All language subtitles for 06 - The Chocolate Box

But you understand, it's our future and
Belgium's future that I'm thinking of.

The Catholic Church has narrowed your
mind, Marianne, just as it has my

mother's. But don't you see, Paul?

You keep asking me to choose between you
and my faith.

I can't believe what you're saying,
Marianne.

You mean fresh ideas have no place in
your mind.

My God.

We're into a new century, but you are
stuck in the last.

Like your damned clergy.

Attacking the church won't help Belgium,
Paul.

It'll turn the people against you. I
don't attack it. I want it to open its

eyes. And as my wife, the wife of a
government minister, you should support

in that.

I married you for love, Paul.

Not to advance your political career.

going back in Brussels again after so
many years.

In the eye of my mind, Chief Inspector,
I have never left.

The place is bound to have changed,
though.

That's right.

But we are not here for the memory lane
of Guarumadamido.

We come for the paying of the tributes
to your good self.

To be made a companion to the branch
door, it is the highest honor my country

can be stood.

Very kind of Belgium, yes. But all I've
done over the years is my job.

I'm not at all, Chief Inspector.

Time and again, Ever since the
Abercrombie forgery case, you have

Belgian police and my country. It is
grateful.

Pity Emily couldn't come.

Still, I think she's right.

Brussels is a far cry from Isleworth.

Her loss is my gain.

It is an honour to deputise for Madame
Jambon.

Warhol.

Chantal.

Twenty years and you look the same.

Is this Herman Amir?

Oh, pardon.

You know the Chief Inspector Japp, of
course.

We work together often. Congratulations
on your new appointment, sir.

Commissary, please.

However did you manage, sir, when he
went off to England?

He wasn't always so clever, Chief
Inspector.

You remember Paul Derula?

I remember that it was not I who made
the mistakes in that case.

Because everyone else.

The old modesty lives on.

Paul de Rola died of natural causes,
Hercule.

The verdict of the court is there for
all time.

And it is wrong.

Tell you what.

I'm a disinterested party.

Let me be the judge of this.

It was just before the war, Chief
Inspector.

His death was reported to the police in
the... That was the first mistake.

The Derula case began two years earlier
when his wife Marianne fell down the

stairs to the death.

An accident, Poirot.

The Belgian philosopher himself, Georges
Tabanau, once said to me, he said,

Poirot, there is no such thing as an
accident.

However, we shall let that pass.

On the night of his death, Paul Derola
was entertaining some friends.

Seated around the table were Virginie
Ménard.

Next to her, the distinguished friend of
Paul, Le Comte de Saint -Helar.

At the head of the table, the mother to
Paul, Madame Derola.

And at her side, her convidant and
advisor, an old family friend, Gaston

Bourgeau.

Virginie was cousin to Marianne, the
dead wife of Paul.

A new language, Lord Paul.

What exactly does it say?

From now on, all commands in the army
must be given in Flemish as well as

French. All I pray is that you and your
friends in government have no plans for

the mass to be said in Flemish, Paul.

Now I see it.

This law is just the tip of the iceberg.

Your late wife always said that one day
you'd get your claws into the church.

Absurd. Well, sit down, Saint -Hilal,
before you make a fool of yourself.

The press knows you're against the
Catholic Church, Paul.

For your own sake, I forbid you to say
any more.

I'm given half the chance you'd appease
the Kaiser as well.

Then I suppose we'd all be speaking
German.

Another chocolate, Monsieur Beaujeu.

After dinner, it was left to Gaston
Beaujeu in his customary role as

soothe the troubled waters.

Thank you.

You and Saint -Hilaire have been friends
too long to fall out over politics.

He lives in the past. A divided Belgium,
Gaston.

Flemings to the north, Walloons to the
south.

That's our history.

Not our future.

But if Germany attacks, where will he
stand then?

In the front line, my friend. Have no
fear. He would take them on single

-handed.

At around midnight, the guests departed.

Madame retired to her nightly devotions,
and the Darola household slept.

All except Paul, a slave to insomnia.

who returned to his study in order to
work.

Paul had a reputation for his austerity
and discipline.

He did, however, have two vices.

The pursuit of his career,

and chocolates.

My duties as a junior police officer
involved my regular attendance at the

of the coroner.

The death of Paul Derula was treated by
all those concerned as a matter of

routine. Indeed not, Your Honor.

Those giving evidence saw no reason to
question the death of Paul.

And at first, neither did I.

The principal witness in the case was my
superior, Superintendent Boucher.

might have been the case.

Nothing whatsoever, monsieur.

We searched the house and found nothing
untoward.

You may step down.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am more than
satisfied that Paul Derrilla's death,

though a tragedy, of course, was due to
heart failure.

And I give my verdict accordingly.

That can't be right.

You have further evidence, mademoiselle
Mina?

I tell you, he can't just have died.

Well, why do you take everyone at their
word?

I would advise you, mademoiselle, to
guard your remarks when addressing me.

Forgive her, monsieur, but she is much
affected by the death.

We will look after her.

My colleague, Chantalier, and I felt
that the case was being dismissed too

readily.

And although we were only there as
observers, we decided it was our duty to

raise the matter with Superintendent
Boucher.

Superintendent Boucher, one moment, if
you please.

Jean Thallier and myself, we would be
very happy to investigate further the

Derula case.

What for, may I ask?

The outburst of the young lady in court.

Can we ignore that?

And also the victim, he was a government
minister.

That is precisely why you will put it
out of your mind, Poirot. The case is

closed, gentlemen.

But it was an invitation most
unexpected, which ensured that the case

closed.

Thank you.

André, bonjour, ça va?

Why have you kept it a secret from me?

What are you talking about, André? The
young lady I spoke to you about. She's

table five.

Merci.

She asked for you, especially.

By name?

By moustache.

At your service, mademoiselle.

Virginie Maynard.

Mademoiselle Maynard.

Would you take a seat, please?

Merci.

I was in court, mademoiselle, when you
expressed a certain doubt concerning the

death of Monsieur Paul de Rola. How can
he have died of heart failure?

He was such a robust man.

And that is all upon which you base your
doubt?

His apparent good health?

And some feminine instinct, monsieur.

You believe in such a thing?

Perhaps.

Why is it that you come to me?

A friend of mine is a secretary at the
local paper. The editor mentions your

name often.

A spark in the otherwise dull embers of
the police force, he says.

Ah.

He is a man of perception?

Will you help me, monsieur?

Eh bien, mademoiselle, I have been told
that the case is disclosed.

But I am due some leave, which I shall
take.

A difficult smile to resist, eh,
Achille?

Yes, indeed.

If you think that the young lady in that
case attracted me, you do me a wrong,

Claude.

Yet you still wear the trinket she gave
you.

What, this?

Bien sûr.

If you think the Poirot could not see
beyond that smile most bewitching, and

that her charm was such that... Toujours
la femme, Chief Inspector.

You have a phrase in English which means
the same?

Nothing as crisp as yours, sir.

We just tend to say something like, mark
my words, there'll be a woman at the

bottom of this, am I?

Yeah, cool.

It's the Comte de Saint -Hilaire.

Monsieur Lecomte.

Bonsoir. Will you join us?

Have you come to interfere in yet more
business that doesn't concern you?

To ruin a few more reputations?

As mayor of this city, Saint -Hilaire,
your reputation has never been better.

No thanks to this meddling upstart.

I swore to myself, Poirot, the next time
I saw you, no matter when it was, the

very next time I would... Monsieur
Lecomte.

If that's the Belgian aristocracy, it's
about time you had a revolution.

He was not entirely unprovoked, Chief
Inspector.

I was there, Poirot. You didn't do
anything.

But you were not there all those years
ago, mon ami.

when I gave him cause to resent me.

This, um, Compagnon de la Branched Door
there, a wall in me, Poirot. Oui?

I mean, what exactly is a branched door?

It is a golden branch of an olive tree,
mon ami.

In Greek mythology, he who carried it
became invincible.

Very useful in our line of work, as
much, Inspector.

Do we know who's presenting it yet?

By tradition, it must be a fellow
compagnon, but who it will be is yet

undecided. The wife wanted royalty, of
course, but I'm not fussing.

Ah, the Derula house.

It has changed very little.

The refusal of Superintendent Boucher to
further investigate the death had

angered me.

So it was that in the company of
Virginie, I began my own inquiries.

On arriving at the Derula house, I met
for the first time Madame Derula.

You must introduce the young man,
Virginie.

She doesn't bring home many friends,
monsieur.

Hercule Poirot, madame. I am a
policeman.

I've seen too much of the police lately,
monsieur Poirot.

And all have believed that your son, he
died of heart failure, madame.

I see the work of your hand in this,
Virginie.

Forgive me, Madame, but for Paul's sake,
I couldn't live with my doubts.

Perhaps I might be able to put her mind
at rest, Madame, when perhaps I have

seen the study and spoken with your
servants.

Who is this lady?

The wife of Monsieur d 'Orla?

Yes, Marianne, my cousin.

She died two years ago.

An accident here in the house.

Paul never really got over it.

So he kept her in the desk?

Out of sight, out of mind, perhaps?

Paul and his mother had a permanent
tussle. I never really quite understood.

Paul would hide the photograph in the
drawer.

His mother would bring it out again.

Oh, Mr. Gachon.

I'd like you to meet Accio Poirot.

Gaston is our neighbor.

Monsieur.

Monsieur.

I would urge you to be mindful of Madame
de Roulade's feelings.

She has lost a son.

I shall be discretionate, sir.

But if a crime has been committed, you
will agree that justice must be served.

These were made by a guest at your table
the other night, Le Comte de Saint

-Helal.

Yes, he always brings a box when he
visits.

And the night of the death of Paul d
'Orla?

Yes, we had some with our coffee.

What color was the box at the table?

I can't remember. Pink.

Are you certain, monsieur?

It was not of the two colors, the pink
and the green, comme ça?

Oh, how curious.

I wonder. I just told you.

Both halves were pink.

Then I suggest that there is somewhere a
second box.

One with a green lid and a pink base.

If anyone knew the whereabouts of the
missing chocolate box, it would be the

Darula's servants.

Virginie took me to meet them.

This is Denise the cook and Jeanette the
maid.

Where's Francois, Denise?

I think he's taken the afternoon off,
mademoiselle.

The chocolate box comprising the other
two halves had been removed by the 80

-year -old butler, Francois.

That's the trouble with going back over
crimes.

The evidence gets lost.

I agree that is usually the case, but
not this time, Chief Inspector.

The servant, Francois, had taken the box
of chocolates to give to a lady friend.

Over here, please, Chief Inspector,
between these two pillows.

If we must.

Indeed we must. I have promised most
faithfully to Madam Jeff to bring her

the photographs.

Is this all right to take now?

I should do the trick for her.

Thank you.

Lady friend, this Francois, you said he
was nearly 80.

Only an Englishman would see the
contradiction there, mon ami.

I found them seated at a cafe playing
chess, eating what was left of the

chocolate.

And the fact they were still alive told
you their box wasn't poison.

Precisement.

But this is the same box of chocolates
that you handed around on the night of

the tragedy.

By the same box.

But with a different lead, n 'est -ce
pas?

I don't know.

Hope so.

Non. Merci.

Tell me, monsieur.

Have you ever had any disagreements with
your employer?

Over what?

His easy ideas about religion, his
accommodation of the Flemish language.

I'm too old to quarrel over trivial
matters, monsieur.

And yet there was an argument over
dinner. Was there not between Le Comte

Saint -Hilaire and his host?

Check.

Saint -Hilaire attacked my employer for
being a liberal.

And Madame de Rola, his mother, she's
also a liberal?

Sadly, no.

A good Catholic, monsieur.

Devout like Saint -Hilaire.

Tell me, François, does any of the
household use poisons?

I do battle with the rats from time to
time, but not in the last three months.

And does anyone take the medications,
perhaps?

There are madame's eye drops, but would
they be poisonous?

Your move.

Checkmate.

Tell me this minute, what is between you
and this Virginie Maynard?

Jean -Louis, your long nose will be the
death of you. Your safety is all that

concerns me.

Thank you.

Jean -Louis, inside this envelope are
crumbs of chocolate. I want you to tell

by your analysis exactly what they
contain and whether or not they contain

poison.

Now, you're filling a regular
prescription for Madame Darula, huh? For

drops?

Atropine. Atropine. Now, could this
atropine kill a man?

If drunk by the liter, perhaps.

Ah, the death of Monsieur Darula.

Oui. And the servant, François, brings
you this prescription once a month?

That's right.

Although last week their neighbor
brought it.

Gaston Bourgeois?

Yes.

He required medication of his own.

I waited eagerly for the results of the
analysis of Jean -Louis.

This was my first investigation as a
private detective.

But my good friend Chantalier was about
to remind me that the day when Poirot

could rule his own destiny was yet to
come.

Hercule!

I've been looking everywhere for you.

Why, there is a problem?

I gave you my word, Hercule. He didn't
hear it from me.

But Superintendent Boucher wants to see
you.

Will I need earplugs?

I've had Madame Derula here.

She has friends in high places, Poirot.

Xavier Saint -Hila for one.

He's likely to be the next mayor of
Brussels. And as such, could make my

extremely difficult.

Whereupon, I will make yours.

Even more so.

And what exactly have you found out,
hmm?

Just so that we know.

It is my belief that Monsieur Paul de
Rola was poisoned.

And poisoned by a chocolate made by the
next mayor of this city.

God in heaven, man.

You don't just harass his friends.

You accuse him of murder.

I accuse no one.

Yet.

Tell us, what did Boucher say?

Oh, about my findings? He was impressed.

Never. I did not say favorably
impressed.

Hercule, for your own sake, you've got
to drop this.

Please, Virginie, make him see sense.

I hope I haven't made things awkward for
you.

Okay?

Not at all.

Virginie.

Eh bien, at six o 'clock I have coming
to my apartment a friend of mine who is

chemist. He is going to tell me exactly
where those chocolates contain.

If you have finished, would you come and
meet him?

Yes?

I haven't told you how grateful I am for
your help.

I did nothing.

But perhaps,

perhaps this will say it for me.

You see, some people might have thought
me mad.

Perhaps you did.

But at least you gave me the benefit of
the doubt.

Thank you.

It's exactly as we thought. The crumbs
you gave me... Pardon,

Jean -Louis Ferrault? Allow me to
introduce you to Mademoiselle Virginie,

madame. Enchantée.

Thank you so much for everything you're
doing to help me.

Monsieur Bourgeois, what's happening?
Explain yourself.

My heart, Poirot.

The pills, the waistcoat, fucking...

Do

not worry, monsieur.

We will get you to a hospital.

What was he after in your flat?

The envelope containing the crumbs of
chocolate.

Which weren't there anyway.

Has your chemist friend done his
analysis?

Oh, yes.

The crumbs contain the substance called
trinitrin.

It is taken for the high blood pressure.

And Jean -Louis had made up an urgent
prescription for Gaston Bourgeois two

before the murder.

So you got it.

And what is more to respect to the taste
of those pills is so viral that they

were made of chocolate.

Wait a minute.

Why did Chantalier say that you've made
a peg zero this one night?

Because that is what I allowed him to
believe.

Perhaps the time has now come to
straighten the record.

So this lot, they're all compagnons de
la branche d 'or, are they?

Each and every one a hero.

Not what you'd call young, are they?

Young at heart.

Bienvenue, compagnon de la branche d
'or.

I did not know that Gaston Bourgeau had
been made a compagnon.

Yes. I look around this hall today.

And I see nothing but heroes, men who
have made great sacrifices.

Today we honor an English policeman for
services beyond the call of duty.

And as he joins the ranks of the
invincible few, I proclaim James

Harold Japp.

Accompagnant de la branche d 'or.

Vive l 'accompagnant.

Vive l 'accompagnant.

Good evening.

Good to see you.

Ah, congratulations, Chief Inspector.

It's an honor to be one of your select
company, sir.

Don't forget, our reunion dinner is
quite something.

And you must tell Madame Jappe we expect
her here next time.

Congratulations,

Chief Inspector Jappe.

Oh, vous êtes très élégant.

Come, let us have some food.

I think it's help -yourself time,
Poirot. Merci.

Not a bad chap, that Beaujeu, once you
start talking.

No, I am sure of it.

Yeah, but you had him down as a suspect
at one stage.

Well, even the good chaps can sometimes
kill their fellow men, Chief Inspector.

I believe Paul de Roulade was poisoned
with ginitrine.

Pills that you take for high blood
pressure.

Someone stole mine, Poirot, from the
house, from my coat. I can't be sure.

I would like to think that you are
innocent, monsieur.

But you told her no one of the pills
were missing.

And then you broke into my apartment,
presumably to steal the crumbs of

chocolate, evidence which might
incriminate you.

I'm going to take you into my
confidence, Poirot, which you must

respect.

I give you my word, monsieur.

I work for Belgian intelligence.

And my present job is to find out just
who in the government would collaborate

with Germany if she wedges war.

So Paul Derula was not so much a friend
as a mine of information.

Unwittingly, yes.

Then let us hope that for his
indiscretions...

He did not pay with his life.

He tells me he is a member of the Secret
Service and then he makes me promise to

keep secret this whole affair.

You see how he ties my hands?

How do I verify his story without
breaking the confidence?

Well, at least he agrees with us that
Paul was murdered. Yes. Whether or not

him is another matter. He had the means,
but not the motive.

That is why we must dig deeper.

You know I would like to visit the
Chateau of Saint -Alain, but there is a

problem. Monsieur Lecomte, he's always
there.

There's one thing he'll always venture
out for.

What?

The opera.

Take care of him, Monsieur.

Thank you.

Three times a day, Monsieur Gaston
Berger.

Found in the pocket of Xavier Saint
-Hilaire.

Hercule, you're a genius.

Maybe so.

But to reopen the case, Superintendent
Boucher will need a confession from

-Hilaire himself.

Hercule, I'm not sure you'd allow me to
do this, but... Saint -Hilaire holds me

in high regard.

In fact, I... You mean he's in love with
you?

Oh, please don't think I return his
affection, Hercule.

Far, far from it. I believe you,
Virginie.

Then why don't I persuade him to talk?

Oh, no.

Non, Virginie, this man, he could be a
murderer.

If you were there.

Oh.

The audacity of the plan of Virginie
appealed to me very much.

That night, Francois had taken Madame d
'Arola to visit some friends.

The maid and the cook were therefore
free for the evening.

Virginie had left the door at the back
of the house unlocked, and the trap, it

was ready to be sprung.

In spite of our differences, Paul could
be such an amusing man.

That was thoughtless of me.

I haven't mentioned his death since it
happened, and now it was too early to do

so. Forgive me.

No, no, Xavier, you misunderstand.

You see, I can't help thinking that his
death was a just punishment.

Virginie, I know the cause of his death
troubles you, but he died of heart

failure. Nothing else.

Some people do anything for their faith,
Xavier.

I admire that.

Suppose someone knew that Paul had plans
to limit the church's power in Belgium.

Would it be a sin to remove him?

To murder him?

Oh, such people would never be seen as
common murderers, though.

But as saviors.

Well, at least by the church, don't you
agree?

Virginie, you say all this to comfort
me, I know.

I had no right to expect such
understanding.

Least of all from a member of his
family.

What do you mean?

I'm the one responsible for his death,
Virginie.

You killed him?

Surely as if I'd fired a pistol at his
heart.

Monsieur Poirot, what in God's name are
you doing here?

You break into his private apartment.

Now, for most men, that would be enough.

But not Poirot, no.

Poirot then goes on to try to trick him
into a confession.

His last words, superintendent, before
the return of Madame d 'Avola, were, as

surely as if I had fired a pistol at his
heart.

Yes, Poirot.

As if.

As if.

On the night Paul Derrilla died, there
was an argument at the table.

Saint -Hila believes that argument led
to the seizure that carried Paul off.

I believe that you yourself should
question him further.

I do not need your advice on how to
proceed, Poirot.

On the contrary, you need mine.

And you will begin by visiting Madame de
Rola and apologizing to her for all the

distress you have caused.

Madame de Rola, I have... come to
apologize to you.

I should like you to stay, Virginie.

So, you think my son was murdered?

I believe that your son was poisoned,
madame, by Javier Santalar.

Poisoned? Would Santalar lose his own
chocolates? Are people so stupid?

Oh, yes, madame.

You would be surprised.

The stonemason he murders with his
hammer, the cutler with his knife, the

maker with his soft centers.

I took some crumbs of chocolate from
this box, madame.

May I?

Thank you.

They contain a substance called
trinitrin, a drug prescribed to your

Gaston Bourgeois.

And you questioned him?

Oui, madame, and he told me that the
pills, they had been stolen.

And when I searched the Chateau of Saint
-Helade, I found there the pill bottle,

which was empty.

A finding is one thing.

Can you prove all this?

Tomorrow I have an appointment with the
Minister of Justice, and he cannot argue

with the scientific analysis of Jean
-Louis Ferraud.

And all from one little mistake.

Francois told me to do with... Chocolate
boxes, I believe.

Oui, madame.

Having taken a few of the chocolates
from one box, poisoned them, and then

them back into another box, the murderer
replaced the lid incorrectly.

Green lid on the pink box.

Such details are always at the heart of
the case, madame.

You said the green lead to the pink box.

Quite so.

Madame de Roland, in order that the
wrong person does not go to the

I beg of you, tell me once again, what
is the color of the lead and what is the

color of the box?

My eyesight is not what it was,
monsieur.

Your prescription for eye drops should
have told me of the great burden you

carried.

For it was you, Madame de Rola, who
killed your son.

Despite your failing eyesight, you added
the liquid frenetrine from Beaujeu's

pills to a sweet filling.

You then put this mixture into the
chocolates from the study of Paul.

You replaced the glassy fruit to conceal
the lethal concoction within.

Having poisoned the chocolates which
were to kill him, you then made your

mistake.

The wrong lid to the wrong box.

Having used the pills of Beaujeu, you
then placed the pill bottle which was

empty into the coat pocket of Le Comte
de Saint -Hilaire.

Why, madame?

To get it away from the house?

Don't worry.

I wouldn't let him die for my crime,
much as I dislike the man.

Why, madame?

Why kill your own son?

Because of what he was doing to our
country, Virginie, and our church.

I pray, monsieur, that no woman in the
world need ever choose again between

of God and the love of her child.

But to take a life is a mortal sin,
madame.

How can a woman of such conviction so
deny her faith?

Paul was a murderer, monsieur.

She did not die from an accident.

Can't you understand?

It's our future and Belgium's future
that I'm thinking of.

I married you for love, Paul.

Not to advance your political career.

I knew I'd seen him do it, but we never
spoke of it.

Peter was afraid to admit he was capable
of doing such a thing.

Ah, so instead you taunt him by
displaying the photograph.

Before I died, I had to see justice
done.

My doctors tell me I have no more than
six months left in this world.

All the truth waits six months,
monsieur.

Perhaps longer, madame.

Oh, you must tell it.

Tell all when I've gone.

Why didn't you?

Why leave it till now?

And why did Virginie say nothing?

She and I agreed that it would be my
decision.

Paul de Gaulle, he was a murderer.

His mother acted for the greater good of
the country. I admired her sacrifice,

her moral courage.

Who does anything these days for the
greater good?

At least I understand why Saint -Halo
bears a grudge.

You trying to trap him like that?

Did you never make your peace with him?

Well, had I told him the reason why I
suspected him... Oh, merci.

No. Had I told him the reason why I
suspected him, that I found the bottle

Trinitrin in his coat pocket, he might
then have asked me who put it there.

Madame de Rouleau. I could not risk his
curiosity.

I wrote to him, of course, apologizing
for my behavior, which was foolhardy

irresponsible.

I know that he agrees with that to this
very day. Claude, would you sit there,

please, Chief Inspector?

One of those things we have to live with
in our profession.

Oui, bien sûr.

Jean -Louis.

Hercule.

To see you is to be young again. I've
thought about you often down the years.

Ah, mon ami, mon ami.

Hercule, Hercule, I would like you to
meet my two sons.

You too, sir?

This is Henri.

Henri. And this brave fellow is Hercule.

Hercule?

You are indeed fortunate to have such
fine sons.

Henri, he has the look of someone, yes?

No, perhaps I am wrong.

No, I am right. Hercule also. There is a
definite resemblance to someone I know.

My wife?

Bonsoir, Madame Faro.

I was just saying to Jean -Louis that he
was always

the most photogenic.