All language subtitles for 04. The Cornish Mystery

Are you feeling better, Hastings?

Yes.

Yes, I am, as a matter of fact.

Takes the pressure off the pancreas, is
he?

The pancreas is nothing.

Of the digestive organs, the liver is
the king.

Look after the liver, and life will take
care of itself.

Your tavern, Mr. Farrow.

Thank you, Miss Lemon.

This is what you need, Hastings.

No fear. I've tasted it.

Mr Poirot.

Yes, Miss Lemmon. There's a lady
outside.

A client?

I don't know.

When I say outside, I mean outside in
the street.

I've been watching her from my window.
She keeps on backwards and forwards,

stops and looks up at the building. I'm
sure she wants to come in.

Go and intercept her, Miss Lemmon.

Inform her that Hercule Poirot is not
devouring the strange ladies this

Mr Poirot.

Leave the pancreas alone, Hastings. It's
the best advice I can give you.

And look to your diet.

What did you eat last night, huh?

Do not tell me. You went to that Indian
restaurant you keep on telling me about,

n 'est -ce pas?

The Orient has much to teach us, Poirot.

You have been warned, Hastings.

Do you know what is the most heavily
taxed import in Belgium?

Rice.

The government of my country is
determined to stamp it out.

Look, I was brought up on rice. Rice
pudding. And how are you feeling,

Oh... The Indian

philosopher Rabindranath Tagore
specifically recommends rice as a cure

known ills. She won't come in, Mr
Poirot.

She denied wanting to see you at all at
first.

Then she said she'd meet you.

Where?

Don't be nervous, madame.

You are a man friend.

I may be wickedly wronging poor Edward,
though.

It's a terrible thought for a wife to
have.

I've got this dreadful idea.

You suspect your husband, love?

Oh, Mr. Poirot, I'm dreadfully afraid.

I'm being poisoned.

I see.

What makes you think so, madame?

I'm sick after nearly every meal.

And I get this burning pain all down
here.

The doctor says it's gastritis.

But it's very odd. Whenever Edward's
away for the weekend, I'm quite all

again. Even Frida noticed that.

Frida? My niece.

And then there's that tin of weed
killer. The gardener says he's never

but it's half empty.

You and your husband reside where,
madame?

Polgarwitz. It's in Cornwall.

Do you have any children?

No.

But a niece, I think you said, yes?

Yes, Freda Stanton.

My husband's only sister's child.

She's lived with us for the last eight
years. That is, until a week ago.

Uh -huh. And what happened a week ago?

I don't know.

One day last week, she just flared up
and walked out.

She's taken rooms of her own in the
town.

We were to come to her senses, so Mr.
Radnor says. Mr. Radnor?

Oh, he's just a friend.

A very pleasant young fellow.

Anything, you know, between him and your
niece?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Madame.

We must be brutal.

Do you know of any reason why your
husband should wish you out of the way?

Yes, I do.

There's a yellow -haired hussy that
works for him.

My husband's a dentist, Mr. Poirot, and
nothing would do but he must have a...

Smart girl, as he put it, to make his
appointments and mix his fillings for

Go on, madame.

Well, there's talk round the town. I
mean, her with her bobbed hair and her

white overall.

Of course, he swears it's all right.

But then he would, wouldn't he?

It makes me cold talking like this.

Alors, let us then be practical.

You return to Fort Garvey today, yes?

Yes. There's a train at five.

Eh bien.

Tomorrow, Captain Hastings and I will
follow you there.

I don't want there to be any talk.

Courage, madame.

We will be discretionate.

See, he brought the wheelchair Hastings
on his father's behalf.

So it was Herbert who moved the family
to Cornwall.

If Herbert was my father, who was your
mother then?

Maude Hastings. At least she wasn't
Hastings till she got married. She was

Willoughby. What are you doing,
Hastings?

I'm trying to get these relationships
sorted out.

I'm going to pretend I'm the son of Mrs.

Pengelly's second cousin.

What do you think of this case,
Hastings?

Nasty business, I'd say.

Unless Mrs. Pengelly's making the whole
thing up.

Madame Pengelly did not strike me as
being the hysterical woman, Hastings.

No, if I'm mistaken, not.

We have here a very poignant human
drama.

You see it's very simple, I think.

Ordinarily, a woman will accuse anyone
in the world except her husband.

She will stick her belief in him through
thick and thin. This other woman

complicates matters.

But you mean affection may turn to hate
under the stimulus of jealousy?

Exactly. Why then come to me?

To have our suspicions proved wrong?

Or to have them proved right?

In a town like this, there's things well
betide any husband who buys a tin of

wheat killer.

Probably only one place to buy something
like that.

Then if his wife suffers from gastritis
and is inclined to be imaginative, the

path is in their flames, I think.

If Monsieur Pengelli chooses for Dario
his receptionist, he seems he chooses

unwisely. It is a little too close to
home.

Domestic waters on one side and surgery
on the other.

What is that, Poirot? Sounds like
someone crying.

Yes? We wish to see Mrs. Pengelly.

You can't.

She's dead.

Dead?

Not an hour ago.

Upstairs, cold.

Of what did she die?

Are you foreign?

Belgian.

The whole world's gone mad today.

What happened?

It's not my place to say anything, and
I'm not going to.

That everybody knows.

Indeed?

Didn't I see the master with me own eyes
standing just near the shelf with a

weed killer this very evening?

And didn't he jump when he turned round
and saw me a -watching of him?

And then Mrs. Gruel there on the table
ready.

Not a bite more food passes my lips
while I'm in this house.

Not if I dies for it.

Yes, he is.

Yes, he is. Oh, my God, it's him.

You'll have to go.

Where did the doctor who attended your
mistress live?

Dr. Adams, at the other end of the high
street.

Who is he, Jessie?

Nobody, sir.

It's just the men.

I'm very sorry to hear of your tragic
loss, Mr. Pinkett.

Thank you.

We'll come back soon.

We should have come with her yesterday,
Hastings.

An imbecile, a criminal imbecile. That's
what I have been.

Why boast about my little grey cells?
And now I have lost a human life.

A life that came to me to be saved.

Damned nonsense.

Damned nonsense, every word of it.

Was I or was I not in attendance in this
case?

Indeed. Did I or did I not say the first
day I went to see Mrs. Pengelly,

gastritis? Yes. Did I ever waver from
that diagnosis? No, I did not.

But this is undoubtedly... This town is
a hotbed of gossip.

Scandal -mongering old women get
together and invent God knows what.

But the fact remains... They read these
scurrilous rags of newspapers and

nothing will suit them better but that
someone from their town should be

poisoned too.

But Madam Pengelly... Why should anyone
want to poison her?

Dr. Adams, will you please listen to me?

Why? I'm telling you.

It was yesterday that Madam Pengelly
came to London in order to consult me.

She believed she was being poisoned.

Never.

Hastings, do you hear that? Now I am a
liar, huh?

Dr. Adams, please, allow me.

Madame Pengelly believed that her
husband was the poisoner.

Rubbish! I know Edward Pengelly wouldn't
poison his grandmother's dog.

But it is not the dog of Madame
Pengelly's grandmother that has been

Madame Pengelly believed that her
husband had fallen in love with his

receptionist. Fallen in love?

Edward Pengelly isn't the sort of man to
fall in love.

We play golf together.

Never been in love in his life.

Damn fine dentist, too.

I'll be blunt with you, Mr Poirot.

We in Polgarwith don't need you
outsiders coming in spreading your

-tattle. All I am trying to tell you,
Monsieur le Docteur, is what Madame

Pengelly thought.

Well, if she thought that, she must have
gone mad.

She should have come to see me.

I'd have told her.

And had all her fears ridiculed?

Ridiculed? Certainly not.

I've got an open mind, I hope.

Fall in love?

Edward Pengelly is not the sort of man
to fall in love.

He is as obstinate as a pig, that one.

He says it is gastritis, therefore it is
gastritis.

Did I waver from that diagnosis?

Never.

A doctor who lacks doubt is not a
doctor.

He's an executioner.

Poor Madame Pengelly, surrounded by
such... closed minds.

We owe it to her hastings to unmask her
mother.

Well, let's meet the yellow -haired
hussy, eh?

What is this Hattie Hastings?

It means the sort of girl who's sort of
no better than she ought to

be kind of thing.

No better than?

That's it.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Yes, sir.

Oh, right.

Look, I'm the second cousin of... No.

Good morning.

Look here, I've got a toothache. Ow!

It really... There's been a bereavement.

Mr. Pengelly isn't in the surgery today.

Ah, right.

Well, I'd better come back some other
time, shall I? It is all right.

I will look after him.

Come along, Hastings. What?

Oh, right.

I'll come back next week, then.

What a stunner, Poirot.

You must not excite yourself, Hastings.

Good morning.

And what do you think of our little
town?

It is charming, madame.

I hope you find it interesting enough.

Indeed I do.

Miss Stanton, dear, a gentleman to see
you.

Who are you?

Hercule Farrell.

Thank you.

Jacob Ratner.

Oh, poor auntie.

Of course it was all nonsense, her
thinking Uncle Edward was poisoning her.

It's terribly sad.

I've been wishing all morning I'd been
kinder and more patient.

These regrets are too common,
mademoiselle.

But one must move on.

I know, but I've got a sharp temper.

After all...

It was only silliness on Auntie's part.

You stood a great deal, Frieda.

What was the actual cause of your
disagreement, mademoiselle?

Look, I'll be running along.

I'll see you this evening, eh?

Goodbye, gentlemen.

You are affianced to Monsieur Radnor, is
that not so?

As a matter of fact, yes.

How did you know?

Well, one does not have to be the
greatest detective in the world to

Oh, I see.

That was the whole trouble, actually,
with Auntie.

She did not approve of the match for
you.

It wasn't that so much.

But you see... Yes.

It seems rather a horrid thing to say
about her now.

Now she's dead.

But you'll never understand unless I
tell you.

Well... Auntie was... She was absolutely

infatuated with Jacob.

Jacob? Jacob Radner, you mean?

Yes.

Yes, I know.

She was over 50, and he's not 30 yet.

But there it was.

She was silly about him.

I can see it would have made things dash
difficult.

Well, I just had to tell her in the end.

I had to say, it was me Jacob was after.

She carried on most dreadfully.

She wouldn't believe a word of it, and
was so rude and insulting.

I lost my temper, I'm afraid.

I wish I hadn't.

And so you left?

Yes.

So I should jolly well think.

Well, I thank you very much, Miss
Danton. You've been most helpful.

I hope I've put your mind at rest,
that's all. Indeed.

My little rest tastings.

Well, it all seemed quite... You know.

Well, I'm surprised you had gastritis.

Come on.

She's going to run around after chaps
half her age.

Mr. Thoreau?

Ah, hello again, Mr. Raddow. I wonder if
I might have a word with you.

I can pretty well guess what Frieda has
been telling you. Indeed?

It was all really unfortunate.

At first, I was quite pleased.

I imagined the old woman was helping
things along with Frieda. And then it

turned out, well, the whole thing was
absurd and extremely unpleasant.

This is my little place.

Oh, is this your shop?

It's not bad, is it?

After you, gentlemen.

Thank you.

Oh, good morning, gentlemen.

Good morning.

Oh, good morning, Mr. Radnor. It's all
right, Mr. Newsome. These gentlemen are

with me.

You can go and have your dinner, if you
like.

Thank you, sir.

Well, this is most impressive, Mr.
Radnor.

We'll try to liven Paul Garvey's up a
bit.

New tassels, better quality.

When are you and Monser Stanton going to
get married?

Soon, I hope.

Look, Mr Poirot, can I speak freely?

Of course.

I'm going to be candid with you.

Excellent. I know a bit more than Frida
does, you see.

Indeed?

She believes her uncle to be innocent.

And you don't?

I'm not so sure as all that.

I can tell you one thing, though.

I'm going to keep my mouth shut about
what I do now.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

I don't want my wife's uncle tried and
hanged for murder.

Why do you tell me this, monsieur?

Because I've heard of you.

And I know you're a clever man.

If quite possible, you might ferret out
a case against him.

But I put it to you.

What good is that?

The poor woman is past help, isn't she?

And she'd be the last person to want a
scandal.

You are probably right.

So you want me to hush it up?

Well, I admit I'm being selfish about
it.

I'm building up a good little business
here.

You don't know what these small towns
are like.

Most of us are selfish, Monsieur
Radinard.

Not all of us admit it so freely.

Yes, I will do what you ask, but I tell
you frankly, you will not succeed in

hushing it up.

Why not?

Vox Populi, Monsieur Ragnard, that is
why.

The voice of the people.

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to
dust,

ensure uncertain hope of the
resurrection to eternal life through our

Christ, who shall change our vile body.

I suppose we can accept this rather
extraordinary story about Radnor and

Pengelly? But yes.

That would have been dashed embarrassing
for him.

Perhaps.

Or perhaps he found it a little
flattering, huh?

Flattering? She was old enough to be his
mother.

Well, almost.

And we forgive them that trespass
against us.

And lead us not into temptation.

Madame Pangeli was an estimable and
charming lady.

Thank you, Mr. Poirot.

If only I'd listened to her.

I assumed it was a minor digestive
disorder.

Terrible business. Sandwich, Captain
Hastings? Thank you.

Terrible business.

Gastritis. Gastritis, pure and simple.

Oh.

If you don't mind, Mr. Pengelly, I'd
like to read the will. I have to get

to the office before midday.

Yes, yes, by all means.

There are no secrets.

It's quite straightforward, really.

After the usual preamble, Mrs. Pengelly
leaves £2 ,000 in trust.

for her niece, Miss Frieda Stanton,
until she's 40.

The revenue of her estate, which amounts
to some £20 ,000 in government bonds,

she leaves to her husband, Edward
Pengelly.

Excuse us.

Thank you.

I think I should take her home.

It is all very interesting, is it not,
Hastings?

Interesting? Seems to be rather thwarted
and unpleasant.

Hardly seems any mystery about it.

I agree. There is no mystery or
whatever.

Pengelly had three motives for murder.

Money.

He was in love with his assistant.

Mrs. Pengelly was apparently in love
with Ladner.

Well, I must say, I find that pretty
hard to believe.

Ah, Hastings, you admire that Ladner.

You prostrate yourself before all who
are good -looking.

Look how you are struck all over par by
that yellow -haired auntie.

Quite, aren't you?

But psychologically, you know nothing
whatever about that. Oh, well, there you

are. It just shows.

Women are always saying I understand
them rather too well.

Really, Hastings? I should like to hear
them say it to myself.

No, no, no, mon ami. You listen to
Poirot and you shall learn.

In the autumn of a woman's life,
Hastings, there comes always one mad

when she longs for romance, for
adventure before it is too late.

even if she is the wife of a respectable
dentist in a country town.

And you think that... The clever man
might take advantage of such a moment?

I'd hardly call Pengelly so clever. He
seems to have got the whole town

You know, Hestia, what I find curious is
that the only two men who know anything

about this, they both want to hush it
up.

What, rather than the doctor, you mean?

I don't see what that's got to do with
it.

Well... Before your bank holiday in
August, Hastings, we shall see Mr.

in the dark.

Good thing, too.

And it will be our job to save him from
the gallows.

All right, lads, pick him up.

1, 2, 3, E!

1, 2, 3, E!

1, 2, 3, E!

1, 2, 3, E!

Two heads and a tail. Two yins and a
yang.

Right.

Number 15.

I don't understand this.

Are you sure you're thinking about
Poirot?

His hexagrams come out of chien.

What's that mean?

Modesty.

Superior man carries things through
without vanity.

Doesn't sound like Mr.

Poirot.

What are you doing, Hastings?

Nothing. The I Ching, actually.

The I? I Ching. It's an ancient Chinese
oracle.

We were foretelling your future.

Most amusing.

Your hexagram comes out modestly.

Oh?

That is most apt. Very well.

Yes, but it's the lines that are
important.

You see, your second line says, ten
pairs of tortoises cannot oppose him.

man in the scarlet kneebands is coming.

Tortoises?

Kneebands? Oh, you see, the tortoise.

was considered a magical animal.

It means you're going to be so
successful that not even magic can stop

Hastings, I have had enough of this
nonsense. I can foretell the future

than any Chinese oracle, as you will see
if you look in this newspaper.

Herr Hitler, please, put that further
down the page.

Call it mystery.

Mrs. Pengelly, excuse me. How long did I
say, Hastings?

Say? I said, did I not, that we should
see Mr. Pengelly in the dock?

Before August Bank holiday.

And when is the August bank holiday,
Hastings?

Two weeks on Monday.

Precisement.

Gossip in Pergavis became intense when
Edward Pengelly announced his engagement

to his 25 -year -old receptionist, Mr.
Edwina Marks, three weeks ago.

What did I tell you, Hastings? The voice
of the people.

Hastings?

Have you finished your meditation?

Hastings?

And what was the reason for your visit?

No particular reason. I often dropped in
to see them. We were friends.

Did you see Mrs.

Pengelly on this occasion?

No. She was in bed, I was told.

She had her digestive trouble again.

She had this digestive trouble quite
regularly.

Not regularly, no.

But she'd been suffering for some time
with it.

You saw the accused?

Yes. What was he doing?

He was in the kitchen preparing some
gruel to take up to his wife.

Now, what I wanted to tell the court is
exactly what met your eyes when you went

through that door into the kitchen.

Well, I saw Mr. Pengelly.

He had his back to me.

He was putting a tin up on a shelf.

There was a tray with a bowl of gruel on
it on the kitchen table.

One moment, Mr. Radner.

This tin that Mr. Pengelly was
replacing, can you tell us what was in

No.

Can you describe it to us?

It was a bit bigger than a cocoa tin. It
was yellow with black printing on it,

or perhaps dark blue.

Could we see Exhibit D, please?

Fifth tin, Mr. Ratner.

I have just one little murder case to
myself.

Bonjour, Chief Inspector.

We were on this case long before you
were.

Good hand.

I am glad.

Madame Pengelli came to me because she
thought she was being poisoned.

She was right.

Poirot said Pengelli would be in the
dock before August McConaughey.

So what are you here for?

To rescue him.

He had the means to do it, the weed
killer. He had the opportunity to do it.

lived in the same house and prepared
some of her meals.

He had the motive to do it. The yellow
-haired hussy who has to be no better

than she was.

And yet, Inspector, he did not do it.

I can name six people who had the motive
to kill Madame Pengelly.

What about Mrs. Stanton?

She inherits under her aunt's will.

Don't spoil it, Poirot.

This is a little holiday for me.

It's an open and shut case.

Everyone knows Pengelly did it. Everyone
does not use the grey cells, I think.

Do you think I should talk to the niece
again?

Certainly. The symptoms of gastritis are
identical to the symptoms of arsenic

poisoning. That is not what the
pathologist from the home office said,

Adams.

No, no, no. I'm telling you. The
symptoms of gastritis are identical to

symptoms of arsenic poisoning.

That's why I made the diagnosis that I
did.

Well, I don't see what's going to save
him.

Poirot will save him.

With the help of the Lux Populi, of
course.

Well, the Vox Populi seems quite certain
Pangeli did it, if you ask me.

Prestitimon, you have now grasped the
nub of the matter. Ah,

Monsieur Rednaud. Hello.

Captain Hastings?

This is a sad business.

A trial, yes. I just think it is.

Do you see any chance of him getting
off? Well, he has reserved his defence

he may have something up his sleeve, as
you English say. Monsieur Rednaud, would

you care to join Captain Hastings and me
for a drink at the hotel?

Well, thank you.

Then please to join us, sir.

We can go to my room, Monsieur Radnor,
where we can discuss the intricacies of

these things, no? Certainly.

Ah, please, sit down, Monsieur Radnor.

Thank you.

Please, please be so kind as to offer
our friend something to drink.

Cherry? Please.

Business is good, Monsieur Radnor.

Excellent, thank you, yes.

I've taken over the shop next door to
add to mine.

Eh bien, it is Jacob, n 'est -ce pas?

I'm sorry?

Jacob Radnault?

Yes.

Jacob Radnault?

Oh, 21...

Fourth Street, yes.

What are you doing?

Captain Hastings and I are very
experienced, Monsieur Radnaud, in

this kind.

And we both feel that our friend,
Monsieur Pengelly, has one

loophole of escape.

A loophole?

What loophole has he got?

That you should sign...

This little piece of paper.

What is it?

A confession that you murdered Madame
Pengele.

You must be mad.

No, no, no, my friend, I am not mad.

Madame Pengele was a lady very well to
do.

But the small allowance she made to her
niece was not sufficient for your

ambitious schemes. Now, you must get rid
of both her...

And her husband.

And then all the money would go to
Mademoiselle Stanton, no?

You yourself decide to murder Madame
Pengele and let her husband hang for the

crime.

I'm not going to stay here.

You've got no right to keep me here.

Nevertheless, you will stay.

You set about your task very cleverly,
Monsieur Radnor.

You made love to that plain middle -aged
woman.

You implanted into her mind doubts about
the fidelity of her husband.

You introduced arsenic into her food,
being very careful never to do so while

her husband was away.

You were in the house while her husband
was preparing the gruel for his wife,

and you introduced the fatal dose.

The rest is easy.

Very interesting.

Very ingenious.

But why do you tell me this?

Because, Monsieur Ravnon, I represent...
No, not the law.

I represent... Madame Pengelly.

And it is for her sake that I'm going to
give you the chance to escape.

Now look, you sign that piece of paper
and I will give you 24 hours start,

Monsieur Radnaud.

24 hours before I place this matter into
the hands of the police.

You can't get away, Radnaud.

Look out of that window.

Those two men have orders not to lose
sight of you.

Damn you!

You've only got one chance, Radnor.

What guarantee have I got?

None.

But you will surely hang if you do not
sign.

Shall I give him the signal, Poirot, to
let him pass?

Certainement.

You have 24 hours, Monsieur Renaud.

I'll get back at you, Poirot, one day.

I think not, my friend.

In two days, you will be in the prison
cell.

I'm not sure we should have let him go,
you know, Poirot.

You're letting a dangerous criminal
escape out of sheer sentiment.

No, Hastings.

That was not sentiment.

That was realism.

We have no shadow of proof against him.

The only chance was to frighten him into
confession.

Hastings, those two men of yours, who
are they?

I haven't the foggiest idea.

I just noticed them standing there when
we came in.

But that is sheer brilliance.

Oh, well.

Your peculiar oriental practices, which
I tease you about, are obviously working

wonders on your grasshouse.

Maybe it's the rice.

I hope not, Hastings.

Where are we going?

To place this into the hands of the
proper authorities.

But that's not for 24 hours. Hastings,
did you really believe that I would let

cold -blooded murderer get up Scottish
priest?

Oh, no, but... Hastings, I do not
understand you. Your objective, I let

Your objective, I do not let him off.

That very day I see it, sir.

I see his hand hovering over the missus'
gruel, sir.

Whose hand?

Oh, his, sir.

The master's, sir.

And was there something in that hand,
Miss Dawlish?

Yes, sir.

There was, sir.

We'd kill her, sir.

This is most extraordinary.

Have you notified the police?

No, we thought it would come better from
you.

Good. Meanwhile, I'll ask that the trial
is at least adjourned.

There is just one thing.

We promised Mr. Radner that we'd give
him a 24 -hour start.

Here, have it, Beckham.

If Edward Pengelly had really murdered
his wife, Hastings, guilt would have

him sensitive to what people would say.

If he announced his engagement to
Mademoiselle Marx, Mademoiselle

guilty person would have waited and
quietly slipped out of Cornwall forever

before doing such a thing.

Well, there's Jack.

I don't know what you're going to tell
him.

Nothing at all, Hastings. I hate to be
the bearer of bad news.

He will learn soon enough that his open
and shut case has the broken hinges.

Hey, Poirot, come and try one of these.

My dear Jeff.

Poirot, Hastings.

John, I'll miss these when I get back to
London.

Beep, beep.

He's still poking about in my murder.

No, no, no, Chief Inspector. Captain
Hastings and I are retiring from the

Oh? Why?

Well, sometimes it is braver to admit
defeat than to battle on with no hope of

success against the superior forces.

Oh, yes? So Pangely's going to swing in
spite of all your efforts?

If we are to catch the next train, we
must tear ourselves away.

Captain Hastings is going to treat me to
dinner at the most excellent restaurant

he has discovered, which serves the
Indian food.

It is to this food that Captain Hastings
attributes the improvement to his

dressers.

Indian? What, these hot curries and
things? Yes.

Rather you than me, Poirot.

Au revoir, Inspector.

Make haste, my friend.

I do not wish to be visible when
Inspector Jeff discovers he has to chase

Mr. Radnor.

Too late.

Sir!

Sir! Can you expect to assess? Can you
come, please, sir? The trial's been

adjourned. Adjourned? What for?

Mr. Radnor's confessed, sir.

Confessed? To the murder. He confessed
to that French gent.

In writing.

Poirot!