Original subtitles

Oh, yes?

And what time do we call this, then, eh?

I don't want to get you out of bed.

Here.

No good leaving all this stuff for 56B.

They're on holiday.

What, all of them?

Oh, yeah.

That Captain Hastings has gone off shooting things,

and the secretary's gone off to visit her sister in Folkestone.

What about the French one?

Somewhere foreign.

Sent me a postcard with goats on it.

Oh, yeah, I remember.

Let's hope it keeps fine for him.

No, no, no, no.

No, no, no. I'm sorry.

Please, miss.

Thank you.

Ohh!

Pardon.

Mr. Poirot.

How pleased I am to see you.

Mademoiselle...

Lyall.

Pamela Lyall.

I recognized you at the hotel.

I'm a great admirer.

Ah.

May I cling to you, Mr. Poirot?

Yes, it would be a pleasure, mademoiselle.

You are in danger?

It's against all my instincts, but the man persists.

And with the hotel being so empty,

there's a great danger of my getting stuck

for the rest of the holiday.

Ah, the galloping Major Barnes.

Here for the fishing, he tells me.

Ah.

The behavior of the English abroad

is something I have always found peculiar.

At least he's not a bottom-pincher, Mr. Poirot.

Look at them -- troublemakers, always looking for a fight.

Perhaps.

But for me, the English is more cold-blooded.

His violence is more calculated.

We've spent all day at sea, and my wife's exhausted,

so let's get to the hotel as fast as possible,

with our luggage intact.

Make sure it's secure and stay close behind the other car.

Excuse me, but aren't these the cars from the Palace Hotel?

Yes. Well?

Well, we're staying there, too, you know.

Well, you'll have to wait for them to come back.

The hotel, please, driver.

And try not to hit anything.

Come on, darling.

Thank you.

Good heavens,

I do believe that's Valentine Chantry.

Ah.

Dakers, it was.

I shouldn't think this place was quite her style --

a bit quiet for her.

She's rather marvelous, isn't she?

Mm.

She has married again?

Number five, I think.

Oh, mon Dieu.

Looks a bit of a gorilla, doesn't he?

An animal attraction, would you think, Mr. Poirot?

Well...

Well, well, well, things are looking up.

Hello?

Hello.

Been looking all over the place for you, little lady.

Not out fishing today, Major?

Yes, earlier.

Didn't have much luck.

Perhaps, Major Barnes, you were fishing too close to the shore.

I noticed you by the harbor.

I expect you're right.

Too much damn dynamiting going on.

Dynamiting?

The fishermen drop dynamite around here.

Damned lazy beggars.

The fish, not being fools, keep out at sea.

At last.

Now, will you get the luggage off immediately

and take it straight to our rooms?

I do not understand why we weren't met properly.

Well, I think it's simply wonderful.

It's so unspoiled.

Eh, it's pretty enough, but it's such a long way to come,

such an awful journey.

You'll enjoy bathing and lazing about.

We could have done that in Brixen.

Why you wanted to drag us all this way...

You'll adore it here, I know.

I can see that you mean to enjoy yourself.

Oh, well.

Give me a bath and a bed,

and perhaps it'll be better in the morning.

-Tony, darling? -Yes?

My cigarette case.

She makes me feel so undercooked.

I'm so patchy still.

She really is so lucky.

Oh, dear, that bathing dress is a mistake.

Morning.

Good morning.

Lovely day.

Shall I put yours here, darling?

Yes, so I can get a little bit of sun.

I feel so dreadfully faded,

but I freckle rather than going brown.

Have you ever been to Rhodes before?

No. It's lovely, isn't it?

Such a clever idea of yours, darling.

Scarcely heard of the place.

I thought it was Greek, maybe, or Turkish.

No idea it was Itai.

If it were only nearer England.

Did you come from Brindisi?

Yes, came on the ferry last night.

The sea is simply lovely, so blue.

I think we ought to go in now, Douglas, don't you?

Oh, yes, rather.

Uh, in a minute.

Just pull that towel a little flatter, would you, darling?

Tony, darling, would you mind?

What's that?

I've left a little pot of face cream in the bathing cart.

I meant to bring it with me.

Do get it for me. There's an angel.

Yes, darling.

He must be crazy about her. Wouldn't you say?

It's lovely, Douglas, so warm!

Do come!

Aren't you going in?

Oh, I, uh -- I like to get well hotted up first.

I like my dip last thing.

Oh, dear, I can't get this thing undone.

I'm hopeless. I...

Um, I wonder -- would you...

Can I do it for you?

Oh, thank you. You are kind.

I'm such a fool at undoing things.

Oh, you are a clever boy.

You've done it.

We must have been on the same ferry.

Mm.

It's Douglas, isn't it?

Yes. Douglas Gold.

Darling, Douglas has just been so kind to me.

My husband, Tony.

-How do you do? -How do you do?

And your wife's called?

Marjorie.

Yes.

Don't you think that human beings

tend to reproduce certain patterns, Mr. Poirot?

Stereotyped patterns?

Pr�cis�ment, mademoiselle.

Your wife's not with you this afternoon, Douglas?

No, uh, Marjorie wasn't feeling too well.

Probably too much sun this morning.

So I came alone.

Ah.

Well, we'll just have to make the best of it on our own.

Ah.

Mme. Gold.

Mr. Poirot.

Hello. I was noticing this particular detail --

they have some freshwater and seawater poison.

-Fascinating. -Yes.

And what a beautiful day.

Ah.

Douglas and I are always lucky in our weather.

You do not bathe this afternoon, madame?

No, only once a day.

We'd arranged to go on a tour of the old city this afternoon,

but somehow or other we missed each other.

Indeed?

You know, Mr. Poirot,

when one sees so much trouble and unhappiness

and so many couples divorcing each other

and that sort of thing,

one does feel very grateful for one's own happiness.

It is pleasant to hear you say so, madame.

That's why I feel so sorry for people who aren't happy.

Mrs. Chantry, for instance.

Mme. Chantry?

In a way, one feels sorry for her.

I mean, in spite of all her money and good looks,

she's the sort of woman, I think,

that men would get tired of very easily.

Don't you think so?

Men are just like children.

They believe anything.

I gather you are a detective, Mr. Poirot.

Well...

How long are you in Rhodes?

Sadly, madame, I leave on Saturday.

Douglas, a pink gin.

I positively must have a pink gin.

Have a nice bathe, Tony, darling?

Hasn't it been a marvelous day, Miss Lyall?

Oh.

Tony?

Good afternoon.

Shall we wander over there?

Mm.

Valentine certainly has her methods.

Mademoiselle, I do not like all this.

Don't you? Nor do I.

No, let's be honest.

I suppose I do like it, really.

In fact, I've arranged a little excursion for tomorrow.

Two hours of driving and all this ludicrous climbing,

and all there is at the top is another ruin.

But wait till you see the view.

Ah.

I say.

C'est magnifique.

Here it is!

Look. Look -- a snake!

How beautiful.

Well, be careful.

I don't like it here. I think we should go back.

Damn place.

It isn't safe to walk in.

They're everywhere.

In the old days, Rhodes was known as the "island of snakes."

You can see the markings so clearly.

Mm -- as a warning, madame.

Nature gives to the quarry of the viper

a chance to identify his attacker.

If every killer was as clearly marked,

I would be without a job.

Do we have to have this?

We can't hear ourselves speak.

Let us not be disrespectful of the local customs, Commander.

I can't understand a word of this menu.

Well, take mine. This one's got some English.

Translation's a bit rough, though.

Is this wine?

Looks like pink gin.

I think it's terrible.

People are doing it all the time.

Well, I belong to the old-fashioned generation

that doesn't believe in divorce.

The sort of attitude there is to life nowadays

that if you do a thing and you don't like it,

you get yourself out of it as quickly as possible --

easy marriage, easy divorce -- I hate that.

You seem to know a great deal about marriage, Mrs. Gold.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I-I-I --

It strikes me you've been listening

to far too many scandalmongers.

Just because a woman is good-looking,

people come down on her like a ton of bricks.

Oh, but I didn't mean --

Oh, dear!

Marjorie?

There was no need for that!

Yes, well, I can't imagine

why you brought your wife on holiday, anyway, Gold.

What do you mean?

Because you only have eyes for Valentine.

Don't be ridiculous. You must be drunk.

If you and my wife think you can put this one over on me,

you're very much mistaken.

I'll not be got rid of as easily as all that.

Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready to order now?

Ah. Very good.

The "bowels in spit" --

I have your assurance it is the kidneys of a lamb,

but on a skewer, yes?

Ah, c'est parfait.

Then, for me, the bowels in spit, efharisto.

Oh, Mr. Poirot.

Forgive me -- I thought I might be alone here.

May I give you some advice, madame?

Oh, yes, yes, please.

Bien.

Your husband loves you. I know it.

How can you know it?

She's got hold of him, body and soul.

He doesn't think of me anymore. I don't count.

Oh, I can't bear it.

I can't bear it.

Then my advice to you, madame, is this --

Leave this place before it is too late.

Too late?

What do you mean?

You're frightening me.

Yes.

That is my intention.

But why?

Why?

It is my advice to you.

Leave this island if you value your life.

Merci.

We'll be sorry to see you go, M. Poirot.

Your tickets are with the passport.

And my reservation -- it has been confirmed?

A sleeping berth on the night boat.

Merci.

Oh, will you be taking dinner tonight?

Um... yes, something light before I travel.

Major Barnes has provided the kitchen with some barbouni.

Ah.

The red mullet would be ideal. Merci.

Catch them unawares first thing in the morning.

No, no, no, no, no. Mon Dieu.

No, please! Aah!

With care, with care.

Regardez. Regardez. Look. Look. Look.

L�.

Les autres ici. The others here.

Of course it's all lies, but he's infatuated.

He says he wants a divorce.

I don't know what to do.

It's terrible.

Mademoiselle.

It's such a shame you're leaving, Mr. Poirot.

I don't know how you can when things are just hotting up.

The Chantrys and the Golds

are getting into more and more of a pickle.

It's all rather shocking.

Marjorie thinks that Valentine will divorce Chantry

and marry Douglas.

Really?

Look -- they're over there.

I can't see Chantry giving up without a fight.

Who could have predicted such passion, Mr. Poirot?

There is a crisis of the nerves, certainly.

Look.

Hello.

This is a bit silly, isn't it?

I quite agree -- pointless, spoiling the whole picture show.

Quite my feelings exactly.

Shall we, uh, go in together?

Oh, dear.

I was half hoping there'd be a murder so you'd stay.

Mm.

Gar�on?

Why don't you take a picture of us two?

Oh, all right.

And then we'll...

The button is on the side.

-We'll just line up. -All right.

How's that? How's that?

Jolly good shot.

The ladies have gone off on an evening drive --

something of a reconciliation, I gather.

Ah.

Well, there's been too much bad temper and bickering.

Indeed.

Sorry you're leaving, Poirot.

Not had much time for a chat.

Well, you've been very busy, Major, eh?

The mullet was excellent.

Oh, glad you enjoyed it.

Oh, yes. Where did you buy it?

What do you mean?

I had to go a long way out for that.

No, no, no, no, Major.

Your interests are closer to the shore.

My car, please.

Certainly, M. Poirot.

The Italians, I notice,

are strengthening their harbor defenses for military use?

You're very sharp-eyed, Mr. Poirot.

Mm.

The sharp eyes are important in both our professions, Major.

-Efharisto. -Merci.

Well done.

Well done, Douglas.

Thank you. Shall I?

Have a good game, gentlemen?

Capital.

Fellow's too good to me -- ran out with a break of 46.

Pure fluke, I assure you.

What'll you have?

A pink gin, please.

And you, Major? This one's on me.

Very kind of you. I'll have a whiskey and soda.

And two whiskey and sodas.

My bags, parakal�.

I've worked pretty hard all my life, you know --

no time for holidays.

Don't get me wrong.

I've seen a bit of life these past few years, I can tell you.

Excuse me, Major.

Tony, darling, it's too divine,

the most marvelous idea of Mrs. Gold's.

You all ought to have come.

Where have you been, darling?

Up to the Temple of Apollo to see the sunset.

There's the most marvelous view, darling, right across to Turkey.

We must go tomorrow.

Sounds like a good idea.

Miss Lyall, what'll you have?

Oh, thanks -- a sidecar, please.

Darling?

Pink gin.

Oh, have that one.

I'll order another.

Ooh, rather.

Mrs. Gold?

Orangeade, please.

Barman, could we have a sidecar and a pink gin and --

Ooh, I needed that.

Are you sure you wouldn't like something stronger, Mrs. Gold?

Oh, all right, then -- gin and ginger beer, please.

Darling!

Well, it feels like a celebration.

Right you are, then -- gin and ginger beer it is.

Barman?

Yes, monsieur?

Would you mind stepping over here, please, sir?

Oh, Miss Lyall.

What I've been meaning to say all the time we've been here

is that your clothes are so clever -- such a marvelous line.

Are you all right?

What's the matter?

I need a drink of some water.

Oh.

Waiter?

I f-- I feel rather queer.

Something gone down the wrong way?

I can't -- I can't get my breath.

Oh.

Waiter, parakal� -- quickly, some water.

What's up?

Commander Chantry!

What's the matter, Val?

I don't know.

That drink tasted queer.

The pink gin? This?

Give her some room.

Drink this, Val.

Try to drink this.

Who knows what to do?

I'll get a doctor.

That was my drink, Gold. I'd not touched it.

What the hell did you put in it?

She's dead.

You killed her.

You meant to kill me, but you killed her.

I'll see you hang for this, Gold.

I'll see you hang for this.

I-I -- I didn't do anything.

I have told you again and again!

I am on holiday!

I am a Belgian citizen!

You have no right to detain me!

You are not to leave this island

until you explain all movement exactly.

How can I leave this island now?!

My ship has gone, you idiot!

Mlle. Lyall!

What is the matter?

What are you doing here?

Mr. Poirot, thank God.

I thought you'd left.

You must come quickly.

Valentine Chantry is dead.

Ah.

Someone poisoned her husband's glass,

and she drank it.

I feared such an outcome.

Then why didn't you do something?

Do what?

What is there to do before the event?

Tell the police that someone has murder in their heart?

No.

I will come.

And now, monsieur, I have more pressing matters to attend to.

I am a detective, not a spy.

Kindly send my bags to the hotel Palazzo di Rodi.

Oh, I was attracted to her.

Who wouldn't be?

It was within the bounds of propriety, Poirot.

Ah.

Did she confide in you?

A little.

Was Valentine Chantry a happy woman, would you say?

In her marriage, you mean?

She was rather lost and afraid.

Afraid of what?

Of Chantry.

Ah.

She thought he was jealous.

Of you?

Of anyone who paid attention to her.

She was so helpless in many ways, Poirot.

I-I felt protective towards her.

But somehow everything got out of hand --

Chantry behaving like a bull at a gate,

then Marjorie getting hysterical.

M. Gold...

do you love your wife?

Of course I do.

She's all the whole world to me.

You are a Catholic?

Yes.

Your faith will be a great consolation to you.

Poirot --

Poirot, they'll -- they'll hang me for this.

Not while I have the power to prevent it, monsieur.

...due, uno, due, uno, due...

The poison was contained in the empty bottle,

which we discovered in Mr. Gold's dinner-jacket pocket.

It is safe to touch.

The only fingerprints on it were Douglas Gold's.

Mrs. Chantry was a very beautiful woman.

A public affair was taking place between her and Douglas Gold,

but Commander Chantry was a very possessive husband.

He would not relinquish his wife.

The lover poisons the husband's glass,

and then, just when his attention is elsewhere,

the wife drinks it instead.

Ecco!

Oh, it is a scene worthy of the Italian opera, Inspector.

I assume that you asked Douglas Gold

to empty the contents of his pockets himself?

Yes.

Hmm.

Then it is hardly surprising

that his fingerprints should be found on the container, is it?

Do you not find it peculiar, Inspector,

that this calculating murderer should be discovered

with this very bottle of poison in his pocket?

There is no doubt, signor.

When the cold-blooded Englishman comes out into the sun,

perhaps it warms his passion.

Ah, basta!

But M. Gold does not admit his guilt.

On the contrary -- he protests his innocence.

Just because the wrong person died, that is no defense.

What do you mean, I can't pick up my passport?

They are my express instructions from the police, Commander.

I want my wife's body given a decent burial back in England,

not in some outpost of the Italian empire.

Now, there's a ship leaving this afternoon,

and there's going to be a hell of a stink if I'm not on it.

Commander Chantry.

There is no recompense I can make for the loss of your wife,

nothing I can say to you that's adequate,

only that I have lost a husband.

Oh, Mr. Poirot, if only we had taken your advice.

Advice? What advice?

Mr. Poirot recommended that we leave the island some days ago.

Then I wish you'd warned me also, Mr. Poirot.

Ah.

You are going to visit your husband, madame?

Yes.

Then believe me when I tell you that he is innocent.

And you may rest assured that he will soon be released.

Excuse me.

If you please, one tisane on the terrace.

Merci.

What's going off, Poirot?

You make all these confounded mysteries,

and it's useless asking you to explain.

I have told you -- Douglas Gold is innocent.

But that means that one of us poisoned the glass.

Indeed.

Merci.

And we shall know who

when we know from where the poison came.

But there we have the problem, eh?

The police will not allow me any further facilities.

For them, the case is dried and cut.

Then... I may be able to help you.

I trust I may speak among friends?

Mm.

The forensic officer is a friend of mine.

You understand, Mr. Poirot, this is a matter of extreme delicacy.

Mais oui.

Came out here on holiday, M. Poirot,

fell in love with the place.

You have examined the poison, monsieur?

Yes, it's local -- Rhodian, very old remedy.

The Knights of St. John were hospitables

before they were warriors.

It's one of their potions,

medicinal in its diluted form, lethal when neat.

A snake bite.

It's from the fangs of the horned viper.

The island's still full of superstition.

It's called vilitilio occius.

Where would such a poison be obtained?

Not on the shelves of a pharmacist.

Some herbalist or quack.

If you really wanted to search, try the streets around here.

Blackshirts.

There are so many streets.

Where do we begin?

Mademoiselle, we must now appear

the mad English who go out in the midday sun.

And we must trust in the old town to give up her secrets.

Come.

Ah.

Parakal� -- vilitilio occius?

Vilitilio occius?

Efharisto.

Vilitilio occius?

Parakal� -- vilitilio occius?

Efharisto.

Parakal�.

Vilitilio occius?

Efharisto.

It will be all right.

Yiayia!

No, no, you don't understand.

I don't want to buy some poison.

I want to know if you sold any to someone else.

Yesterday or the day before.

Anglos?

Tall?

Megalos?

And his hair -- was it like mine or darker?

Not men -- lady.

Yes, English lady.

Poirot, the poison was sold to Mrs. Gold.

Of course.

So, you comprehend?

But whyever did she want to help her husband poison Chantry?

Ah, my dear Mlle. Pamela,

it is not a question

of who failed to murder the Commander Chantry,

but who -- and for what reason --

succeeded in murdering his wife.

A disturbance?

Yes, the passports were stolen.

He was distracted by a scream.

Mrs. Gold was disturbed.

A mantis flew in and settled on a pillow.

After last night's terrible events, he left the desk.

Is Commander Chantry still in the hotel?

Bien.

Marjorie Gold and Chantry?

Oh, yes, Mlle. Pamela -- the eternal triangle.

You remember?

But not the one that you were supposed to see.

It was only the reactions of Mme. Gold

and the jealous blusters of the Commander Chantry

that made you think that Douglas Gold was in love

with the Commander's wife, Valentine Chantry.

Oh, yes, it was skillfully done.

You see, Marjorie Gold and the Commander Chantry

had started their affair in England.

They planned to meet here and stage their crime publicly.

Chantry inserted the poison into his own drink

and passed it to his wife.

She drank it, and then, in the confusion,

he slipped the bottle of poison into the pocket of Douglas Gold.

How awful.

But now we must stop them before they can leave the island.

Already they have obtained their passports.

I will check the boat from Brindisi.

You ask if anyone has seen them.

Excuse me.

Are there English people on board?

-English people? -No, no, no, sorry.

Brindisi?

-Grazie. -Prego.

Major Barnes!

Ah.

I have to keep up appearances, Poirot.

The swordfish is five days old.

It's not the Italians I've been keeping an eye on.

It's the English.

Commander Chantry has taken to fishing.

He and Mrs. Gold are heading out to the Turkish coast.

When did you first realize about Mrs. Gold?

Her performance was without fault, except in one particular.

Poirot! Ahead!

That scene she created at the cabana --

she suggested that her husband wanted a divorce.

Eh bien -- I had just observed that M. Gold was a Catholic.

The whole thing did not make sense,

unless of course we were watching the elaborate charade.

Tony, look -- a boat!

Could he be armed, Poirot?

I do not think they would dare risk bringing the gun

onto the island.

Their method is more discreet.

And I can deal with the commander.

That bloody Belgian busybody!

Can't you make it go faster?

Faster! Faster!

Dynamite?

Yes, dynamite -- get the dynamite.

Get away the boat fast!

-What is it? -What is it?

He's got some dynamite!

Keep away! Keep away!

Commander Chantry, drop the dynamite, or we shall fire!

Stand off! Stand off!

Ah, mon Dieu.

-Is he all right? -You crazy English!

If you do not stop trying to kill each other,

I shall put you all under arrest!

That includes you, Signor Poirot!

Poor Douglas Gold.

He's staying on, you know, to the end.

Well, he should leave.

I told his wife to leave, but she took no notice.

Can't you stay on a few more days?

Impossible.

Je regrette.

No, no.

I really enjoyed our little adventure.

Ah.

Ah, Poirot, trying to sneak off the island again, are you?

Not at all, Major, not at all.

I thought I should leave

before the inspector changes his mind, eh?

Look, if you see me at the harbor,

pretend you don't know me.

Ah.

Where are you headed, Major? Abyssinia?

How the Hades did you know that?

Well, I, uh -- I assumed you'd want to be there

for the ostrich-shooting season.

Au revoir.

Goodbye, M. Poirot.

Oh.

I hope we shall meet again.

Au revoir, mademoiselle.