Original subtitles

Right! Forward!

Aah!

We've left it too late, sir. I said so.

I know, Bob. I know.

Go.

The game is up, I'm afraid, chum.

Fair enough.

You did get them out? You're sure of it?

Safe as houses. I swear it.

- Ready, then? - Ready.

Don't forget my hat box.

Is that your coat?

Very good, madam.

Come along now. Now, this is inviting.

Come on.

We'll not have you showing us up again, Lucian.

Mrs. Hamell says the antimacassars...

still reek of Friar's Balsam.

This is Patricia's day, not yours.

Hell's bells, get a move on.

Ruddy people. Blasted school.

I don't know why we have to send the child here.

What's wrong with Saint Winifred's?

Must we got through this again?

It's the best girls school in England.

It's certainly the dearest.

So, Lydia, did you enjoy your Hellenic cruise?

Oh, yes. Thanks awfully, Miss Bulstrode.

Are you going to give us a lecture?

Could you park over there, please?

- Hello, Miss Rich. - Ah, Pamela Price.

I'm afraid you'll find things rather ordinary here...

compared with Switzerland, Princess Shaista.

Oh, you do not know how much I've been looking forward...

to coming to Meadowbank.

The Swiss, they are a very regular people.

I like England.

Things are not so regular.

But there are still rules.

Of course.

And may I offer my sincere condolences.

Condolences?

Your fiancé, Prince Ali. I understand he was killed.

Well, we never met, of course.

It was arranged years ago. I was just a child.

Perhaps I'll find my husband here in England.

Yes. Well, we mustn't run before we can walk, must we?

I was looking for Miss Bulstrode.

Oh, you must be Miss Shapland.

I'm Lettice Chadwick, Mathematics.

Call me Ann, please.

Everyone knows me. Been here since before the Ark.

I only hope I can live up to Meadowbank's standards.

Oh, you'll fit right in, my dear.

Look at that desk, a model of efficiency.

Vera's used to resemble the Ardennes...

after a heavy German pounding.

- Vera? - You got her job.

Oh, all very irritating.

Gave up the post all of a sudden...

something to do with a man, apparently.

We'd better be getting along.

We do want you to try as hard as you can.

Oh.

So sorry. No gouache on the galoshes, I trust.

- Fortunately, non. - Good.

Supplies for my budding Michelangelos, do you see?

Miss Blake...

Monsieur Poirot.

Ah, the estimable Mademoiselle Bulstrode.

What a pleasure it is to see you again...

and the day, it progresses as hoped?

Speaking to parents is like feeding dogs.

One simply pops soothing platitudes...

into every waiting mouth.

Platitudes? Surely not, mademoiselle... for your so-wonderful Meadowbank...

does not its fame rest upon how you regard your young ladies...

as individuals?

You're so kind, and thank you once again for coming.

De rien.

The Mayor is blaming his ulcers, but I suspect foul play.

Comment?

Arsenal versus Sheffield United.

Kickoff is at 3:00.

I know where His Worship's loyalties lie.

Impossible. Never, never, never.

Everyone else seems happy.

I am not everyone else.

I am someone, the Princess Shaista...

and yet you want to imprison me in this mean, little, hovel.

The window is tiny.

- The bed is hard as diamonds. - Shaista...

- Princess Shaista. - Now, now. No more of that.

All the girls are equal here in Meadowbank.

- But in Switzerland... - Yes.

Well, we're not in Switzerland anymore, are we?

Come along. We mustn't be late.

Alison Whelan, stop being such a silly goose.

Now run along.

- Oop! - Ooh!

Steady, miss.

Thank you.

Morning, miss.

I say, froggy, put those peepers back in, why don't you?

Not a done thing over here to ogle the serfs.

How dare you touch me?

I'm not used to being treated in this fashion.

Don't worry. This isn't assembly.

Just a few words before our distinguished guest...

presents the Pemberton Shield.

I'm sure pupils and parents alike will be pleased...

to welcome back Miss Rich...

who, we trust, is feeling tiptop again...

and to say hello to Mademoiselle Blanche...

our new French mistress.

It now only remains for me to introduce our guest of honor...

a personality of international renown...

Monsieur Hercule Poirot.

Mesdames et messieurs, but, most importantly of all...

...all of you young ladies...

...if Poirot has the renown international...

then, surely, he shares this honor...

with the great Meadowbank.

- Who's he? - Detective. Oh, you know.

Oh, really, Jennifer, you're an awful wet blanket sometimes.

Oh, how many revolutions have you seen up close?

And Mummy had a burglary last month.

That's nothing. Don't you read the papers?

Mr. Poirot has been caught up...

in some absolutely snorting killings.

And now, to add luster to its name...

...after the tournament international...

which was so thrilling...

He looks a bit like a penguin.

...the winning of the prize most renowned...

the Pemberton Lacrosse Shield.

Was it not the great Dr. Arnold who said...

God, I'm desperate for a gasper.

Please, Miss Springer.

Some of us are actually listening, you know?

Oh, yes. Must all be on our best behavior, mustn't we?

What has got into you, Miss Springer?

Could ask you the same thing.

...most of all, prayed for.

Everyone smile, please. Good.

Julia has been dying to know, monsieur.

Oh, go on, monsieur.

Tell us about some of your murders... only the juicy ones, mind.

- The juicy ones? Comment? - Well, of course.

Poison is so passe...

and anything with firearms is positively vulgar...

but smashing in someone's noggin with a blunt instrument now...

Go on.

Yes, girls. That will do.

I am obliged to you.

I suspected a rescue was in order.

She's a bright girl, Julia Upjohn...

but she's a little wayward...

and the friend is a bit of a puzzle.

A puzzle? How so?

Jennifer Sutcliffe, she's deep.

She got caught up in that revolution...

in Ramat just recently.

Ah, yes, the Prince Ali Yusuf. He was killed, was he not?

Dreadful business.

Jennifer was out there visiting her uncle.

He was killed, too, poor man.

She and her mother got out just in time.

Mademoiselle, something, it is troubling you.

No. No.

Come now. We are old friends.

Well, the fact is, I've decided to move on, retire.

Retire? Mademoiselle, you are still so young.

Not because I don't feel up to it physically... quite the reverse.

The school has never been better.

I comprehend. The challenge, it has gone.

And remember, you're not to play tennis if it's too cold.

I'll be just fine, Mummy. Do stop fretting.

I can't help it. I'm a fretter, Julia.

Now, you've got everything you need? Yes. Oh, can I get back now?

Of course.

Now must find Miss Bulstrode.

Bye-bye.

Who is to be your successor?

Well, everyone assumes it'll be Miss Chadwick, of course.

We founded the place together.

She's an absolute brick, dear Chaddy.

But you think...

Meadowbank works because I've taken risks.

It's an unconventional place.

Miss Chadwick will preserve Meadowbank in aspic...

if she could, and I think that would be a great shame.

And what are the other candidates?

Well, that's the problem.

There doesn't seem to be anyone else.

I wonder, Monsieur Poirot, would it be a great imposition...

for you to stay at the school, get the measure of the staff...

and help me make up my mind?

You're such an excellent judge of character...

and your knowledge of human nature...

it's unsurpassed.

- Oh, Lord. - Mademoiselle?

It's Lady Veronica Carlton-Sandways.

Ah.

She's a delightful person...

except when she's three sheets to the wind.

Sorry. I'm so sorry.

- Okay. Excuse me. - Oh! Excuse me.

Ah, Miss Bulstrode. So glad I've caught you.

Is there something the matter?

Lady Veronica, Mrs. Upjohn. That's what's the matter.

Yes. I remember her.

Imbibed from the wassail cup...

a mite too freely at the Carol concert, didn't she?

Good Lord. How extraordinary, but it's not possible.

Dead, surely.

The mission went brilliant. Russia was...

Now, let's get you a nice...

Dear Chaddy, where would I be without you?

I mean, we knew all the agents from the files, of course...

but, really, the most astonishing resemblance...

but it's not possible.

I'm so sorry. I've been wittering on.

Goodbye. See you at Christmas, I expect.

Yes.

- Would you excuse me? - Yes. Of course.

- Monsieur Poirot. - Mademoiselle...

I have nothing on at the present...

and George, my valet, has the time...

to place a suitcase on the train...

so Poirot, he will be happy to remain here and advise you.

Oh, thank you. I'm so grateful.

- Oh! Bugger! - What's up?

Oh, I simply can't play with the beastly thing.

The balance is all off.

Oh, it's much better than my old thing. It's like a sponge.

I'd rather have yours than mine.

Welcome to it.

Are you all right, Jen?

Just thinking about poor Uncle Bob.

He had so much going for him, you know?

You mean, working for the Prince?

Yes, but there was something else.

He only hinted at it, but you could tell from his smile.

- A girlfriend? - I think so.

Ooh, a pash.

Oh, how sad.

- What's the score? - Love. Love-all.

And arms first to second...

and close and turn...

and begin the side, plie down...

relevé up, and turn.

Grand battement front...

...tendu, and close.

Bonjour, Mademoiselle Shapland.

Hello there. You staying with us, then?

Oui, but it's just for a little while.

Poirot is here to observe.

Ah, a spy.

Oui, for my so-good friend His Majesty...

King Leopold III of the Belgians.

There is the possibility of the Royal Princess...

coming here to the school.

- Quite an honor. - Oui. Bien sûr.

And you? You are new here, huh? So, how do you find it?

A bit bewildering, actually.

I suppose starting school is no different...

whether you're five or thirty-five.

Plus, well, I used to be...

private secretary to Sir Mervyn Todhunter.

Before that, I was personal assistant to an oil magnate...

before that, a Cabinet minister.

I comprehend. You've worked only for the men.

Yes.

Come on, Forbes.

Put some gumption into it, for Pete's sake.

If you weren't stuffing your phizog with buns all day...

you wouldn't be so disgustingly lardy.

Do it again. Health and discipline, Forbes.

Health and discipline. Do it again.

"Entrer," "venir," "rester"...

"naître," "arriver"...

Uh, uh. "Mourir." You forgot "mourir."

"Mourir"... to die.

Great shot.

Cor, where did he pitch up from? What a dish.

Adam Goodman, he's called.

- Wonder if he is. - Hmm?

A good man. I hope not.

- Julia! - I hope he's thoroughly bad.

He certainly looks it.

Adam, eh?

Maybe he's got some forbidden fruit knocking around.

Ha ha!

Oh, no, Forbes. Not on the floor.

Go and get a mop and clean it up.

- Go on. Go and get a mop. - Where's the mop, Miss Springer?

Disgusting.

"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie...

"Down the glen tramp little men.

"One hauls a basket, one bears a plate...

"one lugs a golden dish of many pounds weight.

"No," said Lizzie, "No, no, no"...

"Their offers should not charm us...

"Their evil gifts..."

"Their evil gifts would harm us."

That's all for now, class.

- Thank you, Miss Rich. - That was lovely. We enjoyed it.

See you tomorrow, Miss Rich.

That was just swell.

Yes?

I merely wish to look over the pavilion.

You had plenty of chance for that at the prize-giving.

This place isn't all and sundry to go traipse about in, froggy.

Please don't call me that. It offends me.

Pardonnez-moi.

- Is everything all right? - Fine.

Afternoon, ladies.

Nice place, isn't it? Must've cost a packet.

They get the best of everything here...

don't they, the young madams?

- They pay for it. - Through the nose, I hear.

Don't you have something to do?

I daresay. Miss Shapland.

It's this sort of wire and boned arrangement.

It pushes her up, quite unnecessary.

I see what you mean. You would jab someone's eye out with that.

But, you see, my breasts are not very big...

not nearly big enough.

I don't think your breasts are a proper subject... for conversation.

It is all too much, all this running and jumping...

and I do not like Miss Springer.

- She sweats like a pig. - That will do, Shaista.

- Princess... - Don't.

Oh, there's Miss Chadwick.

- Chaddy? Thank goodness, Chaddy. - Yes, Honoria?

Where are you off to?

Infirmary to look in on Patricia Forbes.

Oh, Miss Springer made her ill. I had to have words.

Dear Miss Springer, not a success, I fear.

I should never have given her a second chance...

after that incident last term.

Haven't been keeping my eye on the ball, have I?

How's the first week going, do you think?

Oh, quite all right, I suppose.

Oh, it's nothing I can put my finger on, Honoria...

just a feeling something is not quite right.

The girls seem a pleasant lot.

I don't care for Mademoiselle Blanche, though.

- Sly. - Oh, I'm sure she'll settle in.

You never liked the French mistresses, Chaddy.

BLAKE: Whereabouts in France are you from?

- Crécy. - Oh, topper.

- As in the battle? - Yes.

You're looking awfully well, Eileen.

Lost a few pounds, haven't you?

Oh, illness, I suppose.

Bloody woman.

- Comment? - Chadwick.

She thinks she owns the place. Well, not yet, she doesn't.

She had the temerity to take a pupil out of my class.

Wasn't like this at my last school, I can tell you.

- Non? - No. I turned the place around.

Even so, I expect your ideas...

haven't always been accepted in the way they should have been.

It's scandalous.

Miss Bulstrode is in complete agreement, Miss Springer.

It's not how we do things at Meadowbank.

They're our girls, here to be nurtured, not tortured.

See, you must always prepare for ingratitude.

The trouble is, people are so cowardly, they won't face facts.

They prefer not to see what's going on under their noses.

Well, I'm not like that. I get straight to the point.

More than once, I've unearthed a nasty scandal.

Oh?

Well, I never give up...

not until I've pinned my quarry down.

- Amontillado? - Oh, no, no, not for me.

Merci, mademoiselle.

The Spanish wine and the digestion of Poirot...

are not on the terms most friendly.

I hope you're enjoying your little sojourn with us.

Monsieur, I'd hate to think you were bored.

Bored? Pas du tout, mademoiselle.

There does not need to be present a crime...

for the investigator to thrive.

Heh.

This school, it is like the world in miniature.

It is like the... What is the word?

- Microcosm. - Just so.

Just as in the outside world.

Hopes, dreams, fears, secrets.

This place, so full of the promise of youth...

the future of the nation.

And yet how lonely and silent are its corridors at night...

...lonely and silent as the chambers of the heart...

The daily struggles of human life...

...as fascinating as the blood stain or the fingerprint.

Pardon, mademoiselle.

Poirot, he drifts and digresses...

...and I think it is time that I say good night.

Miss Chadwick. Miss Chadwick.

Oh, what is it, matron? What's wrong?

Christina Breen has earache.

Oh, really, Miss Johnson, what has that got...

No. You don't understand.

I was just putting her to bed...

when I noticed someone out in the sports pavilion.

I saw the light when I was closing the curtains.

You're right. Looks like a flashlight.

Burglars, do you think?

More likely, a girl meeting a wastrel boy.

Come on.

Aah!

Moment. Moment s'il vous plaît. Moment.

Mademoiselle Bulstrode, what is the matter?

It's Miss Springer.

- Follow me inside. - Yes, sir.

Bad business, this.

We shall weather it, no doubt, as we've weathered many storms.

Death of a games mistress in a sports pavilion.

Sounds like a highly athletic crime.

Discretion, Inspector, is the key, don't you think?

Which is where our Continental friend comes in?

Monsieur Poirot has an international reputation.

Oh. So does Mussolini.

We haven't been properly introduced.

Detective Inspector Kelsey.

Je vous emprie, Inspector. Hercule Poirot.

I understand Miss Bulstrode has requested your involvement.

Yes, but I do not wish to step on the toes, Inspector.

Thank you. Seen anything useful, have you?

One or two points, I think.

So, do you think we should...

First, I think, perhaps, we should view the body.

Yeah.

Such disarrangement.

Lock forced, so there's no mystery about how they got in.

Javelin went right through her.

Death must have been pretty well instantaneous.

Dead a couple of hours.

You came out here with Miss Johnson...

and discovered the body, Miss Chadwick?

What time was that?

I looked at my watch when Miss Johnson roused me.

It was ten minutes to 1:00.

Right. Good.

Dead woman's prints on the torch.

She came out here with it. Why?

No idea at all. I...

She might have forgotten something and come to fetch it.

It seems rather unlikely in the middle of the night.

But, perhaps, she saw the light on...

as did Mademoiselle Johnson.

She came out here to investigate...

and whoever was here was surprised.

There was a struggle. Springer was a game 'un.

Hey, presto, stabbed through the chest.

Seem right to you?

I suppose so.

But it does not seem right to Poirot.

That Mademoiselle Springer should see the light...

and be intrigued, bon...

but that the person she disturbed should kill her...

and in a manner so brutal, non.

No. It is all wrong.

Right through her, apparently.

- No. - Oh, gosh, that's awful.

Who would want to do something like that?

Oh, who wouldn't, more like.

Fatty Forbes could have squashed her to death...

but I don't think she could even pick up a javelin.

Oh, God, I'm getting the screaming meemies.

I swear someone has been rooting 'round in my room.

Shh.

I've just heard. It is terrible.

Yes. Poor Miss Springer.

I do not mean that.

Don't you see? They meant to kill me.

I'm so sorry you feel this way, Mrs. Forbes.

Oh, I'm sorry, too, but you must understand.

The very idea of my little Patricia...

in the same school where a murderer...

I quite understand. Goodbye, Patricia.

I do hope we'll see you next term.

Saint Winifred's, then?

Yes, Harry, Saint Winifred's.

This is very serious...

most serious thing Meadowbank has ever faced.

Just a moment.

The Emir Ibrahim is in London, Miss Bulstrode.

He wants to take the Princess Shaista out tomorrow.

To take her out of the school?

No, just out for lunch.

Oh. Yes, by all means, but she must be back by 8:00.

Hello? Yes. That's quite all right.

Goodbye.

Hello? Meadowbank School.

The psychology, Inspector, it is fascinating, is it not?

A pupil with a loathing most deep...

for Mademoiselle Springer...

a colleague who was jealous, or a lover thwarted.

Well, even games mistresses have their love lives.

We shall see.

Nobody has got an alibi except the two who found her...

Miss Johnson and Miss Chadwick.

Theoretically, everyone else was asleep in bed...

but there's no one to vouch for them.

The girls and the staff have separate rooms.

Any one of them could've gone out to the gymnasium...

and met Miss Springer or could've followed her there.

Then, having done her in...

they could dodge back quietly through the bushes...

to the side door and be nicely back in bed...

when the alarm was given.

- Sir? - Well, best get on.

Miss Blake first... arts and dance.

Oh. I'm sorry about this.

One of the girls, she insists on seeing you.

There have been people watching this place.

Oh, they do not show themselves clearly...

but they are there.

And why should they do that?

Because of me. They want to assassinate me.

Miss Springer, she must have found out about them.

Perhaps they promised to pay her money if she said nothing.

So, she goes to the sports pavilion...

where they say they'll pay her, and they kill her.

Now look, young lady, I don't have time for this nonsense.

It is not nonsense.

My cousin was the Prince Ali Yusuf of Ramat.

I am next in line to the throne.

These butchers, they do not want me to be the focus of rebellion.

Perhaps there is something in what she says, Inspector.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

Forgive my clumsiness.

Everything you've told me so far...

points to Miss Springer being very sure of herself.

Too sure.

She hinted at people being not what they seemed.

Did she now?

She mentioned that at her last school... she had unmasked someone...

but that the staff had been against her.

You see what that means...

the beginnings of a persecution complex.

- Naturellement. - More psychology, eh?

Well, someone certainly had it in for Miss Springer...

with a vengeance.

And a javelin.

Can't say I cared for her. Brusque.

As for her treatment to the girls, sadistic.

Of course, I know this is a horrible business.

I say, could I have a glass of water, please?

Thank you.

I have my own sitting room and don't see much of the staff.

The whole thing is unbelievable.

How so, mademoiselle?

Well, first that Miss Springer should get killed at all.

Say someone broke into the gymnasium...

and she went out to see who it was.

That's all right, I suppose, but who'd want to break into there?

Local children who wanted...

to help themselves to the sports equipment.

If that's so, I can't help feeling...

Miss Springer would've given them a clip around the ear...

not get herself stabbed to death.

And you noticed nothing unusual recently?

- Well... - Yes, miss? Out with it.

It's nothing, really...

but one of the gardeners, the young one...

Which young one?

His name is Adam Goodman, Inspector.

He arrived only this term.

Well, he seemed very interested in the pavilion...

probably just curious or slacking off work, but...

But?

His manner was a little odd, defiant.

He sneered at all the money that was spent on the girls.

I see.

My first term, yes.

I do not think I wish to remain for another.

No?

It is not nice to be in a school where people are murdered.

Mademoiselle Springer, did you know her well?

Practically not at all...

a rude and ugly woman...

like a caricature of an English woman.

She was rude to me.

She didn't like me going to her sports pavilion.

Her sports pavilion.

But... forgive me, mademoiselle...

...what reason did you have for entering in there?

I was interested in the building.

That is all.

Last term, mademoiselle, you were unwell?

Yes.

And the nature of this illness?

Well, that's private.

Mademoiselle, we are here to investigate a murder.

Everything, it must be brought out into the light.

- Really? And what about you? - Moi?

Well, all that guff about looking 'round the school...

on behalf of the King of Belgium.

So, you penetrated the little deception of Poirot, hein?

Not too hard. No offense.

Anyway, I'm not surprised...

something like this has happened.

Ever since I've come back, it was as though...

there was someone among us who didn't belong...

a cat among the pigeons.

- Well, hello there. - Hello.

- Do you mind if I join you? - It's a free country.

Ahh.

I hope you've brought your own hard-boiled egg.

I'm afraid I've only enough for me.

That's okay.

How appropriate.

Hmm?

Adam, isn't it?

Oh. Yes.

Adam.

Hmm.

Excuse me, Miss Shapland.

Just doesn't seem like your thing, that's all...

shut away in a girls school.

How would you know what my thing was?

Just don't seem the type.

I like variety.

Anyway, I could say the same thing about you.

Yes?

- Good-looking young man... - Ah, good-looking, eh?

...spending his days planting chrysanthemums...

- in a girls school. - Angelicas.

Chrysanths won't take. It's the soil.

In case you hadn't noticed, there's a depression on.

I get work wherever I can.

I'm sorry if I've given offense.

None taken.

I don't mind.

Honestly, you can have it back.

No, no. We swapped fair and square.

I'll just have to ask Mummy for a new one.

It is funny, isn't it?

Now they've finished searching the pavilion, your racket...

Well, your racket, really.

...Is the only thing to go missing.

Oh, to think that's all the killer got away with.

I don't think anyone would kill poor, old Springer...

for a tennis racket.

I don't know anything about any murder. I told you.

All right. All right. Thank you, constable.

Now then, Mr. Goodman...

Um...

before we go any further, sir...

Blimey.

Well, Monsieur Goodman...

...perhaps you would be good enough to tell us...

what an agent in His Majesty's Secret Service...

is doing here at the Meadowbank School.

No sense dwelling on it, Chaddy.

We'll be all right if we keep our heads.

There's...

There's something you should know.

You are here because of the death...

of Prince Ali Yusuf of Ramat, are you not, Monsieur Goodman?

Yes, sir.

He was killed attempting to flee his country.

Damned shame, really.

Prince Ali would've made an enlightened ruler.

He was a democrat...

which is probably what did the poor chap in.

Anyway, just before all hell broke loose out there...

we'd been picking up some interesting bits of chatter.

Seems someone was trying to get close to the Prince...

through an English friend of his...

name of Bob Rawlinson.

To get close to him with what purpose?

To destabilize the regime, we supposed.

There was actually very little to go on...

just a name... Angel...

and now the next in line to the throne is here at Meadowbank.

The Princess? Ruddy hell.

She said she was being watched. Maybe she was right.

Maybe that's why Miss Springer was murdered.

But that is not the only reason...

you are here at Meadowbank school.

Jennifer Sutcliffe, non, the niece of Bob Rawlinson?

You're very well-informed, sir.

Ah, mademoiselle. You depart?

I go for lunch with my Uncle at Claridge's.

At least there I will not die a horrible death.

Well, that rather depends, I think, mademoiselle...

on the quality of the cuisine.

George? C'est moi... Poirot.

I have for you the little task.

Is he going to continue to be my gardener?

If you don't object.

Puts him right in the center of things.

Hope you're not expecting more murders.

I'm sure not.

Good, because I doubt if the school...

could survive two homicides in one week.

Now, Miss Rich has told us... thank you...

she felt that there's been a strange sort of atmosphere.

Yes. I'd concur.

Miss Chadwick said the same thing.

And... no, thank you... and you, mademoiselle?

Have you noticed anyone behaving in a way bizarre?

It's just a feeling, really, unless...

Yes?

Something happened on the first day of term...

when you presented the Pemberton shield.

It was when that dreadful creature...

Lady Veronica rolled up.

I'm so sorry.

No, no. Excuse me. Excuse me.

Ah, Miss Bulstrode, so glad I've caught you.

Is there something the matter?

I wasn't really listening.

One develops a method of tuning out, like a wireless, you see...

and I was far too concerned...

with what Lady Veronica was getting up to...

but when Mrs. Upjohn left me, I couldn't shake off...

the feeling that I'd missed something very important.

She'd seen someone, someone she thought was dead.

Gosh, that really takes me back.

We knew all the agents from the files, of course.

Really, the most extraordinary resemblance.

It was espionage she was talking about...

had to be, but it seemed so absurd.

I suppose the Secret Service recruits from all walks of life.

It's quite possible Mrs. Upjohn worked for them...

without being some sort of female Bulldog Drummond.

I'll get Goodman onto it.

There was a word, a name.

Think, mademoiselle. This may be of vital importance.

Good Lord, how extraordinary, but it's not possible.

The Angel.

Angel. The Angel. That was it.

Someone she recognized...

a parent or a relation of one of the pupils or a teacher.

Hardly a teacher.

- But it is possible. - Well, that's easily solved.

We'll get Mrs. Upjohn down here right away.

- Ah. - There is a problem?

Mrs. Upjohn has gone to Anatolia on a bus.

Where on a bus?

Excuse I, Miss B.

The Emir's car has just arrived, and we can't find... the wretched Princess Shaista.

There must be some mistake.

The Emir's car called for her an hour ago.

Oh. Well, probably a double booking.

I'll go down and give them a flea in their ear.

Monsieur Poirot, could I have a word with you?

But of course, mademoiselle.

I just found it. I swear.

Found it where, Hsui Tai?

In the flowerbeds. I thought...

Yes?

Well, it does look a lot like Miss Springer.

I thought it might be, you know, a clue.

Indeed it might. You permit?

Merci.

Now the face of the unfortunate Mademoiselle Springer...

it has been well-captured, you would say?

Very.

Bon.

- Honoria. - What is it?

Princess Shaista.

No. She's gone.

The Emir rang from Claridge's and everything...

and Shaista never turned up.

Crumbs. I think I might swoon if anything else happens.

It's just too, too thrilling.

You reckon she's been nabbed?

Must've been. White slavers, you think?

Oh, hardly.

Why not?

Well, she's not white, for one thing.

Come on. Better get to bed before Chadwick spots us.

A word, Mr. Goodman.

Kidnapped from under your nose?

Yes.

The last thing you need is more publicity.

We're going to put it about that the girl...

is staying with her uncle at Claridge's.

Thank you.

I'll speak to you first thing.

Miss Chadwick will be in charge for a while.

I have to go to town tonight.

There's a meeting of the Governors.

It's unavoidable, I'm afraid.

They're very worried.

Does Poirot have any theories about the missing Princess?

It's very odd...

but he didn't seem concerned about her at all.

No sense in denying it, I suppose.

No, mademoiselle.

- How did you... - It was the straw.

It smelled of the oily paint...

and I would suggest that this oil paint...

came from one of the packing cases...

that I observed when first I arrived.

Also your skill, it gave you away.

Such artistry lavished upon an object of such hate.

Oh, I did hate her...

and, by God, I let off a lot of steam...

stabbing that thing, I can tell you, thinking of her.

I had to get rid of it, of course, when she died.

Thought I had.

But, tell me, Mademoiselle Blake... what had Mademoiselle Springer done...

to you to be deserving of such an effigy?

It was just a bit of nonsense. That's all.

She was a bully and a vulgarian.

I can't bear people like that.

I made it for fun, Mr. Poirot.

I didn't know she was gonna go...

and get herself skewered, did I?

JENNIFER: Julia?

Oh, it's you. Thank goodness.

What's up?

As if murder weren't enough, now kidnapping.

Has anyone looked in Shaista's room, in her things?

The police must have, I suppose...

but if she's anything like the rest of the girls...

she wouldn't leave love letters or anything lying about.

No. She'd want them well away from prying eyes.

See you later.

Have you got a pen knife, Jen?

What are you doing that for?

You thought someone had been in your room, right?

Yes.

Looking for something...

Something they didn't find.

Corks.

- Ha ha ha! - Ha ha!

I've had a wonderful evening.

Sorry. Sorry. Two left feet.

At least.

- You're smashing, though. - Natural grace, darling.

What do you think about Miss Springer, then?

Oh, I'm staying well out of it.

Something to hide?

Curiosity killed the cat.

I wonder if it did.

You know, I've never had chance...

to display my talents as a sleuth.

I think I might be rather good at it.

Go on, then. Test your skills on me.

Oh, I'm sure you're hiding something.

Then again, aren't we all?

You all right?

There's something I want to tell you.

Entree.

Forgive me, Monsieur Poirot.

It is Mademoiselle Upjohn, is it not?

How may I be of help, mademoiselle?

You know this is very late to call upon Poirot.

Nom d'un nom d'un nom.

No one likes to brag...

about having a mother in the booby hatch.

I'm sure no one would hold it against you.

Wouldn't they?

Some of the high flyers I've worked for, Adam...

they certainly would.

Even here at Meadowbank...

imagine the whispering if it got out.

Poor Mum.

- Your turn. - Waah!

Waah!

- Come on. - Waah!

Oh!

Aah!

Uh... uh... uh...

Blimey. That's something.

I mean, the wife has paste ones...

wears them at Christmas and so on...

all very pretty, but...

But nothing when compared to the real thing, eh, Inspector?

Yes. This gem, it is, indeed, most glorious...

part of the treasure of Prince Ali Yusuf...

that was smuggled out of Ramat at the time of the revolution.

Is that what all this is about? Someone is after the gems?

But what would that have to do with Miss Rich?

It's not as bad as we feared.

They say she'll pull through.

Obviously, she can't tell us anything at the moment.

She was struck from behind?

Yes, with a sandbag from one of the fire buckets.

What was she doing out in the pavilion?

Miss Chadwick found her in front of Princess Shaista's locker.

Poor Chaddy. She's very shaken.

It happened on her watch, so she's blaming herself.

Murder, now this...

and a kidnapping on top of everything else.

But I expect developments at any moment...

on that matter, mademoiselle.

Tell to me, if you please...

did you ever notice the knees of Princess Shaista?

- Knees? - Oui.

No. Why should I?

Poirot noticed.

The Ramat Rubies...

worn by ten generations of the royal family.

It's like something out of "Arabian Nights."

And hidden in the handle of a tennis racket?

Jennifer said the balance was all wrong, didn't you, Jen?

I can see now why that was.

So, you conject, perhaps, that someone knew what was inside?

Yes, but, of course, we'd swapped...

so they ended up with the wrong one.

Isn't it thrilling?

Most thrilling, indeed.

And then I remembered that Jen's parents...

had been burgled just before term started...

so maybe whoever it is...

was already looking for the tennis racket.

Excellent, mademoiselle. You think like a detective.

Oh. Hee hee!

It has to have been someone who was out there in Ramat...

someone who saw the jewels being hidden.

Uncle Bob had a girlfriend. Maybe it was her.

A girlfriend?

Apparently. Spanish or French, some sort of belly dancer.

Angelica. That was it.

Mademoiselles, we need to detain you no longer.

Oh, I don't mind.

Most of the girls have been taken out of school...

the sainted parentals panicking.

Poor Jen is off this afternoon, aren't you?

Yes. Worse luck.

Just when it was getting interesting.

Mademoiselles.

Angelica? The Angel? Coincidence?

Is there such a person... an agent, perhaps...

in your files, Monsieur Goodman?

I checked when that nickname first came up.

There was an agent named The Angel...

but she was killed ten, fifteen years ago.

Was there a photograph?

Probably. There was a fire. Records destroyed, I'm afraid.

I see.

And the files concerning the revolution in Ramat...

I may be permitted to see them?

Yes, of course. I'll see to it at once.

Merci.

How goes the search for Madame Upjohn, Inspector?

Well, when Miss Bulstrode said she was on a bus, I imagined...

some sort of Thomas Cook's tours or what have you.

But?

It seems that Mrs. Upjohn...

is what you might call a free spirit...

took off on her own with only a carpetbag...

determined to see the world.

We're doing our best, but finding a lone Englishwoman...

in a country where they probably use chickens for currency...

News from the hospital. Miss Rich is coming 'round.

Miss Johnson says you were searching for clues...

to the Princess' disappearance.

Is that why you were in the sports pavilion?

Yes. I had an idea.

I thought maybe she'd arranged to meet a boy.

There are lockers in the school, of course, but the pavilion...

would be the perfect place to hide anything confidential.

I mean, it's locked most of the time...

and what with all the...

...police activity...

You all right?

I'm tired, just tired.

I don't suppose you could say who you think may have...

Well, Miss Chadwick's out of it because she found you...

and then Miss Shapland and Mr. Goodman found her.

They'd spent the whole evening together.

Miss Blake was with Mr. Poirot.

Miss Bulstrode was with the school governors.

- Non. - Beg pardon?

Poirot has checked.

The meeting with the governors was not until this morning.

Mademoiselle Bulstrode left the school at 7:30 last night.

Very well. Excuse me.

What of the French Mistress?

She says she went to bed and heard nothing...

until the alarm was given.

We've no evidence to the contrary...

but Miss Chadwick says she's sly.

She's got a thing about the French.

Look, aren't we missing the obvious?

Bob Rawlinson's girlfriend, this Angelica... French.

Oui...

but the identity of this Angelica...

...well, there is more than one possibility.

What are we going to do? It's like a blasted exodus.

And who will lead us into the promised land?

What?

Who will you name as your successor, Honoria?

That's rather an academic question, isn't it?

Meadowbank won't survive this scandal.

Why do you ask?

I saw the note, the one you drafted.

It was on Miss Shapland's typewriter.

I shouldn't have looked.

Oh, Chaddy, I haven't made up my mind.

I was just checking Eileen Rich's references.

I have given everything to this school, Honoria...

my whole life.

I've given everything.

Chaddy, wait. Let me speak.

Miss Bulstrode?

I'll take the afternoon off now, as arranged.

Oh, yes. Yeah. It hardly matters.

There are so few girls left.

Chaddy! Wait! I must speak to you.

Mademoiselle, where were you during the last term?

I told you, I was ill.

But, once again, I ask the nature of this illness.

Well, that's none of your business.

Poirot knows all, mademoiselle.

How?

It does not tax the little gray cells very much, mademoiselle...

...to connect the loss of weight,

the sudden emotion expressed...

at the reading of the beautiful little poem.

"Look, Lizzie, look..."

..."down the glen tramp the little men..."

"Their evil gifts..."

"Their evil gifts would harm us."

Courage, mademoiselle.

I so wanted to have the child...

but I didn't want to lose my job.

I love Meadowbank.

So, I went away, out of the country...

where no one would know.

- And what became? - He died.

Miss Springer found out somehow.

She tormented me with it like she enjoyed it.

Ah, it is over now.

KELSEY: What's going on, Poirot?

You're hiding something, keeping me in the ruddy dark.

Au contraire, Inspector.

I only wish to illuminate matters.

There is a certain car whose number...

Poirot took the care to note.

The car, it has been found and the owner traced...

and so Poirot would like to propose a little excursion...

to a nightclub known as The Glass Slipper.

This is Maison Blanche again. You understand me?

I have to speak of an account that is owed.

You have until later tonight.

Non. You have had plenty of time to settle this.

If the money is not paid, it will be necessary for me...

to report what I observed on the night of the sixteenth.

You understand me?

Very well. Where?

Good evening, Princess Shaista.

Clammed up like a Scotsman's wallet, haven't you, love?

I can't believe it. She looks so different, mature.

- Precisement. - You've lost me, Poirot.

Was she kidnapped, or wasn't she?

Yes and no, Inspector.

The real Princess Shaista was abducted in Switzerland.

I would imagine that she is still there.

The revolutionaries of Ramat...

sent a substitute to the Meadowbank School.

- What the hell for? - Oh, I think I get it.

If the Prince's jewels left Ramat in friendly hands...

then sooner or later, they'd be brought to the Princess.

Her Uncle, the Emir, was in Egypt...

and had no plans to visit this country...

so the imposter could await the arrival of a certain package.

However, I did ask Mademoiselle Bulstrode...

if she noticed the knees of the Princess.

- Knees? - Ah, oui.

Knees are a very good indication of age, Inspector.

Par example, the knees of a woman of twenty-four...

or twenty-five can never be mistaken for those...

belonging to a young girl of fourteen or fifteen.

But nobody, alas, except Poirot noticed her knees...

but the plan, it did not work, did it, mademoiselle?

Nobody tries to contact you.

There are no letters, no telephone calls.

The Emir could arrive at any moment...

and then he would realize that this Princess to be an imposter.

When the fatal moment arrives...

the well-laid plan was put into action.

Shaista was officially kidnapped.

And went where?

You work for the revolutionaries.

Yes?

You might as well admit it.

You burgled Mrs. Sutcliffe's place...

and when there was nothing there... you turned your attention to the school.

You can't hold me here. I got bloody rights.

We'll see about that.

The false Shaista could, of course...

have killed Mademoiselle Springer...

but I do not think she had the motive to kill anyone.

No. Her role was simply to receive...

a package most valuable that never arrived...

and the reason?

Because nobody knew exactly how the jewels...

of Prince Ali Yusuf were smuggled out of Ramat...

nobody, that is, except for one person.

You would be ill-advised to play games with me.

Give me what I need, and I will return to France.

No one will ever hear from me again...

or hear what I know.

This cat-and-mouse game is tiresome.

I am growing angry.

Give to me what is owed, and I promise that I... ooh!

There you are, sir.

Light in the darkness.

She has arrived?

Yeah. Now maybe we'll get somewhere.

Non, non, Inspector.

This is insurance, merely.

The case, it is solved.

It must have seemed that there was a sort of vendetta...

...against the mistresses of Meadowbank.

But I can assure you that this was not so.

Could've fooled me.

There have been here two murders, an attempted murder...

and what appeared to be a kidnapping...

but I understand from Mademoiselle Bulstrode...

that this kidnapping...

it has already been explained to you, oui?

I said, didn't I?

That whole business with the brassiere.

All through this affair, the problem...

it has been to clear out of the way...

all the extraneous matters...

which, though criminal in themselves...

obscure the thread most important...

the thread that leads us to a killer who is determined...

ruthless, and in your midst.

A cat among the pigeons.

The threads of this case begin in Ramat, where, as you know...

a revolutionary coup d'etat took place.

It is now a few months ago.

At the same time as this coup, the jewels most fabulous...

that belonged to the late Prince Ali Yusuf...

were spirited out of the country...

and certain persons were most anxious to get hold of them.

I now know from the files in your Secret Service...

that the great friend of the Prince...

a Monsieur Bob Rawlinson...

was under the observation most secret.

He was observed to spend twenty minutes in the hotel room...

of his sister, Madame Sutcliffe, who was visiting from England...

but she was not there in the room.

So, why spend twenty minutes in a room that was empty?

Because he was seeking most desperately the means...

of smuggling these jewels out of the country until a safer time.

So, he places the valuables in the luggage of his sister.

But the revolutionaries eventually determine...

that Madame Sutcliffe brought the jewels back to England...

and, in consequence, her house, it is ransacked...

but Poirot says someone else knew...

exactly where were these jewels.

En effect, they were concealed...

within the handle of a tennis racket...

that belonged to the daughter of Madame Sutcliffe...

Jennifer Sutcliffe...

...and it was she who brought this tennis racket...

to Meadowbank School, but someone within this school...

knew the location of these jewels...

for the room of Jennifer Sutcliffe...

it had already been searched, but now...

they turned their attention to the sports pavilion.

This person assumes that everybody...

would be in bed asleep, hein...

...but this was not the case...

for Mademoiselle Springer is watching, and she follows.

She confronts this person...

in much the same way as she has in the past.

She intends to have her amusement...

and for the character of Mademoiselle Springer...

it is sadistic, non?

Already she has warned the staff of Meadowbank School...

in terms most unsubtle that she enjoys...

to sniff out the scandal, and already, she has her claws...

in more than one teacher because she knows...

of their little weaknesses or foibles...

...although, naturellement, she knows nothing...

of the rubies of the Prince.

Non. She is safe. She is smug.

Quite the dark horse, aren't you?

She will enjoy watching her new victim squirm...

...like the worm on the end of the fishing hook.

But she has failed to take into account...

the character of her victim...

...a person who is cold, ruthless, a killer.

Who wished to silence her?

Mademoiselle Blake, per example, she who lavished such care...

on creating an effigy of straw...

of the games mistress so hated...

and derived the pleasure of stabbing at it...

again and again and again?

Why should she do this?

Mademoiselle?

At my last school, there was a boy, a pupil.

It was inappropriate.

Hardly amounted to anything, but I had to leave.

It was a wretched mess.

I don't know how Springer found out, but she made my life hell.

I could gladly have stuck that javelin in her, Mr. Poirot...

...but I didn't.

I didn't kill her.

Non.

Non, for the psychology, it tells to me...

that your instincts, they are creative, not destructive, hein?

Non.

Non. It was not Mademoiselle Blake...

who killed Mademoiselle Springer.

So, let us return now to the night of the murder.

The killer must act rapidly because at any moment...

they might be disturbed.

So, the tennis racket belonging to Jennifer Sutcliffe...

it is found, grabbed, and the killer disappears...

pfft, into the night...

but what, of course, the killer cannot know...

is that a short while before, Jennifer Sutcliffe...

had exchanged the rackets with Julia Upjohn...

...and swapped the tapes that bore their names.

And now we come to the second incident...

the attack on Mademoiselle Rich which came so near to tragedy.

Why were you in the sports pavilion...

that night, mademoiselle?

I wanted to search Princess Shaista's locker...

to see if there were any clues as to where she'd got to.

Bon, but someone followed you there...

and struck you on the back of the head with a sandbag...

as you knelt down in front of the locker of Princess Shaista.

Who could this have been?

And again, this crime was discovered almost at once...

because...

Mademoiselle Chadwick...

you saw the light on in the pavilion, hein,

and hurried out there, hein?

Many of you have the alibi most strong...

but where was Mademoiselle Bulstrode?

The meeting with the governors... was not until the next morning...

and she left the school at 7:30 that evening...

so could it be Mademoiselle Bulstrode...

that struck down Mademoiselle Rich?

Non.

Non, because Mademoiselle Bulstrode...

was on a mission most delicate...

the discovery that la pauvre maman...

of one of her colleagues lives out her days...

in a lunatic asylum.

You knew?

Yes, my dear. Someone alerted me.

"For the care of A. Shapland." Same initial, you see.

I had to look into it...

especially with all the whispering...

about somebody being not quite right in our midst.

So, there now remains to consider...

the murder of Mademoiselle Blanche.

I believe that Mademoiselle Blanche...

knew the identity of this killer...

but nothing, rien, is more dangerous...

than to levy the blackmail on a person...

who has killed at least once.

Mademoiselle Blanche, she makes an appointment...

with the murderer, and, of course...

...she is killed.

And there, mes amis, you have an account of this whole affair.

And now what?

Eh bien, let us to consider.

The knowledge that these jewels were concealed...

within the handle of a tennis racket...

could only have been acquired in one way.

Someone must have seen them put in there.

Any one of you could have been in Ramat over the summer.

You, par example, Mademoiselle Rich.

No. I was ill. I was away for a term.

For a term, yes, but over the summer...

you could have been in Ramat.

But you know where I was. You promised...

Look here. Hasn't the poor girl suffered enough?

Why do we have to go through these wretched theatricals?

I must protest.

Oui d'accord.

Mademoiselle Rich was not in Ramat...

that has been ascertained.

But someone was there.

The Angel was there...

and here Poirot must present to you a person most significant...

a person that many of you have never before encountered...

Madame Upjohn, oui, la maman of Julia Upjohn...

and in the years past, she was a member...

of the British Secret Service.

- Secret Service? - Oui.

On the day that Poirot presented the Pemberton Shield...

Madame Upjohn recognizes a face in the crowd...

the face of an agent most dangerous, a killer...

a person known as The Angel whom she thought long dead.

Oh, she dismisses the idea.

It is a resemblance, no more.

But a member of the staff was watching most closely...

and we now know that Mademoiselle Springer realizes

that The Angel has been identified...

and is very much alive.

I suspect that this Angel was working...

for the revolutionaries in Ramat... eating away at the very foundations...

of the government of Prince Ali Yusuf...

and in so doing, she forms a relationship most intense...

with the great friend of the Prince...

Bob Rawlinson...

and then one day, purely by chance...

she sees something extraordinaire...

...a treasure so magnifique, she will be secure all her life.

She determines to retrieve these jewels herself...

in her own identity as a free agent...

not as a paid lackey of the revolutionaries.

Who could this be?

You, Mademoiselle Shapland.

What?

You have lived the life most dangerous, mademoiselle...

but you have never been suspected in your own identity.

All the jobs you have taken have been most genuine, yes...

but all with a purpose singulaire...

the obtaining of information.

Ever since you were seventeen, mademoiselle... you have been a secret agent.

You have worked for many different masters...

in many different guises, but it was in the guise...

of Angelica de Buque, the cabaret dancer francaise...

that you spent the summer in Ramat.

Oh, come on.

Monsieur Poirot, that's impossible.

Impossible? Non.

There was no opportunity of taking the tennis racket...

there and then because of the evacuation most sudden...

of the British people...

and to obtain a secretarial position here...

it was not difficult.

I propose that you paid a sum most substantial...

to the former secretary of Mademoiselle Bulstrode's...

- Vera? - Oui. To vacate her post.

Now everything is easy, is it not, hein?

If a tennis racket of a child went missing, what of it?

And simpler still, you could now gain access...

to the sports pavilion at night and abstract the jewels...

but you had failed to take into account Mademoiselle Springer.

- This is crazy. - Oh.

Miss Bulstrode, you can't honestly...

Anyway, where's your proof?

- You haven't a shred of... - Now, Inspector! Now!

There. That's her. I was right. I was right.

Oh!

Put it down, Ann.

No, Miss. Shan't.

No!

Get moving.

Oh, what's happening?

Get a doctor, quickly.

- I'll go. - Bad. It's very bad.

It was for the school.

For the school.

She was only a slip of a thing, but lethal.

Bitch. You bitch.

I recognized her face from the files.

But she was dead...

killed on a mission in Silesia.

Or so you thought.

Ambulance is on its way.

I'll get her straight to the hospital.

Christ Almighty.

- I thought... - What, lover boy?

You thought you'd made a pretty good catch?

I've eaten better fellas than you for breakfast.

You were just a bit of fluff until the fuss died down...

and I could get away.

It was that gorgon Springer who started to unravel it all.

Aha.

What the hell do you want?

Oh, don't worry. Your secret's safe with me...

for now.

I said, what do you want?

Fun.

Oh, God...

Uh! Oh!

Oh! No!

Uh! Uh!

Uh!

I wiped the smile off her face.

But still you could not find the jewels, hein...

and then later, Mademoiselle Blanche...

she tries to blackmail you, and you kill her.

It comes so natural to you, does it not, to kill?

Natural as breathing, darling.

- Sir? - Let's get her out.

Ann Shapland, I'm arresting you for the murder...

of Grace Springer and Elise Blanche.

Miss Chadwick...

Monsieur Poirot, I don't understand.

That still leaves the attack on Miss Rich.

She couldn't have done it. We...

We were together all evening.

Oui, d'accord.

No, it was not she who tried to kill Mademoiselle Rich.

Then who did try to kill me?

She loved Meadowbank too much, I think.

And when I spoke of retiring...

She regarded herself as the only person who could take over.

But she was too old. She must have known that.

She could not think clearly, I fear.

Something in her mind must have snapped.

Once again, she sees the light in the pavilion.

She thinks she can prove herself by catching the killer.

She picks up a sandbag from a fire bucket...

and what does she find?

Eileen Rich, her rival...

and all the resentment, all the mounting pressure...

of the last few weeks, suddenly, it breaks.

Rrgh!

But this was a moment of madness.

Mademoiselle Chadwick is not a killer by nature...

and what she told to the police was the truth exactly...

except for the fact that it was she who struck the blow.

At once, her mind rebels at what she has done.

Oh. .aah!

Aah! Aah!

That's why Ann Shapland used a sandbag...

to kill Mademoiselle Blanche?

Precisement. Ann Shapland, hein?

A young woman who is very clever.

Out of the blue comes this second attack...

for which, of course, she has the alibi...

and later, she thinks she can tie up the murder...

of Mademoiselle Blanche with this...

but, of course, it is only natural to assume...

that it was the work of the same person.

Hello, Chaddy.

I want to tell you something.

Eileen Rich...

- It was... - Yes. I know.

Jealous. I...

I know.

I can't...

I'll never forgive myself.

You saved my life, Chaddy.

My life and the life of Mrs. Upjohn.

That counts for something, doesn't it?

Only wish I could have given my life for both of you.

No, no.

That would have made it all right.

You did, my dear.

You did.

Would you like me to leave now...

or would you prefer I waited until the end of term?

I beg your pardon?

I presume you know the reason why I was away.

You'll stay till the end of term...

and if there is a new one here, which I still hope...

you'll come back.

You mean you still want me?

Of course I still want you.

You haven't murdered anyone, have you?

Oh, no.

Teaching is your vocation. I know it is.

Well, we'll need three or four years...

to put Meadowbank back on the map.

We?

I'm offering you a partnership.

Oh.

You'll have different ideas, of course.

That's the way it should be.

I don't suppose we'll agree about everything.

No. I don't suppose we shall.

Monsieur Poirot, I've made the right choice, have I?

Oui. Poirot had come to the same conclusion...

about Mademoiselle Rich some time before, alas...

and now it is time for Poirot to excuse himself.

Au revoir, mademoiselle.

Thank you for everything.

Oh, de rien...

and you, mademoiselle...

the challenge, it has returned, non?

Oh, yes.

Always at my best when I'm up against it.

Meadowbank will once again be the finest school in England.

Well, I'm, glad we sorted all that out, monsieur.

- Au revoir, Inspector. - Au revoir, monsieur.

- Madame Upjohn. - Oh, Monsieur Poirot.

You should be very proud of your little one.

She has shown the great courage.

Oh, never mind that, Mr. P. What about Mummy here?

A secret agent all this time, and I never knew.

Well, not really.

She's told me all about the shooting...

and Miss Shapland, and I think it is bloody exciting.

- Julia. - Helas.

Sorry, but it is.

I suppose school is going to be awfully dreary...

now people aren't getting bumped off all over the place.

Are you heading back to town?

Alas, oui.

I have an appointment with your Foreign Office.

There is a little matter of a king's ransom in rubies...

that must be returned.

Oh, yes. Oh, they were rather smashing.

No chance they could be regarded as, whatchamacallit...

Treasure Trove?

Non, mais non. Non.

The jewels, they must be returned...

to their rightful owner... the real Princess Shaista...

who has been found to live a life quite pleasant...

in a Swiss chalet, but in recognition...

of your assistance so great in this affair so dangerous...

I have been authorized to present to you un petit cadeau.

What are they?

I believe they are called the gobstoppers.

Oh, super.

Say thank you to Monsieur Poirot, Julia.

Thank you.

Je vous emprie, mademoiselle.

Oh, and, mademoiselle, please to take care...

when eating the red one, hein?

It has the center most hard.

SubRip: HighCode