All language subtitles for Death.on.the.Nile.1978.720p.BluRay.x264.YIFY

- Hey!
- It's her. The Ridgeway girl.

- Nice.
- Some of us have to work for a living.

Daisy! Back into line.

Welcome to Wade Hall, Miss Ridgeway.

We all hope you will be very happy here.

Thank you, Bamstaple. I know I shall.

Perhaps you would care
to meet the staff, miss?

Later. I want to see what progress
we've made with the grounds.

The architect isn't here yet, miss.

Now, Barnstaple.

Very good, miss.

- Jackie!
- Linnet!

- Jackie!
- Oh, Linny!

Oh, I'm sorry.
That fool of a butler didn't tell me.

Oh, no, no. It's alright, it's alright.

- You look marvellous.
- Thank you. So do you, as always.

Where should I serve the tea,
mademoiselle?

- In the drawing room.
-Oui, mademoiselle.

- Let's go upstairs and freshen up.
- What's the matter with Louise?

Man trouble, what else? She wants
to get married. To an Egyptian, no less.

She knew absolutely nothing about him,
so I had him checked out.

- And?
- He had a wife already.

- So you put a stop to it.
- You bet I did.

I told her she couldn't look to me
for a dowry,

and naturally he wouldn't touch her
without one. Men!

- Oh, Linnet! Oh! It's beautiful!
- I'm so glad you like it.

Listen, Linnet. I've got something
to tell you, and a favour to ask.

- Well, anything, you know that.
- No, no. This is serious.

- I'm engaged.
- Jackie! Oh, that's wonderful!

- Will you give him a job?
- A job?

Here, at Wode Hall. Please.

Don't you think you should tell me
something about him first?

Well, his name is Simon,
Simon Doyle, and he's...

Oh, he's everything
I've ever dreamed of.

Jackie...

- Isn't it lovely?
- Yes, it's beautiful.

- Yes, isn't it?
- The trouble is he's broke.

- That makes two of us.
- These shoes are killing me.

But he loves the country
and a job here would be just ideal.

Oh, Linnet, I'll die if I can't marry
him. I really will, I'll just die.

- You have got it badly.
- I know.

- Alright. What do you want me to do?
- Well, you've got this huge place.

You're going to need someone
to run it for you. Simon!

- But I need someone with experience.
- No, listen!

He studied Estate Management
at Cambridge. He's very bright.

I'll tell you what.
If you don't like him, you can fire him.

But you will, I know you will.

Alright.
Why don't you bring him down tomorrow?

- And I'll have a look at him.
- Thank you!

- Jackie!
- Bye-bye!

I just don't want to feel
a fool.

Don't worry. Linnet promised.
Well, almost.

- I think Linnet may not even like me.
- Nonsense. She'll adore you!

And you're perfect for the job. Perfect.

Well, I'll do my best
not to let you down.

Oh, Simon, I do love you.
You make me so happy!

- We'll honeymoon in Egypt.
- You always said we'd go to Egypt.

Hello! Linnet!

Oh, Linny. Here he is.

- Come on.
- Hang on, darling.

Here he is.

My Simon.

Hello.

Jackie's told me so much about you.

Isn't he perfect?
Isn't he, Linny?

- Yes, I think he'll do very well.

I told you.

Linnet Ridgeway marries penniless
Prince Charming after whirlwind romance.

They plan to honeymoon in Egypt.
Jesus H Christ!

Don't you mean Tut N Khamun?
Well, what the hell do we do?

The Bremen sails tonight.
I can just get on.

What, and try fixing
those British lawyers?

- No, you dope.
- Then what?

I'll go to Egypt.
Hell, she's gonna be there for a month.

"Why, Uncle Andrew!"

A chance meeting.
I'm over there on a trip.

Honeymoon lovers,
she's not thinking too clear.

Get the picture?

Look, Linnet's no fool, Pennington.

Neither am I!

Well, you have a nice trip,
wicked Uncle Andrew.

So that's the Ridgeway girl.

What are you studying so closely?

Her picture? Or her pearls?

Keep a civil tongue in your head,
Bowers, or you'll be out of a job.

What do I care?

This town is filled with
rich old widows

willing to pay for a little
grovelling and a body massage.

You go ahead and fire me.

Temper, temper, Bowers!
It's obvious you need a holiday.

How would a little trip
down the Nile suit you?

There's nothing I would
dislike more.

If there's two things in the world
I can't abide, it's heat and heathens.

Good, then we'll go.

Bowers, pack!

Why don't they put
an escalator in these things?

- Lazybones!
- Lazybones?

Don't you know it's better
to travel hopefully than to arrive?

What a view!

- Happy, darling?
- Silly!

- We must be the happiest people alive.
- And the prettiest.

- And the luckiest.
- And the alonest.

Just us and no one else.

The Neter Menkaure pyramid
is 204 feet high.

Each side of the base
is 356.5 feet.

- Jackie!
- What the hell are you doing here?

Seeing the sights,
like yourselves.

But you were at the Danieli in Venice,
and at Brindisi too.

- What a coincidence!
- Jackie, why?

She's following us about
deliberately.

Is that true?
Well, it's intolerable!

And common. Very, very common.

And effective. Very,
very effective.

Bye-bye.

- Bitch! Everywhere we go she pops up.
- Darling...

- Like some kangaroo in heat.
- Oh, I can't understand her.

- Can't you?
- Oh, I suppose it's my fault.

I broke our engagement
and went off with you.

She must be really unhappy.

- She's revelling in every minute of it.
- No.

Darling.

We are the lucky ones.
Don't let Jackie spoil it.

I won't.

This is the perfect honeymoon.

No one's gonna wreck it for us.

I love you.

I'll race you back.

- Colonel Race!
- Poirot!

Oh, I'm enchanted to see you!

- Oh, my old friend! How capital!
- Yes.

Oh, I haven't clapped eyes on you
since...

Oh, that strange affair
of the decapitated clergyman.

Yes, yes.

I still think you were lucky
to find that cake knife up the chimney.

Lucky? With me it's the exercise
of the little grey cells.

Luck, I leave to the others.

Yes, I'd forgotten
your opinions about yourself.

Might one ask,
what are you doing here?

I'm les vacances.

Shortly I'm going up the Nile
on the steamer. And you?

Oh, the same, oddly enough.

Oh. In other words, you're
following one of the passengers.

No, no. Seufement les vacances,
man ami.

on!

- Like yourself.
- Yes.

This chair is free, eh?

In this world, comrade,
nothing's free.

- Bitte?
- Forget it. Sit down.

- Danke. You are reading Das Kapital?
- Yes. I never travel without it.

Dr Ludwig Bessner.
Of the Bessner Institute, Zurich.

Jim Ferguson, citizen of the world.

- You are on holiday, perhaps, eh?
- No.

I'm observing the decline
of the capitalist system, my friend.

Oh, indeed.

Well, you've got
a good specimen there, eh?

- The young Kaugummi heiress.
- That parasite?

- You don't approve?
- She makes me sick.

In any decent society...

Ah, you may be right.

She has altogether too much power.

- Monsieur.
-Shukran jazeelan.

Tobin tcbin!

- Linnet? Linnet, honey!
- Uncle Andrew!

What a surprise! I didn't know
you were travelling in Egypt!

Well, it's very sudden. As a matter
of fact, I'm on my honeymoon.

Your honeymoon? What do you know!
Is this the lucky young man?

Darling, this is my American lawyer
and trustee, Andrew Pennington.

Simon. Simon Doyle.

- Pleased to meet you, sir.
- How do you do?

- Won't you join us?
- Well, just for a moment.

But don't worry.
I'm not going to intrude.

I know how young people are.

The cynosure of all eyes.

Even you, with your English reserve,
gaze.

- She's very beautiful.
- Oh, she's very rich.

You know who she is, of course.

- Of course.
- Yes.

Do forgive me for butting in,
but I have a bet with my daughter here,

that you're Hercules Porridge,
the famous French sleuth.

Not quite. I am Hercule Poirot,
the famous Belgian sleuth.

I told you, Rosalie.

There's only one Monsieur Poirot
in the world. He's unmistakable.

As indeed I realise I am myself.

My mother is Salome Otterbourne,
the novelist.

Otter... Salo... Of course.
Enchanté.

So here we are,
two famous people in one plaoe.

- Oh, three, surely.

I was talking about genius,
not mere money, monsieur.

Oh, you know Colonel Race,
my old friend?

This is... and her daughter...

Charmed, simply charmed.

Please, sit down, madame, mademoiselle.

You're probably working on
some other book now, madame.

Set in Egypt, perhaps?

How thrillingly clever of you
to deduce that, Monsieur Porridge!

I am here to absorb local colour
for my grand opus,

Snow on the Sphinxb Face.

Frozen enigma turns
to incandescent love

as this young English girl from
Haslemere, scarcely out of school,

melts the barbarous heart
of a cruel desert sheikh.

Somehow, I don't think
Monsieur Poirot

is a very keen reader
of romantic novels, Mother.

Of course he is. All Frenchmen are.
They're not afraid of good, strong sex!

Unlike, I might say, most of
our leading lending libraries.

They have banned
Salome Otterbourne

for speaking the truth
about men and women.

But she goes on, nonetheless.

The truth, yes. The truth.
It's so difficult to tell.

Thank you, monsieur.

Well, perhaps you would
join me in a tango, er, mademoiselle?

A little exercise after dinner.

- Do you tango, Colonel?
- Poorly, I'm afraid, Mrs Otterbourne.

Then I shall teach you
to do it correctly,

as it was done in old Spain,
when it was known as the "cheeker",

that is to say,
with a sensuous, erotic dash.

Damn it, Jackie!
Can't you leave us alone?

Waiter.

Monsieur Poirot!
Monsieur Poirot!

I saw you with Linnet
this morning.

How much is she paying you
to warn me off?

No, no. I accepted no commission
from Madame Doyle, nor will I.

What I have to say to you
is in pure friendship.

Oh, yes? And what would
you like to say?

That I'm making a public show of myself?
That I'm crazy?

I say bury the dead.

Not as the Egyptians do,

preserving the body in order to ensure
the immortality of the soul.

No. Properly, finally.
Turn your back on the past.

Look only fonlvard.
Remember, time heals everything.

If you think I'm suffering,
you're quite wrong.

Actually, I'm rather
enjoying myself.

Yes. Your pleasure is the very worst
part of it, mademoiselle.

I don't care.
Simon was mine and he loved me.

Then she came along and...

It's only a tiny thing...

...but it's lethal.

And my father taught me
to be a crack shot.

Sometimes, I swear I'll put this gun
right against her head,

and then ever so gently
pull the trigger.

When I hear that sound
more and more...

I know how you feel.
We all feel like that at times.

Only, I warn you, mademoiselle...

Do not allow evil into your heart.
it will make a home there.

If love can't live there,
evil will do just as well.

Oh. How... How sad, mademoiselle.

Hello, Mr P!

- You're going back to the hotel?
- Where else?

Look. It's a surprise for Linnet.
Do you think she'll like it?

- That depends. Does she smoke?
- Just Craven "A".

By the way... Have you had a chance
to talk to Jackie yet?

Yes, just a few moments ago.

Well, good. I hope you got
her to see some sense.

Alas, to her,
sense is perpetual revenge.

- Are you serious?
- I'm always serious, mon ami.

Jackie's stubborn, I know,
and damn possessive.

- But surely...
- Did she want to possess you?

Well, I suppose so. Yes, she did.

But she has a hell of a temper
and a mind of her own.

She wishes to wear the trousers.

Yes. And a man can't have that,
can he, Mr P?

No, no, ne peut pas.

You know, when I first met Linnet...
Well, how should I put it?

It was like the moon after sunrise. You
just don't notice it's there any more.

After I met her,
Jackie just didn't exist.

Yes. Some women have that power.

But how are you going to find
a way out of your present dilemma?

Well, I have the most marvellous plan
and it's absolutely foolproof.

Cabby!

The railway station, quickly.
We're late for the Alexandria train.

The railway station!

Fast as you can.

blows]

blows]

blows]

blows]

Thank you.

Look. There she is.

Welcome, welcome, welcome.
Welcome aboard the Kamak. Yes.

My name is Mr Choudry.

I am the manager of this boat

and your delight and happiness
is my sole concern and pleasure.

Quite rightly.

I have here... I have here...

Yes, I have here a list of names and,
er... and, er... staterooms.

I guess from your faces
which is which, OK?

Er... You are Mrs and
Miss Otterbourne.

- Righty?
- Wrong?

I'm Mrs Van Schuyler

and I wish to be taken
to my cabin immediately.

Bowers will have the cabin opposite,
on the starboard side.

The roasting afternoon sun
may do wonders

for those jaundiced jowls of hers.

Right away, Madam. Right away.

Yes. You must be Dr Bessner.
Such elegant German moustaches.

I'm afraid you'd never make
a detective, Monsieur.

The moustaches, although
undeniably elegant, are Belgian.

My name is Poirot, Hercule Poirot.

Ah, the famous Monsieur Poirot?

I grovel in mortification.
I grovel.

Look, wouldn't it just be simpler
for us to give you our names

and you to give us
the cabins that we booked?

Simpler? Ah, lummy! Yes.
Unquestionably simpler. Unquestionably.

Such a brilliant lack
of complication.

In a trice, the safragi will
conduct you all to your stateroom.

Safragi! Saf...

blows]

Ah, we start.

May I suggest that you all take
your last look at the city?

Safra... Safragi!

Well, we've done it.
We got rid of her, at last.

What did you expect?
You're a genius.

Well, it's not bad
for the Simple Simon.

Blows]

Fabulous, isn't it?

You're the Ridgeway girl,
aren't you?

And you're Mrs Van Schuyler.
I wondered if we'd ever break the ice.

Well, I seldom talk to strangers,
but never to strange honeymooners.

- I'm glad you're breaking your rule.
- Well, rules are made to be broken.

At least, mine are by me.

- Oh, they're beautiful.
- Thank you.

And amazing,
if you know how they're made.

A tiny piece of grit makes
its way into an oyster

which eventually becomes
a pearl of great price

hanging round the neck
of a pretty girl like you.

- I never thought of it that way.
- Well, you should.

The oyster nearly dies.

Come along now. Back to the cabin.
Time for your massage.

My companion, Bowers.

She did 15 rounds once
with Jack Dempsey.

He was never the same man again.

- Sorry, Miss Ridgeway.
- Mrs Doyle. Mrs Simon Doyle.

You have got to forgive Miss Bowers.

She's just unfamiliar
with the married state.

- I saw you drooling over her pearls.
- Shut up, Bowers.

You'd give every tooth in your head
to lay your hands on them.

What nonsense.

Just because you've got a grudge against
her father, no need to be uncivil.

Grudge?
Melhuish Ridgeway ruined my family.

Well, you should be grateful.

If he hadn't, you'd have missed
the pleasure of working for me.

I could kill her on that score alone.

Tea, madame?

I am Salome Otterbourne
and I must have a word.

I thought we were already having words
through our lawyers.

It is about that
that I have come to supplicate.

Supplicate?

I mean to entreat, or to appeal,
if you like.

I'm afraid we authors are
a little flowery in our speech.

And defamatory in our writing.

I'm sorry you should have taken Passion
Under the Persimmon Tree that way.

I assure you the intention was
merely to show a young girl's heart

beginning to beat
to the primordial drum.

Can't you see, my dear, that what
I wrote was really quite flattering?

Frankly, Mrs Otterbourne,

I don't consider being likened
to a nymphomaniacal baboon flattering,

and I suggest we leave it to our lawyers
to decide what is adequate compensation

for being the butt
of your vulgar drivel!

- Good afternoon.
- Philistine!

I'll show you what reputation
is about!

- I'm sorry to intrude.
- Uncle Andrew.

But these are the papers
I told you needed signing.

The lease on the Chrysler Building...

Ah, let's see, the silver mine
concessions, Baku oil transfers

and the Cam Crisp Chou-choc merger.

Just sign on the last page,
right on the bottom, my dear.

But, Uncle Andrew,
I haven't even read it yet.

There's no need, there's no need.
It's all quite straightforward.

Checked and double checked by me.

But I always read everything
through before I sign.

My father taught me that.

He always said never to trust anyone.
Not even your own lawyers.

Dear old Melhuish.
What a sense of humour!

Well, as far as I'm concerned, I've
never read a legal document in my life.

I certainly don't intend to start now.

You don't say.

- Isn't that a little feckless, darling?
- Yes, absolutely.

But I'm dying for a Manhattan,
aren't you?

Alright.
Seeing we're on our honeymoon.

That's a girl.

Now, the next one.

I do hope I'm not, er, butting in.
I am a lawyer.

I just wanted to say how much I admire
your businesslike attitude.

Your father was absolutely right. Never
sign a document until you've read it.

I'm sure you agree, sir.

Er, sure. Sure. There's no hurry.

Well, now, if you'll excuse me.

I hope I've not given of fence.

What if you have, Mr...?

- Race. Colonel Race.
- What if you have, Colonel?

Lawyers are trained
to deal with of fences.

Would you join us for a drink
in the bar?

- Thank you. Most kind.
- And what about you, Mr P?

After all,
there's cause for celebration.

As you see, my plan to lose Jackie
worked like a charm.

Yes, so it would, er...
so it would seem.

Mes félicitations.

Colonel Race and
will join you in a, er...

...moment.

Darling?

- Madame, I must talk with you.
- Later, Louise.

- No, now! It's important.
- I'll see you in the bar.

- Well?
- I've received a cable.

My fiancé has sent his woman
back to her people.

He's waiting for me.
I must go to him.

Please, give me the money
that you promised me.

I've been with you for five years now.

- It's completely out of the question.
- Madame, you promised me.

- He's still married, Louise.
- I implore you.

I need that money as a dowry.
I've worked hard for you.

And you'll continue to do
so until I say otherwise.

- Madame, you can't refuse me.
- Thank you, Louise.

Chasm-as!

Mon Dies, how she makes
enemies of them all.

Even her own lawyer
is trying to cheat her?

You old fox! So you noticed?

Well, I knew that you weren't here...
How was it again?

"Seufement pour les vacaxaces,
man ami."

Yes, I suppose I can tell you.

Sub rosa, I am working
for Mrs Doyle's English lawyers,

and they suspect Andrew Pennington
of... well, of...

- Embezzling her money.
- That's about the size of it.

You see, under the terms
of the father's will,

she gets control of the money when
she marries, and as she has married...

He is trying to get her
to sign a document

which will get him out of the soup.

Exactly. I think I've scared him off
for the moment,

but who knows what he'll try next?

Or any of them, for that matter.

"inside the Great Temple of Karnak,

we pass the pedestals
of numerous small rams." Ja.

"Each with a small image
of Amenophis Ill in front of it." Yeah.

Oh, yes, rams.

Lickerish, priapic, ruttish rams!

How noble they are!

With their proud flanks, flared nostrils
and unashamed curled horns.

Ja. Ja, come, Fraulein, come.

You know, Karl Marx said that
religion was the opium of the people.

For your mother,
it's obviously sex.

Don't you think
you better calm her down?

She'd do one of those beasts
a fearful injury.

Mr Ferguson, my mother may be
a figure of fun for you,

but she still happens to be my mother.

She kept me marvellously in better days.
I'm not going to desert her now that...

- Now that what?
- Nothing.

I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to be nosy.

And I certainly didn't mean
to offend you.

Honestly, Miss Otlerbourne,
I am not as bad as I look.

- Aren't you?
- Scout's honour'?

- Would you mind offending her?
- Linnet Ridgeway's a leech.

A parasite on the skin of society.

For God's sake, in a sane world,

she'd be bumped off
as a warning to the others.

- Bumped off?
- That's what I said.

- Mr Ferguson?
- Jim.

Jim, is it true
you can't libel the dead?

I'm not sure I understand the question.

Never mind.

Oh, look, isn't it wonderful?
Quite beyond comprehension!

Ah, the artistic temperament,
Monsieur Pennington.

What strange forms it takes!

I'm afraid that doesn't
much concern me, Monsieur Poirot.

I confine myself
to the world of facts and figures.

The ancient Egyptians felt
quite at home with facts and figures.

The Grand vizier Ptahhotep

was crushed to death
under a thousand pieces of silver

because he embezzled
his master's treasury.

- You don't say.
- Oh, yes.

God! You alright?
Linnet, you alright?

Come on. Easy.

That's it, come on, up you come.
Alright?

What happened?

That stone must have fallen
or was pushed.

- To kill me?
- Jackie!

But she's not here!

Oh, my poor madame,
that was a close shave.

- It could've been a nasty accident.
- Accident?

That stone has been up there
for 4,000 years.

It chooses the moment to fall
when there are people underneath? No.

Not exactly 4,000 years, Herr Poirot.

- These pillars were built in 1788...
- We all agree with you, Herr Bessner.

You may have a patient on your hands.
Please.

Oh, most negligent of me!
Ja, ja, here.

I'm alright. Really I am.

Ja, ja, but I think maybe you go back
to the boat, you take a little rest, eh?

Alright. But only for a
couple of hours, doctor.

I must see the Temple of Abu Simbel
this evening.

Oh, that is most extraordinary.

Did you know that the easternmost figure
is the famous Vocal Statue?

- Really?
- Ja.

Then we must be there in time.
Thank you, doctor.

At sunset it emits
a sad, plaintive note.

- He scares me.
- Oh, he's harmless.

My God, it's fantastic.

I think they're frightening.

No, they're not.

Do you think he'll sing
a note for me?

Why not? You're divine.

Welcome to the Temple of Abu Simbel.
The facade is 84 feet long.

Each of the statues of Ramesses II
is 65 feet high.

Get away from me! Get away!
Get away from me!

OK, darling!
Don't let her spoil everything.

So you could not bury your dead.
You cannot stay away.

Nope, I can't keep away.

You didn't really think I'd be fooled
by any trick Simon could invent?

I'm very sorry to see you here,
mademoiselle.

Forgive me for saying so,

but you're embarking on
a hazardous journey in troubled waters.

You face who knows
what currents of misfortune.

- Why do you say that?
- Because it's the truth.

You're cutting the last bonds
which bind you to safety.

You can still turn back
if you really want to.

One must follow one's star
wherever it leads.

- Even to disaster?
- Even to hell itself.

I left my bag in the bar.
I'll join you in a minute, darling.

Well... We are alone, meme Frau.

The opportunity to talk to you in
private has not presented itself before.

- What do we have to talk about?
- My reputation, Frau Doyle.

- You ran that institute in Zurich.
- That is so.

And you have been saying
so many unpleasant things about me

to people of influence
and position.

- I say you're a quack.
- Frau Doyle!

- You're a dangerous quack.
- Now, listen to me!

My good friend Myra Seligman
listened to you. Too well!

And allowed you to give her
those filthy injections.

I prescribed a course
of armadillo urine.

Ja, I had used it previously
with great success.

In the case of poor Myra,
she went barking mad, thanks to you.

I will not allow this.

These irresponsible remarks
about my treatment have got to stop!

Then sue me, if you dare.

Now, you know that is impossible.

Any scandal attached to my clinic
would bring instant ruin.

Then it's rather your funeral,
isn't it?

Well, let's hope that
it is not yours!

Do you want a créme de cacao,
or a cognac, perhaps?

The service upstairs is so slow.

Nein. Danke-

What time is it?

There's a clock. Use your eyes.

Didn't your mother ever tell you,
as far as servants are concerned,

there is a vast difference

between amiable eccentricity
and downright rudeness?

My mother was a lady.

A disposition she failed
to pass on to you.

It's your bedtime.

- Very well. Where's my stole?
- I haven't seen it.

- You sure you had it with you?
- Of course I'm sure.

- Well, I haven't seen it anywhere.
- Use your eyes.

Monsieur Poirot?

I hope one day you'll be able
to tell me about some of your cases.

The... the juicier ones.

- Juicier ones?
- Bloodier.

Ah! Comme vous voulez, madame.

- Goodnight. Goodnight, monsieur.
- Bonsoir.

- Oh! So sorry.
- Oh, no, no, no.

You look very sleepy tonight,
Monsieur Porridge.

Yes, I'm extremely.
I am consumed by sleep, Madame.

I don't know why,
but I can hardly keep my eyes open.

Naughty. Me, too.

Perhaps you'd be good enough
to escort me to my cabin?

It is this way, as you know.

I suppose that uncouth young man will
appear now and attempt to seduce you.

Well, don't let him succeed
without at least the show of a struggle.

- Remember, the chase is very important.
- Oh, Mother!

No, this way is better.

There's a beastly step here,
which I always trip on.

No, no, that's the river!

No, no. No, no, no...

The old Nile is a bit choppy tonight,
monsieur.

It is true.
There are disturbing currents.

Here we are. Here we are.

No, no, no, no. In there.

- Bonsoir.
-Bonsoir! Bonsoir, madame.

Hello.

- Been ashore?
- Yes. It's lovely in the moonlight.

A real honeymoon night.

If the clergyman's daughter
drinks nothing but water

she's certain to finish on gin

One diamond.

- Simon, we're waiting.
- Sorry.

It's your call.

- Double.
- What?

# He was her man

# But he was doing her wrong

- Join me?
- No, thank you.

- Would you mind repeating your bid?
- Sorry.

If the aunt of the vicar
has never touched liquor

just wait till she finds the champagne

Bottoms up!

I'm sorry, darling, I wasn't thinking.

# Swore to be true to each other

- # True as tire stars.--
- I'm afraid that gives you the rubber.

- # He was her man
- I think I'll go to bed.

- I think it's time to turn in.
- I'll second that.

- Goodnight. Sleep tight.
- Goodnight.

- Don't let the bed bugs bite.
- Coming, Simon?

I won't be a second, darling.
I'll just tidy up.

- Goodnight.
- Goodnight.

It is late. I think I'll
be going, too.

Oh, no, no. You, sit down!
Tell me all about yourself.

There's not very much to tell, really.

I'm Salome Otterbourne's daughter,
as you know.

If the wife of a divine
has never touched wine

you can bet she'll end up
with the Scotch

Go on, you were something... saying
something about somebody's daughter.

- Salome Otterbourne, the novelist.
- Salome?

Didn't she have
some fellow's head cut off?

It should happen
to somebody else I know.

Don't you think you've had enough?

- Enough what?
- To drink.

To drink? What business
is it of yours?

- None, I suppose.
- Damn right.

- What's the matter, Simon, afraid?
- Afraid of what?

Afraid I might tell this charming
young lady the story of my life.

- I really must be going.
- No, no, wait!

It's a very sad tale. A three-hanky
story if you're easily moved.

- For God's sake, Jackie.
- What?

Go to bed and stop making
a fool of yourself.

Oh, Simon says I'm making a fool
of myself. Simon says go to bed.

Bed! You make me sick!

- Go to bed!
- You can't treat me like this!

Now look, Jackie!

- I'll kill you first!
- Jackie!

- Quick. Help him!
- Jesus.

Oh. my God!

I'll get Dr Bessner.

Get her to her cabin.
Calm her down.

What have I done?!

Oh, that Bowers woman. She's a nurse,
isn't she? Get her to look after her.

Come on.

Simon!

Make sure she's not left alone.

Then get the doctor! Quickly!

Lie down.

I'll get Miss Bowers.

- Simon. Simon!
- Take it easy.

Rosalie's gone to get Miss Bowers.
She's a nurse. She'll look after you.

You've been the devil of a time.

Miss Bowers had gone to bed.
She'll be here in a minute.

- The sooner the better.
- How is she?

As well as can be expected for a girl
who tried to shoot her ex-lover.

How can you be so heartless?

There now. Miss Bowers is just coming.
It'll be alright.

- It'll be alright.
- It's Doyle. There's been an accident.

Yes, yes. Miss Otterboure told me.

I think a shot of morphia
will meet the case.

I've always found it very effective
when Mrs Van Schuyler is canying on.

Ferguson, you'd better go and get
that Hun doctor from next door.

- He ought to have a look at Doyle.
- Yes, right.

Bad, this.
Get me one more cloth, fa?

Alright.

The bone is fractured.
There is much losses of blood, ja.

Alright. Alright, alright.

Help me get him to my cabin, ja?

Are you afraid of a little blood
like a young Madchen?

Come here, Ferguson. Help me get him up.

I'll stay with her tonight. You never
know how they're going to react.

- Miss Bowers, is she quiet?
- Yes.

Yes, I've given her some morphia.
I won't leave her.

Ah, good.
Young lady, you come with me, ja?

You'll be more use
than this Stutzer here,

who's afraid at the sight
of a little blood.

Open the door. Ja.

Easy, alright, alright. That's it.

Almost... Here we are. Ja.

Ja.

Alright. Could you get
a cool towel for the head, ja?

Yes, doctor.

- Ja.
- I'd better go and pick up that gun.

It's not the sort of thing we want
to leave lying around, is it?

- Ja.
- Yes.

Jackie. She mustn't be left alone.

She isn't. Don't worry.

Oh, God. It's all been my fault.
I treated her so badly.

She didn't know what she was doing.
She was drunk.

Now, this is going to hurt.

Are you sure someone
shouldn't tell your wife?

Yes. Yes, please.

No. Ho, no, let her sleep.
Nothing to worry her till morning.

The best I can do is patch it up.

There is no exit wound.
The bullet is lodged deep in there.

Ja, it will have to wait
until we get to Wadi Halfa.

Roll up the sleeve.

And swab it with this, eh?

Ja. I will have some splints made.

And then I will set them
when you are asleep, eh?

- Thank you, doctor.
- Ja. Now, don't you worry.

Everything's going to be alright.

It's not there.

- Was?
- The gun. It's not there.

But who could have taken it?

Search me.
I only hope it's not important.

"Sometimes I want to put
this little gun up to her head,

and very gently pull the trigger."

- Was?
- Oh, nothing.

The manager put the matter in my hands,

so it'll be our responsibility
until we reach Wadi Haifa.

Well, I am at your disposal,
of course.

So, doctor,
what can you tell us about this?

She was shot with a very small bullet.

A .22 calibre, I think. And the gun was
held very close to the head.

Here you can see all the versengen.

Damn it, man, can't you speak English?

- Oh, you mean the scorching.
- Ja, ja, the scorching.

Excuse me.

'Hens, tiens, tiens...

- What do you make of that?
- Huh?

Oh, I think it's... I think it's easy.
You see, Madame Doyle was dying.

She wished to identify
the murderer to us,

and therefore she dipped her finger
in her own blood.

She wrote "J" on the wall. "Jacqueline"!

Oh, what you say is dumb.
The lady dies instantly!

- Really?
- Ja.

There is no time for writing
with the finger in blood.

- No, no.
- Oh, you make a joke?

Well, it's a very small one.
Not in very good taste, I'm afraid.

The fact remains the "J" is on the wall.
Now it's up to us to explain why.

It seems a gesture
which is childishly melodramatic.

- Doctor, what about the time of death?
- Well...

She has been dead at least six hours,
no longer than eight.

That puts it between midnight
and 2:00am.

- Which is extraordinary.
- Why is that?

Because it means quite simply
that Mademoiselle Jacqueline

could not have done it.

You told me yourself,
mon Colonel,

that Madame Doyle left the observation
saloon a little before 11:45pm,

to go to bed.

And from then on, Jackie was in view

either of Mademoiselle Rosalie
and Monsieur Doyle

or Monsieur Ferguson
and Mademoiselle Bowers,

who injected her with morphia and
stayed with her in her cabin all night.

And Simon Doyle is also eliminated
by reason of his broken leg.

I don't suppose he could walk very far?

Not one step, I assure you.

Excellent! Let's hope the process
of elimination continues as smoothly.

I am afraid it will net, men Colonel.

Everyone on this boat knew

exactly why Mademoiselle Jacqueline
hated Madame Doyle.

She was a natural for what
the Americans would call a "frame-up".

At least, main Herr;
you cannot suspect me!

Oh, why not?

You had a very good reason to kill her,
as I discovered last night.

Oh. Then you did overhear!

But that was no motive.
I mean, I could have sued her.

- And risk ruin? Murder is cheaper.
- And safer, if you don't get caught.

But I could not have done such a thing.

I disagree.

At the time of the shooting
of Monsieur Doyle,

you could have been on deck,
perhaps unable to sleep.

You could have heard
the sound of voices...

..looked through the window
of the saloon, seen what happened...

- Go to bed!
- You can't treat me like this!

Now look, Jackie!

I'll kill you first!

Jackie!

..and remembered
the position of the gun.

Later, when you were
called from your cabin,

you could have picked up the gun
while you were tending Monsieur Doyle.

Later still, when all was quiet,

you could have left your cabin,
unobsen/ed by your sleeping patient,

and gone to Madame Doyle's cabin
and shot her.

No, Herr Doctor, I cannot rule you out.

What you are suggesting is Ubermabig!

Outrageous! Ja!

No, I will not stay here
to be insulted.

Found something in the nail varnish?

On n'at£rape pas les mauahes
avec le urfnaigre.

I beg your pardon?

It's an old French proverb,
which takes too long to explain.

Come, my friend. Let us prepare
ourselves for our investigation

of the paying customers.

How long was it, in your estimation,

between the time you and Dr Bessner
carried Monsieur Doyle from the saloon

to when you returned
to look for the gun?

- Oh, about three or four minutes.
- Three or four minutes.

You were just outside the saloon
when the shooting took place.

It would have been
perfectly possible for you

to have noted the position of the gun.

I agree. Perfectly possible.

Perfectly possible also for you to have
waited until the saloon was empty,

then to have taken the gun
and only pretended not to have found it.

Then, before returning
to Dr Bessner to report its loss,

you could have used it
to kill Madame Doyle.

I could have done,
but as it happens, I didn't!

And you, mademoiselle?

You could have taken the gun
before you left here,

when Monsieur Ferguson
was helping Monsieur Doyle.

- I'll get Miss Bowers.
- Yeah, right.

On your way to fetch Miss Bowers,

you could have seized the opportunity
to take the gun to Madame Doylek cabin

and murder her.

It would have added only a minute
or two to the time that you were away.

Miss Bowers! Wake up! Miss Bowers!

- What's that?
- Could you please come quickly?

Why should either of us
take the blasted gun?

We have no reason
to murder Linnet Doyle.

Ah, but she was "a leech".

She was "a parasite
on the skin of society"

- who "deserved to be bumped off".
- Well, yes, but...

Oh, yes, monsieur. "Bumped off
as a warning to the others".

You damned froggy eavesdropper.

Belgian. Belgian eavesdropper,
if you please, sir.

And you, mademoiselle. You were eager
to save your mother great damages.

How could I possibly have done that?

You asked a question two days ago.
I will now answer it for you.

You are quite right, mademoiselle.
You cannot libel the dead.

I think you're horrid.

You pretend to be
so kind and considerate,

and all you want to do is trap us.

I must find out what lies hidden,
mademoiselle. The truth.

What it amounts to, then, is after
you gave Miss Jacqueline the morphia,

she never stirred all night.

Exactly. Nervous reaction, booze
and morphia.

Together, they'd have sunk the Titanic.

So, unquestionably,
she could not have done the murder'?

No, absolutely not.

No, but you could have.

- Me?
- Yes, you, mademoiselle.

Let us suppose you were out on deck
at the time of the shooting

and saw what took place, and thus knew
where the gun was lying.

Young lady, you come with me, ja?

You'll be more help
than this Stutzer here

who's scared at the sight
of a little blood.

While Monsieur Ferguson
and Mademoiselle Rosalie

were assisting Dr Bessner,

you could have left your patient
and run in here to pick up the gun.

You would have had enough time

before Monsieur Ferguson returned
to search for it.

Then you could have hurried down
the pon' side to Madame Day/ea cabin

and shot her.

Preposterous.
Why should I kill Mrs Doyle?

Because her father was
Melhuish Ridgeway,

whose unscrupulous business methods
ruined your father

and condemned you to a servant's life.

Poppycock. From whom did you hear that?

From your own lips, mademoiselle,
three days ago.

How dare you listen
to a private conversation!

Some voices carry.

Is it true?

- Yes, it is.
-Voilá.

But why should I kill Mrs Doyle
for something that happened years ago?

Because its effects are still
deeply resented by you to this day.

No, unfortunately, mademoiselle,

I cannot be persuaded
by your protestations.

To my mind, you had the means,
the motive, the opportunity,

and what is more,
the disposition to kill.

Have you quite finished,
Monsieur Poirot?

For the time being.

Hold yourself ready to answer further
questions should the need arise.

- I shall do no such thing.
- Monsieur Poirot!

- It is true about Linnet?
- it is perfectly true.

I didn't kill her. I know
you all think I did, but I didn't.

Calmez vous, calmez vous, ma petit.

We know that you did not kill
Madame Doyle. We have proved it.

- Proved!
- Thank God.

What about Simon? Is he alright?

Dr Bessner seems reasonably satisfied
with his condition so far.

I was mad last night.
I might have killed him.

- Do you think he'll ever forgive me?
- It's more than likely.

It's been my experience

that men are least attracted
to women who treat them well.

Miss Bowers, escort Miss Jacqueline
to her cabin and see that she's alright.

We'll arrange a visit
to Monsieur Doyle later.

Oh, thank you.

I think you and I should visit him
first. He must be awake by now.

Vérité.

The thing which intrig...

...intrigues me most about
this case is the pistol.

- The pistol?
- Why is it missing?

I fail to see why that is important.

In many cases
the murder weapon is missing.

Even in a case
where a frame-up is attempted? No.

Why did the murderer go to the lengths
of writing "J" on the wall in blood,

and then removing J's gun?

Yes, I see what you mean.
Oh, they found something.

One thing is for certain.
Madame Doyle was not killed by a fish.

- Are you alright?
- Yes, thank you.

I must have just blacked out
for a moment.

Try a spot of lunch.
It might give you some strength.

- No, thank you. I couldn't face it.
- You couldn't face it?

- Do you permit that, er...
- Please, do. Help yourself.

I just can't believe that...

...that Linnet's dead.

It's a bad knock.

I suppose it must look awfully black
against Jackie,

but I just know she wouldn't
commit cold-blooded murder.

No, rest assured, monsieur,

we know for a fact it was
not Mademoiselle Jackie.

Thank God for that.

Well, then, do you have any idea
who it might have been?

Well, it could have been
practically anybody.

Well, only yesterday
she was saying

everyone around her on this boat
was her enemy.

We have reason to believe
that she was right, monsieur.

Monsieur...

Oh, pardon.

I came to see if you were comfortable.

As comfortable as can be expected.
Thank you, Louise.

Ah, the discoverer of the body.

You should be able to shed
some light on all this.

Pardon?

You, you, you accuse me?
A respectable girl?

- I swear to you on my mother's grave...
-Allons, allons, Louise.

Pas tant d'histoires.
II fast dire la vérité.

Asseyez vous.

Poirot, can we please keep this in some
language which we can all understand?

She said that all the world
loved Madame Doyle.

At least that's a fresh approach.

Now then, when did you last see
Mrs Doyle alive?

Last night, monsieur. I was in her cabin
to undress her and put her to bed.

- And then where did you go?
- To my cabin. Where else?

And you didn't see or hear anything
after that that might help us?

How oould I, monsieur? My cabin
was on the other side of the boat.

Naturally, if I'd been unable to sleep,
if I'd stayed on deck then,

perhaps I would have seen this assassin
enter and leave madame's cabin.

But as it is...

Oh, monsieur, I implore you!
You see how it is.

- What else can I say?
- Nobody's accusing you of anything.

New, don't worry, Louise.
I'll look after you.

- Monsieur is very good.
- But...

If you had not gone straight back to
your cabin after leaving Madame Doyle,

you would have had time

to witness the shooting
of Monsieur Doyle in the saloon.

- Ah, non!
- Ah, oui!

You could have walked on the deck,
seen everything.

Then when the coast was clear,
you could have taken the gun...

. . returned...

..and shot Madame Doyle.

Monsieur, you accuse me unjustly.

Why should I do such a wicked thing?
Just answer me that.

Oh, Louise.

I know all about you,
and your love affair,

and Madame Doyle's objections
to your leaving her.

But I had no money and no references.
I had no choice but to stay.

Précisément.
And how you hated her for that.

But I didn't kill her!

One final question, Louise.
Where are Madame Doyle's pearls?

Her pearls?
She was wearing them last night.

She put them on the table by her bed.

- And were they there this morning?
- Mon Dieu! I didn't even look!

I went to her bed, I saw Madame,
I cried out, and I ran out of the room.

You did not even look!

But I, Hercule Poirot,
have eyes which notice everything.

The pearls were not on
the dressing table this morning.

They had gone. Vanished.

Disparu.

- We must find the gun.
- And the pearls.

Yes, that should not prove
too difficult.

Oh, fé, f8! Q8'?! fai!' chase'!

You're right.
Yes, I could do with a change of shirt.

Yes, let's make a little pause
to freshen Ia toilette.

- And to rest the little grey cells.
- I'll see you in five minutes.

Oh, lá, lá!

I must thank you
for a most timely deliverance.

My pleasure. I heard your SOS. Do you
think it was put there deliberately?

Of course it was.

But it will take more than a serpent

to interrupt the investigation
of Hercule Poirot.

How is the sleuthing going?
With eminence and discretion?

- No one to put the hand grips on?
- Not yet.

Oh, er...

There is a dead cobra over there.

Do me the kindness of having it removed,
please. Thank you very much.

- Come, Race.
- A cobra? Oh, cripes!

Never have I seen such a reptile
in a first class cabin. Never.

Who's next? Pennington?
We know he's a wrong 'un.

Oh, he's a dangerous one.

Monsieur Poirot, I presume?

Excuse: moi, madame.

Perhaps you will permit us to join you?

Of course.

Well?

Your cabin is next to Madame Doyle's,
n'est pas?

It is.

Did you hear anything strange
late last night?

I certainly did.
I am a very light sleeper.

I was awakened by a popping sound.

A Popping sound?

Exactly. Just like a champagne cork
coming out of a bottle.

An indifferent champagne,
you understand?

Not a great vintage.
That makes a much more discreet sound.

Could it have been a small pistol
instead of an old champagne cork?

Very possibly.

Though I'm sure you must appreciate

that I have a minimal familiarity
with firearms.

We have found it! We have found it!
Oh, goody, goody!

Oh. goody, goody gumdrops!

This certainly takes the camel's hump.
Oh, yes! And no mistake! Gentlemen!

Gentlemen, I'm sure we have
found what you're looking for.

- Thank you, Mr Choudry.
- No mention.

Ah, without question,
the pistol of Mademoiselle Jackie.

New Derringer .22, four shot.

Two bullets fired.

A man's handkerchief. Looks like blood.

And a marble ashtray
to send it to the bottom.

- And my stole.
- This is yours, madam?

Well, of course it's mine.
I missed it last night in the saloon.

The murderer wrapped it around the
pistol to deaden the noise of the shots.

Impertinence! That stole was
given to me in Romania

by Crown Prince Carol himself.

People are no respecters
of other people's property.

Nor indeed of other people's jewellery.

What can you be referring to, monsieur?

I'm referring to the Potsdam pearls,
madame!

Which belong to Madame Doyle
and which have been abducted!

- Abducted?
- Dérobé. Purloined.

Pinched.

And why are you looking at me
in that too-familiar, continental way?

What have these pearls to do with me?

Ah, I am the nasty
little eavesdropper, madame.

I heard that you much admire
these pearls.

That you would give "every tooth
in your head to possess them".

That bloody Bowers!

It is my theory that you have
an obsessive love of jewellery, madame,

that you coveted Madame
Doyle's pearis

and that you determined to possess them,
even if this meant robbery or murder.

You do not deny it, madame?

I can picture you walking the deck
last night,

waiting for Madame Doyle to be asleep.

Go to bed!

Quite by chance,
you see the shooting in the saloon.

- Jackie!
- I'll kill you first!

Jackie!

When the mom is empty, you seize
the opportunity of taking the gun.

You go to Madame Doyle's cabin,
knowing that her husband will not be there.

You shoot her and then you take
the pearts from her bedside table.

You will withdraw that!

Or I shall prosecute you for slander
with the utmost vigour!

It will not equal the vigour
with which I shall search this boat,

and in particular, your cabin, madame,
for those pearls.

I give you a good afternoon.

- You perfectly foul French upstart!
- Belgian upstart, please, madame.

Was it necessary to be
so rough on the old lady?

You seem to be accusing everybody.

With reason, mon Colonel. What, you
think old ladies don't commit murder'?

I am convinced she has the pearls.

The only question is,
did she kill to acquire them?

- Monsieur Choudry!
- Mamaba!

- Yes, Colonel?
- We will depart immediately.

I've already given the orders.

At this very moment,
the engineer is building up steam.

Why the sudden rush?

I tell you, mon Dieu, I feel
the presence of evil all about me.

The sooner we reach Wadi Halfa,
the better.

I'll lock these up in a safe place.

Then we must commence our search
for the pearls.

That's the last of the crew's cabins.
Maybe she threw them overboard.

You forget that we have not yet
examined Pennington's cabin.

That's right. Let's do it now.

Ahoy there!
So our journey is continuing.

Good afternoon, Madame.

Will you not join me
for a little refreshment?

This marvellous little man here

has just made me
the most extraordinary concoction

out of native fruit juices.

It's called a Golden Sobek,

and is named after the god of
the ancient city of Crocodilopolis.

Not for me, thank you very much.

Sometimes I do take the hair of the dog,
but never the scale of the crocodile.

Race!

And how are you getting along
with your investigation

of this tragic affair,
Monsieur Porridge?

Oh, norrnalement, madame.
Normally, as they say.

Oh, the crime passionnel,
the primitive instinct to kill,

so closely allied to the sex instinct.

I have every sympathy
for that poor, half-crazed Jackie.

Her emotions are a turmoil,
her hot Latin blood raging

to be avenged
on the woman who stole her man.

Yes, of course,
but it could have been someone else,

with a motive at least as good.

- Oh, who?
- You, Madame Otterbourne.

- What are you talking about?
- Oh, come, come.

Your daughter and you know
you cannot libel the dead.

Now you will never have to pay
those huge damages she was asking for.

- But one would hardly kill for that.
- Would one not'?

- Well?
- Another Golden What-Have-You.

You know, Mrs Otterbourne...

It is you that I can see looking
into the saloon through the windows

at that, as you put it,

poor, half-crazed Jacqueline
shooting Monsieur Doyle.

And then, when everyone has gone,
running in to take up the gun,

and then stealing forth
to kill Madame Doyle.

No! My world is the world of grand love
and passionate romance,

not grubby murders.

Now, if you'll please leave me alone.

Well, if we have disturbed you,
we are both desolate.

Life can be so cruel!

You must be brave, very brave,
to bear the calumnies of life.

Here, barman!
This crocodile has lost its "croc"!

What a perfectly dreadful woman. Why
doesn't somebody shoot her, I wonder?

Perhaps one day, the subscribers
of the lending libraries

will club together and hire an assassin.

So, Madame Van Schuyler
is foolish enough

to play games with Hercule Poirot.

You realise, of course, you have
no actual proof that she stole them.

The fact that the pearls have been
returned does not mean for a moment

that she did not kill
while stealing them in the first place.

Pennington?

We must find that document he was
trying to induce Madame Doyle to sign.

What's this?

- Poirot.
- Yeah?

Ho! Well, Mademoiselle Jackie
was not the only passenger

- who was travelling armed.
- Still, Linnet Doyle was not shot

- with a thing this size.
- No, obviously not.

Oh, lá, lá, lá, lá, lá, lá!
Quelle pagaille!

Oh, oh, oh, oh!
Your eyes are better. Tell me.

What the hell is going on?

We're going through your private
papers, sir, isn't that obvious?

You're what?

It may be the custom in Paris
to go through people's things,

but we're not in Paris now!

- Brussels, sir! The country is...
- I don't care if it's Borneo!

You have no right to be in my cabin,
no right at all!

We have every right.

The Company has commissioned us
to investigate this murder.

Which has nothing to do with my papers!

On the contrary.

They prove that
in spite of Madame Doyle's marriage,

you are still trying
to control her money.

So what? There's no law against it.

There is a law against
swindling your client,

and my people don't like
to see it contravened.

Your people? Who the hell are they?

I represent Mrs Doyle's English lawyers.
We are not at all happy

about the way you and your partner
have been handling her affairs.

- Go to hell.
- Now look here...

- Her affairs are in perfect order.
- Oh, I wish that were true.

I think you came over here

in order to get her signature
on this power of attorney.

You failed and so you went
to the Temple of Amun...

..and you climbed
to the top of the tall pillar.

There, you dislodged a stone which fell
and which namowly avoided killing her.

You can't pin that on me. Get out of
here! I've heard enough of this garbage.

You may have to, one day,
listen to a little more of such garbage

from the lips of a public prosecutor.

Oh, this is yours, I believe.
Belgium.

Let us change for dinner.
J'ai faim.

- Poirot, you have a woman?
- Femme is woman.

J'ai faim. I am peckish.

Oh, I must have a word
with that little one.

I will join you at the table,
mon Colonel.

Be good enough to order
me les moriffes.

Les modifies? Oh, moray.

Well, how goes it with you,
ma petite?

Badly, Monsieur Poirot.

I feel so ashamed.

- His wife's dead, and...
- Now he's available to you again.

Is it so wrong of me to hope
he'll come back?

I still love him.
And now he needs me more than ever.

Oh, Monsieur Poirot, could l..

Could you arrange for me to see him?
Just for five minutes. Please!

I don't see why not.

That is, if he wishes,
and the Herr Doctor raises no objection.

I will make some inquiries.

Ah, good! The temperature is down!

Alright, Herr Poirot. I've no objection,
provided the visit is short.

- Funf Minuten at the most, ja?
- Merci, docteun

Mademoiselle Jackie!

- You can see him now.
- Oh, thank you!

- Hello, Jackie.
- Simon.

I'm very sorry about Linnet.

- Thank you.
- Simon, I didn't kill her.

- I swear that.
- You don't have to say it.

I know.

- Forgive me. Please.
- Jackie...

Last night I was mad.
I might have killed you.

What, with a rotten little peashooter
like that?

Will it be... Will you walk again?

Don't be a chump.

As soon as we get to Wadi Halfa

they'll dig the damn thing out
and I'll be as right as rain.

Ah, ja! Yeah!

Remember, fUnf Minuten, ja?

Oh, Simon, I'm so dreadfully sorry!

There now.
There's nothing to apologise for.

Qsfest-ce Que ciest que ga?

I asked for a plate of morilles.

- What's that when it's at home?
- Mushrooms.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I thought you wanted a moray eel.
That's the best they could do.

- I've ordered you a new bottle of wine.
- Why?

Last night's bottle was a little mouldy
when he poured it out.

Mouldy?

Yes, you know,
it had a lot of bits in it.

But that's the normal sediment
for a great bottle of Chéteau Pétrus.

- Will you join me in some?
- No, thanks.

You stick to your wine.
I'll stick to my whisky.

You drink whisky all the... Wine...

Oh, how strange! Of course.

May I?

You know, Poirot, the way I see it,
everybody could have done it.

And everyone had a reason for doing it.
It's incredible.

Absolument.

- Good evening.
- Good evening.

Good evening, madam. Please.

Come quick. Quick.

- Fetch Dr Bessner.
- Yes, sir.

You see what this is?

Money. Looks like a piece of a thousand
franc note. It has to be blackmail.

She must have known something
about Linnet Doyle's murderer.

What idiots we have been!

Ah, non de non!

What did she say this afternoon?

"If I had been unable to sleep,
if I had stayed on deck,

I could then, perhaps,

have seen the assassin enter
or leave Madame Doyle's cabin."

But that is precisely what happened.
She did see the assassin!

And it's because of her greed
that she now lies dead!

Much good that does us. We still
don't know who killed either woman!

No, no, no, that's not quite right.

You see, we have been running
in the wrong direction, you and I.

We know almost all there is to know...

...except that what we know seems...

...seems incredible.

Impossible.

Ah, killings.

Killings! All the time, killings!

Ja.

Dead no more than an hour.

The throat's been cut...

...with a very thin knife.

One like this.

That's very interesting, doctor.

Are you quite sure that
none of yours are missing?

Was?

So now you think that I,
Ludwig Bessner,

have killed this miserable
little femme de chambre?

Oh, Gott im Himmell

What do I have to do with the squalid
affairs of the lower classes?

It is well known they do not have
neuroses, just animal passions!

- Take the body to the ice room.
- Yes, sir.

So you think you know, huh?

I must confess,
I don't see any real light myself.

Dr Bessner has just told me
what's happened to the maid.

I must speak with you
and Mr Doyle at once.

I wouldn't go in there.
Dr Bessner is rather cross.

My good man, I know that. But a little
Kraut crossness won't stop me now.

You see, I know.

Mr Doyle, I know who
killed Louise Bourget.

What? You say you know
who killed Louise?

Ah, ja, net to shout!

And you, Frau Otterbourne,
you cannot be here. I forbid it.

My patient is resting.

But I must! You see,
it's vitally important!

You see, I know all. All, I tell you!

Now, look, I will not take
that pushing with Ellbogen.

Mr Doyle, I tell you that I,
Salome Otterbourne,

have succeeded
where frail men have faltered.

I am a finer sleuth
than even the great Hercule Porridge.

Mrs Otterbourne,
for God's sake, calm down!

Now tell us the whole story,
from the beginning.

- I refuse to speak in front of him.
- Now you will not speak at all.

New, rants, raus. His temperature is
rising with all this disturbance.

Doctor, it will rise even more
if we don't hear what she has to say.

Herr Doyle...

We are talking about
the murderer of my wife!

Oh, ja. Ja, alright.

You can stay drei Minuten.
Three minutes.

And you, now, you speak softly, eh?

Odious little man!

Madam, do I understand that you have
evidence to show who killed Mrs Doyle?

You do and I have.

You will agree, will you not,

that whoever killed Louise Bourget
also killed Linnet Doyle.

- That is quite possible.
- Well...

I saw who killed Louise Bourget
with my own eyes.

Pray continue, madame.

I happened to be in the stern
of the boat talking to one of the crew,

who was showing me
a most intriguing sight.

A buffalo and a camel, yoked together,
tilling the soil.

You saw this by moonlight,
of course, madame?

Yes, I did.
I have amazingly good eyesight.

Anyway, I left him.

And suddenly, as I rounded the corner,
I heard a scream.

It came from Louise Bourget's cabin.

Then I saw the cabin door open.

As the door opened wider,
I saw that it was...

Pennington's.

I heard a big boom!
What now has happened?

Mrs Otterbourne's been shot.

- Mr Pennington?
- Yes?

This is your gun, I believe.

Anybody could have taken that gun.
Everybody knew it was there.

I was saying just the other night,
I always can? a gun abroad.

It is time for these murders to stop.

I have, unfortunately,
delayed too long.

I would like to see everybody,
please, in the saloon,

when all will be revealed.

In, er... 30 minutes?

I can't believe it. Mother dead.

Why?

- She must have found something out.
- Oh, God! Poor darling!

I loved her, in spite of it all.

And now she's gone.

I can't take it in.

Suddenly I'm...

All alone.

No, you're not.

I'll look after you.

Oh, Jim...

Poor Mother.

You'd never have got away from her.
Not while she was alive.

Mesdames, mademoiselles, messieurs.
The game is over.

I, Hercule Poirot, now know,
beyond a shadow of a doubt,

who killed Madame Doyle, Louise Bourget
and Madame Otterbourne.

Foolishly, I began this investigation
with the preconceived idea

that there must have been a witness

to the shooting scene between
Mademoiselle Jackie and Simon Doyle.

That this person must have taken
the gun from here,

after everyone had left the saloon,

and must have used it
to kill Madame Doyle

and to attempt to frame
Mademoiselle Jackie.

You see, mes amis,

it is not as though there were
any lack of suspects among you.

She might have been killed by someone
trying to shut her defamatory mouth.

Or by someone whose father had been
ruined by Madame Doyle's father.

Or by someone obsessed
with the idea of robbery.

Or by someone who bitterly resented
anyone inheriting that amount of money.

Or by someone who was desperately
trying to save her mother

from financial ruin.

Or yet,

by someone anxious to escape
exposure as a fraudulent trustee.

Or by someone who simply mistook
the identity of the victim.

And then I remembered
something very important.

On the night of the killing,
I slept heavily,

not lightly, as is my custom.
Why?

Because my wine had been drugged

by someone who did not wish me to be
present at the night's events.

It was the easiest thing in the world.
The bottles stand open all daylong.

You, mon Colonel,
you even sent the bottle back,

saying, to use your words,
that it was "mouldy".

And this in itself plainly implies
premeditation on someonek's part.

It means that yesterday before 7:30pm,
when dinner was served,

the crime had already been decided upon.

I began to think on something that has
been puzzling me from the beginning.

If the intention was to implicate
Mademoiselle Jackie,

why had the gun been removed
from Madame Doyle's cabin?

And then I understood.

The murderer had removed the gun
because he, or she, had to remove it.

There was no other course.
And there was more.

Dr Bessner,
you examined Madame Doyle's body.

Ja.

You will remember that there were
signs of scorching round the wound.

In other words,

the gun had been placed very close
to her head before being fired.

That is correct.

But when we recovered
the gun from the Nile,

it was wrapped in this
brocade stole

and had evidently been fired
through its folds,

presumably in order to deaden
the sound of the shot.

Dr Bessner, if it had been fired
through the stole,

there would have been no scorching
on Madame Doyle's temple.

In other words, the shot that killed
Madame Doyle could not have been fired

through the stole.

And then, perhaps,
it was the other one.

The one which Jacqueline
de Bellefort fired at Simon Doyle.

Jackie!

But no, we have a witness for that.
We know it's not so.

Therefore, there was a third shot.

One of which we know nothing.

But... there were only two shots
missing from the gun.

The next curious circumstance occurred
in Madame Doyle's cabin.

In it I found two bottles
of coloured nail polish.

One bottle was labelled "Rose", but
the few drops remaining in that bottle

were not pale pink,
but bright red.

And instead of the usual smell
of pear drops, vinegar.

Mes amis, it was red ink,
which formed an inevitable link

with this handkerchief
which we found

together with the gun
wrapped up in the stole.

And ink washes easily out of linen,
leaving a pale pink stain.

Then something happened which put
the matter beyond all doubt.

Louise Bourget was killed because
she was blackmailing the murderer.

We know this not only because of
the fragment of a thousand franc note

which we found clutched
between her dead fingers,

but also because of some
rather curious words she used

only this morning.

Naturally,
if I'd been unable to sleep...

Naturally, if I had
been unable to sleep,

if I had stayed on deck,

I might then perhaps have seen the
assassin enter or leave madames cabin.

Now, what exactly did that tell us?

What exactly did she tell
us with that?

That she had stayed on deck.
She did see the murderer.

Yes, but you still fail to see
my point, mon Colonel, excuse me.

- Why did she say that to us?
- As a hint?

As a hint, of course,
but why hint to us?

She knows who the murderer is.
Alright, she can do one of two things.

She can tell us
or else she can keep quiet

and demand money
from the person concerned later.

But she does
neither of these two things.

She uses the conditional tense,
if you please. "if I had been."

This can mean only one thing.

She's hinting, alright, yes,
but she's hinting to the murderer.

In other words,
he was present at the time.

But apart from you and me,
only one other person was present.

Precisely. Simon Doyle.

What?

Yes. You are under the constant
supervision of Dr Bessner.

She had to speak then.
She might not have got another chance.

- Don't be so bloody ridiculous.
- I don't think I'm being ridiculous.

I remember very clearly your answer.
"I will look after you."

"No one is accusing you of anything."

This is exactly the assurance
that she wanted, and which she got.

Oh, Mr P, you really have made a fool
of yourself this time, and no mistake.

I've got plenty of witnesses to prove
that I couldn't have killed Linnet.

I know you have.

But you did kill her
and Louise Bourget saw you.

Oh, what nonsense!

I tell you that Herr Doyle

could not have moved about the boat
with a fractured leg.

I tell you that I, Ludwig Bessner,

would testify to this
to any court in the world.

In that case, I would have to say
that your testimony is irrelevant.

- Irrelevant?
- Unanwendbar.

Unanwendbar? Me?

I have testified

in some of the most complex
psychological cases of the century.

My testimony alone saved
Strutzrumple,

the Dresden Sachertorte Murderer,
from execution.

- And in the case...
- Calmez vous.

Your testimony is irrelevant because
you started to tend to Monsieur Doyle

five minutes after he had been shot.

But I tell you he could not have
moved during those five minutes.

I agree, if he'd been shot at
that time, but had he been?

Consider what had actually
been seen.

Mademoiselle Rosalie saw
Jacqueline fire her pistol.

She saw Doyle collapse to the floor,
and then turning away to seek help,

she ran into Monsieur Ferguson,
who had heard the shot.

All he saw was Doyle clutching
a red-stained handkerchief to his leg.

He quite naturally assumed
that Doyle had been shot,

but the assumption was wrong.

The bullet had not gone into Doyle,
but elsewhere.

And now what happens?

Doyle insists that Jackie be taken away
to her cabin and not be left alone.

And so Jackie is helped
to her cabin

by Mademoiselle Rosalie
and Monsieur Ferguson.

Then, Mademoiselle Rosalie
goes to fetch Miss Bowers.

Accordingly,
all the activity is centred

on the starboard side
of the boat.

Miss Bowers!

Two minutes are all
that Doyle needs.

He takes of? his shoes,
picks up the gun from under the sofa,

where Jackie had
thoughtfully thrown it

so that it would be forgotten
until later,

and runs like a hare
along the port deck.

He then enters his wife's cabin.

Doyle then takes Madame Van Schuyler's
stole which he had previously hidden,

and wrapping up the gun in it

in order both to muffle sound
and to prevent scorching,

fires a bullet into his own leg.

He removes one of the spent cartridges,
which he disposes of,

and inserts a fresh one, thus
indicating, should the gun be found,

that only two bullets
had been fired from it.

He then rewraps the gun in the stole,
adds the stained handkerchief

and a marble ashtray to make sure
that it all sinks to the bottom,

and throws the whole bundle
out of the window into the Nile.

And now he lies back
on the sofa,

clasping a fresh handkerchief
to his leg,

this time in genuine agony.

[C'est extraordinaire,
n'est pas?

It's impossible.
I can scarcely believe it.

Of course it is,
absolutely bloody impossible.

Why do you say it's impossible?

You yourself told me
that you heard softly running feet.

What reason was there for
anyone to run?

Yes, I know, but to do all that
on the spur of the moment?

Once and for all, mon Colonel,
it was not on the spur of the moment,

it was carefully planned.

- By Doyle?
- Oh, Doyle. He merely acted the part.

It was planned by his accomplice,
Mademoiselle Jacqueline de Bellefort.

You must be mad.

No, I'm not mad.
That's the truth.

Who gave Doyle his alibi?
You did, by firing that shot.

And who gave you your alibi?

Doyle, by insistingb that
someone stay with you all night.

It's not true! It's not!

It is true. Why bother to deny it?

You and Doyle were lovers.
You still are lovers.

The plan was that Simon would kill
his wife, inherit the money,

and then aftewvards, at some later date,
marry his old love.

It was a very brilliant concept.

Your persecution of Madame Doyle,
Simon's feigned rage,

your selection of Mademoiselle Rosalie
as a witness,

and all that build-up to the shooting,
the exaggerated hysteria...

There was only one risk
you really took.

And that was that Simon's wound
simply had to be disabling.

Oh, and, er, pardon me,
but one piece of foolishness,

which was the drawing of the letter "J"
on the wall of the cabin,

so melodramatic it could only have
one effect.

That of exonerating you.

And who would want to do that
except an accomplice?

But then... the plan began
to go wrong, did it not?

Louise Bourget has
been wakeful.

She sees Doyle
run into his wife's cabin.

She hears the shot and sees
him return to the saloon.

She makes her greedy bid
for hush money

and in doing so,
signs her own death wanant.

Herr Doyle could not have killed her,
because he could not have moved.

- I will swear to that.
- You would be right.

She was killed by Mademoiselle Jackie.

No!

Yes, I am afraid there is no doubt.

Just before dinner,
she asked to see Monsieur Doyle.

Quite foolishly, as it tums out,
I agreed and brought them together.

The one apparently guilt-ridden
and distraught, the other comforting.

Oh, Simon, I'm so dreadfully sorry.

There, now.

However, I'm sure as soon as
we've gone, the tone changes.

It's going fine, darling.
We're nearly there.

Like hell it is! Louise knows.

She saw me.
She's trying to blackmail us.

I'll have to shut her up.

- Can't we pay her'?
- All our lives?

Jackie, are you sure?

- Give me some money.
- Why?

That's what she's waiting for.
It'll put her off guard. Where is it?

In my jacket. In the wardrobe.

- I love you.
- I know.

Are we insane?

Oh, I don't know,
but we can't stop now.

Jackie...

Wish me luck.

Unfortunately for her,
in her haste,

she leaves a tiny fragment
of a thousand franc note behind

clutched in the dead
woman's fingers.

But even more unfortunately,

she is seen by Madame Otterbourne
leaving the cabin.

She is unaware of this at the time,

and returns to Dr Bessner's cabin
to replace the scalpel.

Then, having changed for dinner,
somewhat flushed and out of breath,

she hurries into the dining mom.

As for Madame Otterbourne,

when she hears of the murder
of Louise Bourget from Dr Bessner,

she suddenly realises that she has
actually seen the murderer

leaving the scene of the crime.

What? You say you know
who killed Louise?

Calm. Not to shout.

And you, Frau,
you cannot be here. I forbid it!

It seemed strange to me
at the time

that Doyle should be shouting
so loudly at Madame Otterbourne.

Now, of course,
I realise that what he was doing

was shouting a warning to Jackie
next door.

Mrs Otterbourne, for God's sake,
calm down.

Now tell us the whole story,
from the beginning.

And why did he ask her to start at
the beginning and tell the whole story?

Obviously, to give Jackie time to act,
which she did, like lightning.

Herr Doyle...

We are talking about
the murderer of my wife!

Mr Pennington?

She boasted once that her father
had taught her to be a crack shot

and her boast was not an idle one.

I saw it...

She dropped the gun and
bolted into her own cabin next door.

It was highly risky,
but it was her only possible chance.

Voila, mes amis.
That is all.

Congratulations, Mr P,
on a highly amusing theory.

Oh, it's more than a theory.

Unfortunately, it is the truth.

Then what happened to the first bullet?
The one that Jackie fired at me?

Oh, that's a good question, yes.
Can you all see this table?

There's a newly-made bullet hole,
just there.

Of course, you had time to dispose of
the bullet and throw it into the Nile.

- What piffle!
- Oh, no. It's not piffle.

Remember, we have proof

that all three bullets came
from Mademoiselle Jacqueline's gun.

Suppose that's true, Monsieur Poirot,

where's the proof
that Simon fired the other two?

Well, that's right! You've no proof.

You've absolutely no proof at all.

We'll produce some, never fear.
You won't get away with this.

No? Well, you'll never convince
a jury without proof.

And where do you intend to get it, Mr P?
From Linnet?

Oh, no. Not from Linnet.

From you.

- From me? What do you mean?
- It's a bluff, Simon.

It's very far from being a bluff.

There is a very simple test

which is now accepted as conclusive
evidence in any court in the world.

It's called a moulage test.

- “Moulage test"?
- Yes, moulage.

You know, when you fire a gun

tiny grains of powder become embedded
in the skin

and they can now be removed
by a thin layer of wax.

That's a moulage test.

Oh, mon Colonel,
will you administer this?

When you wish.

I assume, of course, that you're
willing to submit to such a test?

There is no pain involved,
just a little... warmth.

Jackie, what...

What can we do?

Nothing. It's over.

I don't mind so much, monsieur.

About me, I mean.

You do mind, don't you? A bit?

- Yes.
- And don't judge Simon too harshly.

He never had any money

and Linnet simply dazzled him
with all that wealth.

Simon, do you remember what you said?

I said if this was a book,

I'd marry Linnet and she'd die
within a year and leave me everything.

That's when I saw the idea
come into his head.

I was terrified. I knew
he'd try some perfectly absurd way.

He even had the idea
of putting a cobra in her bed.

Well, you found another use
for that serpent, mademoiselle.

I'm glad it didn't kill you, monsieur.

-- Truly,

So you...

You see...

...I had to help him.

I've always had to help him.

Oh, Jackie, I love you.

I love you.

Stop!

Monsieur Poirot.

Quelle tragédie.

A splendid piece of detection,
Poirot, I must say.

You know, I couldn't possibly have
carried out that moulage test.

I have no wax.

You astonish me, mon Colonel.
You absolutely astonish me.

Goodbye, Monsieur Poirot.

I'm afraid the description
of your cases

will have to wait until another time.

Oh, quel dommage, madame!

I was hoping to recount to you
my recent extraordinary experience

on the Orient Express.

Come on, Bowers. Time to go.

This place is beginning
to resemble a mortuary.

Thank God, you'll be in one yourself
before too long.

- Bloody old fossil.
- Temper, temper, Bowers!

What you need is a nice cool holiday.

I was thinking of a trip
through the Gobi Desert.

Monsieur Poirot,
I wanted you to be the first to know.

We've just got engaged.

Oh, mes félicitations, mademoiselle.

- Monsieur.
- Congratulations.

- And bonne chance to both of you.
- Thank you.

- Goodbye, Monsieur Poirot.
- Goodbye, sir.

- Colonel Race.
- Good luck.

Oh, mes petite! A word of advice.

As they say in America, take it easy.

We'll try.

- What are you thinking?
- I was thinking of Moliére.

"La grande ambition des femmes
est d'inspiner l'amour. "

I do wish you'd speak
some known language.

"The great ambition of women
is to inspire love."