All language subtitles for The.ABC.Murders.S01E02.1080p.AMZN.WEBRip.DDP5.1.x264-NTb

The ABC railway guide was
beside both dead women.

It is the killer telling
us the rules of the game.

Mr Cust, is there something
you want?

The success of my enterprise.

Would you mind if I joined you,
Sir Carmichael?

Not at all,
but it is quite wild out there.

Whore!

Have I caused you some offence?
You're not who you say you are.

Who the hell are you?

Mon nom est Hercule Poirot.

Je suis un refugie.

Are you joining family
who are already here,

or are family, wife and children
joining you later?

Non.

Do you need a doctor?

Non.

And what is your profession?

Are you all right, madam?

Gendarme.

- Where's the letter from ABC?
- You have what I have.

The Inspector isn't going
to want all these.

I have no wish for them either.
Take them.

What are you so twitchy for?

You'd better not be doing your
own thing. Crome won't like that.

You have ransacked my home and
removed my personal possessions.

"Twitchy" is the appropriate
response.

All right if I use your
lavvy before I go?

No, it's not all right.

Don't do yourself any favours,
do you?

Sir Carmichael?

How disgraceful of me,
what an appalling show,

- I'm so sorry...
- There's nothing to be sorry for.

You are such a comfort to me, Thora.

What the hell are you doing?!

- I was just trying to be kind.
- I love my wife.

How can you live here all
this time and not know that?

You've misunderstood me, I...

I give you a week to find another
job and somewhere else to live.

Consider this your formal
notice of dismissal.

Sir, I...

- Lady Hermione's asking for you, Sir.
- Thank you, Capstick.

You have plenty of work to be
getting on with, Miss Grey.

"Miss Grey" is it now?

Someone's fallen off her pedestal.

Piss off!

I've got my eye on you, girl.

Come on, just a short stroll.
Stretch the legs.

Come on, Wilbur. You're supposed to
be going for a walk. Go on! Go on!

What's the matter with you?
Silly old thing!

It's Mrs Kirkham
from across the hall.

It's my daily woman's fault.

I honestly don't think she can read.
She just puts everything on

the mantelpiece, whether
it's for me, or for someone else.

She's incorrigibly stupid,
but very good at dusting.

Madame, we are neighbours, yet you
come to my door wearing that?

Oh... Oh, but it's not you
we object to.

It's all the others.
The ones that breed like flies.

How may I assist you?

Well, like I say, my daily's fault.

I only just saw it.

Incredibly rude.

- Operator.
- Churston. Combeside is the house.

The name is Clarke. Hurry!

- Churston 966.
- Is this Combeside? - It is.

Is Sir Carmichael safe?

Who is this?
What are you talking about?

It is Hercule Poirot.
Somebody means him great harm.

Harm? Why?

Because his name is
Carmichael Clarke.

Who is it, Franklin?

Darling, can you ask Car
to come to the telephone?

He took Wilbur for his walk.

- When?
- Oh, I don't know, I was... I was dozing.

What is it?

Car?

Car?

Car?

Yes, there we are...

I was in the bath.
Is there something wrong?

- Sir Carmichael?
- I have to call the police.

I'm sorry,
I have to call them right now.

- Terror grips nation. - Thank you.
- Terror grips nation.

Terror grips nation.

200 extra police constables
will be patrolling the streets.

But our question for the
commissioner of the

Metropolitan police force is

is this substantial enough in
the face of terror that ABC

is wreaking across the country?

Inspector Crome of Scotland Yard
was unable to comment.

The question on everyone's mind
is where will ABC strike next?

Who and where is D?
And we are concerned,

that this government is not...

Is my breakfast not
good enough for you?

I'm sorry?

I said, is my breakfast
not good enough for you?

It looks delicious.

Chin-chin.

You think the killer wanted
to get me? Why?

He is, and pardon me
for being so blunt,

a deranged sexual pervert.
His victims are women.

Ascher. Barnard...

But my surname is Grey.

Perhaps he thought it was Crey
and mistook Sir Carmichael for you.

What about Capstick? Maybe
the killer wanted to get her.

Inspector, how could anyone,
even in the grip of depraved lunacy,

mistake my brother
for Miss Grey or Capstick?

Did any of you see any strangers,
anything or anyone unusual?

Poirot was here.

I saw him.

- Poirot.
- No, Hermione, darling, that was a long time ago.

Was it? Really?

Oh, of course!

Yes! Mes enfants!

That's right.
And what a party it was, eh?

I've been having the most
terrible dreams.

All right. Let's get you back
to bed, angel. Come on.

Is Car coming home soon?

Come on.

Come on.

I'll get an officer
to take your statements.

Isn't it time you packed, Miss Grey?

Corpus Christi.Amen.

Corpus Christi.Amen.

Corpus Christi.Amen.

Corpus Christi.Amen.

Corpus Christi. Corpus Christi.
Amen.

Je vous saue Marie. Pleine de grace.

Ils arrivent!
Le Seigneur est avec vous.

Ils arrivent!

Sainte Marie, mere de Dieu.

Corpus Christi.

Corpus Christi.

How come you never told the police?

How come you let that man
and those women be killed?

I did not let them be killed.

- Well, that's what it says here.
- Where is he going to strike next?

My dad died in Belgium.

Private Eric Beddows of the
King's Infantry, blown to bits

in your shitty country that you
couldn't even stay and fight for!

Your neighbour told me
where you'd be.

Go.

What are you hiding
from the police?!

I'm sad, Lily.

No-one loves me.

You don't love me and I
take care of you, don't I?

Will you sing me a song
because I'm sad?

I wish I had been able to
alert you sooner.

Your brother would be alive.

But I was not enough.

I don't hold you responsible.
Far from it.

How is Lady Hermione?

She's very frail.

I wouldn't have left her if this
wasn't so important.

What is your opinion of
Inspector Crome?

I am not familiar with his
methodology.

Ah, well,
I'm not convinced he's got one.

But you do, though.
So what do YOU think?

There is a connection between
Bexhill and Churston,

because I've visited both places,
but I've never been to Andover, so

perhaps the connection
is mere coincidence.

Crome doesn't ask questions.

I need you to ask the questions.

I don't think the Inspector
would appreciate that.

Car's head was nearly taken
right off his neck.

My brother, who never thought or did
a petty, cruel thing in his life.

So I don't care what the
Inspector appreciates,

I want this bloody man stopped.

What makes you think it's a man?

Excusez-moi.

"Mon cher Hercule, are you having
fun yet? What's next..."

You ask the questions...

..and I will pay for your time.

Come in.

- You've met Miss Megan Barnard, I believe.
- Mademoiselle.

- And Donald Fraser. - Monsieur.
- And Mrs Barnard isn't coping

particularly well,
so best left in peace.

And of course, poor Mrs Ascher's
husband is in prison.

Thora is just getting dressed.

Ah.

We've had something of
a fracas at Combeside.

Some of the maids have it
in for Thora.

It's just jealousy, I expect,
but I've taken this room for her.

It's been a horrible shock
for the poor girl.

Thora?

Ah.

- You remember Miss Grey.
- Mademoiselle Grey.

Franklin says you don't think
the killer is a man. Why not?

There is a layer of artifice
in the letters,

as if a woman were writing to give
the impression of being a man,

- or vice versa. - Betty would never
have gone off with another man.

Never.

So Miss Barnard went to a beach hut
and took her stockings off

for another girl?

I never thought Bexhill
quite so... racy.

Christ! Betty wouldn't have gone off
with anyone! She loved me!

- We were in love!
- Mes enfants,

if we are to discover the killer,
we must be honest about the nature

and proclivities of the victims.

Who the hell are you
calling a child? I'm not a child!

- I'm not some boy to be patronised!
- Please, Mr. Fraser...

it's just something
that Mr Poirot says.

"Mes enfants," he's known for it.
He means nothing insulting by it.

Well, I am insulted!

We were told you were going to ask
us questions,

so get on and ask them.

Searching your memories, did any of
you notice anything peculiar

in the lead-up to the murders?

No strangers? Nothing different in
the behaviour of the victims?

No, nothing strange.
Nothing different.

- Mr Fraser?
- Er, no. Nothing different. Nothing unusual.

Is that it? Because the police asked
exactly the same question, so we've

come all this way for nothing.
I feel sorry for you, Mr Clarke.

You've wasted your money,
I've wasted my time!

He... He's upset.

That went well.

Donald, wait.

Mademoiselle, can you tell me what
sort of person your sister

might have met at the beach hut
in the middle of the night?

Wasn't the kind of thing
we discussed.

Could you tell me what stockings
your sister wore?

No.

So, despite what I said, despite me
telling you point-blank to

stay out of this,
Clarke's got you on the payroll.

I did not withhold
information from you.

Do not tell lies about me to make
yourself more popular.

I didn't say a bloody thing!
They make up what they want,

- they always do. - Because of this,
I have been spat at in the street!

Well, I've been spat at, too!
Happens to coppers.

Oh. So now I am a policeman?
A "copper", even. How gratifying.

Don't twist my words!
And never mind what it

says about you, look
what they say about me!

- I can't find my arse with both hands!
- That is not what it says.

Well, it might as well do.

- What the hell?! - Madame Ascher
was wearing new stockings.

Betty Barnard was strangled with
the same make of stockings.

And Carmichael Clarke was a secret
stocking-wearer, was he?

Had ladies scanties on under
his tweed suit?

Keep that one out of the papers.

I think this is what is left of
the packet the stockings came in.

We need to identify it.

"We", and you "think"?
It's a scrap of paper.

You have people,
you must put them on it immediately.

First off, you don't give me
orders. And second, yeah,

I do have people, top people,
but they're a bit busy working on

the letters to chase after
a scrap of paper -

they're trying to break the code,
because there must be a code.

There is a code.

- The code is me.
- What?!

I'm having a brandy,
do you want one?

You're offering me a drink?

Despite what I may think,

Japp said you were a good man,
so I am offering you a brandy.

Do you want one? Yes or no?

Japp said that?

The code is you?

Chin-chin.

In 1921,

I had a cream tea

at The Ginger Cat

in Bexhill where, years later,
Betty Barnard

was to become a waitress.

In 1928, I attended Lady Hermione's

birthday party in Combeside.

I know. She kept talking about you,
said you'd been there.

Poor lady couldn't even remember
her husband had died.

But Andover doesn't fit the pattern.

I found this in
Madame Ascher's shop.

It was framed.

She'd kept it since 1914.

It was precious to her.

You took evidence from a crime
scene? What is wrong with you?

Read it.

"A train carrying refugees from
Belgium was held at a siding,

"waiting for a driver. One of
the passengers got tired of the

"long delay and his mother
went into labour.

"Luckily for mother and baby,
Mrs Alice Ascher, who owns a nearby

"tobacconists, was able to
offer the newborn boy a full"

"wardrobe of bootees and shawls."

It's very sweet, but what's it
got to do with you?

"The baby was delivered by another
passenger on the train,

"one M. Hercule Poirot..."

"before continuing on his journey."

But I didn't know it was Andover.

The night was dark, and no-one
thought to mention where we were.

This baby will be 19 by now.

- What was the mother's name?
- Marie.

- Her surname.
- I didn't even ask.

It wasn't important at the time.

This baby could be our man.

What if it isn't a man
writing the letters?

Of course it's a bloody man!

How do you know how to
deliver a baby?

I've lived a long life.

But you were right, Crome.
The killer knows me,

knows all about me.

From the moment I arrived in this
country, my entire life here...

they know everything.
And the next locale,

the letter D, will also be
a place I have visited.

We know that the next target's
name will begin with D,

so to find them, let's make a list
of all the places beginning

with D that I have been to.

Dawlish, Deal, Didcot, Denmark Hill,
Doncaster, Dorking, Dundee,

Dinas, Dover, Dove Holes, Downham
Market, Duke Street, Dunrobin Castle

and Dyce. One of these stations, one
of these cities, towns and villages,

is where ABC will be next.

Go through the telephone directory,
go through the census,

find every person with a surname
beginning with D.

"Person"? I thought you said
the killer was after women.

Well, maybe I changed my bloody
mind! Get on with it!

- How long is she gone for?
- Couple of hours.

What's this?

Backgammon.

I used to play a lot.
I used to be good.

- What happened?
- I stopped being good.

Oh, Mr Cust!

You're the killer! It's you!

I'm a travelling salesman.
I sell stockings.

I'm only joking.

The ABC is to do with the railway guide.
I read that in the paper.

And you'd have to be thick to leave
that sort of clue if it was

actually your name.

Still, if it was you,
I'd get you to bump Mum off.

- Heave her down a flight of stairs.
- Lily, murder is a crime.

- It's a sin against God.
- I'm joking, again.

Though sometimes
I've got to be honest

it seems like a really good idea.
Make life easier.

Waste of a good stocking,
if you ask me.

Nothing else ties as tight.

Tighter.

So what does the A and B
stand for, then, Mr Cust?

Alexander Bonaparte.

Don't tell Mum that...

she'll start ranting and raving
about the foreigns.

If she asks, just tell her you're
called Alexander...

it's a good English name.

Please, Lily.

It lets it out, the darkness.

Make it stop.

It needs to hurt.

Harder.

Mademoiselle.

Do you recognise this?

The colour, perhaps...
does it correspond to anything you

might have seen on your sister's
dressing table?

The colour of a packet of stockings?

I'm sorry.

Maybe your mother would know.
Is she here?

Donald took her to
Herstmonceux Castle for the day.

- There's a tea room. They do cakes.
- Mmm.

I haven't been completely honest
about that night.

I suppose I'm ashamed about it.

We didn't agree to not say anything,
Donald and me, we just...

You see, he, Donald and me...

Had a prior understanding.

Hmm?

I observed a tension.

He will not look at you,
yet you run after him.

After he, erm...

..took up with Betty,
he kept coming round for his supper,

like he always had done,

whether Betty was in or not.

Mum loves him, you see.
She's always wanted a son.

Betty would never have married him.

It was too much for me,
so I used to sit in the kitchen.

Mum's gone to the pictures.

She still put you a plate up,
though.

Feel free to eat it
in the other room.

Oh, Megan, you are embarrassing
yourself, huh?

Making out like this is everyone's
fault.

But if you'd made more effort
with your hair,

your clothes, been more...
go-getting, maybe I wouldn't have

looked elsewhere. A man wants to
feel good with a girl on his arm,

not dragged down.
You need an interest, a hobby.

You should do a course or something.
Look at Betty.

She's learning silver service,
not because she wants to be a

waitress, so she can see how real
people behave for when we're

both getting on in life.
She's thinking ahead.

Betty's at the Palais.

She's serving something all right,
but I doubt it's silver.

- Donald?! - You're coming home with me.
- Let go, you dozy bastard!

You stay here, I won't marry you!

Oh, my broken heart!

I wanted him to see I would have
been a good wife.

I would have been faithful.

I wanted to rub his nose in it.

Hmm.

In the circumstances,
that is entirely forgivable.

- Really?
- Yes.

I thank you for your help.

You mustn't think badly of Donald.

He is eating cake with your mother
while you, mademoiselle, grieving

and alone, are peeling potatoes,

so I will think what I please.

There was a man at the Palais with
the same clothes as you!

He walked right past me!

I'm told Lady Hermione believed
she saw me at Combeside,

the day Sir Carmichael was murdered.

She gets very confused.

I'll let you speak alone.

She's, erm... She's looking forward
to seeing you, but you must expect

her to be most uncomplimentary
about Thora, I'm afraid.

The animosity seems to be the only
thing keeping her going.

♪ Happy Birthday to you ♪

♪ Happy Birthday to you ♪

♪ Happy Birthday dear Hermione ♪

♪ Happy Birthday to you ♪

Bravo.

Bon anniversaire, Lady Hermione.

Oh, I am such an admirer!

Such an admirer.

Are we going to have a murder?

Please say it's going to be
spectacularly grisly!

Mes enfants, ce sois - tonight -
we have prepared a murder of

unparalleled and macabre savagery,

- of reckoning and revelation!
- Birthday murder!

Birthday murder! Birthday
murder! Birthday murder!

- Birthday murder! - For you, this is a
game, but for me, it is my calling.

I catch killers.

Actual killers.

Tomorrow I will hunt them again.
I will follow their trails of

blood, but, mes enfants, tonight

- blood will be our entertainment.
- Oh!

Birthday murder.

Birthday murder! Birthday murder!
Birthday murder! Birthday murder!

Birthday murder! Birthday murder!

Birthday murder! Birthday murder!
Birthday murder!

Don't come too close. I... I...
I smell.

It's in my throat, you see.
Sometimes I can taste it.

Je suis desole,
for all your sorrows.

Oh, I've been told Miss Grey
is in a hotel.

Franklin is like my darling Car...

he won't hear a word against
that bloody girl.

A pretty face and a sob story about
being an orphan and they are

both putty in her hands.

Lady Hermione, I'm told you believed
I came to the house...

not years ago, but recently.

Oh, the morphine plays tricks on me.

Sometimes I forget that Car is dead.

Such cruel tricks.

It was, er... just a person.

I was by the window against the sun,

which is supposed to be good for me.

The same hat, the coat.

No, thank you,
we don't buy anything at the door.

But it was just a salesman.

Of course, I knew it wasn't you.

But just for a moment,
I was so happy.

"Poirot is here," I thought.

"Now we shall have fun, like we
did when we were beautiful."

Did you ask Miss Grey about it?

I had another attack.

And then Car was killed,
and I was so confused.

What did this visitor look like,
the one you thought was me?

- Young? Old?
- I'm not sure.

Thora was always waiting
for me to die.

Even when I was still alive.

Don't let her get her claws
into Franklin.

Promise me she won't get her
claws into him.

Er, I... I don't know
what he looked like!

You don't look travelling
salesmen in the face,

it only encourages them!

- I... I bought a pair of stockings from him to
make him go away. - Was he dressed like me?

I don't know!

What type of stockings?
Do you remember the name?

- I don't know.
- What colour was the packet?

I threw the packet away and I only
wore the stockings for a few

- hours and then I threw them away, too.
- Why?

Because I have long legs
and they were too short for me!

Thora, why didn't
you say any of this?

- Because I forgot.
- You forgot? How could you forget?

Because I did! There were police
everywhere, and Sir Carmichael was

like a father to me, and
now everyone's shouting

me, and I've done
nothing wrong except...

- No-one's shouting.
- Yes, you are!

Why are you even here?

You said you'd be at Combeside.
None of this is

fair... I had to come down
when I found this out!

..none of this at all. No-one
understands or cares about how

bloody awful it is to be me!

Excuse me for a moment.

Thora...

Come on, now. I'm sorry.
Don't cry, I know, I'm sorry.

I... I... I shouldn't
have shouted at you.

I'm sorry.

Come here. I'm sorry.

There is a man there, sleeping.

Yes, he comes in most nights.

This is for him.

Then he should have it before it
gets cold, Father.

Yes.

Peter. Peter.

Thank you.

I wish you would take communion.

It grieves me to see you leave mass
without the Eucharist.

I cannot take communion
without confession.

I do not confess.

I believe it would bring you
some peace.

Why should we have peace? Why should
anyone, here, now, have peace?

- We should be raging.
- Is that what you are? Raging?

- And doubtful, and terrified.
- Of what?

Failure.

Of not being enough.

- You can't possibly know that you would fail.
- Oh, I do.

I have failed,
failed terribly, catastrophically.

I was not enough. Nor was he.

I doubt him.

I doubt all of it.

So, Father Anselm,

what do you say to that?

I say that the confessional is just
a few short steps over there.

Come with me.

You've already spoken it out loud...
say it in there so that I can

absolve you and you can
receive the sacrament.

- God forgives all.
- But I do not.

There, now.

Well, here we go again, Horrocks.

Hey?

Mind your back, ladies.

Do beg your pardon.

Sharing with you again?

Beggars can't be choosers, love.

I'd earn more bloody money begging.

And I'd keep better company!

I know it was you in Macclesfield,
that sewed Horrocks' hand inside

his trousers,
like he was being dirty.

Well, I'm telling you now, you lay
one finger on my dummy, and I will

geld you with a rusty spoon,
and I'm going to laugh!

That's all you'll hear, you
bloody bastard... my laughter!

Doncaster!
This is Doncaster Station.

Who sells stockings at a racecourse?

Forget the stockings! "Giddy up"
is what you say to horses.

You've been to Doncaster
races before.

Where we're going is horses.

But why would ABC give such
a blatant clue?

Because he's a cocky shit.

They all get cocky,
that's what brings them down.

Did he say anything else to you?

No.

Well, then. He's close.

I can smell him.

Coming into the final furlong,
it's neck and neck.

Chips With Everything drawing ahead,
Lucky Chap is fighting back.

Chadona is coming up on the outside,

but it's Chips With Everything
holding firm, holding firm.

Lucky Chap is coming back!
It's going to be neck and neck!

It's Chips With Everything
by a mile!

Go on, you beauty! Go on!

Eye-eye, Horrocks.

ABC sells stockings door to door.

Oh, shit! Shit!

Who buys stockings
at a race meeting?

Showgirls might buy stockings
between the matinee and the

evening performance.

ABC has made a mistake, Crome.

This is Doncaster, but this is not
Dexter Dooley, ventriloquist.

This is Benny Grew, a risque comic.

More than a mistake, ABC has made a

catastrophic error and will act.

We must prepare for a storm
of slaughter.

We must prepare for
the wrath of God.

Ils arrivent!

Ils arrivent! Soldats!

Last tube, ladies and gents,
last tube.

Make your way to the exits,
station is closing.

Station is closing, thank you!

Oui.

I can hear you breathing.

You have my attention.

What do you want?

"Who are you, Hercule?"

"Who are you really?"