldy is accused

of murdering her husband,

and now she's living here in Deauville under the name of--

- Madame Daubreuil? Exactement.

- Shouldn't you confront her or something?

- I think it will serve no useful purpose, Hastings,

and after all, to change a name, it is no crime.

- But it must have been she who murdered Paul Renauld.

- And the motive, Hastings?

- Well, the letter.

She said she would kill him rather than lose him.

- Pardon.

But that is because you still assume

that the B.D. of the letter refers to Bernadette Daubreuil.

But of that, we have no evidence.

- But it's the same crime, Poirot.

The fake abduction.

- No, no, no, no, mon ami. You forget.

It was ten years ago that Madame Daubreuil,

or Jean Beroldy, as she was then called,

invented a story of the masked intruders.

Now, it is her neighbor, Madame Renauld.

- Well, that's true.

- And there's one other question

you should ask yourself, Hastings.

- What's that?

- What happened to the true killer,

George Connor?

- Pardon, monsieur.

There's a young lady in reception asking to see you.

- To see me? - Oui, monsieur.

- Ah, perhaps it is the young lady

of your acquaintance, Hastings.

- Oh, you mean...

- Ah, yes, of course, her name,

it is still unknown to you.

- Yes.

- Et bien, we shall see.

- Bon app�tit.

- Monsieur Poirot.

I hope you'll forgive me coming here.

I had to see you.

- Mademoiselle.

Please.

- I'm afraid, Mr. Poirot, terribly afraid.

- Mademoiselle?

- That horrible man has just been to see me.

Giraud.

- Ah. - He's such a bully.

He's discovered that Jack was here on the night of the murder.

- But if that is the case, mademoiselle,

it was most unwise

of Monsieur Jack Renauld to concede.

- I know, but that doesn't mean...

Monsieur Poirot,

Giraud is going to arrest him.

You can't let him. Please.

I love him.

- Mademoiselle. Shh.

- He's innocent, Monsieur Poirot.

I know he is.

- And who do you believe

the true killer to be, mademoiselle?

I know who it was.

- Tell it to me.

- The day before he died,

I heard someone in Paul Renauld's garden.

- Mm-hmm.

- I climbed up and looked over the wall,

and that was when I saw him.

- Who?

- A tramp.

He was a dreadful-looking creature dressed in rags.

Paul Renauld tried to calm him down,

but he wouldn't listen.

He was demanding money.

- And you believe that this was the man?

- Jack and his stepfather had their differences, but...

- Mademoiselle,

if I am to save Monsieur Jack Renauld,

it is necessary that I speak with him without delay.

- You're too late.

The race, it'll be starting in a few minutes' time.

- The race that Giraud mentioned?

- He said he was going to be at the finish.

- Oui.

Mademoiselle, you and your mother will be there?

- Yes.

- Hastings and I also.

Fear not, Mademoiselle.

All will be well.

- Thank you, Mr. Poirot.

Thank you.

I wonder if she knows

about her mother's true identity.

- Ah, she was but nine years of age at the time, Hastings.

It is possible that the truth, it has been shielded from her.

- Well, she's certainly in love with Jack Renauld.

You should have seen them, Poirot.

- Comment, mon ami?

- I heard them together.

Over the same garden wall, as a matter of fact.

- Hastings, you did not mention this to me.

- Didn't I?

Well...

- Do you not see of it the significance?

- Oh, you think Paul Renauld could have overheard them too?

- No, no, mon ami.

I think the exact opposite.

- Bonjour, mademoiselle.

- Monsieur Poirot.

- Mademoiselle, if you please,

I wish to see the room of Monsieur Jack Renauld.

- I'm sorry, sir,

but Monsieur Renauld is not here.

- Mademoiselle Leonie,

I am perhaps all that stands

between your master and the guillotine.

His life, it is in your hands.

- There. See him there?

- � vos marques, pr�t...

- Bonne chance.

- First his coat, now his shoes.

What do you expect him to find?

- You remember the two footprints

that were inside the grave, Hastings?

- Yes.

- Voil�.

- So Jack was there? - Oui, mon ami.

And I have no doubt that these would match

the cast in the office of Monsieur Bex.

- I thought you were trying to save him, not incriminate him.

- I'm trying to comprehend him, Hastings.

- Well, I don't understand.

- Hastings?

You know this girl, Hastings?

- No, no. I've never seen her before.

- There is only the signature.

"Bella Duveen."

- Bella?

- Pardon. Pardon.

Pardon, madame.

- Poirot.

- Madame Renauld.

- Monsieur Poirot.

- Where are the cyclists?

- They should be here any moment.

- No sign of Giraud.

- Why are you here?

- To speak with your son.

- Third place and a record time.

- Congratulations, monsieur.

Monsieur Renauld, there are certain questions

I must ask you concerning your late stepfather.

- What? Here? Now?

- Yes, here and now.

Why did you return to Deauville on the night of his death?

- I told you.

- The truth, monsieur!

- I wanted to see someone.

- Marthe Daubreuil.

- Yes. - And did you see her?

- No. - Why not?

- Out of the way!

Move!

Jack Renauld, I'm arresting you

for the murder of your stepfather.

- What?

- And also for the murder of your unnamed accomplice.

Take him.

- Giraud, you've got it all wrong.

- Giraud is never wrong.

Tell me, Monsieur Renauld,

do you deny it?

- Tell him, Jack.

- No, Monsieur Giraud, I have nothing to say.

- You see?

You'd come here to arrest him yourself, hadn't you, Poirot?

Well, I beat you...

by a whisker.

- Bonjour, Monsieur Stonor.

If you please, we wish to speak to Madame Renauld.

- Come in. - Merci.

Madame Renauld,

I am here in the interest of your son, Jack Renauld.

- Is there anything you can do for him?

- Mais oui.

But in order to help him, the events of the night

that his stepfather died must come to light.

- Of course.

- All of them.

Very well.

The real name of your husband, madame,

was not Paul Renauld,

but George Connor,

was it not?

- Yes.

- You mean the man wanted ten years ago

for the murder of Arnold Beroldy?

- My God.

- And you met him after he has escaped

from England to South America?

- Yes.

But you must believe me, Monsieur Poirot,

he wasn't a bad man.

That woman used him.

- Jean Beroldy.

- Madame Daubreuil, as she calls herself now.

Ten years ago, she told Paul that she was in love with him.

But it was all a lie.

She wanted her husband's money,

and she used Paul to get it.

- And she persuaded him to murder her husband?

- Yes.

Then she laughed at him,

told him she wanted nothing more to do with him.

And then when the police discovered the truth,

she betrayed him.

- This George Connor,

he made his fortune in the business of precious stones

whilst in Santiago.

And it was there that he met you and your son?

- Yes, Jack worked for him.

That's how we met.

- And you married and came to live together here?

- How do you know all this, Monsieur Poirot?

- The eyes of Hercule Poirot, madame,

they see everything.

Ten years after his escape from England,

George Connor comes to Deauville.

He has made for himself a fortune in Chile,

and he now uses this money

to establish himself here in France.

But somehow, his old lover, Jean Beroldy,

has managed to track him down,

and now calling herself Bernadette Daubreuil,

taunts him by taking the very house next door.

The money that she has inherited

from the murder of her first husband,

has long ago been spent.

But she now sees that her knowledge,

it can bring her new fortune.

She uses this to blackmail Paul Renauld.

And then, matters already grave,

they are made worse.

Jack Renauld falls in love with a beautiful girl

he sees almost daily, Marthe,

the daughter of the woman that Paul Renauld hates and fears.

Paul observes them together,

but he is powerless to prevent the association

and thinks now only of escape.

- Yes.

Paul was being drained by Madame Daubreuil.

Every day was a torment to him.

He had to get away.

- And the method that worked for him ten years ago,

he decides to put to use again.

- Yes.

Only this time, it would seem

that he was the one the intruders had killed.

I would move away.

And later, the two of us would meet and start again.

- What about Jack?

He didn't know?

- I've never told him about Paul's past.

I couldn't.

- And so the plan, it was made.

But then a few weeks later...

a tramp comes to the Villa Genevieve.

- That is the way out. - Money!

- He is violent, abusive, and dangerously ill.

They struggle together.

And the tramp suffers a seizure that is fatal.

If it is to be believed that Paul Renauld is dead,

then a body, it has to be found.

And now, as if by providence,

a body, it has been sent in the form of the tramp.

Paul dresses the tramp with a suit of his own clothes.

But there is worse.

To make this deception convincing,

the body must look as though

it has been murdered most brutally.

It is a dreadful deed that, to make a semblance of murder.

- Sometimes I wish you were dead.

- And so to the day itself.

- For once in my life, I could do as I...

- Jack, the stepson of Paul Renauld,

is sent away to Chile,

simply to remove him from the scene.

In the same manner,

Laurence, the chauffeur, is given a holiday.

And so the preparations, they are complete.

But Paul Renauld,

he uses every opportunity.

And when he sees me, Hercule Poirot,

he decides to draw me into his plan.

It is a pretty little charade that he plays at the hotel.

He tells to us nothing, only that there is a fraud,

and pretends to be afraid.

But this is all a performance

designed to give credence to his plan.

Night falls,

and all is in readiness.

The maid, Leonie, is sound asleep.

For the cup of cocoa that she takes each night,

it has been drunk.

And now at last,

Paul Renauld puts into action his plan,

repeating the events of ten years before.

He ensures that the ropes,

they cut into the wrists of his wife,

for this time, there must be no mistake.

The hour, it is 10:00.

And not 2:00, as you later tell me, madame.

But Paul Renauld intends to leave

on the last train from Deauville,

which leaves at 7 minutes past 12:00.

He slips on an overcoat,

for it is his intention to make his escape

dressed in the clothes of the tramp.

And then both George Connor and Paul Renauld

will once again no longer exist.

Paul Renauld plans to bury the tramp

where he is bound to be discovered.

The new bunker, it is ideal.

He also has with him the pipe made of lead

with which he intends to disfigure the face

of the dead man.

Only then, the justice,

which he has for so long eluded,

overtakes him.

Fantasy is made reality.

An unknown hand stabs him in the back.

- Agh!

Agh!

- So someone learned of the plan to fake his death

and used it to kill him.

- Oui, mon ami.

And...if I may say so, madame,

when you heard of his death from Monsieur Bex,

your performance, it was superb.

- But you weren't convinced.

- No.

But then when you saw his body in the mortuary...

- But it was horrible.

Horrible.

It shouldn't have been Paul.

It shouldn't.

- You have suffered an ordeal, madame.

I salute your courage.

- My God.

- You knew nothing of this, Monsieur Stonor?

- No, of course not, nothing at all.

- You never even suspected that your employer,

he was in hiding from the British authorities?

- No. Why should I have?

- Monsieur Poirot,

I don't care what happens to me,

but can you help Jack?

- Et bien, the preliminary hearing,

it is set for tomorrow, is it not?

- Yes.

Giraud is certain

that he'll be committed for full trial,

but I know that Jack had nothing to do

with his stepfather's death.

- I, too, know it, madame.

And it is something, also, I can prove.

- How can you prove that Jack didn't murder Paul Renauld?

- Et bien, that is simple, mon ami.

On that night, there was a witness,

a witness who has yet to come forward.

- Who?

- Ah, Hastings, it is for you a dilemma,

is it not?

You search for the truth,

and yet of it, you are always afraid.

- What do you mean?

- I speak of Mademoiselle Bella Duveen, mon ami.

You can protect her no longer.

I must speak with her at once.

- Her name isn't Bella. It's Isabelle.

- Isabelle to you, mon ami,

but Bella Duveen to Jack Renauld.

Remember the B.D. that we found in the letter?

- That letter was written to Paul Renauld.

- No, no, no, Hastings.

It was addressed to "my dearest one."

Why do you assume it was his?

- It was in his coat pocket. - Uh-huh.

It was in the pocket of the coat he was wearing,

but that coat, it was not his.

Do you not see, Hastings?

When Jack Renauld, he left for Cherbourg,

by accident, he took the coat of his stepfather.

- And so that night... - Exactement.

Paul Renauld, he was wearing the coat of his stepson.

- So Isabelle was in love with Jack Renauld.

- Oui.

Why have you been torturing yourself, mon ami?

The photograph you have not seen,

the name you do not know,

why must you protect this girl?

- I don't know, I...

I suppose I've fallen in love with her.

- Ah.

Then for you, mon ami,

I am most sad.

Bonjour, madame.

Mademoiselle Bella Duveen, s'il vous pla�t.

- Miss Duveen, why do you want her?

- She is required most urgently in a court of law, madame.

It is her testimony that would establish

the innocence of a young man.

- Well, I'm sorry. She's not here.

- What?

- She went out yesterday and did not return.

- Oh.

- Ah, Poirot,

there's something you owe me, I think.

- The game is not over yet, Monsieur Giraud.

- No?

- No.

The judge has still to make his recommendations.

- Hanging on to the bitter end, eh, Poirot?

Well, I can wait.

- I've examined the papers set before me

by lawyers for the prosecution and defense,

and I have just a few questions I wish to ask.

Monsieur Renauld,

do you deny that you were in Deauville

on the night of the crime?

- No, I was here.

- And did you say to your stepfather that same day,

"I wish you were dead;

Then I could do as I please"?

- Your Honor, my client has been

under considerable nervous strain.

I wish to place it on record--

- Yes, yes, Mr. Grosier.

Do you understand, Monsieur Renauld,

that on the answers you have given me,

I have no alternative but to commit you for trial?

- Yes.

- Very well then.

- Isabelle.

- My name is Bella Duveen.

I wish to give myself up for the murder of Paul Renauld.

- You knew about this.

You tricked me.

- So, Mr. Poirot,

we meet at last.

Isn't that what I'm meant to say?

- Mademoiselle Duveen,

why did you murder Monsieur Paul Renauld?

- Why do you think?

- I think it was because you were in love

with his stepson, Jack Renauld.

- Yes.

- But he had left you for Marthe Daubreuil.

And it was Jack Renauld

that you threatened to kill in your letter.

- You got the wrong man.

You thought Paul Renauld was his stepson.

It was dark,

and he was wearing the wrong coat.

- I don't want to talk about it.

- Then tell me, Mademoiselle Duveen,

why did you take the knife

from the office of Monsieur Bex?

- To protect myself.

- And this knife, it was yours?

- Yes.

- Merci, Mademoiselle Duveen.

- Poirot.

- I shall be outside.

I owe you an apology.

- No.

- Yes.

I saw you at your hotel.

- You recognized Poirot.

- Yes.

That's when I decided to use you,

to find out what you knew.

But the things I said, Arthur,

I wasn�t just pretending.

- You said you were in love with Jack Renauld.

- I was once.

- And now?

- Just forget about me, Arthur.

You're a kind man.

If only we had met before,

maybe...

- Ladies and gentlemen,

I'd like to propose a toast

to...freedom.

Freedom.

- And to us, Jack.

- To a new life together.

- The wedding, it is to be soon, Monsieur Renauld?

- Ah, yes.

I want to put this very much behind us.

- Start again.

- Bella, I treated her shamefully, Mr. Poirot.

- At least that awful Giraud lost his wager with you,

Monsieur Poirot.

- Oui, but it is a wager that Poirot has yet to win--

- Out of my way. Let me through.

How can you, Jack?

How can you celebrate?

- Mother.

- You may be free,

but Paul's death is on your hands.

- That's not fair.

- Sit down, Mother. - No, Jack.

You never understood him.

You defied him, mistrusted him.

And by your heartless treatment of another woman,

you killed him.

- I didn't.

- Well, you'll never have his money.

Tomorrow I intend to take steps to disinherit you...

and that girl.

- Mother-- - You're no son of mine.

Take me home, Leonie.

- Jack, she... didn't know what she was saying.

- She did.

- Jack, darling,

you can stay with us tonight.

- Yes, I think that would be best.

- Poirot, I wish you'd explain to me

what we're doing here.

- We're watching the house, mon ami.

- Well, I know that, but why?

There's only Madame Renauld in there.

- Shh.

- Who is that?

- It's the true killer of Monsieur Paul Renauld.

- What? But Isabelle--

- No, no, no, Hastings,

Bella Duveen was not the killer of Paul Renauld.

- Well, then who was?

The gun, it was not according to my plan.

Allons-y vite.

This way, Hastings.

The bedroom of Madame Renauld. C'est pr�s ici.

- She came just as you said she would, Monsieur Poirot.

She tried to smother me.

- I was waiting just like you told me to, but...

when she saw me, she took out a gun.

There was a struggle, and it went off.

I'm afraid she's dead.

- Who is it, Poirot?

- The true killer of Paul Renauld, mon ami.

Marthe Daubreuil.

- No, you cannot arrest me. I have done nothing.

- Madame Daubreuil, you are being held

as an accomplice to murder.

- No!

I need to speak to Marthe. Where's Marthe?

- Poirot.

- This crime...

Ah, yes. Merci beaucoup.

It has indeed challenged the little gray cells

of Hercule Poirot to the extreme.

And yet from the start,

I knew that this was a crime of the cold blood.

And so it was.

Marthe Daubreuil knew of the plans

of Monsieur Paul Renauld to create his fake death.

And with great cunning, she set out to use those plans

for the purposes of her own.

- But, Monsieur Poirot, how could she have known?

We told no one.

- So you believe, madame.

But when you made the plans,

it was by the garden wall, was it not?

- Yes.

Paul and I, we did talk there.

- I'll dig the grave at 10:00.

I'll be on the train out of here

7 minutes past 12:00.

You'll have to identify the body.

It won't be pleasant,

but you'll have to be convincing.

- I'll do my best.

If it's really the only way

to rid you of Bernadette Daubreuil forever,

then so be it.

- And that was how Marthe Daubreuil,

she overheard.

Later, Hastings would hear Marthe talking with Jack

over the same wall.

And that is what alerted me to the possibility.

- Paul Renauld will be dead.

- But why did she do it?

- Mm.

Always, it was for money.

Monsieur Paul Renauld planned to escape

from the blackmail of Madame Daubreuil

by pretending to be dead.

But what if he were really dead? What would happen then?

- Paul's money would come to me.

- Exactement.

But what if, a short while later,

you were also to die, madame?

- Jack would have everything.

- And Marthe would have Jack Renauld.

But this marriage, it could only take place

if Paul Renauld no longer stood in the way.

Oh, yes, Marthe and her mother

certainly planned for the long term.

However, last night, they discovered

that Madame Renauld intended to change her will.

And that forced them to act at once.

- My God, what devils.

- Oui.

Alors, Madame Renauld played the part I suggested to her,

and that was to force the hand of Madame Daubreuil.

- Oh, Bella.

Will you ever forgive me?

- Yes, Jack.

Of course.

- But this is what I don't understand, Monsieur Poirot.

So these two were protecting each other?

- Oui, Monsieur Bex.

Never before have I seen so many misconceptions.

And that was because each thought the other

guilty of the murder.

- But why?

- Let me describe it to you as I see it.

On the night of the murder,

Jack Renauld returns from Cherbourg.

He plans to visit Marthe Daubreuil in secrecy,

but he is seen by the station master.

Meanwhile, Mademoiselle Bella Duveen,

tortured by her love for Jack Renauld,

decides to visit him one last time to plead with him,

unaware that he is supposed to have departed for Santiago.

Her route, it will take her across the golf links.

In the meantime,

Monsieur Paul Renauld has completed his task

and is now ready to recover the body of the tramp,

which lies nearby in the shed

with a knife he has placed in the chest.

He plans, of course, to bury the tramp in the grave.

And that is when Marthe Daubreuil strikes.

- Agh!

Agh!

- However, at this moment, a figure approaches.

Marthe Daubreuil flees from the scene.

The route of Monsieur Jack Renauld,

it has taken him also across the golf links

where he makes a discovery most terrible,

the body of his stepfather.

Can it be true?

He climbs into the grave...

just as Mademoiselle Bella Duveen arrives,

cutting her hand and tearing her sleeve on some sharp briars,

which are near to the site of the new bunker.

- And so to the moment of truth.

Jack Renauld looks up, and what does he see?

Mademoiselle Bella Duveen with blood on her clothes.

It must be the blood of his stepfather.

Of that, he is sure.

She has mistaken the coat and has killed a wrong man.

And Mademoiselle Bella Duveen,

she sees Jack Renauld in the grave

with the body of his stepfather.

- What is she to believe?

And from that moment,

each thought the other the perpetrator of the crime.

And that, Monsieur Bex,

is why they were protecting each other.

- It's true. That's how it happened.

- But what about the knife?

Why take the knife from my office?

- Mademoiselle?

- I thought it was Jack's.

You see, he had given me one that was exactly the same.

- It's true.

I had them made when I was working for my stepfather.

The sapphires were from Santiago.

They were souvenirs of my time there.

- Exactement.

But, Monsieur Renauld,

there were more than two knives, were there not?

Oh, yes.

Three sapphires

and three knives.

The first knife you gave to your mother.

This was the knife that was used by Paul Renauld

by plunging it in the chest of the dead tramp.

The second knife you gave to Mademoiselle Bella Duveen.

But this knife, it played no part

in the events that followed,

because it was the third knife

that Mademoiselle Bella Duveen

took from the office of Monsieur Bex,

this was the knife that was used to kill Monsieur Paul Renauld.

Tell me, Monsieur Jack,

this third knife,

to whom did it belong?

- I gave the third knife to Marthe Daubreuil.

Mm.

Excuse me.

Entrez.

- Monsieur Poirot.

- Monsieur Giraud.

- This is yours, I think.

- No, monsieur.

You may keep your pipe.

But from this moment,

each time that you light it,

you will think of Hercule Poirot.

Yes.

I will.

- Actually, Poirot,

I thought I might stay out here a little while longer.

- But of course, Hastings.

You wish to improve your disability on the links.

- What? Oh, my handicap.

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

I-I just don't feel ready to come home yet.

- Ah, you speak of Mademoiselle Duveen.

- A girl who could do what she did for Jack Renauld,

she must really love him.

- And yet, Hastings, there are men

who do not deserve such love from a woman.

Well, then...

return home only when you are ready, mon ami.

Until then, au revoir.

Merci. - Au revoir, monsieur.

Merci.

- If you please, monsieur,

I wish to make the little detour.

- Bien, monsieur.

- Arthur.

- Isabelle.