All language subtitles for 04 - The Case of the Missing Will

To 1926.

Happy New Year.

Now listen, everyone.

Please,

please, please.

I've been a very fortunate man.

Especially to have friends like all of
you.

Not many people went to Australia and
bought a farm over a copper seam.

I have, at long last, persuaded Andrew
to make a will.

With my wife Sarah's help.

In it, there are several minor bequests
to some of us and a small trust fund for

Violet's education.

Violet! The main part of the estate,
75%, goes to the Ellenfort Medical

Foundation. Oh, how splendid. Dr.
Pritchard, of which you're chairman.

It'll be used wisely, Andrew.

If you ever die, that is.

A lump sum of £2 ,000 held in trust
until their 18th birthdays will be

between Peter Baker and Robert Sidaway.

Oh, that's so kind of you, Andrew.

I think you know how fond I am of your
son.

And there'll be men soon with all the
responsibility that entails.

And I'd like them to have a secure
future.

What about Violet?

What about Violet?

She is your ward, Andrew. You don't on
her, but you've left her nothing. Yes,

but she'll marry.

Someone like Robert or Peter.

She's a woman, for heaven's sake.

My God, Andrew.

You had to stop yourself saying only a
woman.

Sounds cruel.

Gentlemen.

Quiet. Quiet.

The motion before us is, this house
believes that women can never be

equal status with men.

I call upon Mr. Andrew Marsh, a former
president of the union, to propose the

motion.

Mr.

President, gentlemen, few people, if any

here today, would deny their fellow
human beings, regardless of color,

gender,

The fundamental right of respect.

Monsieur Poirot, it's lovely to see you
again, but we did say seven o 'clock.

My dear mademoiselle Violet, you must
forgive me. You must blame the two -inch

nail who punctured us at Bulldog.

I'd like you to meet my associate,
Captain Hastings. How do you do? Captain

Hastings, this is Mademoiselle Violet
Wilson and Rose Ward.

Thank you.

But society, like the family, is not
merely a collection of individuals

haphazardly thrown together in order to
function industrially, politically,

socially.

Both must be structured, divided into
those who make decisions, those who put

them into practice, those who lead,
those who follow.

This is Miss Cantlin, the principal of
my college.

We really should hurry. The debate's
underway and Andrew's already speaking.

Such designations are status and are
determined by a

woman.

Her name is Mother Nature.

I now call upon Mr. Robert Siddoway to
oppose the motion.

The debate so far has ignored some
rather

unpleasant developments taking place in
the real world.

A few months ago, two leaders of immense
status

But with very little respect for
anything, Adolf Hitler and Benito

overran neighbouring countries.

All people of good sense, regardless of
gender, can see that war right across

Europe is imminent.

And when it comes, will we expect women
to merely keep the home fires burning,

Mr President?

Or will we accord them equal status as
we ask them to go onto the land and farm

it?

Into the factories and make munitions?

Let us work and die for our country. Why
would you let us join the Union?

Oh, God forbid. Let us speak in a
debate.

the outcome, Bobby.

You spoke well.

So did Andrew.

Once you ignored what he actually said.

Congratulations, sir.

A worthy victory.

If the press won't cover the debate,
Robert, we can see tomorrow's headlines

now. New woman heckles hecklers at
Cambridge Union.

Borrow!

How are you? Andrew, my dear friend, I
missed your speech. Please forgive me.

Oh, but you've heard the gist of it many
times before.

Starting back as far as the Cavendish
Clinic. Oh, mon dieu. In such adversity

are born the lasting friendships, n 'est
-ce pas?

We were there hastings for the mutual
pulling of the wisdom teeth, eh?

It was not a pretty sight.

Damn doctor of mine never offers me
anything for this wheezing.

Perhaps because you tell him it does not
bother you.

Blasphemy can see it, surely.

Uncle Andrew's had a wonky heart for
years.

Gives him short of breath, though not of
voice.

This room is a place most industrious.
Do you not agree, Hastings? Certainly,

yes.

I run a magazine, monsieur, called New
Prospects.

I'm hoping to expand it once I graduate.

Merci. Do you have any money?

Oh, valid.

If you won't invest, Uncle Andrew, I
understand that.

But somebody will.

Have you tried one of the banks,
Mademoiselle Violet?

Were I a man, they would give me a loan
tomorrow.

I told you the reason for that. Women in
business are just begging to be taken

advantage of.

Right, Hastings?

I can't say I really know any women.

Oh, in business, that is.

Point proved.

Motion carried.

Three against one, eh, Poirot?

No, mon ami.

Two against two.

Look, I know you've booked into an
hotel, Poirot, but why don't you join us

a few days at Crabtree?

Come over tomorrow for lunch.

We should be delighted.

You will permit me, Mademoiselle
Campion.

You like for your students to have the
views that they're very strong, miss,

huh? I positively encourage it.

John, before I forget, our meeting
tomorrow, could we make it a little

Why don't we meet for lunch?

My office at 12 .30.

It affects you, Martin.

I'm afraid I'm changing my will.

It's your money, Andrew.

Is violet to be mentioned in your new
will, sir?

Setting aside your impertinence, Robert,
I could have sworn the debate was over.

Perhaps you feel I didn't win it
convincingly.

I'm sure he meant no harm, Ed.

You don't merely encourage the young
fillet, are you? You overindulge them.

I apologise, sir.

Robert? I'll talk to him, Mrs Siddeway.

Robert! Sarah, will you please not fuss?

Robert! Robert, wait!

I'm sorry, Violet, but just because he
won a stupid debate doesn't make his

attitude right. Look, he is what he is,
Bobby.

And we'll never change him.

And I'm not sure that I want to.

Leave it until you're dead or leave a
sack of sea potatoes up on your front

drive, right? Yeah.

Thanks for the lift.

Andrew, it's been marvellous, but I've
quite an afternoon ahead of me.

Well, I'm sorry I was rough on Bobby.
I'll straighten things out with him

Before I go, Andrew, I'd like to give
you the once -over.

Ah. Good God, man.

Fuss, fuss, fuss.

You've had a couple of strenuous days.

Jacket off and sleeves off.

Mrs. Siddoway, would you be so kind as
to bring my stethoscope through to the

library? My bag's in the hall.

Afternoon, Mrs. Siddoway.

Peter, what are you doing here?

Four nights leave, then we're off to
Palestine.

There's no one at the cottage, and Dad's
on duty. I don't suppose Mother's...

Yes, your mother's in the kitchen. Why
don't you go and find her?

Mother!

Entrez.

Oh, mon ami.

The good doctor, he tells you to get
some rest and you ignore his advice.

You do not change.

I've changed all right, Poirot.

You'll think me an old hypocrite, I'm
afraid, saying one thing, doing another.

should not dream of such a thing, mon
ami.

Please, do sit.

Even though...

After all the things I've said about my
health over the years, never taking

anyone's advice.

Well... My specialist tells me I... God
damn it,

I'm not afraid of it. I'm just afraid of
upsetting others.

He tells you that your life draws to its
close?

Damn.

You know, ten years ago, I made a will.

I have at long last persuaded Andrew to
make a will.

In it I left several small bequests.

£250 to my lawyer, John Sidaway, and his
wife, Sarah.

To Miss Campion. Phyllida Campion
received £500, which she immediately

to her college for improvements.

My housekeeper, Margaret Baker, and her
husband, Walter, the local police

sergeant, were already provided for by
an earlier endowment.

Their son, Peter Baker, and young Robert
Sidaway were left a thousand pounds

each to give them a start in life.

But I left the bulk of my fortune to Dr.
Pritchard, as chairman of the Ellen

Fort Medical Foundation.

If you ever die, that is.

There was some consternation that night
that I had excluded Violet from my will.

But tomorrow I'm going to put that
right.

I intend to write a new will, leaving
everything to Violet.

Truth is, I've been so proud of her
achievements at Cambridge over the past

three years. She deserves it.

I'd like you to be executor of that
will, Poirot. Say you'll do it for me.

But of course.

Why this urgency?

Who the hell is that at this time of
night?

We'll talk more tomorrow. We'll be after
you.

Good night.

Bonne nuit, cher ami.

Hello?

What? Now?

Couldn't this have waited?

Morning, Farrow. Good morning, Hastings.
Bonjour, mademoiselle.

What do you think of Samson? I think
that he is large and you should take

Hastings. We'll join you for breakfast,
Monsieur Farrow.

What a charming folly.

Andrew restored it about 15 years ago.

Come here to think.

Race you back.

Andrew?

Barrett, go back to the house and get
Sergeant Baker.

And Quarter, too.

Sergeant Baker, you permit that I make a
search?

I may not have done that, sir.

Found nothing.

Perhaps a post -mortem will tell us
more.

There's no call for a post -mortem.

I've examined the body.

Andrew died about eight hours ago.

I'll give you the death certificate.

Heart failure?

What's wrong with that?

It says nothing.

I get to see a corpse whose heart still
beats.

Poirot, the leading heart specialist in
London would tell you that Andrew... His

illness and I were well acquainted,
Monsieur le Doctor.

It's a bit odd to be walking around here
in the middle of the night, though,

don't you think?

He often had a late stroll, Captain.

Helped him to sleep.

There you are, Walter.

Last night Andrew tells me he was to
make a new will.

Half past midnight he gets a telephone
call. This morning he is dead.

No, this is no coincidence, Hastings.

We must make the search.

Hastings, leave not a rock unturned.

As you know, Monsieur Poirot, it's not
usual to read a will before the funeral.

But in this case, I've made an
exception, hoping to dispel your fears

Andrew's death.

Thank you.

Ladies and gentlemen, perhaps we should
be seated.

It wasn't a complicated will, Mr.
Poirot.

We were all present at the witnessing.

Ten years ago now.

The will, Mr. Fiddler?

Doesn't appear to be here.

Don't be absurd, dear. It must be.

It'll be there somewhere, sir.

Just a matter of finding it.

Mesdames, messieurs.

Andrew Marsh was a good friend to all of
us here in this room, and yet it seems

that you wish his death to pass
unquestioned. Not all of us, Mr. Poirot.

we have the disappearing will, and still
you do nothing, Sergeant.

With respect, Poirot, I think you're
reading too much into it.

Indeed.

The new will that Andrew Marsh intended
to write would have left everything to

Mademoiselle Violet.

With Poirot as executor.

Very well, I will execute.

But beware, mes amis, for in so doing,
with or without your help, I will

the mystery of his death.

This is intolerable, Hastings.

We are dealing with a close -knit
community where the business of each is

to all.

Except to Poirot.

Yet.

Just a second, Poirot. That missing will
could be a godsend. It'll mean Andrew

died intestate. Thank you for that note
of optimism, Hastings. All you have to

do is tell the probate court that Andrew
wanted Violet to have everything.

And you think that they will accept
that? The wishes of Andrew Marsh, told

in confidence, without any witnesses?

Oh, I see.

Poirot, I wonder if I might have a word.

Something?

Good health.

I want you to know that I am the major
beneficiary of Andrew's missing will as

chairman of the Ellen Ford Foundation.

In case you get the wrong end of the
stick.

I have no stick by either end, Monsieur
Le Docteur.

Yes, but you might reasonably think that
75 % of the Marsh estate is worth

killing for.

And Andrew was going to make a new will,
he said.

But you would not have stolen the old
will, since it favored you.

Andrew told you he wanted Violet to have
everything you said.

Did he mention nobody else?

No. Why is it that you ask?

Because for a long time now, I've
believed that Andrew had a son.

I believe Monsieur le Docteur is good,
but it is not good at all.

Andrew, John and myself, we met at
Crabview one night. It must have been...

Two years ago now.

Sarah was away, and Robert had just been
accepted at Cambridge.

His father was full of it, bursting with
pride.

To Robert.

To Robert. To Robert.

Robert. Thank you.

I'm very happy for you, John.

Oh, forgive me, both of you. I rattle on
as if you fellows had sons to be proud

of as well.

What makes you think I don't understand
your pride?

Perfectly. You may be my solicitor,
John, but you don't know everything

me.

Dizzy, Maggie.

Andrew Marsh was always very fond of
Margaret Baker.

Maybe Peter is Andrew's son.

I see.

Doctor, I thank you. I have been
stumbling around in the darkened room

you have switched on the light.

You see how things go, Hastings?

I believe that he was killed for his
fortune. But the question still remains.

Who would lay claim to it once he had
died?

Well, there's that son that Pritchard
talks about.

But then we only have his word that he
exists.

We find the son, mon ami. We also find
the murderer.

Soon we may have the word of Madame
Margaret Baker.

You can't ask a woman a question like
that, Poirot.

Not only can I, Hastings, I must.

Met him in Australia, sir.

Hired me as nanny to Violet, his
business partner's child.

When he came to England, he gave me the
chance to come too.

Which is where you met your husband, the
Bobby of the village.

Madame Baker, I truly wish to cause you
no offense, but... Mr. Andrew Marsh, he

admired you greatly, Nespa.

Oh, yes.

And you were also very fond of him.

Yes. And perhaps it would be true to say
that you did not work for him as the

nanny to Mlle. Violet so much as to
sharing his life.

I want to hear this.

You're saying I might have a claim to
his fortune, aren't you, Mr. Poirot?

Be quiet.

Dad, we said Andrew had a knife for the
ladies. Yes, well, in my case, he

admired from afar.

After we came back from Australia, Mr.
Andrew was sent to fight in France.

You were conceived while he was away.

By the time Andrew got leave, Peter was
three months old.

So you worked as the nanny to
Mademoiselle Violet while Monsieur

absent? Yes.

His other friends pulled their weight,
of course.

But Miss Campion's not much good with
small children.

Nor Mrs. Zitaway come to that in spite
of being a children's nurse.

Thank you, madame.

You've got some gall to go casting
aspersions like that, Poirot.

I have the gall, Sergeant Baker, because
a man has been murdered and you refuse

to investigate.

Very well.

The time has now come for me to go above
your head.

Thank you for coming, Chief Inspector.

You have met Sergeant Baker, I see.

Yes, I must say, Poirot, that in spite
of your comments, he seems like a

reliable chap to me.

This way, Chief Inspector.

Mr. Marsh was discovered here, Chief
Inspector.

No marks on the body?

Nothing out of the ordinary found?

No, yeah.

What's this, then, if it isn't out of
the ordinary?

Something quiet.

Looks like a medicine bottle to me.

I myself searched this area, but
meticulously.

Must have missed it, Poirot.

Any of the local quacks reported one of
these, Missy?

No, sir.

Sorry, sir.

We'll get on to it right away. I'll ask
Dr. Pritchard.

Pritchard? He's the chairman of the
Ellingford Medical Foundation.

Dr. Martin Pritchard.

Listen, Poirot, don't tell people I'm in
the neighborhood yet.

I shall need to see the coroner's
officer.

I want a post -mortem. I want to know
what was in this.

Miss Campion, could you spare us a few
moments? I am rather pressed for time,

Robert. Please, Philida.

It's about my mother, Miss Campion.

About me.

About my father, too, I suppose.

Two years at King's and you still don't
make any sense, my dear boy.

Like so many before you.

You won't laugh when you know the
reason, Philida.

Robert needs your advice.

I think Andrew Marsh was my father, Miss
Campion.

And you're asking me what you should do
about it.

Why don't you ask Mr. Poirot?

But, Robert, why didn't you mention this
before today?

My mother only told me about it last
night.

Took some guts on her part.

It doesn't seem to have upset you
unduly, Robert.

Well, after some thought, what
difference does it make?

Bien, Monsieur Robert, I will tell you
the difference.

In the world that is missing, you
inherit a small fortune. If you can

are a son, you will inherit a vast one.

And now a son by Sarah Siddleway.

We find the son, we find the murderer,
you said.

Yes, indeed, Hastings.

But it would be unseemly to unmask him
today before the funeral of Andrew

The man had a lot of friends, Poirot.

What good are many friends when they
meet?

When you have one bad enemy.

Dr. Pritchard.

You look to be in the rudest of health,
Chief Inspector.

You have met before?

Would you care to fill these gentlemen
in, sir, or shall I?

Very well, then.

We met in London 15 years ago.

Dr Pritchard here was running a so
-called humanitarian group, helping the

terminally ill to kill themselves.

To end their suffering, you mean? We
investigated his organisation, but

prove anything.

At a rough guess, I'd say he's up to his
old tricks again.

No.

Yours, Doctor, according to the
manufacturer.

They send them out with batches of
insulin, all numbered so they can

tabs on them because as well as working
miracles insulin can also be lethal i

don't understand the post -mortem found
needle marks in mr marsh's upper arm

martin arthur pritchard i'm arresting
you for the murder of andrew marsh

you're not obliged to say anything but
anything you do say will be taken down

and used in evidence

All things come to he who waits, Poirot.

I knew I'd get him sooner or later.

Just because the solution to a crime is
simple, Poirot, doesn't mean to say it's

wrong. Pritchard killed Andrew Marsh.

End of story.

But why would he steal a will that
favoured him?

No, Chief Inspector. Still, it has not
been found, nor I believe will it ever

be.

Did you question other suspects? Did
Sergeant Baker? Of course we didn't,

because there weren't any.

Robert Sidway and Violet Wilson.

Monsieur Poirot is expecting us.

What about that telephone call, Chief
Inspector? The one that Andrew received

had gone midnight.

Pritchard, of course.

Honestly, you two, when you're backed
into a court... Mr. Wilson and Mr.

Sidway.

Monsieur Poirot.

We thought you should be the first to
know.

We're going to America.

Robert's going to forego his last year
at King's, and there's a birth on the

Queen Mary leaving on Tuesday.

Mademoiselle Varlet, Monsieur Robert,
please to sit.

Eh bien, mademoiselle, what of the end
of term?

What of the graduation ceremony of
Mademoiselle Campion?

Why the sudden rush, Miss Wilson?

What is there to stay for?

Women are treated as equals in America.

I can forge myself a decent career.

And a man I've known all my life is
charged quite insanely with my

murder.

Mademoiselle Violet, your late guardian
would not have wanted you to miss the

graduation ceremony.

I beg of you.

Before you finally make up your mind to
give Poirot a little more time.

Please.

It's all very well you saying probate's
a lengthy business, John.

But Robert and Violet are planning to
leave the country.

Do you want that?

No, of course I don't.

Is it that difficult to prove you're
someone's heir?

I mean, what does it involve?

Surprisingly little.

You swear an oath that you are who you
say you are.

Don't you need a birth certificate or
something?

No.

Would you apologise to Sarah for me?

She's invited me to dinner on Saturday,
but I'm going to London.

I'll tell Sarah.

Theatre?

Concert? No.

The CEO fueled parole, as a matter of
fact.

I need his advice on something.

Pushman was at Campion. The moving
stairs, it was not Dr. Pritchard. He is

your custody.

Yes, well, we don't know that anyone
pushed her yet. But he is not the

Chief Inspector.

The murderer is still at large.

Well, we obviously got her here pretty
quickly.

At least we know she survived.

Inez? Please.

I shall need to speak to Miss Campion as
soon as possible.

But you can't. She's concussed.

Very nasty fall, gentlemen.

Legs broken in two places.

She will recover soon.

I think you'll find Mrs. Campion's made
of pretty strong stuff.

She's a miss, Doctor.

Miss Campion.

You called her Mrs.

You know her well?

Well... No, but we know she's not
married.

Tell me, Doctor.

Did you call her Mrs.

out of habit or a slip of the tongue?

Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to speak
out of turn, but if there's something

you know, Doctor, it's your duty to tell
us.

Miss Campion has had a baby at some time
in her life.

By caesarean section, no less.

Miss Emma, I have a task for you.

Ladies and gentlemen, the end of the
academic year is something

I would never miss.

Although this time it was a close -run
thing.

As you know, this is always an informal
occasion, because while the university

here at Cambridge acknowledges the hard
work of its male students, it doesn't

yet see fit to hold a degree ceremony
for women.

So I hold my own.

And as you take your places in society,

I hope that three years here will have
proved you more than worthy of them.

Thank you, Hastings.

A smile of triumph, Miss Lemmon?

Of course.

Mesdames, messieurs.

To begin, I think it is fitting that we
should make a toast to our dear late

friend.

Mr. Andrew Marsh.

Andrew Marsh.

Today would have given him much
pleasure, n 'est -ce pas?

And how proud he would have been of you,
mademoiselle Violet.

However, there is someone in this room
who denied to him this pleasure.

You mean his murderer's here?

One of us?

On the night that he died, Monsieur
Andrew Marsh asked me to be the executor

a new will he would make.

I believe that he was killed for that
fortune.

And that the old will was stolen and
destroyed so that he would die

So my duty, you see, has been twofold.

First to find the murderer, and then
before this ruthless murderer could lay

claim to it, to deliver his estate to
Mademoiselle Violet according to his

wishes.

However, this murderer, he was at work
even as my dear friend Andrew told to me

his news most tragic.

My specialist tells me I... Damn it, I'm
not afraid of it. I'm just afraid of

upsetting others.

But how is that at this time of night?

Hello?

What?

Now?

And thus the murderer lured him from the
house.

Couldn't this have waited?

To rendezvous with the folly.

And here?

Our murderer administered a massive and
fatal dose of insulin in a cowardly

attack upon a man who was sick and
weakened.

Voilà.

But then along comes Poirot, who says
that this death is not a death that is

natural, oh no.

It is a murder.

So fearing for their own safety, the
murderer pointed the finger toward Dr.

Martin Pritchard by placing at the scene
of the crime the file containing the

insulin.

Chief Inspector Japp arrives to help me
with the investigation. He examines the

folly and he finds it there.

Why was that file not found the day of
the murder by Sergeant Baker, huh?

Because it was not there.

Poirot himself searched the area, and
Poirot never misses.

So, my good friend the Chief Inspector
Jean promptly arrests Dr. Martin

Pritchard. And with a man who is
innocent charged for the murder, the

killer could now lay claim to the Marsh
fortune.

So it was thought, without suspicion.

But Dr. Martin Pritchard had already
told... to my associate, Captain

and myself, that Andrew had a son.

Peter, perhaps?

That doesn't mean say I'd kill him for
it.

Oh, you, Robert.

Now, your claim had to eat more
substance, n 'est -ce pas?

Because you believed that Andrew Marsh
and your mother were lovers.

Robert was with me the night of Andrew's
death, Monsieur Poirot.

Violets don't. With the arm that pushed
mademoiselle Campion down the moving

stairs. Yours, Peter?

Yours, Robert?

Stop!

Stop!

Stop!

Were you afraid of what she might say to
me?

Theatre?

Concert? No.

To see Hercule Poirot.

And of course the killer certainly knew
of the visit to London of Mlle. Campion

to see Poirot.

Because Mlle.

Campion had discovered in a conversation
with a lawyer, John Sidaway, that for a

child to claim the estate of the father,
the real identity of the mother need

not to be revealed.

But events took such a turn that did
reveal a secret that she herself had

for more than...

What Mr.

Poirot means is that the doctor who
treated me saw that I'd had a baby.

When I was a student here.

It was but a short step for my
secretary, Miss Lemon, to discover the

that baby.

Please do read it, Miss Lemon.

Born on the 17th of July, 1913, to Miss
Phyllida Campion,

the daughter whose name was Violet.

What's going on?

What on earth is happening?

Was it necessary to pry into Phyllida's
past, Poirot? It's Andrew we're

interested in. Yes, indeed.

But during all this time, not once did
we ask ourselves this question.

Is this son that we seek perhaps a
daughter?

So Violet is Andrew Marsh's daughter.

Did you kill the father to Mademoiselle
Violet?

I didn't. I say you did, monsieur!

Why?

You know that she loves you.

You know that she wants you to go to
America with her. Why then?

He's just told you he didn't!

No, madame.

Perhaps, Robert, he is not the murderer.

Because... Just as we thought the heir
of Andrew had to be a man, so too did we

think of the murderer.

This killer was someone who stole a
syringe from the bag belonging to Dr.

Pritchard, who knew the power of
insulin.

And you, I was told, had been a
children's nurse.

Madame Sidaway.

It was you who convinced Robert that he
was the son of Andrew. It was Robert who

told you of the visit of Mademoiselle
Campion to London, where you followed

where you pushed her down the moving
stairs.

Because you were afraid that at last she
would reveal Mademoiselle Violet

as the rightful heir.

John, help me.

There's nothing I can do, Sarah.

How did you know about Bart?

I had a friend who worked in the clinic.

I met her years later.

There was so little we had to give
Robert.

But he was mentioned in the will,
madame.

Why did you steal and destroy it?

Because I wanted him to have everything.

Why should it all go to Violet?

Because Andrew Marsh wished it.

As proof that she was his daughter.

And his equal.

I think you'd better come along with me,
Mrs. Sinaway.

Mademoiselle Campion. Mademoiselle
Violet.

Your magazine could not have a name that
is better, huh? The New Prospects. For

these are very exciting for you both,
are they not?

They certainly are.

And I'm going to use the inheritance to
start my own publishing company.

And you, Monsieur Poirot, shall be my
first subscriber.

Thank you, Mademoiselle.

You know, the companies, they have a
chairman, huh?

But in this instance, why not a
chairwoman?

You already have the chair, I see.

Not for much longer.

Plaster comes off a week today.

And what of Robert?

I think I can persuade him to finish his
degree.

That is good.

Alors, au revoir, mesdemoiselles.

Et bonjour.

Thank you, Monsieur Poirot.