Original subtitles

NORMA: I must see him now. Please.

A young lady has called, sir.

I do not see people at this hour, George. Non.

No, sir.

Does she give a reason for wishing to see me?

She says Mrs. Oliver recommended you, sir.

It's about a murder she might have committed.

Might have committed? You mean she does not know?

This is not very satisfactory, George.

But on the other hand, it might be interesting.

Help me to dress, s'il vous plaît.

Merci.

Moment.

Bon.

This way, miss.

Bonjour, mademoiselle.

I hear you are acquainted with Mme. Oliver.

You wish to see me?

Sit down, I pray of you.

You're Hercule Poirot?

- Assuredly. - The famous detective?

Well, some people have heard my name, oui.

Now, how may I help you, mademoiselle?

My manservant mentioned a murder that you might have committed?

- You find me amusing? - No, not at all, mademoiselle.

But surely it is normal to know

if one has committed a murder or not.

But I'm not normal. Can't you see that?

I see only what is before me, mademoiselle...

a young lady who is anxious.

So would you like to tell me about this murder that you imagine you...

It was a mistake to come here. I thought you might understand.

I thought you might be able to save me.

Save you? But save you from what, mademoiselle?

Nothing. It doesn't matter now. It's done.

And besides...

You're too old.

OLIVER: Too old?

How hurtful.

No, no, no. Not at all, madame.

Girls are like that.

Anyone over 35 they think is half-dead.

They've no sense, girls. You must realize that.

But why did you suggest that she visit me?

She seemed to think there'd been a murder.

Where was this?

- The murder? - No, no. The conversation.

It was here. In the lift.

She was completely distraught

and in need of a sympathetic ear.

What, so this morning you meet in this lift

this girl who is a stranger, and immediately, what,

she confesses to a murder?

Yes. Does sound like the plot of one of my novels, doesn't it?

But you see, M. Poirot, I'd met her before.

Last night, in fact, at a party. Upstairs in their flat.

- She was the third girl. - The "third girl"?

Well, you know how it is these days.

One girl takes a lease on a flat,

her friend joins her in second-best bedroom,

paying a little less rent.

Then they have to find somebody for the room that's left.

The third girl. That was her.

Uh-huh. The third girl.

Tell to me more about this party.

Well, they were making such a terrible racket.

Totally impossible to work. So I decided to join them.

It was a party to celebrate the first girl's birthday.

She's secretary to some businessman or other.

Claudia Reece-Holland.

Very pretty. Very efficient.

Just the sort of girl you need for a tricky job.

The second girl was Frances something or other.

Very arty. Works as an actress.

She seemed nice enough, if a little artificial.

And then there was the third girl,

looking somewhat left out, as if she didn't quite fit in.

In fact, the only time she came to life

was when the peacock arrived.

Madame, what is this peacock?

Yes, the peacock.

Well, at least that's what he reminded me of.

He's a painter. David Baker.

Very flamboyant, quite effete... though he was making eyes at the third girl

from the moment he arrived.

And this third girl... How does she call herself?

Norma Restarick.

I see, so this morning you meet this Mlle.

Norma Restarick in the lift and she confesses to a murder.

Tell me, madame, who has been murdered?

Well, she didn't say.

She seemed confused and upset.

So I suggested she pop over to Whitehaven Mansions and see you.

Chère madame, do you know of any murder

that has taken place recently?

In this building of apartments, peut-être?

I rather think I'd have noticed a murder, M. Poirot.

Don't you?

Ah. Inspector Nelson arrives.

Perhaps we have our murder, madame.

Constable, will you tell the Inspector Nelson

that Hercule Poirot is here?

- Yes, sir. - Merci.

Poirot. Might have guessed you'd turn up.

Inspector Nelson.

Took her own life, clearly.

Ah.

That is certainly the impression.

Who was the unfortunate lady?

NELSON: Lavinia Seagram.

According to the concierge who found her,

she'd lived here for many years.

Kept herself to herself. Very few visitors.

Drank a lot.

A very unhappy woman.

Now, tell me... What are you doing here?

Uh, merely rendering a visit to a friend.

A life so sad, hein?

As was her death.

Did she leave a note of suicide?

It appears not.

And will you permit that I examine for myself

her apartment?

For what reason?

Curiosity only.

Curiosity, eh?

Well, if you must.

Merci. Oh, one other thing, Inspector.

Did the concierge know anything more about Mlle. Seagram?

For instance, from where did she originate

or how did she live before she came here?

Only that she used to work as a nanny.

Ah. Merci.

"Crosshedges, Long Basing. 1917.

The last happy summer.

A.J. Battersby."

Nanny Seagram, Mary, and Mlle. Norma.

There is the connection.

And Mary?

The mother, perhaps?

"The last happy summer."

I feel that there is here something strange.

FRANCES: [ Echoing ] Norma?

What are you doing in there?

Norma?

Can I come in?

Norma?

Would you like me to come and sit with you?

NORMA: No. I'd like to be alone.

But, unfortunately, we are stuck with you.

She's in such a state.

She keeps muttering something about blood.

Good Lord.

Poor Nanny.

CLAUDIA: Hello, Andrew.

Come through to the drawing room.

ANDREW: Thank you, Claudia.

Frances, this is Norma's father, Andrew Restarick.

How do you do, Frances?

Claudia says you've been very kind to my daughter.

I'm grateful.

She's in her room, you say?

There's something troubling her very deeply.

She keeps talking about dead people and blood.

One of your neighbors, Nanny Seagram,

has killed herself.

What?

Police informed me. I've just come from her apartment.

Perhaps Norma's already found out.

Killed herself? Her old nanny?

Well, no wonder she's behaving as she is.

Poor Norma.

Yes. Poor Norma.

The police are quite certain it was suicide?

Yeah, they seem to think so.

Nanny Seagram was not a happy woman.

- Better talk to her. - Mm.

I was there.

I killed her.

You haven't said this to anyone else, have you?

I said something to Mrs. Oliver, I think,

and to an old man I met.

- But no one believes me. - Because it's not true.

Look, I think I can help you.

There are places where you can get help

for these morbid thoughts.

An asylum, you mean?

Why on earth would you kill Nanny?

Why?

And what do you mean, you were there?

Her wrists were cut open.

I had a knife in my hand.

So, what are you going to do?

I want to help you.

Oh, please let me.

I'm so sorry for all the mistakes I've made.

I don't need your help.

I don't need anybody's help.

Norma.

David. What are you doing here?

I came to see you.

Thought you might like to go for a walk.

What's troubling you?

I think I'm losing my mind.

You can tell me anything, Norma.

Yes? Can I help you?

Yes. I'm Ariadne Oliver.

The... The novelist.

Sorry, we don't buy or sell anything at the door.

I was a guest at Claudia's party the other night.

You're the woman who's always complaining about the noise.

Only when you're dancing.

I-I live directly below, you see?

I think that's why Claudia invited me.

I was hoping to have a word with Norma...

Norma Restarick.

So, you see, Norma and I were having

a marvelous conversation about modern fiction,

and she so sweetly said

she'd like to read one of my poor efforts.

So I promised to pop one 'round.

Mm. And here you are. Popping it 'round.

Mm.

So you're the first girl and you're the second.

Are you old friends?

No. I answered Claudia's advertisement in rooms to let.

And Norma?

Why are you so interested in Norma, Mrs. Oliver?

She seemed troubled about something.

Do you know her well?

Norma's father is my boss... Andrew Restarick.

Ah. So that's how Norma happened to take a room here.

He wanted you to keep a kind eye on her, I suppose.

I suppose.

Anyway, I'll make sure the book gets to her.

So you have no idea where she is?

FRANCES: Norma walks the streets a lot.

She's a very... introspective girl.

She has a great-uncle she's fond of.

Perhaps she's gone to visit him in the country.

No. Apparently Norma doesn't go to Crosshedges anymore.

Her dear old, doddery great-uncle has a new friend,

which of course means that Norma

is no longer the center of attention.

Was that everything?

Is there any more tea?

The last happy summer.

- Oh! - Oh!

- Excusez-moi. - Ah.

Hercule Poirot.

The famous detective.

She was right. You are too old.

And you are?

Baker. David Baker.

Ah, M. Baker.

You are an acquaintance of Mlle. Restarick, are you not?

You could say that.

You're working for her father, I suppose?

- You do not like him? - I've never met him.

MAID: Your visitor, sir.

Merci.

Hello. Are you the chap from Belgium?

Hercule Poirot.

Are you?

Sir Roderick, what a great pleasure it is

to see you after all these years!

Oh, yes, indeed. Yes, indeed.

How long... How long would you say?

Your letter wasn't specific.

Ah. I feared that you might have forgotten me.

But it is not to worry.

I merely happened to be in the vicinity of Crosshedges...

Forgotten you? Not at all, dear chap.

Not at all. Sit... Sit down.

Merci.

- We met in France, you say? - Oui.

In Normandy, during the Great War.

Ah, what decisions we had to make, hein?

You yourself. Colonel Race.

General Abercromby.

And you... you were the little Frenchy!

I was the little Belgian.

Oh, yes. Of course, of course.

Those were the days, eh, Pierrot?

Do you ever see old Abercromby?

Here and there. Oui. From time to time.

Tell me, Sir Roderick...

I could not help but notice in the hallway by the stairs

a portrait so fine.

Oh, yes. Lots of those.

This was a portrait of a woman so beautiful.

And it seemed to me that there must have been at one time

a companion piece hanging by its side?

Once upon a time. Not anymore.

Mary couldn't stand the sight of it.

Mary was my favorite niece.

Her husband, Andrew, ran out on her.

Must be 20 years now.

Mary took it badly.

Destroyed everything of hers that reminded her of him,

including that damn portrait.

He's back now and full of regrets.

"Hell is the truth learned too late."

Tell me, Sir Roderick, the husband...

Does he live here still?

Andrew? No, no. He lives in London.

Although he came to see me a couple of nights ago.

Yeah, stayed all evening.

Keeping me company, he said,

while my secretary was in London.

Couldn't get rid of the damn chap.

Did they have children?

One. Norma.

And the mother?

Mary Restarick has been dead for many years.

Oh, Sonia!

This is my secretary, Sonia.

My eyes. And my companion.

Enchanté, mademoiselle.

Hercule Poirot.

Yes, I guessed as much. I read your letter.

Ah.

I'm afraid Sir Roderick tires easily.

He doesn't normally see visitors.

Ah. Je suis désolé.

I will detain no longer of his time.

I'll show you out.

- No, no, no. There is no need. - I insist.

Madame Restarick was a woman most striking, no?

Evidently.

May I ask how did she die?

I'm told she died suddenly.

How sad.

But her daughter comes to visit her granduncle, non?

Norma doesn't come here anymore.

But for what reason?

I have no idea.

Nobody ever comes here unless they have good cause.

- Merci. - Sir.

Well, what did you find out at Crosshedges?

Nothing.

How dreadfully dull.

Not at all!

The fact that Poirot discovered nothing

means that there is a great deal that is being concealed.

What did you find out?

Well...

The first girl told me

Norma has had a falling out with her great-uncle.

Something about a new friend he has.

Ah. That I can understand.

And the second girl?

She spoke more warmly about Norma.

Frances Cary. The bohemian one.

Oui.

No idea how to make a cup of tea.

Where was the girl brought up?

You were with Mlle. Restarick all of the evening?

- At the party? - Oui.

Uh, she went to her room when the ice cream came out.

Hurrah!

Who would like ice cream?

Ice cream. What a wonderful idea.

Excuse me.

I had a bowl, then left. Didn't find anyone to talk to.

Nobody seemed terribly interested

in the fate of the modern novel.

Not even the artist that you mentioned, this David Baker?

Oh, he was far too busy for me.

He spent all evening talking to Frances.

It struck me that they didn't want to be overheard by anybody.

Oh, one more thing. Claudia Reece-Holland.

She's secretary to Andrew Restarick,

Norma's father.

Ah, well, then it seems that I must make an appointment

to see this M. Restarick, no?

What can I do?

Nothing, madame.

- Nothing? - No, nothing at all.

Just be careful, huh?

Where there is murder, anything can happen.

Murder? Who's been murdered?

Well, Nanny Seagram, of course.

So you don't think she took her own life?

No, no, no.

Not for one second.

RODERICK: Ohhh.

I decided to buy some new shoes. Do you approve?

I like the leg.

So he was an old war comrade of yours?

Who? The frog? Never met him in me damn life.

Are you sure about that?

Told me he sees old Abercromby from time to time.

Ha. Have to dig him up first.

I think he came to ask questions about Norma and her mother.

Mm. Two nosey parkers in one day.

You mean someone else has been here?

Some arty type called Baker came snooping around.

Asking questions about Norma.

And he was looking for, uh... for photographs.

Seems that Andrew's commissioned a portrait from him

to hang next to Mary's.

Oh, well. Perhaps it'll put that ghost to rest.

I love family photographs.

No good to me anymore.

I let him take what he wanted.

Seemed a harmless enough chap.

Oh, Roddy, you're such an innocent.

Doesn't it occur to you that he might be after Norma's money?

You know, since my wife died,

I've spent many a lonely night in your company, Mrs. Oliver.

Oh, that last one was a work of genius.

"Lady, Don't Fall Backwards."

Ah. That's funny.

I could have swore I locked that when the police were done.

Thank you so much, Alf. You're a dear.

I won't be long. I promise.

He, Poirot, may be content to sit and do nothing.

I, Oliver, am not.

Murder.

Fiddlesticks!

If a woman in one of my novels

wanted to hide a note where it would be found...

...wanted to hide a suicide note...

...where someone was bound to look...

Where someone was bound to look.

Where someone was bound to...

Where would a woman consider...

...an obvious place...

...to look?

"To be given to the police in the event of my death."

It's her.

It's the third girl.

Can I help you?

Un moment, s'il vous plaît.

I wonder if it might be possible

for me to see a M. Andrew Restarick.

Hercule Poirot.

Take a seat.

Merci.

Ticket inspection. All tickets, please.

Ticket inspection. All tickets, please.

- I need to get off. - I need to see your ticket.

- I'm tailing someone. - Pardon, madam?

I said I'm tailing someone.

Not without a ticket you're not.

Yes, dear?

Bath bun and a cup of coffee, please.

Sorry?

Bath bun and a cup of coffee, please.

M. Hercule Poirot.

M. Restarick.

You're the chap who called on Uncle Roddy,

pretending to know him from the war.

Ah. I wondered if he was just being polite.

And I am aware, of course, that he does not care for visitors.

But not in your case, of course.

I'm a busy man, Poirot. State your business.

I am come to talk with you

about the visit rendered to me by your daughter.

- You've met Norma? - Oh, yes indeed.

She asked me to save her.

Save her? From what?

Well, that I do not know. Do you?

Hello.

I'm afraid I can't stay very long.

I have somebody coming to the studio. A portrait.

Oh, but I thought...

You said you had something you were going to show me.

Norma...

I want you to stop worrying

about what happened to Nanny Seagram.

What on earth makes you think you could kill somebody?

Now, I know that you're a rather wealthy young woman.

Which means you must be careful.

- Sir? - Careful?

Sir?

I should go.

But you'll hear from me again soon, Norma.

Trust nobody.

Not even me.

Waitress! Waitress!

My bill. Quickly.

My daughter, Norma, has often needed psychiatric help

since her mother died.

She can get hysterical, melodramatic.

Fact is, it's all my fault.

Norma's mother, Mary, also found life difficult.

I see. How sad.

Plain truth is I left my wife when Norma was five.

I never wanted the life you see me leading now.

I was always a traveler. Itchy feet.

So one day I decided to start a new life in Southern Africa.

That is a story most common, no?

But Mary never got over it.

She became more and more disturbed.

And then one day...

...when Norma was seven...

on her seventh birthday, in fact...

...my wife killed herself.

Sapristi.

On the birthday of her child?

Don't think she intended to kill herself.

In fact, the letters I got from old Nanny

made that pretty clear.

Think she intended to be found and...

...saved.

Tell to me, monsieur,

who was it who actually discovered

the body of your wife?

- Norma did. - Oh.

Imagine the effect that had on her.

Such an occurrence would be distressing

to the mind of an adult.

But to that of a child...

May I ask, monsieur, what it was

that brought you back to England?

A year ago my brother died, leaving no heirs.

I had to return from my travels, take over the business.

So here I am.

Tied to a desk.

So until last year you have not seen your daughter

since the funeral of your wife?

No, no. I was up-country when that happened.

The letters never reached me in time.

So you did not attend the funeral?

No.

So the reunion with your daughter, when it happened,

must have been full of emotion for you both.

Do you have children, Mr. Poirot?

Mais non.

Then you cannot possibly imagine how painful it was.

Nothing's been right with her.

She's so full of rage.

An urgent call for M. Poirot.

For me?

Shall I put it through?

I'll let you be private.

Merci.

AIIô?

It is I, Poirot, who speaks.

It's Daphne from The Merry Shamrock tearooms.

I think perhaps you have the wrong number, hein?

Oh, Mrs. Oliver said I was to speak only to you.

So your Mr. George gave me this number.

I've tracked you down, Mr. Porry.

I'm to tell you something urgently.

Tell to me what?

"The third girl...

is in danger...

from the peacock."

Ah. The peacock.

And I was to tell you that Mrs. Oliver

is now tailing the peacock to his studio.

I understand. Thank you very much.

Nothing serious I hope.

No, no, no, no, no. Nothing serious at all.

I wish you good day, monsieur.

Mademoiselle.

Good day.

Is everything all right?

Have dinner with me tonight?

Excuse me.

Goodness. I'm really not good at this.

- You're not, are you? - Oh, goodness!

Oh, you startled me.

I had no idea you were there.

- You were following me. - Yes. I'm afraid I was.

You see, I-I write books. I write detective stories.

And I just got it into my head to see what it would be like

to tail a real-live person in real-live life.

And how was it?

- What? - Tailing a real-live person.

Oh. It's much harder than you think.

You're probably frightfully angry.

But there's really no need. I'll just toddle...

You were at the party, weren't you?

Boring everybody stiff about the decline of the modern novel.

And then you were in the café, too.

Well, don't you want to see where I was going?

Don't you want to follow me all the way to the end?

Why not toddle up there, hmm?

Oh.

Thank you.

Come in. Don't be shy.

Welcome to my humble abode.

Oh. Is this yours?

"Girl Demanding an Abortion."

- What do you think? - Oh, dear.

Ah. You're all ready.

Keen as ever, I see.

Mrs. Oliver. Our paths cross again.

Miss Cary. I'm so sorry.

I didn't recognize you at first without your...

Without any...

- Without my clothes on? - Yes.

Completely naked.

Mrs. Oliver kindly came 'round to the apartment

to leave a novel for Norma to read.

Did she?

That was kind.

What a series of coincidences.

And there I was in the tearoom

when Norma and David were having a cup of coffee.

Were you really?

Yes. We were, as a matter of fact.

Extraordinary coincidence.

And then she decided to see what it would be like in real life

to follow someone.

And of all the people in London, she chose me.

Well, that's not quite how...

And how are you enjoying

your slice of real life, Mrs. Oliver?

Do you know, it's absolutely fascinating.

Well, I don't want to take up any more of your time.

Can I offer you a drink?

Thank you so much, but I don't drink.

Oh. The lady doesn't drink. Who'd have thought it?

- Do you know where you are? - Yes, yes. I'll be fine.

Oh, your paintings are really very good.

Terribly impressive draftsmanship.

Oh, and I like the title, too.

"Girl Demanding an Abortion."

I think the public will respond.

Right or left?

Yes, George?

The concierge finally answered the telephone, sir.

He hasn't seen Mrs. Oliver since earlier today

when she left Borodene Court.

She left in a great hurry, he says.

Les femmes.

That will be Mme. Oliver now, George.

Please to show her in.

GEORGE: Come quickly, M. Poirot!

Can you save me?

Please.

M. Poirot.

Good morning, mademoiselle.

Am I in your apartment?

Oui. Bien sûr.

You know, my doctor gave to you only the little sedative,

and you have slept for 14 hours.

Who knows I'm here?

No other person,

except of course for my doctor and mon valet, George.

You are quite safe, Mlle. Restarick.

But why did you feel the need to see me

about the murder of Mlle. Seagram?

You believe me, then?

Nobody else wants to.

I have no doubt that she was murdered.

But tell to me, mademoiselle,

why do you feel that it was you yourself

who murdered Nanny Seagram?

Has anything of this nature ever happened to you before?

No.

I'd like to leave now.

No, no, no. I implore you to stay.

You came looking for my help. That is what I am giving to you.

I don't want your help. I want to go.

But to go where?

I can assure you there is no other place

that is safe for you just now.

Do you feel close to your great-uncle, Sir Roderick?

He used to have time for me,

but now he only has time for Sonia.

Ah.

And how long has she been his...

...companion?

She arrived at Crosshedges about six months ago.

I see.

When did Sir Roderick lose his sight?

It was never good.

It failed completely about 10 years ago.

Excuse me, sir.

Parfait!

George, mon valet, is also the chef exceptionnel.

Please to eat, mademoiselle.

We need you to be strong over the next few days.

Why?

Just eat, and we will talk some more.

Catch the peacock.

Tell the police in the event of my death.

You've been hit on the head, Mrs. Oliver.

- Who are you? - Who?

Who?

Who hit you on the head?

Who are you?

Ah, I know who you are.

Couldn't mistake those mustaches anywhere.

What are you doing here? Where am I?

I warned you to be careful, chère madame.

Oh. My head aches.

You've been hit with a blunt instrument, madam.

And the contents of your handbag have been stolen.

By the peacock.

- She's delirious. - No, I'm not.

I assure you this is how she is.

Tell to me, madame...

Did you actually see the peacock strike you?

This is important.

She may have difficulty remembering things for a while.

Nonsense!

I remember everything vividly.

There was a girl demanding an abortion.

Who was this girl?

Though it didn't look like that to me.

It was the second girl.

There were two girls demanding abortions?

Did you actually see the peacock strike you, madame?

No. I didn't see anything.

All flew by so quickly.

Can you remember what was in your handbag?

I think I'll go to sleep now.

Bon.

I bid you good day.

Was it the peacock that flew by quickly?

They jump, don't they?

- You have a visitor, sir. - Shh, shh, George.

Sir Roderick Horsfield. And his secretary, sir.

- Sir Roderick? - Indeed, sir.

Oh. Thank you, dearest.

A great pleasure to see you, Sir Roderick.

Mademoiselle.

M. Poirot. A delight to see you again.

Wonderful thing, the telephone.

Rang a friend... top brass, Scotland Yard.

Told me all about you.

I am gratified that you even remembered my name.

Please to sit.

Sonia remembered it.

Little chap, big mustache.

Apparently you're our number-one sleuth.

I have not been entirely unsuccessful in my profession.

That's the ticket. Got a job for you.

But I regret that my time, it is fully occupied at the present.

Looking after Norma, aren't you?

Ah. I do not remember saying that.

You asked questions about her.

You can't fool Sonia, you see?

No, indeed.

Anyway, don't think you can solve the Norma problem.

You can't. No one can.

Poor girl's had a screw loose all her life.

But Norma will be fine as long as she can hold on to her money.

And why should she not hold on to her money?

Because there's a nasty little blighter called David Baker.

Daubs canvasses.

Sonia and I think he's after the money.

I want you to find out as much as you can about him.

I'll pay you handsomely.

I will try.

And in return, perhaps you might help me.

What does it mean to you, the name A.J. Battersby?

Why do you ask about her?

She is a woman, then?

Oh, yes. Yes, she's a woman, all right.

She taught Norma privately for a few months

when she was a little girl.

Ran her own school after that.

We sent Norma there after her mother died.

She couldn't stay at Crosshedges, you see.

Ah, yes. I see.

Merci.

Oh! Ah, yes.

Um, we're having a-a little house party this weekend.

- Perhaps you'd like to come. - I would be most honored.

Um, d-do you have a woman in tow?

- Non. - Well, bring her along anyway.

Ah.

Can I rely on you, Pierrot?

Yes, of course, Sir Roderick. Au revoir.

- Mademoiselle. - Monsieur.

Sir.

SONIA: Thank you.

What is your opinion of that young lady, George?

Well, sir, if you'll allow me,

I would reply that he'd got it badly.

Very badly, if I may say so, sir.

It's not unusual, of course... gentlemen of that age.

Yes, George, but what of the young lady?

Oh, well, sir, she's quite a definite type.

There's never anything you could put your finger on.

But they know what they're doing, I'd say.

Ah. Bond Street.

Right, sir.

Well? What do you make of that?

The little frog's not nearly as brainy as he thinks.

However, if he can help me stop

that canvas dauber in his tracks, all well and good.

Who's my clever, clever man?

Now, shall we conclude the day's business?

I spoke with your father recently.

You're working for him? Is that...

No, no, no. I wanted to meet him, merely.

He told to me that he asked Mlle. Claudia Reece-Holland

for you to be the third girl?

He didn't have to ask. The company owns the apartment.

- Ah. - And Nanny's, of course.

And you and Mlle. Reece-Holland have become friends?

I have no friends.

I thought I had David.

Ah, M. Baker.

You have fallen very much in love with him, non?

I was just being silly.

It was naive of me to confide in him.

You know, Norma, you really are a lovely girl.

Especially when you smile.

Is my heart supposed to melt now?

He must have thought me an easy catch.

I only realized what a fool I'd been when I went to his studio.

Oh, David.

Norma. This isn't what you think.

Mademoiselle, your father told to me

about the day your mother died and that she killed herself

and that the tragic nature of her death has marked you deeply.

I beg of you, mademoiselle...

Can you tell to me exactly what you remember

about that day so terrible?

We're late already, Norma.

She was so very insistent.

Your mummy said very strictly...

Please, please, please. Just one ice cream.

Mummy won't mind. It's my birthday.

She wants us to return promptly to be ready for the party.

Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!

Mummy, look what I got you.

Can you save me?

But I couldn't save her.

How are you today, mademoiselle? You have not eaten.

You have been very hospitable, M. Poirot, but I should leave.

But if you left now, where would you go?

To Crosshedges, perhaps?

Yes, all those happy memories.

Well, surely there were some happy times,

times when there was a smile on the face of that little girl?

A little girl who killed her own mother.

Non, mademoiselle. Your mother killed herself.

I could have saved her.

It was my fault for being late.

Nobody ever forgave me.

Is that what you wanted from Nanny Seagram, hein?

Forgiveness?

When was the last time that you saw Nanny Seagram?

On the night she died.

Claudia said she'd left a message to go and see her.

Oh, God. Norma, I completely forgot.

Miss Seagram... She popped up to see you this afternoon.

She said she wanted to talk about your mother.

Talk about my mother?

And can you remember exactly what happened?

For instance, did she open to you the door?

I can't remember.

No.

She didn't answer the bell, but the door was open.

And what did you find?

- I had a knife in my hand. - Non.

Do you habitually carry a knife?

It was in my drawer.

I opened it, and there it was, just lying there.

Do you remember putting it there?

No.

So did you take the knife with you?

Well, I...

I must have done. It wasn't there later.

Mademoiselle, can you tell to me exactly what you found

when you went to the apartment of Mlle. Seagram?

She's dead, isn't she? And I had a knife.

Excuse me, sir.

No, George, please. Not just at this moment.

Inspector Nelson is here, sir.

- And Mrs. Oliver. - The police?

Good.

I want to talk to them. I want to confess.

Non, non, non. Non, non.

Please, I beg of you, mademoiselle.

Wait for me. Please.

We will talk more of this.

Only trust me.

Ah!

Mme. Oliver.

Inspector.

You are recovered, I see.

Fully. Thank you.

- And my memory has returned. - Ah.

- The letter. - The letter?

Miss Seagram's suicide note.

I found it behind the mirror in her flat.

"To be given to the police in the event of my death."

But, no, no, no. Pardonne. That cannot be.

Are you saying that in this letter

she announced her suicide?

I didn't have time to read it

before it was stolen from my handbag.

C'est ça.

How could you possibly know it was a note of suicide?

- What else could it have been? - What else, indeed?

Oh, you always want to make everything so difficult.

I'm getting a headache.

Inspector, have you brought to me

the information that I requested?

You'll find everything you wanted in here.

Though what it matters now I couldn't guess.

Inspector, something has happened?

It seems it wasn't suicide after all, Poirot.

Results of the postmortem

indicate that Miss Seagram died of asphyxiation.

Her wrists were cut after she had stopped breathing.

Sapristi.

What's more, Norma Restarick's flatmate, Claudia Reece-Holland,

visited me a couple of days ago, and she told me

Norma had made a clean breast of the business to her father.

She also said that he believed

the girl had made the same confession to you, Poirot.

Just curiosity, eh?

It seems you've been deceiving me.

Je suis désolé.

But to indulge me, if you please, for one moment.

Can you remember exactly when it was

that the secretary to M. Restarick

denounced his daughter as a murderess?

It was two days ago.

Two days? That was when I was attacked.

Do you have any idea where this girl is, Poirot?

GEORGE: I cannot allow you in there.

- Please, miss. - I'm here.

I'm Norma Restarick.

I killed Nanny Seagram.

NELSON: Norma Restarick,

I am arresting you on a charge of murder.

Thank you for trying to help me.

I take a very dim view of this, Poirot.

If you will, sir, the first time I clapped eyes on her,

I thought the young lady had birds in her attic.

Thank you very much, George.

Coffee for two, if you please.

Now, then, there are a lot of things I'd like to know.

Am I to understand

that Norma Restarick has been with you all this time?

Oui. Bien sûr. Where else?

You seem completely unconcerned at her arrest.

Not at all. It is unfortunate.

She would have been much more comfortable

remaining here under my roof.

Ah.

And what is that?

This answers a question that has been troubling me

ever since I made a visit to Joshua Restarick Ltd.

And what is this fascinating question?

Well, simply this.

When I arrived there,

Mlle. Claudia Reece-Holland was sitting at her desk

repairing her... her maquillage.

And in front of her there was no correspondence, no files.

And for the duration of my visit,

the telephone, it sounded only once,

and that was for me from Mlle. Daphne on your behalf

from The Merry Shamrock tearooms.

And so I asked the good Inspector Nelson

to make the inquiry.

And?

Joshua Restarick virtually ceased trading as a business

it is now since two years, after many years in decline.

Oh, do stop.

You're making my head ache again,

and you know that's bad for me.

Chère madame, have you ever seen the girl smile?

Smile?

Why, yes. When she saw David Baker.

And did he?

- Did he what? - Smile at her.

I mean, did he look her in the eyes?

He never took his eyes from hers.

Does it matter?

But of course.

Well, I think he's unreliable.

He was going to show Norma something at the tearooms,

but of course that never materialized.

Ah.

And does it still not occur to you

that she might be exactly what she appears to be?

I mean, criminally insane.

Chère madame, if you want to know the real truth

about Mlle. Norma Restarick,

you will accompany me on a journey.

Thanks to the inquiries of the good Inspector Nelson,

we will meet a very old friend of hers.

Would four aspirin would be too much to take, I wonder?

I was intrigued by your telephone call, M. Poirot.

- I've heard of you, of course. - Merci.

But I should like a little more information before we talk.

Yes, indeed.

Eh bien, Mme. Battersby,

this Mlle. Norma Restarick rendered to me a visit,

and she requested my assistance

with, well, some difficulties that she has...

- She's been charged with murder. - Murder?

Um, so firstly may I ask,

did you like Mlle. Norma Restarick

when she was here as a pupil?

I like all my girls.

Yes, of course. But what sort of girl was she?

Not scholastically brilliant, but adequate.

And before? When you taught her at Crosshedges?

She was very young, only five years old,

and my appointment was a very brief one.

For what reason?

There was an opportunity to set up my own school.

So you left your employment

in the family Restarick to set up this school?

Yes.

That was an undertaking most audacious, no?

It wasn't easy to make ends meet at first, but, um...

the school soon started to pay for itself.

Bon.

And tell to me...

Did Mlle. Norma Restarick ever smile?

I beg your pardon?

I think he means, did she seem a little neurotic?

I think you're aware, M. Poirot,

that Norma's had to receive psychiatric assistance

on more than one occasion, including while she was here.

Which is hardly surprising, given her home circumstances.

Her father, to whom she'd been extremely attached,

left home suddenly, and, um...

Well, her mother didn't cope with that very well, I think.

And then the tragedy of her suicide.

No, since you mention it,

I can't recall Norma ever smiling after the death.

Her bedroom here became a shrine to her dead mother.

It seems to me that she has been blaming herself all of her life.

As do most children, no?

Indeed. When they're not blaming their parents.

Oui.

Do you yourself have children, madame?

I've never married, M. Poirot.

Oh, je suis désolé... mademoiselle.

You say that she kept her room as a shrine to her mother.

But you also say

that she was extremely attached to her father.

So there was no shrine to him?

In her heart, yes.

She never gave up hope that he would return.

Or that a letter would arrive

asking her to go out and join him.

It never did.

In her heart, oui.

But in reality? In her rooms?

There wasn't a single photograph of her father,

if that's what you mean.

Her mother destroyed

every single one she could find after he left.

Really, when it comes to the mother,

one has to ask oneself,

"In that house, who was the child?"

Vraiment. Who was the child, indeed, hein?

And you yourself could not provide her

with a photograph of her father?

What, me?

Well, from the photographs you took of the family, I mean.

Oh, I see. Of course.

No. No, I couldn't.

Are we done, do you think?

Oui.

I have all of your novels, Mrs. Oliver.

And I-I wonder if you would be so very kind

as to sign my copies.

- I really would be so grateful. - Oh, yes, of course.

- Do you have a pen? - Yes.

Thank you. This is thrilling.

Pleasure.

I see from my records

that Norma is about to reach her 25th birthday.

She's quite a catch for somebody, given her wealth.

Mary Restarick was a wealthy heiress,

and she left it all to Norma.

How wealthy was she?

At the time of her death,

Mary Restarick's fortune was estimated

at £700,000 or £800,000.

And of course there's Crosshedges house, too.

So the house does not belong to Sir Roderick?

Oh, no. Sir Roderick lives there by the grace of Norma.

So if by chance

Mlle. Norma Restarick was to die?

Well, half the money would go to her next of kin.

Her father. Unless she were to marry.

But why only half?

Mary Restarick loved Crosshedges.

She ensured that half the family money

would always go back to the guardian of the estate.

So if Mlle. Norma Restarick was not to marry,

that would be...

Her favorite uncle. Old Sir Roderick.

Monsieur.

This Sonia woman you told me about.

She's obviously hoping old Roderick

will come into Norma's mother's money.

Didn't you tell me

Sir Roderick asked you to flush out David Baker?

- I said, it seems to me... - I heard you, madame.

I am thinking. It is my custom.

Oh. Is that all?

What about?

Tell to me, madame,

when you entered the apartment of Nanny Seagram...

against the advice that I gave to you most expressly,

but let us overlook that for now...

how did you gain the entry?

Oh, Alf. The concierge.

He'd do anything for me. He's my number-one fan, he says.

How gratifying.

- He let you in. - Yes.

But, in fact, he didn't need to. The door had been left unlocked.

I see. And once inside, you...

Well, you just discovered the letter?

- And I didn't tell you how. - Non.

It was terribly clever, although I say it myself.

I simply asked myself, "Where would a woman hide"?

Yes, yes, yes. But did anything else happen?

Well, for a second, I had the feeling

that someone was there in the apartment.

But of course I imagined it.

Anyway, I said to myself, "Where would a woman hide..."

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

Are you sure that there was there no other person?

Does it really matter?

This is of the utmost importance, madame.

Oh, you really are the most maddening man.

I couldn't say for certain one way or the other

whether someone else was in the apartment.

I rushed out, chasing after the third girl.

Ah. Bon.

All is becoming clear.

Ah! Gotcha!

Sir Roderick.

Oh, it's you again.

I've brought Mr. Restarick's portrait.

Well, come here.

Come on.

Closer.

You know, Sonia thinks you're a bad egg.

If that refers to me and Norma,

I can assure you I have only her best interests at heart.

Yes. I can see that now.

You're not going to be any trouble at all.

You're a good egg!

The maid'll see you out.

And you can leave that thing here.

Oh! Damn.

Ah. My dear Alf.

This is M. Poirot.

- Oh, Mr. Parot. - Monsieur.

Tell me, you a fan?

Ah, oui. Naturellement.

You read her latest?

Ah, oui, yes, I am almost sure that I have.

Well, maybe you could help me.

I've read it four times,

and I still got no bleedin' idea who done it.

Oh.

No, no, it's genius. Keep them guessing, eh, Mrs. O.?

Ah, M. Alf?

Tell to me, if you please, how well did you know Mlle. Seagram?

I used to deliver her gin for her.

According to Inspector Nelson, she drank a lot of gin.

I'll say. More and more.

Ah. And since when?

For instance, did her liking for the drink increase suddenly?

Mm, yeah. For about the last six months.

I see.

And tell to me, what else did you do for her?

For instance, did you post the letters for her?

She very rarely received or sent letters.

Ah, so for her they were memorable, perhaps.

And tell to me, did you, by chance,

post a letter for her shortly before her death?

Oh, y-yes. I did.

The day before!

And did you notice... of course by chance...

to whom the letter was addressed?

And this is most important.

Well, it did catch my eye.

- Ah. - It was to Mr. Andrew...

- Restarick, no? - Correct.

Did she receive many visitors?

Well, that funny girl, Norma.

She used to be up there quite a lot.

Sometimes her father, Mr. Restarick.

Ah. Bon.

A visitor, sir.

Ah. M. Baker.

I was expecting you.

Merci, George.

I owe you an explanation.

You owe to me nothing.

I'd like you to look at this.

I assure you that there is no need.

I know what it is.

And it is not I who needs to see it.

I believe you have had this in your possession

since we first met that day at Crosshedges.

You could have shown it to Mlle. Norma Restarick

at The Merry Shamrock tearooms, and yet you did not.

She seemed so fragile.

I didn't know how she might react.

M. Baker, Mlle. Norma is not her mother!

Norma.

If I told you I was in love with you, would you believe me?

Sometimes we see what isn't really there.

Nothing happened between me and Frances.

I have to show you something.

Mademoiselle.

I asked you to trust me.

Will you?

Bon.

Merci.

Pull!

Watch this.

I'll do it blind.

Pull!

Look over there.

How are you, Mrs. Oliver?

- Oh. Frances. - Mademoiselle.

I do hope you've recovered.

Oh, from the bump on the head.

No.

From the shock of seeing me in the buff.

If the painting in the hall is anything to go by,

Mr. Restarick's first wife was quite a looker.

Of course that was all a long time ago,

as Claudia keeps reminding everyone.

Perhaps he'll gain a wife, just as he loses a daughter.

Pull.

Drink, sir? Madam?

- Thank you. - Andrew.

Who are you?

I said, "Who are you?"

I'm your father, Norma.

What's she doing here?

Norma.

Are you all right?

But I thought... We all thought...

What did you think?

ANDREW: Darling Norma.

Please, try not to get overwrought.

Well, well.

Come to spoil another party, have you?

What on earth are the police playing at, letting her out?

- Shut up! - Oh!

- Norma! - Norma!

I'm sorry, I just... I just don't understand.

The police let me go, Daddy. I'm free.

Well, that's... that's wonderful.

Uncle Roddy will be so happy that you're here.

Darling girl.

You remind me so much of your mother.

If only she were here to see you now.

Who are you?!

- Oh, my God, she's insane. - Norma!

- Is she all right? - Parfaitement.

She is dealing with the memories that haunt her.

But is she strong enough to go through this?

Let the game be played out.

- Norma. - Norma!

This is only making things worse for yourself.

You're wasting your time, Frances.

You really are insane, aren't you?

I don't want to talk to you.

I don't want to talk to anyone anymore!

- Cheers! - David, darling...

May I... May I interrupt?

Quieten down, please. Sir Roderick wishes to speak.

Oh. Oh, thank you.

First, I'd like to thank you all for coming here

on this special day.

Especially Norma, who is back with us again.

And now the reason I invited you all here.

Something that will surprise some of you

and not others.

Two weeks ago I asked my secretary,

Miss Sonia Benson, to be my wife.

I-I-I was astonished to find that she accepted.

Two days ago,

worried perhaps that her bridegroom might keel over

before she could get him to the altar...

...Sonia persuaded a very willing knight of the realm

to accompany her to a registry office,

where we were married.

That's wonderful.

So raise your glasses.

Raise your glasses, ladies and gentlemen.

The toast is Lady Sonia Horsfield.

- Lady Sonia Horsfield. - Lady Sonia Horsfield.

Are you happy, Sonia?

H-Happy now, are you?

- Very happy. - Are you?

Because you've made me the happiest man in the world.

Sacré!

We are too late.

M. Restarick, please allow me to deal with this immediately.

How could we not see this coming?

I am so sorry for your loss, Sir Roderick.

This is indeed a tragedy most terrible.

I still can't believe it.

Except, of course, for one person.

And I refer to the person who had hoped for

and encouraged this tragedy for a long time.

Who could possibly wish Norma dead?

Ah. Who indeed, hein?

Perhaps you yourself, Lady Sonia?

In the terms of the legacy of her mother,

your new husband inherits half a portion

of the fortune of Mlle. Norma.

Or perhaps Mlle. Claudia,

who despised her in a manner that was so obvious

and who had the hope of marrying her father,

who also inherits a half share of the fortune of his late wife.

Or Mlle. Frances Cary,

who had become so infatuated with the young man

who was so loved by Mlle. Norma Restarick,

M. David Baker,

whose love for her seemed to increase

the more he discovered how wealthy she was.

But in order to answer this question

it is necessary to ask another.

So let us go back to the very beginning.

Who wished to kill Nanny Seagram?

Oh, please! This is not the time or place.

Norma confessed to that.

I think that's why she...

And what is all this in aid of?

Sir, I'd ask you to allow M. Poirot to speak.

Merci, Inspector Nelson.

When Mlle. Norma Restarick rendered to me the visit,

she said that she might have committed a murder

and asked me to save her.

Now I would suggest that those are the words not of a murderer,

but of a victim.

Was Nanny Seagram murdered or was it,

as the police seemed to assume too easily,

the suicide?

I could not be sure of the answer.

But an inscription on the back of a photograph...

"Crosshedges, Long Basing. 1917.

The last happy summer.

A.J. Battersby."

...caused me to suspect that the death was somehow connected

with some trauma in the lives

of Mlle. Norma Restarick and the Nanny Seagram.

So I made a visit to Crosshedges,

and I learned there something crucial to my investigation.

I made the acquaintance there of M. David Baker.

Why was he there?

Well, according to Sir Roderick,

he wanted some photographs of the family

because he was about to execute a portrait

of M. Andrew Restarick as a young man, oui?

A man of whom he spoke to me with great cynicism

and said, most revealingly...

I've never met him.

That's a thing most strange to say, n'est-ce pas, monsieur?

But I digress. Let us return to Nanny Seagram.

A woman who was old, who was vulnerable,

who had a problem with drink,

which, according to the concierge,

increased since the arrival from South Africa

of M. Andrew Restarick.

I wondered why.

She was, of course, entirely dependent

on the goodwill of the company Restarick

for the roof over her head.

But she had no need to worry.

For you had reason most sound

to be grateful to her, had you not, monsieur?

For all her service to the family. Yes.

Oui. Also for helping you to impersonate a man who was dead.

A man who was dead?

The inquiries of Inspector Nelson

confirmed my suspicions only yesterday.

And today I received a telegram from South Africa,

confirming the death of M. Andrew Restarick,

it is now since one year.

So, monsieur,

as Mlle. Norma Restarick demanded of you today,

I, Hercule Poirot, also demand of you...

Who are you?

My name is Robert Orwell.

Andrew Restarick was my good friend.

None of this was ever meant to end in death.

Mm.

You! You are an impostor!

No, Roddy, no. Sit down.

The real Andrew Restarick has not been seen in England

for 20 years.

His wife, whom he abandoned,

had destroyed every image of him she possessed

and was now dead by her own hand.

Sir Roderick, alas, had lost his sight.

And his daughter, Mlle. Norma,

had not seen him since she was, oh, five years of age.

There was now only one person who could give away the game.

Nanny Seagram.

Threatened with eviction if she attempted to expose you

and bribed with a supply, seemingly without end, of gin,

she had fallen in with your plans.

Now you were free to take over the business.

Now you would sell it to the highest bidder.

- You're wrong, Poirot. - Hmm?

The business was worthless.

Oui, d'accord, but you could not have known this before you left South Africa.

For why else would you come here?

- I never murdered anyone. - But you had the motive.

Fearing that Nanny Seagram was about to expose you,

it was necessary perhaps to silence her.

Ah, but then, when Mlle. Norma Restarick

confessed to the murder, you suddenly realized that,

ah, as Sir Andrew Restarick, you were next of kin.

You would now inherit half the legacy of her mother.

So you stood by in silence and let her.

You were now within, what,

inches of becoming the millionaire.

One might even say the length of the rope of...

...the hangman.

But now this fortune will not go to you, monsieur,

an impostor who has been revealed, but to Sir Roderick.

My husband doesn't care about that.

He just wants Norma back.

You monster. How can you do this?

No, one second. Inspector.

There has recently come to my attention

some information that is new.

There is one other person here

who has the claim to the fortune of Mlle. Norma Restarick.

The photograph that I discovered

in the apartment of Nanny Seagram

was taken by the former tutor of Mlle. Norma Restarick,

a Mlle. A.J. Battersby.

I paid a visit to her school where she is now the principal.

And I found there a woman full of emotion

about a child who had been abandoned

and a man who had deserted them both.

She never gave up hope that he would return.

Or that a letter would arrive

asking her to go out and join him.

It never did.

And a woman, moreover, who misled me about dates.

She told to me

that she had moved straight from her employment as the tutor to Mlle.

Norma Restarick at Crosshedges

into setting up her own establishment.

But that was when Mlle. Norma was five years of age.

And, well, that is now since 20 years.

But Meadowfield School,

it was only established it is now since 18 years.

So, what was she doing in the two years in between?

And why had she left her employment at Crosshedges

after so brief a time?

Now, I would like to ask you, Sir Roderick,

to confirm my suspicions.

The reason why Mlle. Battersby left Crosshedges so abruptly

was because she had fallen in love with Andrew Restarick

and conceived by him a child.

Am I correct?

Yes, Poirot.

You are correct. She left suddenly.

Disappeared for two years.

C'est ça!

So she went away secretly and bore the child.

A girl.

The half sister to Mlle. Norma Restarick.

Is that not so, Mlle. Cary?

Or should I call you Mlle. Battersby?

I grew up dreaming that one day I'd find my sister.

When I found her, it was like a miracle.

I knew Claudia worked for the family firm,

and I couldn't believe my luck when Norma moved in, too.

I longed to tell her she had a sister.

And now she'll never know.

Non. And the irony?

With Mlle. Norma...

...gone...

you have a claim that is legal to her fortune after all.

I see.

But nothing can bring Norma back, can it?

Non.

Nothing can bring back Mlle. Norma.

Constable.

Norma.

But you're dead.

- I saw you dead. - You saw what you wanted to see.

Messieurs-dames, it is now the time for Poirot

to unveil to you the truth.

When Mlle. Restarick drew her bath this evening,

Mlle. Cary saw this as the opportunity irresistible

of replicating the circumstances of the suicide of her mother.

But knowing this was going to happen, I took a precaution.

You were observed by M. David Baker

entering the bathroom with a pillow.

Why? In order to smother her.

This is risible.

Why would I ever do such a thing to my sister?

What revenge more sweet could you have on a man who had abandoned you,

than to steal the inheritance of his daughter who was legitimate?

The inheritance of your half sister

that was so privileged, and by you so hated.

When your mother learned that Monsieur Restarick

had returned to this country, she went to confront him.

But she found there instead the impostor, M. Robert Orwell.

And most regrettably, she shared this information with you.

And recognizing this as the opportunity

for which you had wished so long,

you, Mlle. Frances Cary, unbeknown to your mother,

confronted the impostor, M. Orwell,

and insisted that he join in with your plan so terrible.

You wished to steal the inheritance

of Mlle. Norma Restarick

by driving her to suicide or insanity.

And in order to achieve this end,

you had M. Orwell install her in the building of apartments

that also housed Nanny Seagram,

a woman whose very presence would remind her

of the guilt she felt over the suicide of her mother.

You calculated the effect that this would have

on a mind so fragile.

And you, as the actress with aspirations,

of course you would play the part

of the friend so loving and so supportive, hein?

And pauvre Mlle. Norma Restarick,

who is now so frail, had became your prey.

You... Oh, of course you were always there for her.

Norma?

Would you like me to come and sit with you?

Provoking memories that were painful.

Hurrah! Who would like ice cream?

You even planned to steal away the young man

who tried to give to her existence real love and hope.

But this campaign

against the psyche of Mlle. Norma Restarick

reached its climax so inglorious in the murder of Nanny Seagram.

It was no accident

that Mlle. Norma Restarick felt responsible for her murder!

You orchestrated this conviction with precision!

Your plan...

depended on two knives that were identical.

The first knife you left in her room

where you knew she would look.

And then before the party,

before Mlle. Restarick could reach her,

you sealed the fate so brutally

of Nanny Seagram, who was helpless...

...and left behind there the second knife.

And then once you had learned

that Mlle. Norma Restarick had discovered the body,

simply you had to remove the first knife,

that Mlle. Norma had left in her drawer.

And now with her mind in a state of total confusion,

Mlle. Norma Restarick was fully convinced

that she had committed the act,

and she was headed now perhaps towards the suicide.

But when she confessed to the murder,

the result would be the same.

She would hang.

And when she was released from prison this morning,

there was only one option open to you...

to hurry along her death.

But, I, Hercule Poirot,

had promised to himself to save her.

And the only way I could do this...

...was to kill her before you could.

I had no part in this, Poirot.

Liar!

In the murder of Nanny Seagram, monsieur, non.

For, en effet, you had provided for yourself

an alibi that night.

But I did wonder why someone wanted to be somewhere else

in a manner so obvious on the night of the murder?

That night you were here, you knew what was going to happen?

Naturellement. How?

Because the killer was his accomplice, Mlle. Frances Cary.

Excuse me a moment.

Can you explain why one of them decided

it was necessary to attack me?

Ah, oui.

Madame, all this hinges on a letter

that was written by Nanny Seagram.

She could endure the pretense that M. Orwell was M. Restarick.

But the sheer wickedness of this new conspiracy

proved too much for her.

So she wrote to you a letter, did she not, monsieur,

threatening to denounce you if you did not desist.

And in order to protect herself from your retribution,

she hid a copy of that letter to be read

in the event of her death

and told to you that she had done so.

So now in your eyes, Mlle. Cary,

Nanny Seagram had to die,

and that letter had to be retrieved.

But Mme. Oliver had got there first.

It could not have been M. Orwell or Mlle. Claudia

who had observed Mme. Oliver

retrieve that letter so incriminating,

for they were with me.

Non, mademoiselle, it was you yourself who observed her

and called M. Orwell to inform him of this fact.

And when Mlle. Daphne from The Merry Shamrock tearooms

telephoned to me to inform me

of the whereabouts of Mme. Oliver,

you were listening in.

Ah, oui, bien sûr.

I heard the click as you replaced the telephone receiver

a second or two before I did.

And now you knew exactly where was Mme. Oliver.

And now the letter could no longer

get into the hands of the police.

Now the conspirators were safe.

Whereupon Mlle. Claudia denounced to the police

the pauvre Mlle. Norma Restarick.

He took me to dinner and asked me to do it.

He said he couldn't bring himself

to denounce his own flesh and blood.

Oh, God, Norma. I'm so sorry.

It was all his idea. Can't you see that?

ORWELL: Oh, you're a terrible actress, Frances.

And I'm a fool.

I warned you that your hatred would get in the way.

But you wouldn't listen.

CONSTABLE: Miss...

Frances.

We're half sisters.

Look. David found it in Uncle Roddy's box.

It's our father.

I see no resemblance.

What happened to my father?

An accident while we were up-country together.

He was a good chap.

I always liked Andrew.

Have you nothing to say to this poor creature

you tried to destroy?

Is there not one impulse that is honest...

human, even... in your heart so black?

What would you have me say?

Did...

Did my father ever speak of me?

Well, M. Poirot wants honesty,

so I'll be honest.

I only ever heard Andrew mention you once.

He said you were the little bitch

who'd get all his wife's money.

I knew Andrew was rotten, but you...

You beggar description!

Norma?

So Sonia wasn't a gold digger after all.

No.

Nor was the peacock.

How did you know?

Because you told that to me yourself, madame.

You told me that you saw him smile at her, that he could not take his eyes from hers.

And the moment I realized that he was looking

for photographs of the family to prove M. Orwell an imposter,

well, it was then I knew that he was acting for Mlle. Norma

and not against her.

You do think of things, don't you?

Ah.

What a calculating mind.

Tortuous. That's what I call it. Tortuous.

Am I so calculating, madame?

Am I the solver of puzzles with a heart that is cold?

Or are we looking at the greatest of mysteries

that life ever throws up?

The mystery that even I, Hercule Poirot,

will never be able to solve.

The nature of love.

She smiles.

- Was that a tear? - No, no, no, madame.

It is merely the breeze.

SubRip: HighCode