All language subtitles for 05. The Third Floor Flat

Take as far as they come at thee now,
darling.

This is the last bit.

Right you are, dear.

Leave it there, thank you.

Right.

And could we have a signature, please?

Ah,

Mr. Poirot.

You've only done seven minutes.

You'll never cure your cold if you don't
obey the instructions.

I can't imagine a vessel so undignified
could cure anything, Miss Lamothe.

And now also I have the backache.

Is the postcard with you, Miss Lamothe?
Yes, and I'm afraid there was nothing

for you.

It's only been three weeks since your
last case. Three weeks is an eternity to

brain like mine.

Without the cost of stimulation, my
little grey cells will starve and die.

Already you can see I am suffering the
effects.

letter for you. Read it.

Dear Mick Matthews, I am the new tenant
of 36B, directly below you.

I wonder if I might have a word at your
earliest convenience.

Ernestine Grant.

Mrs.

Sounds a bit ominous. What could she
want?

Lord knows.

And a cat's eyes or something.

Or it can say it's about the gramophone
or something.

How's the cold, old boy?

And now also you're trying to give me
the heart attack?

I would not be surprised if riding in
that car was not responsible for my

present malady. She's much too much of a
lady to give anyone a cold.

Running like a bird since I fitted those
new gaskets.

Birds do not run, Hastings.

When you were little, you should have
paid more attention to your lessons in

biology.

You're really in a bad way, aren't you?

Well, my friend.

As one approaches the end, one begins to
see life as it truly is.

Don't worry. I've got something that'll
cheer you up.

Really? A couple of tickets for the
Deadly Shroud.

You know, the new murder mystery at
Wyndham's. My dear, he thinks that he's

kind, but how can a mere stage play be
compared to the real -life cases of a

pure quarrel?

Tell you what.

I'll wager you ten quid. You can't solve
the Deadly Shroud.

You are?

No.

The money, of course, is of no
importance.

But I find your challenge irresistible.

I accept.

and to come in.

Mother,

are you all right? Oh, my God. Help her,
someone.

Lady Millfield.

She's dead.

It was the sherry, of course.

What was it?

The kid Lady Muriel.

The sherry.

It was poison.

Oh. Do you think so?

I think that little paddler's looking
pretty suspicious.

I don't know.

Ah.

Whiskey? No, thank you.

Don't open this now.

Only at the end.

What is it?

The name of the murderer, of course.

It's Mademoiselle Matthews.

Over there, Hastings, the girl in the
red dress.

She lives in the flat below me in
Whitehaven Mansions.

An enchanting Mademoiselle, n 'est -ce
pas?

Yes.

The question of motive has had me
worried, I can tell you.

Why should anyone want to kill Lady
Muriel?

Who would gain by her death?

The answer, ladies and gentlemen, is
nobody.

Why?

Because Lady Muriel was never the
intended victim.

No.

The person who should have drunk the
poisoned sherry, the person for whom it

intended, was the missing son -in -law
who stood to inherit Lady Muriel's

fortune, Major Sadler.

Only one other person in this room knew
of this well -kept secret

and stood to gain from the Major's
death.

His wife.

Am I not correct, Mrs. Sadler?

Oh. Oh, that's absurd.

You're right, I have the evil fear.

What

had

happened? The mission?

it is time I retire.

I say, Poirot, you're beginning to make
me feel badly about all this. No, no,

no, not at all.

Hercule Poirot is a man of his word,
even if the playwright is not.

We were not given all the facts.

It was only at the end that we discover
that Major Sadler is Lady Muriel's son.

And that theater has made my cold even
worse.

I knew it was that Mrs Sandler, right
from the beginning.

Takes one to know one, I suppose.

It was that dress she wore in the first
act. I mean, it was so... Father, I

can't find my key.

Perhaps you've just forgotten to bring
it, darling. Of course I didn't. I'm not

a complete thinker, Prince Donovan. I
always bring my key.

Actually, I thought I put it in her bag
before we left. There, you see?

The point is, how are we going to get
in? Well, the night port will be off

now. Donovan, darling, you wouldn't care
to be a cat burglar, would you? No,

Pat. I think even among catbirders, a
postal flat might be regarded as rather

reckless proposition.

Is there a fire escape?

No, but there's a comb list.

That's a point.

It's located in the basement of the
flats and going up to a hatch in the

kitchen. We put the dustbins on it as
well. Have them done.

Won't the hatch be bolted? I never
really bothered to bolt mine. It's too

Well, it's worth a try, wouldn't you
say?

Absolutely.

Really, my dear chap, not very.

Only a bit of fun, you know. No, no, no,
no, no.

Ten pounds, we agreed.

Ten pounds, it shall be.

The curia? It is late to put out a
dustbin.

Are you sure? Put the

lights

on.

That thing won't work.

Try the city room.

No, no, no, I do not think so.

They are wearing the evening dress.

What on

earth's

Pat been up to? Everything's the wrong
bloody plate.

This is Ernestine Grant.

Oh, Lord, we're in 36B, not 46B. I
suggest we get out of here before she

us.

Look!

The God.

What are we going to do?

I don't know.

Pat? Mildred?

Something's happened.

What is it?

There's a dead woman down here.

Jimmy?

This is Jimmy Faulkner, Monsieur Poirot.

Bonsoir, Monsieur Faulkner. Not the
Monsieur Poirot.

Yes, he lives in the flat above me.
Gosh, I didn't know. This is an honour,

Thank you.

You see these things.

I am still a force to be calculated.

So, the doors were unbolted.

You walk across the kitchen?

Did you say the light did not switch on?

No, the bulb had gone off or something.

Oh,

very

odd. Maybe there's a loose connection.

Or perhaps the bulb has been replaced.

We heard that sound before sir.

The domestic, the maid.

We will let her sleep for the moment.

You'd better watch your step, lads.

This is where the famous private
detective, Mr. Hercule Poirot, lives.

So, Donovan and I came in here. I mean,
we still thought we were in Miss

Matthews' flat.

And then we put the light on and
realized we weren't, and we saw the

She has been dead for some time.

What, hours, do you mean?

What is that on your hand?

What?

Oh. What?

My God, I think it's blood.

Did you touch the body? No.

So... The crime was committed at the
table.

And then the body was moved to the
window.

It is blood.

Hastings, be so kind as to go downstairs
and ask Richard Dicker what time the

last post was delivered this evening.

Right.

Hastings, sir.

Ah, my dear Chief Inspector's yard.
You'll be having murders in your back

bedroom next, Poirot.

Right, who's the victim?

She's Ernestine Grant.

Apparently, she only moved into the flat
today.

And how was the body found?

Well, I'm afraid that's rather a long
story, Chief Inspector.

It would be.

I shall want statements from everybody.

Omelette for you, Mildred. No, I
couldn't.

I suppose you're a nerd to this sort of
thing, Mr. Poirot.

No, no, no, on the contrary.

I think it is very nice.

You know, Mademoiselle Patricia, I once
loved a very young, beautiful English

girl who resembled you greatly.

But alas, she could not cook.

And the relationship with her.

No, I meant... Well, you know, poor Mrs.
Grant and everything.

Mademoiselle Patricia, a little bread,
perhaps?

It is essential to keep up the strength
of my little gray sex.

You seem a little better, sir.

Thank you. I am feeling better.

Doesn't seem real at all.

Like in a play or something.

A better play I trust than the Farago we
saw this evening.

Oh, didn't you like it?

Oh, we all thought it was terrific.

I beg to differ. On the contrary.

We were not given all the facts. The
facts as presented pointed to Chivas the

butler. Oh, do you think so, sir?

Just a question.

Consider his position. He was the only
person who had the motive and the

opportunity to poison the show.

Simple -blooded policeman speaking with
the bag of the serving up.

Arresting his whole case.

Infantile subplot.

The door was open.

Come in, Inspector.

Well, it looks like pretty cut and dried
matter.

Not worth your while, I'm afraid,
Poirot.

The dead woman's Mrs Grant, all right. A
maid identified her.

She was shot at the table with a small
calibre automatic pistol.

She fell forward, which accounts for the
blood on the cloth.

So somebody actually shot her in cold
blood.

That's the way it looks, sir, yes.

Dreadful. And the time of death?

The doctor estimates between five and
six hours ago.

None of you noticed anyone unusual in
the flats around that time, I suppose?

Mildred arrived just after lunch, and we
didn't go out until Jimmy and Donovan

came to collect us for the theatre at
about seven, wasn't it? And you got back

at what time? Oh, 10 .30 or so.

What does the maid say?

Ah, Miss Trotter.

I think she had the evening off. She
went out at five and got back about ten

'clock, letting herself in with her own
key.

She noticed nothing unusual?

She thought her mistress was in bed.

Never thought to look behind the packing
cases.

I was very curious.

Curious?

To try and hide the body.

Didn't want the crime discovered until
he made his getaway.

Perhaps. Perhaps.

Discontinue, Chief Inspector.

Well, we found this on the floor.

Dropped in his haste, I expect.

Take a look at the corner for her.

J .F.

That's right.

J .F.

Now take a look at this.

We found it in the pocket of the dead
woman's dress.

If it suits you, I will come this
evening.

Shall we say six o 'clock?

Fraser. An incriminating document for
this Fraser.

Well, I think we may take it that J .F.
and Fraser are one and the same.

A John Fraser, perhaps.

We'll get a line on him in due course.

Chief Inspector.

Mrs.

Trotter here was wondering if she can go
home now, sir. I'm going to stay at my

sister's, if that's all right. I
couldn't sleep here, not tonight, I

Yes, that'll be all right for her. Oh,
thank you, sir.

Excuse me, mademoiselle.

Yes, sir?

Permit me, if I may, to ask you the
question.

Yes, sir.

When you returned to the flat belonging
to Mrs. Grant this evening, did you

enter the sitting room?

Oh, yes, sir.

I collected the evening post on my way
up, and I left the letters for Mrs.

on the sitting room table.

And you noticed nothing strange in that
room?

No, sir, nothing.

Thank you very much, mademoiselle.

Thank you, sir.

Good night.

Apparently the last post arrived at 9 o
'clock this evening. Thank you, Easton.

And according to Dicker, nobody out of
the ordinary came in and out of the

building all night.

Inspector.

A little favour, if I may.

Here we go.

I would like to examine the flat
belonging to Mrs Grant.

There's nothing there, Poirot.

Well, I've put out a call for this John
Fraser.

We find him, that's the end of it.

As you say.

Well, then.

Examine it as much as you like.

You all right?

I'm all right.

Shivering. You must be cold.

I was just having a terrible thing with
Mrs. Grant.

I know.

We were having such a lovely evening.

We'll have lots more lovely evenings.

Do you see that?

They're taking her away.

Shocking business.

And she only moved in this morning.

Let us, my friends, consider the facts.

First, the letter which was found at the
scene of the crime with the name John

Fraser written on the bottom.

Then... The handkerchief with the
monogram, J .F., marked on one corner.

So, it would appear, would it not, my
friends, that this man, John Fraser, was

carelessness, but...

Croke,

why are you rummaging around and up?

I thought so.

Voila.

Pardon. I have a cold.

Would you be so kind, Monsieur Donovan?

Thank you.

No, no, no, no, Cassie, don't do that.
Why did he take off the leg and he...

big.

Jimmy,

fetch some brandy, if you please. In the
sitting room, I think.

Hastings? What

happened?

Here, drink this, my friend.

You are fortunate, Monsieur Bailey.

It could have been worse.

Even poison, perhaps.

You must be more careful.

A kick like a mule. Feeling any better?

I think so, thanks.

Take him upstairs to the flat, huh?

Perhaps prepare for him some coffee. No,
I'm sure I'll be fine now, thanks. No,

no, no, no, no, no. I insist.

You are still weak, yes?

I suppose I do feel a bit wonky still.

Here you go, my little chap. Take it
easy for a bit.

Oh, Hastings.

Make sure Mr. Bailey is very
comfortable, because, Hastings... I am

his...

So, what now, sir?

Now, Jimmy?

Nothing.

The case is finished.

Finished? Oh, yes, my friend.

I now know everything.

I don't understand, sir. Have they
arrested this Fraser chap already?

There is no Fraser chap.

He is the name only.

The name carefully marked on a
handkerchief.

The name written on the bottom of a
letter which was placed in the pocket of

dead woman where we would find it.

Good Lord.

But who changed the light bulb in the
kitchen then?

No one.

The light, it works to perfection.

It was a ruse to get you into this
sitting room.

Come, I'll show you.

You see, Jimmy, with the light on, it is
obvious at once that this is not the

kitchen of Mademoiselle Patricia.

You would have had no reason to go into
the sitting room, would you? No. No.

Jimmy, what is this?

The key to this flat?

No.

It is the key to the flat upstairs.

The key to Mademoiselle Patricia's flat.

Monsieur Bailey stole this key, Jimmy,
from her bag, and I presume sometime

during the evening. Donovan stole it?
Yes. What on earth for?

To prevent you all from going into her
flat when you came back from the

But why would he want... Mon Dieu!

To drive you into this flat instead!

To drive you, my friend, into the
service lift.

But where did you find the key?

Well, I expected to find it.

In the pocket of Monsieur Bailey.

You see, Jimmy, I only pretended to find
this bottle in the rubbish bin.

I had it in my pocket all the time.

But I hand it to Monsieur Bailey, she
sniffs it, and... In this bottle is

chloride.

A most powerful instant anesthetic.

So, for the few moments, Monsieur Bailey
is unconscious.

But it is time enough, while you are in
this room, to fetch the brandy for

me to take the two items from Mr.
Bailey's pocket that I knew I would find

there. Have patience, my friend, and you
will learn everything.

I ask myself, why hide the body behind
the packing cases?

To gain time?

Yes.

But for the very special reason.

You see, Jimmy, earlier this evening,
the murderer entered this flat in order

take something.

But that something was nowhere to be
found. So it was necessary for him to

return. But only after the last post was
delivered.

So, he had to hide the body behind the
curtain.

Then, Mademoiselle Trotter, the
domestic, enters, sees nothing unusual,

the last post.

on the table, and retires to bed.

And what's that letter then, sir?

Oh, this letter, Jimmy.

This was the second item I took from
Monsieur Bailey's pocket.

It was this letter that he was so
desperate to find.

Are you saying, then, that Donovan
murdered Mrs. Grant?

Exactamente. But why?

He didn't even know Mrs. Grant. Why
should he want to kill her?

Jimmy, before I tell you, allow me to
ask you a question.

It is a most personal one.

Are you in love with Mademoiselle
Patricia?

Oh, come on, come on, come on.

Don't be shy.

If I were your age, monsieur...

Without doubt, I too would be in love
with her.

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I care
for Pat damnably, but of course she's

engaged to Donovan. She will need you
once this trouble is known.

How do you mean?

Once this case becomes public, Jimmy, it
will be very difficult to keep her name

out of it entirely.

You see, Mademoiselle Patricia was the
motive for the murder.

Stop that man in the lift, hurry.

And you, hear me.

There's lots torn of him out there, sir.

That's a dashboard.

He can't have got far.

Your friend is not a fool, Monsieur
Faulkner.

He presses the button inside the lift
but does not descend himself. Voilà.

The best man.

Nothing here.

Must have been something else we heard,
Monsieur Poirot.

I think we'd better go back upstairs,
eh?

Nothing round the back, sir.

Not a thing.

Just disappeared.

Disappeared altogether.

Grown men do not vanish into thin air.

Well, he did.

Oh, my God! Donovan!

Mr. Bailey!

Mr. Bailey!

I'd better call an ambulance, sir, I
think.

Is he badly hurt?

That front axle's just sheared right
through.

Oh, my poor Hastings.

But you must not brood. You must occupy
yourself, huh?

Go and telephone the chief inspector,
Jacques, and tell him we have caught

fish.

What's happened to Donovan?

We don't need a whole new front end.

Monsieur Bailey, please give me the
letter you have just taken from the

Thank you, Monsieur.

Jimmy, be so kind as to read us this
letter written to Mrs. Grant.

Well, it looks as if it comes from a
solicitor's.

Dear madam, we return the document you
forwarded to us. It is quite in order,

and the fact of the marriage having
taken place abroad does not invalidate

any way.

Yours truly, etc., etc.

So, Jimmy, you ask why Mrs. Grant, huh?

Eh bien, voilà.

The marriage certificate between Donovan
Grant and Ernestine Trapshaw.

Dated 1930.

Who's Donovan Grant?

He now calls himself Donovan Bailey.

I wanted a divorce.

I begged Ernestine, but she refused.

Said she'd never let me free.

After I fell in love with Pat, Ernestine
started hounding me.

Telephoned me every day, held it over
me, threatening to tell Pat everything.

Drove me mad.

And she suddenly announced she'd taken a
flat here, right underneath Pat's.

I couldn't believe it.

By then I knew she was crazy enough to
do anything.

So, what happened yesterday, Monsieur?

Oh, Jean called me in the afternoon.

Said she'd written to Pat to arrange to
see her, to tell her the truth about us.

Well, I naturally assumed the worst.

I knew I had to do something once and
for all.

I'll grant her fat around about six.

Oh, it's you.

You'd better come in.

You've absolutely no right to go
hounding Pat.

But I'm not hounding her, my darling.

I'm simply telling her what a rotten
bounder you are, promising to marry her

when you're already married to me.

We got married in Switzerland,
Ernestine, if you remember.

It doesn't count under British law.

So you keep telling me.

But I thought I'd test your little
theory.

So I sent my solicitor a copy of our
marriage certificate.

He's telephoned me to say it's
completely valid.

And he's written back to me to confirm
it.

Show me.

I haven't received his letter yet.

It'll arrive in the evening post, I
expect.

It's going to be quite a shock for poor
Miss Matthews.

I'm warning you, Ernestine.

If you approach Pat, so help me God,
I'll kill you, I swear it. Oh, Donovan.

Don't make me laugh.

Now run along and try and impress
somebody else, will you?

Poor Miss Matthews.

You really have let her down, Donovan.

I won't take a seat.

But you wouldn't listen.

towards I went back home and changed for
the theatre.

I couldn't let her hurt Pat like that.

Ah,

my dear Chief Inspector.

Came as fast as I could, Poirot. No, no,
my friend. You came just in time.

The case is closed.

Jimmy, go to Mademoiselle Patricia.

She doesn't want me.

She wants him. No, no, no, no, mon ami.

She needs you.

Basically, what you've got here,
Hastings, is some very expensive scrap

Hastings, my friend,

Poirot is as magnanimous in defeat as he
is modest in victory.

Oh, yes.

In view of the fact that you are going
to need every penny you can get to

restore this beautiful machine to
health, I have decided to pay up

and be content.

Like that.

Thanks, old boy.

Think nothing of it, old boy.

Good morning, Miss Lemon.

Good morning, Mr. Poirot.

And what a beautiful morning it is.

Lovely.

I hear you've been having all sorts of
excitement here.

No, it was nothing, a case like any
other.

I've got your friar's balsam for you.

My what?

Your inhalant for your cold.

Poirot does not have colds, Miss Lemon.
It is well known that Poirot scorns all

but the gravest afflictions.

But yesterday you were... Miss Lemon.

Yesterday? was yesterday.

My tea's on, if you please.