Original subtitles

Are you feeling better, Hastings?

Yes. Yes, I am, as a matter of fact.

It takes the pressure of the pancreas, you see.

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 tisane, Mr. Poirot. - Thank you, Miss Lemon.

- This is what you need, Hastings. - No, thank you. I've tasted it.

- Mr. Poirot. - Yes, Mrs. Lemon.

- 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, then stops and looks up at the building.

I'm sure she wants to come in.

Go and intercept her, Miss Lemon.

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

Mr. Poirot!

To leave the pancreas alone, is the best advice I can give you.

And look to your diet.

What was your dinner last night, uh? Ah! Do not tell me!

You went to that Indian restaurant you keep on tell me about, n'est-ce pas?

The Orient has much to teach us, Poirot.

Hm, hm! You have been warned, Hastings.

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

Rice.

The government of my country is determined to banish it.

I was brought up on rice!

- Rice pudding was... - And how are you feeling, Hastings?

Well...

Yes, Hastings, but we live in a cold country.

The Indian philosopher, Rabindranath Tagor,

specifically recommends rice as a cure for all known illness.

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 among friends.

I may wickedly wronging poor Edward, though.

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

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 is away for the weekend, I'm quite all right again.

- Even Freda noticed that. - Freda?

My niece.

And, then, there's a tin of weedkiller.

The gardener says he's never used it, but it's half empty.

You and your husband reside where, madame?

Polgarwith. It's in Cornwall.

- Do you have any children? - No.

- But a niece, I think you said, right? - 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.

- Ah-ha! What happened a week ago? - I don't know.

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

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

Leave her to come to her senses, so Mr. Radnor says.

- Monsieur Radnor? - Oh! He's just a friend.

- A very pleasant young fellow. - Is there 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 head hussy that works for him

My husband is a dentist, Mr. Poirot, and nothing would do.

But he needs a smart girl, as he put it, to make his appointments

who makes his fillings for him.

Go on,madame.

Well, there's talk around the town.

I mean, her with her curled 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. - Well, let's us then be practical.

- You return to Polgarwith today, right? - Yes.

There is a train at five.

Et bien, tomorrow, captain Hastings and I will follow you there.

- I don't want it to be any talk. - Courage, madame.

We will the discretion itself.

He was one of Wiltshire relatives on his father side.

So, it was Herbert who moved the family to Cornwall.

Yes... Herbert was my father. Who was your mother, then?

Maude Hastings. At least she wasn't Hastings until she got married,

she was Maude Willoughby.

What are you doing, Hastings?

I am trying to get these relationships sorted out.

If I'm going to pretend that I'm the son of Mrs. Pengelley's second cousin...

What do you think of this case, Hastings?

Nasty business, I say.

Unless Mrs. Pengelley it has making the whole thing up.

Madame Pengelley did not strike me as being a hysterical woman, Hastings.

Non. If I mistake not, we have here a very poignant human drama.

Polgarwith!

Station of Polgarwith!

You see, it's very simple, Hastings.

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

She will stick to her belief, against thick and thin.

This " other woman " complicates mattters.

You mean affection may turn to hate,

under the stimulus of jealousy? - Exactly.

Why, then, come to me?

To have her suspicions proved wrong?

Or to have them proved right?

In a town like this, Hastings,

will be tied any husband who buys a tin of weedkiller.

Probably, anyone place to buy something like that.

And then if his wife suffers from gastritis

and is inclined to be imaginative,

the fact is in the flames, I think.

If Mr. Pengelley chooses having fun with his receptionist,

he chooses unwisely.

It's a little too close to home.

Domestic orders on one side and surgery on the other.

What is that, Poirot? It sounds like someone crying?

Here, Hastings.

Yes?

We wish to see Mrs. Pengelley.

You can't.

She's dead.

Dead?

Not an hour ago. Upstairs. Cold.

Of what did she die?

- Are you foreign? - Belgian.

I won't come back today!

What happened?

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

but everybody knows. - Indeed?

Didn't I see the master with me all nice

and to sneek the shelf of the weedkiller this very evening?

Didn't he jump when he turned round and he saw me watching him?

And the mrs. gruel there, on the table, ready.

No food passes my lips while I'm at this house!

- Even if I die! - Jessie?

- Jessie? - Oh, my God, is him!

- I'll have to go! - Jessie?

Where does the doctor who attended your mistress live?

Dr. Adams. At the other end of the High Street.

Who is it, Jessie?

It's nobody, sir.

It's just some men.

I'm very sorry to hear of your tragic loss, Monsieur Pengelley.

Thank you.

- We will return perhaps in another time. - Yes.

Thank you, mademoiselle.

We should have come with her yesterday, Hastings!

An imbecile! A criminal imbecile, that's what I've been!

I boast about my little grey cells and, now, I lost a human life!

A life that came to me to be saved!

Damn nonsense! Damn nonsense every word of it!

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

Indeed.

- I... - Did I or did I not say,

the first day I went to see Mrs. Pengelley, gastritis?

Yes?

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

- But this is undoubtefully... - This town is a hot bed of gossip.

A lot of scandal when old women get together

and invent God knows what!

But the fact remains...

They read the scandalous lies of newspapers

and nothing will suit them better

that someone from his town gets poisoned too.

- But Mrs. Pengelley... - Why should anyone poison her?

Dr. Adams! Will you please, listen to me!

Why? I'm telling you.

It was yesterday, that Madame Pengelley 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!

Dr. Adams, please, allow me.

Madame Pengelley believed that the husband was the poisoner.

Rubbish!

I know Edward Pengelley. He wouldn't poison his grandmother's dog.

But it isn't the dog of Mme. Pengelley's grandmother that has been poisoned!

Mme. Pengelley believed that the husband had fallen in love with his receptionist.

- Fallen in love? - Yes.

Edward Pengelley 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 here to give hunches.

All I am trying to tell you, Mr. le Docteur, is what Mme. Pengelley 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 have an open mind, I hope.

" Fall in love? "

" Edward Pengelley 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 Pengelley. Surrounded by such closed minds.

We owe it to her, Hastings.

To unmask her murderer.

Well, let's meet the "yellow head hussy", hey?

What is this "hussy", Hastings?

It means the she sort of girl who's...

... who's no better than she ought to be, that kind of thing.

- No better than ...? - That's it.

- I say! - Oh, I'm sorry.

Yes, sir?

Oh!... Right!

Look...

I am the second cousin of...

No.

Good morning.

Look here, I have a toothache, ow!.

There's beem a reprieve. Mr. Pengelley isn't in the surgery today.

Well, right.

- So, I shall come back in another time? - It is all right.

I will look after him.

- We go away, 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's charming, madame.

- I hope you finds us interesting enough. - Indeed I do.

Mrs. Stanton, dear! Gentlemen to see you!

Who are you?

- Hercule Poirot, and you? - Jacob Radnor.

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 more kinder and more patient.

These regrets are too common, mademoiselle.

But.. one must move on.

I know, but I have got a sharp temper.

After all, it was only silliness from auntie's part.

You stood a great deal, Freda.

What was the actual cause of your disagreement, mademoiselle?

Look, I'll be running along.

I'll see you this evening, hey?

Bye, gentlemen.

Thank you.

You are enganged to Mr. Radnor, is that not so?

As a matter of fact, yes.

How did you know?

Well, one does not have to be the gratest detective in the World to notice it.

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?

But-- It seems a rather 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 Radnor, you mean?

Yes. Yes, I know.

I-- She had over fifty and he's not thirty yet.

But there it was. She was silly about him.

I can see how it would make things dash difficult.

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

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

She carried on most dreadfully.

She woudn'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!

Thank you very much, Miss Stanton. You've been most helpful.

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

Mind at rest, Hastings!

But it all seemed quite... you know.

- You know? - I'm not surprised she had a gastritis.

- Comment? - Well, she had crush on a man half her age...

Mr. Poirot?

- Hello again, Mr. Radnor! - I wonder if I might have a word with you?

I can pretty well guess what Freda has been telling you.

- Indeed? - It was all really unfortunate.

At first I was quite pleased. I thought

the old woman was playing along to help things with Freda.

Then it turned out...

Well, the whole thing was absurd

and extremely unpleasant.

- This is my little place. - Is this your shop?

It is not bad, is not it?

- After you, gentlemen. - Thank you.

- Good morning, gentlemen. - Good morning.

Oh! Good morning, Mr. Radnor.

It's alright, Mr. Newsome, these gentlemen are with me.

- You can have your dinner, if you like. - Thank you, sir.

But this is most impressive, Mr. Radnor.

We try to give life to Polgarwith up a bit.

New fashions. Better quality.

When are you and Mlle. Stanton going to get married?

Soon, I hope.

- Look Mr. Poirot, can I speak freely? - Of course.

- I am going to be candid with you. - Exc�llent.

- I know a bit more than Freda 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 know.

"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.

It is quite possible that you carry 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 am building up a good little business here.

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

Most of us are selfish, Mr. Radnor.

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. Radnor. That is why.

The voice of the people.

" Earth to earth,

" ashes to ashes,

" dust to dust,

" in sure and certain hope

" of Resurrection to eternal life, to Our Lord Jesus Christ,

" who will change our vile body and it will be like His glorious body,

according to the mighty word ... "

I suppose we can accept this extraordinary story

about Radnor and Mrs. Pengelley?

But yes!

It must have been dashed embarrassing for him.

Perhaps.

- Or perhaps he found it a little flattering. - Flattering?

She was old enough to be his mother!

Well, almost.

... " as we forgive them that trespassed against us

" and leed us not into temptation,

but protect us from Evil. "

Amen.

Mme. Pengelley was an estimable and charming lady.

Thank you, Mr. Poirot.

If I had listened to her.

I thought it was a minor digestive disorder.

- Terrible business. - A sandwich, Captain Hastings?

A terrible business.

Gastritis. Gastritis, pure and simple.

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

I have to get back to the office before midday.

Yes, yes. By all means.

There are no secrets.

It's... quite straightforward, really.

After the usual preamble,

Mrs. Pengelley leaves 2 thousand pounds in trust for her niece,

Miss Freda Stanton, until she is forty.

The residue of her estate,

which amounts to 20 thousand pounds in government bonds,

she leaves to her husband, Edward Pengelley.

That's all.

If you'll excuse us.

Thank you.

I think I should take her home.

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

It seems to me rather sordid and unpleasant.

- Hardly seems any mistery, to me. - I agree. There is no mystery whatever.

Pengelley had three motives to murder. Money.

He was in love with his assistant.

Mrs. Pengelley was apparently in love with Radnor.

Though I must say I find that really hard to believe.

Ah, Hastings, you admire les femmes!

You prostrate yourself before all who are good looking.

Look how you were struck out for the yellow head hussy.

- Quite untrue! - But, psychologically,

you know nothing whatever about them. - Well, I'd say that just shows!

Women are always saying I understand them rather too well.

Really, Hastings. I should like to hear them saying so myself.

Non, non mon ami. You listen to Poirot and you shall learn.

In the Autumn of a woman's life, Hastings,

there comes always one mad moment 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 ...? - A clever man

might take advantage of such a moment.

I'd hardly call Pengelley so clever.

He seems hardly hold the town talking.

You know, Hastings, what I find curious

is that the only two men that know anything about the case,

they both want to hush it up.

What? Radnor and 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 Monsieur Pengelley in the dock.

Good thing too!

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

All right, boys. Pick him out.

One, two, three, heave!

One, two, three, heave!

One, two, three, heave!

One, two, three, heave!

Two heads and a tail.

Two yins and a yang. Right.

It's number 15.

I don't understand this.

Are you sure you were thinking about Poirot?

This hexagram has come out as " Chi'ien ".

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".

- The I... ? - "I Ching".

It's an ancient Chinese oracle.

- We were foretelling your future. - Most amusing.

- Your hexagram comes out as " Modesty "! - Oh?!

That is most apt. Well, well.

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

You see, your second line says:

" Ten pairs of turtles cannot oppose him.

The man in the scarlett knee bands is coming ".

Turtles? Knee bands?

You see, the turtle was considered a magic animal.

It means you will be so successfull not even the magic can stop you.

Hastings, I have had enough of such nonsense.

I can foretell the future better than any Chinese oracle,

as you'll see if you look in this newspaper.

- " Herr Hitler's full speech "? - Further down the page.

" The Cornish Mistery "!

- " Mrs. Pengelley exhumed "! - How long did I say, Hastings?

Say?

I said, did I not that we should see Monsieur Pengelley in the dock?

- Before August bank holiday! - And when is August bank holiday, Hastings?

- Two weeks on Monday. - Pr�cis�ment.

He's done nothing! You're wrong!

People tell lies! Terrible lies!

He's innocent, I tell you!

He's innocent!

" Gossip in Polgarwith became intense

" when Edward Pengelley announced, his engagement to his

25 year-old recepcionist, Miss 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 is the reason for your visit? - No particular reason.

I often dropped in to see them. We were friends.

Did you see Mrs. Pengelley 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 had 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 want you to tell to the court is exactly what met your eyes,

when you went through that door into the kitchen.

Well, I saw Mr. Pengelley.

He had his back to me.

He was putting a tin back on the shelf.

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

One moment, Mr. Radnor.

This tin that Mr. Pengelley was replacing...

Can tell us what was in it?

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?

This tin, Mr. Radnor?

Yes.

Oh, no!

Can I have just one little murder case to myself?

Bonjour, Chief-Inspector.

We were on this case long before you were.

- Hmm! Good ham! - Hm! I am glad.

Mme. Pengelley came to me, because she thought she was being poisoned.

She was right.

Poirot said Pengelley would be on the dock before August bank holiday.

So, are you here for?

To rescue him.

Oh, no!

He had the means to do it: the weedkiller.

He had the opportunity: he lived in the same house and prepared some of her meals.

- He had the motive... - The yellow head hussy

who has to no be better than she is?

And yet, Inspector, he did not do it.

I can name six people who had the motive to kill Mme. Pengelley.

- What about Mlle. Stanton, for instance? - She inherits on her aunt's will.

Don't spoil it, Poirot. This is a little holiday for me.

And to open and shut case.

Everyone knows Pengelley did it.

Everyone does not use the grey cells, I think.

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 of Her MIN. sayd, Dr Adams.

No, no, no. I'm telling you.

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

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

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

Poirot will save him.

With the help of the "vox populi", of course.

"Vox populi" seemed quite certain that Pengelley did it, if you ask me.

Precis�ment. You have now grasped the point of the matter.

Mr. Poirot?

- Ah, Mr. Radnor! - Hello!

Captain Hastings.

- This is a sad business. - The trial? Yes. I just think it is.

- Do you see any chance of him getting off? - Well, he has reserved his defense and...

... he may have something in his sleeve, as you English say.

Would you care to have some drinks with Captain Hastings and me in the hotel?

- Thank you. - Then, please join us.

We can go to my room, Mr. Radnor.

Where we can discuss the intricacies of this case, non?

Splendid!

- Ah! Please sit down, Mr. Radnor. - Thank you.

Hastings, be so kind as to offer our friend something to drink?

- Sherry? - Please.

- Business is good, Mr. Radnor? - Excellent, thank you. Yes.

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

Et bien.

It is Jacob, n'est-ce pas?

I'm sorry?

- Jacob Radnor? - Yes.

" Jacob...

"... Radnor...

... of 21 Fore Street, ... ", yes?

What're you doing?

Captain Hastings and I are very experienced, Mr. Radnor, in matters of this kind

and we both feel that our friend,

Mr. Pengelley, has one loophole of escape.

Loophole? What loophole has he got?

That you should sign

this little piece of paper.

What is it?

The confession that you murdered Mme. Pengelley.

- You must be mad! - Non, non my friend, I am not mad.

Mme. Pengelley was a lady very well to do,

but the small allowance that she gave to her niece

was not sufficient for your ambitious schemes.

You must get rid of both her and her husband,

and then all the money would go to Mlle. Stanton, non?.

You, yourself decided to murder Mme. Pengelley

and let the husband be hanged for the crime.

- I'm not going to stay here and listen to this... - Hastings!

You've got no right to keep me here!

Nevertheless, you will stay.

You set about your task very cleverly, Mr. 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,

very carefully not to do so when her husband was away.

You were in the house when the husband prepared 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, Mr. Radnor, I represent...

... non, not the law.

I represent...

... Mme. Pengelley.

And it is for her sake that I give you the chance...

... to escape. - Now, look!

You sign this piece of paper,

and I will give you 24 hours start, Mr. Radnor.

24 hours

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

You can't get away, Radnor.

Look out of that window.

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

Damn you!

You only have one chance, Radnor.

- What guarantee have I got? - None.

But you'll surely hang,

if you not sign.

All right.

Damn you!

Should I give them them the signal, Poirot, to let him pass?

Mais certa�nement.

You have 24 hours, Mr. Radnor.

I'll get back at you, Poirot.

One day.

I think not, my friend.

It two days, you'll be in a prison cell.

I'm not sure we should've let him go, Poirot.

You letting a serious 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.

That is sheer brilliance!

Oh!! Well...

Your peculiar oriental practices, which I tease you about,

are obviously are doing wonders on your grey cells.

Maybe it's the rice.

I hope not, Hastings.

- Where are we going? - To place this in the hands of proper authorities.

But that's not for 24 hours.

Hastings, did you really believe that I'd let a cold-blooded murderer escape?

- Oh, no, but... - Hastings, I do not understand you.

You object I let him off, and you object I do not let him off.

That very day I see it, sir.

I see his hand hovering over the mrs. gruel, sir.

- Whose hand? - W-- His, sir!

The master's, sir.

And, was there something in that hand, Mrs. Dawlish?

Yes, sir. There was, sir.

Weedkiller, sir!

When you say weedkiller, Miss Dawlish, what...

This is most extraordinary!

Have you notified the police?

No. We thought it would come better from you.

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

There is just one thing.

We did promise Mr. Radnor that we'd give a 24 hours start.

Don't get many of that in Peckham.

If Edward Pengelley had really murdered his wife, Hastings,

guilt would make him sensitive to what people would say

if he announced his engagement Mlle. Marks.

No, Hastings. The guilty person would wait and quietly slip the corner of Kernow,

before announcing such a thing.

There is Japp.

I don't know what you're gonna 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.

Ah, Poirot! Come and try one of these!

- My dear Japp! - Poirot. Hastings.

Surely half miss these when I get back to London.

- You still fussing about in my murder? - Ah! Non, non, non, Chief-Inspector.

The Captain Hastings and I are retiring from the field.

Oh?! Why?

Well, sometimes, it is braver to admit defeat

then to battle on with no hope of success

against the superior forces. - Oh, yes?

So, Pengelley is going to swing in spite of all your efforts?

Well...

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

Captain Hastings is taking me to dinner

to the most excellent restaurant he discovered

which serves Indian food.

It is to this food that Capt. Hastings attributes the evolution of his grey cells.

Indian?

- Wha...?! Hot curries and things like that? - Yes.

Better you than me, Poirot.

Well, au revoir, Inspector.

Make haste, my friend.

I do not whish to be visible

when Inspector Japp discovers he has to chase after Mr. Radnor

Too late.

Uh-- , sir! Inspector sayd you need to come please, sir.

- The trial has been adjourned. - Adjourned? But what for?

- Mr. Radnor confessed, sir. - Confessed?

To the murder. He confessed to that French gent. In writing.

Poirot!

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