All language subtitles for Evil.Under.the.Sun

Please, please, you must come quick.

There's a woman
lying dead out on the moors.

It's all right, Miss.
No need for you to take another look.

Ruber, Alice. Mrs.

I'd say she's been dead
for no more than two hours.

Say four o'clock at the outside
for time of death.

Hercules Parrot, sir.

"Poirot", mademoiselle. Pucker your lips
as though about to bestow a kiss!

- "Poi-rot".
- Morning, Poirot,

I hope you have good news. This case
has been hanging fire for four months.

No, I'm afraid
it's one of those rare cases

where an insurance company must, er...

...laugh and lump it.

Oh, well.

The usual 100 guineas, I take it?

Er, by the way, Poirot...
Take a look at this.

It is the property of Sir Horace Blatt.

He is seeking
to insure it with us for £50,000.

Well, on the face of it, it seems to be
worth every penny of, er...

38 pounds, seven shillings
and sixpence.

You are of course quite right.
It is paste.

The question is,
why should a millionaire industrialist

- perpetrate such an obvious fraud?
- Precisely.

He must have known
the stone would be examined.

So you see...
there is something of a mystery.

Rest assured, with Hercule Poirot
mysteries never last for long.

Oh. Exactly.

So, we were wondering if you would
undertake to investigate the matter.

You know that you can count
on my discretion.

Very well. I will see Sir Horace, er...
this afternoon.

Hardly this afternoon, I think.

He's on his yacht, the Jolly Roger,
in the south of France.

Would a further £200 meet the case?

Guineas.

It will make my forthcoming holidays
even more attractive.

So that's your game, is it?

You come out here
and as near as dammit

accuse me, Horace Blatt, of fraud?

Do you seriously think
that I'd cheat the insurance company

over one bloody jewel?

I am worth millions, Poirot.

Nevertheless, I'm afraid
it's quite worthless, monsieur.

God, I could wring her bloody neck!

If you would care to confide in me,
I should be most honoured.

All right, I'll tell you this much.

A couple of months back,
I met a certain lady in New York.

She told me she was
so madly in love with me

that she'd leave the show she was in...
She was an actress, you know?

...and come back to England with me
on the Queen Mary and marry me.

So I bought her this stone from Tiffany's.

Halfway across the Atlantic, she changed
her mind and ran off with another man.

Well, I wouldn't have minded so much,
only she took the jewel with her.

You see, that wasn't a fair do.

You see, I had given her it
in contemplation of marriage.

And, frankly, $100,000
is a bit much to pay

for three days' fumbling on the high seas.

Oh, monsieur, who can put a price
on Les affaires Du cœur?

Well, I bloody can.

And this was too high.

So, three weeks ago,
I went after her and demanded it back.

Of course she tried to put me off,

but finally after a week or so,
she gave it to me

and I sent it along to be insured

and, er, she'd had the bloody thing
copied, hadn't she?

It would appear to be
the only explanation, monsieur.

Well, she's not gonna make
a chump out of me.

I happen to know that in three days' time

she'll be down at Daphne's place
for a little holiday.

I'll give her a little holiday!

Daphne's place?

Yes, you know, Daphne Castle.

Yes, she... she was a mistress
of the King of Tyrania for years.

Then when he upped
and married the present queen,

he gave Daphne an old summer palace
to keep her quiet.

She's turned it into one
of those exclusive la-di-da hotels

where the nobs and nancies
come to squawk at each other.

I can't stand it meself,
but she's good sort.

Anyway, you'd better come with me.

I'll have the captain prepare a cabin.
We can sail tonight.

Er, alas, monsieur.

Ever since I was a small boy,
I have suffered from le mal de mer.

It needed all my courage
to make this small trip.

Oh.

I will take the train and join you there.

Mes compliments à Monsieur Jerome.

Waiter?

Could I have another brandy
and the bill, please?

Patrick! You haven't got time
for another drink!

- The steamer leaves at 11:00.
- Of course I have

if you have the baggage sent down
while I wait for the change.

Why do I always have to do everything?

- Monsieur Poirot...
- Hm?

Your reservation on the night train
has been confirmed.

The tickets will be at the desk, monsieur.

Thank you. Er...

I must go.

I've got to catch that damn boat.

What on earth's wrong, Rex?
You look fearfully glum.

You're supposed to be enjoying yourself.

- God knows you're paying enough for it.
- Huh! Don't I know it?

As a matter of fact, Daphne,

I was wondering
if you would care to trade my bill

for a super piece in the "New Yorker"?

You know the sort of thing.
"Farewell, courtesan. Hello, innkeeper."

Darling, I'd love to help, but it's
not publicity I need, it's the cash.

Oh, good God, darling, don't we all?

How are the Gardeners this morning?

"Age cannot wither, nor custom stale,
their infinite vulgarity."

Morning, Gardeners.
Everything tickety-boo?

- Good morning.
- Sure, Daphne,

but I could wish that my shower
worked as snappily

as the one that I've got back home
in New York City.

You can't expect American plumbing
when you're in the Adriatic.

I guess not.
Well, at least we've got a shower.

A cousin of Odell's was at some place
in Yugoslavia last year

and had to wash
in a kind of shack in a field.

Isn't that so, Odell?

It wasn't my cousin, Myra,
it was my aunt.

It was your cousin, Thelma Snatchball.

OK, if you insist.
But there were two shacks.

One for the guests and one for the staff.
It was very stylish.

Boat's coming in, Daphne.
Prepare to repel boarders.

That'll be Arlena.

Do you mean Arlena Stuart?

No, no. Arlena Marshall.
She remarried a couple of months ago.

Oh, good God, darling.
I didn't know she was coming.

Oh, how marvellous!

I am her greatest fan.
It will just make my vacation.

Did any of you happen to see that
last show of hers, "Hail and Farewell"?

We produced it.

Remember, dear?

Oh, good God, darlings!
I plumb forgot.

Isn't that the one
that she walked out on

after just three weeks
and your biggest hit in years?

You know damn well it was.

And just what was that?
A sudden breakdown in health?

More like a sudden attack of gold digging.

Which rather turned it
into "Sail and Farewell", eh?

Funny man. Mmh.

Well, if that's Arlena,

she must be being dressed
by Woolworths these days.

Oh, that's...
That's the Redferns.

Patrick and Christine,
I seem to remember.

Excuse me.
I must put my hostess hat on.

Anyway, darlings,
it must have cost you a pretty bundle

closing a hit show like that.

Would either of you
care to comment on that?

Why don't you go
and play with yourself?

Excessively.

Is coarseness a substitute for wit,
I ask myself?

Hello!

I'm Daphne Castle.
Welcome to the island.

- How do you do?
- Looks lovely.

- I'm sure we'll have a nice time here.
- Oh!

And a naughty one, too, I hope.

- Would you care to sign in?
- Naughty?

Yes, what are the holidays for,

if you can't do a spot of flirting
and get a bit pissyboos?

Quite right. Do you fancy a walk
around the island before lunch, dear?

Patrick!

You know I've got a splitting headache
and I've got all the unpacking to do.

Andreas will show you to your room,
if you like.

Thank you.

After two days
on that suffocating steamer

I would have really thought that
you'd have more consideration for me.

Anyway, I'm no good
at clambering over rocks.

Ah, non, monsieur...

Je vous ai déjà payé!

Oh, c'est la dernière fois!
Voilà!

Thank you for those three hours
of pure and unadulterated hell.

This may come
as a nasty surprise to you,

but shock absorbers have been standard
equipment on motorised vehicles

for 30 years!

Stop playing boules with my Vuitton!

Linda, you gormless oaf,
do something!

Like what?

Like stop them, cretin!

Kenneth, this is a nightmare.

Take it easy, Arlena.
We'll soon be there.

Soon can't be soon enough for me.

Of all the rancidly dreadful journeys...

Isn't that the absurd little man
we saw in the station at Tirana,

the one who pinched the only decent taxi
from under your nose?

Yes, I do believe it is.

Good morning.

Since we are all going to Daphne's island,
I'd better introduce myself.

I'm Kenneth Marshall
and this is my wife, Arlena.

- Hercule Poirot. Enchanté, madame.
- Charmed.

And this is my stepdaughter, Linda.

Do stop standing there like a cough drop
and say good morning to Monsieur Poirot.

- Morning.
- Bonjour, mademoiselle.

Was your journey as frightful as ours,
Monsieur Poirot?

Alas, I fear the sea
more than the land, madame.

Oh, Mr Marshall,
I implore you not to spoil them.

We'll have to pay double
on the way home.

It's only a 20-minute boat trip.

You'll find it all worthwhile
once we get to the island, I assure you.

You mean you've been there before?

Yes, I was there
for a few days three years ago.

After the death of my first wife.

God's teeth!

Don't worry, darling.
It's only the noonday gun.

The noonday gun?

Yes, it's fired every day at 12 o'clock

to commemorate the glorious victory
of Kosovo Metohija in 1193.

I'm reliably informed
that a mere handful of Tyranian cavalry

routed over 50,000
barbarous Bosnian fanatics.

It was apparently the only
military success in their entire history.

One success too many.

Arlena! Arlena, darling, I love you!

That tub was even more
uncomfortable than that damned taxi.

What if the bitch refuses to do the show?

We'll lose all our backers,
that's what, Myra.

After all, we sell the show on her name.

To think our futures are riding
on that snake-eyed hussy!

Welcome to the island,
everybody!

Kenneth, oh, it's...
it's marvellous to see you!

Absolutely marvellous.

It must be at least two years
since you were last on the island.

It's three, actually.
Wonderful to be here.

- You never met Linda, did you?
- No!

No, I didn't. Hello! Hello, Linda.
Welcome to the island.

And... I don't think you know Arlena.

Oh! Oh, yes.

Yes, I do.

Arlena and I are old sparring partners.

Hello, Daphne.

Oh, it's been years.

Well, a little time, yes.

Years.

Arlena and I were in the chorus
of a show together,

not that I could ever compete.

Even in those days, she could always
throw her legs up in the air

higher than any of us.

And wider.

Kenneth, this is such a surprise.

When you told me of an island
run by a quaint little landlady,

I had no idea it was Daphne Castle.

Yes, quite. Er... Daphne,
I wonder if we could go to our rooms.

It's been a long journey.

Oh. Certainly.

Andreas!

If you're short-staffed,
Kenneth can easily carry the bags.

They'll be brought up in a minute.

There'll be cocktails tonight
at eight o'clock.

Do have a good,
long, peaceful rest, Arlena.

Oh, you, you must be
Sir Horace Blatt's friend.

Perhaps... Perhaps you'll sign in.

Oh, so you're the famous
Hercule Poirot, eh?

- Er, you are too amiable, madame.
- Perhaps.

I hope you haven't come here to practice
your sleuthing games on my guests.

They've got far too many skeletons
in their cupboards

to join in with enthusiasm.

It's not my intention
to derange you or your guests, madame.

Pendant Les vacances,
my desires are simply a good valet,

a... tisane de menthe poivrée
at eight o'clock in the morning precisely,

and of course some wax,
some beeswax for my shoes.

That's all.

Actually, Gilbert had nothing to do
with the success this season.

Oh, my God, I really don't know
what we are going to do about them.

I really do think that the Millers
have gone too far.

- Gilly is my oldest friend, Rex.
- Oh, God, darling, I didn't know that!

- Gilly is Myra's oldest friend.
- I just told him, Odell.

Did you hear what Gilbert
said about the Queen?

No.

Gilbert said to a friend of his,

"Do you know
what the Queen calls Kitty?"

- Hello, Linda. Have one?
- Thanks.

Are you enjoying it?

I couldn't have one.
This was delicious...

- Oh, I can get you some.
- Thank you.

How about a cocktail, Monsieur Poirot?

Er, White Lady, a Sidecar,
Mainbrace or Between the Sheets?

No, if I could have a crème de cassis
or a sirop de banane.

Do you have banana syrup?

Certainly.

Oh, my!

I'm the last to arrive!

Have a sausage, dear.

You must be famished,
having to wait all that time in your room.

Er, have you...
have you met the Redferns?

Christine and Patrick.

- Arlena, darling.
- Arlena, my favourite leading lady!

Why, if it isn't Odell and Myra!

What on earth are you two doing here?

It's wonderful to see you, Arlena.
We have a fabulous show for you.

Oh, it's a real humdinger, honey.

And Odell insisted that we both
come over here together

to see you personally.

Well, it's very sweet of you,
but I'm sort of retired, you know?

This is my new audience.

- Have you met my husband?
- How do you do?

How do you do? You'll change your mind.
You won't be able to resist this one.

Keeler's mad to do it,

but we're holding her off
until you have a chance to look at it.

And Kern, he's done
some of the best music...

Arlena, darling,
it's simply sensational to see you again!

- Hello, Rex.
- How do you do? I'm Kenneth Marshall.

Excuse me.
I must talk to you, Arlena darling.

Not now, Rexy-poo.

Thank you.

Cheers.

Good morning, Linda.

How is your lovely mother?

She's not lovely
and she's not my mother.

Darling, didn't anyone ever tell you

that peevishness is unbecoming
in young ladies?

No.

But they told me
not to talk to very strange men.

Morning, Gardeners!

- Morning.
- Oh, good morning, Arlena.

I think it's gonna be a hot day.

Good morning, Mrs Redfern.

- Well, well, she's in wonderful shape.
- Yeah.

How much was it we paid Kleinfield,
Klausewitz and Stummerhoppen

to contest that phoney
doctor's certificate?

$20,000.

Arlena, darling,
you look quite divine in that outfit.

Say no more. It's yours. Next question?

There is something quite important
I have to talk to you about.

- So talk.
- It's a bit private.

You heard the little man, Linda.

Scram!

Well, what is it?

Arlena, I was wondering
if you've had a chance

to read the proofs of the biography yet?

Indeed I have, Rex.
I simply couldn't put it down.

I knew, I knew you'd love it.

What a busy bee. You've been
researching exactly where I was born...

and when!

Well, darling,
there aren't too many stars

who were born in Tooting Bec
at the turn of the century.

And the sweet way you wrote
about how I landed my first leading role

in "Flames of Eternity".

- However did you find out?
- I bribed his wife.

Naughty Rex!

- Ah, the days of my youth.
- Mm-hm.

But I've shoved all that
behind me now, Rex,

which is exactly what you're going to do
with your lousy book.

But, Arlena darling, you promised.
When we were in New York.

And I've spent the advance.
I simply must have that release.

Forget it. You're not going to barbecue
me to keep yourself in sailor suits.

But, Arlena...

- Angel, you must.
- I said forget it.

I'm not going to sign that release
and that's final.

You're going to regret this, Arlena.

That's a promise.

Good morning, Mrs Marshall.

Good morning, Mr Brewster.

- Hello.
- Oh, hello.

Oh, Linda, what are doing here?
Acting as chaperone, gooseberry or spy?

I just wanted a chat.

I don't seem to be having much fun.

Well, if it's fun you're looking for,
darling, go play with the jellyfish.

Oh, my God.
She runs like a dromedary with dropsy.

Bonjour, madame.

Monsieur Poirot.

Bitch!

No, no, put me down!

Whoo! Put me down!

Put me down! No, no, no, no!

I shall cry! I shall, I shall cry!

You do not care for the aquatic sports
or the sunbathing, madame?

Oh, I wish I could, but I don't go brown.

I sort of resemble a cassata.

Pink skin, white blisters
and green in the face.

Unlike your husband, I observe.

No, he manages those things rather well.

Sometimes I think
he must think I'm an awful goose.

But why, madame?
I do not indulge in those sports myself

and yet I assure you
I am very far from being...

...a goose.

Oh, there you are, Monsieur Poirot.

I've just had a telephone call
from your friend, Sir Horace.

He says he's having trouble
with his... his piffle valve.

Such a valve
still has to be invented, madame.

Oh, well, I dare say you're right.
I wasn't paying attention.

Anyway, the result is,
he'll be 24 hours late.

Good morning, Kenneth.

Are you going for a swim?

The water is so hot,
the lobsters are coming out red.

Good morning.

Come along, Daddy.
You promised to come for a walk with me.

Patrick...

Aren't you getting
a little tired of rowing?

That was last night.
And this morning he starts...

Andre... Andre... I don't...

I don't care if Monsieur Poirot
wants cement on his sausages

or boot-blacking on his butter,
just give it to him!

That finicky little Belgian fart
will find it all on his bill anyhow.

- With a vengeance!
- Oh, very well, madame.

I'm so sorry. Are we late?

Patrick insisted upon rowing me
right around the island.

It's much bigger than I thought.

- Poor darling, he's exhausted.
- Not in the least surprised.

I'm sorry we didn't take you
with us, my dear.

The sun would have been
much too strong for you.

You know that.

Arlena, here you are.
It's the script that I promised you.

No, dear, I thought I told you last night.
I've given up the theatre.

These two are all I'm concerned with now.

- What's it called anyway?
- "It's Not Right And It's Not Fair."

Sounds like a black man's left leg.

It's all right, Mr Poirot.

Oh, pardon, madame.
Je m'excuse.

Please stay.

I'm just being silly.

I wish I had more self-control.

Didn't show what I feel.

Well, that is sometimes not easy
for the ladies.

Do you know
what I'm most sick of in this place?

- What, madame?
- Pity.

I can't bear to be pitied.

Everyone round here
seems to feel so sorry for me.

I can tell it by the way they look at me.

"Poor little thing", they're saying.

"What she has to put up with,
with that poor fool of a husband of hers."

"What a pity she's not strong enough
to compete for what she wants."

Will you allow me
to tell you something, madame?

The Arlena Stuarts of this world
do not count.

Their domination is of the moment.

Really to count a woman
must have either goodness or brains.

You can't actually believe that men
care for either of those things, can you?

Oh, yes, I do, madame.

Your husband loves you.

I know that.

Come, let us take
a little promenade. Hm?

Ah.

Oh, I wish I could do that.

Just lie in the sun.

Mais pourquoi, madame?

Look at them lying in rows,
like corpses in the morgue!

They are not men and women.
There's nothing personal about them.

They're just bodies, butcher's meat,
steaks grilling in the sun.

Oh, I'm sorry, Mr Poirot,
but I suffer from vertigo.

I can't bear to look down
from a height.

I'm better now.
In fact, I am determined to enjoy myself.

It's so blissful here. So tranquil.

So far from all violence and trouble.

Yes, you are right, madame.

The sky is blue, the sun is shining

and yet you forget that everywhere...

there is evil under the sun.

You're going to be late for dinner,
you know?

Yes, I know.

Just having a bit of a think.

About Arlena?

I suppose it's no use
saying it's your own fault.

- Not much.
- No, it never is.

How about, "You've made your bed,
now you must lie on it"?

- Worse.
- Thought it might be.

Poor Kenneth. You do pick 'em.

Oh, I can cope.

- Do you think Linda can?
- What do you mean?

She's always on at that poor child,
bitching the hell out of her.

Yes. Yes, a pity about that.

Linda's like... like her mother, you see.
She takes things hard.

Then why don't you do
something about it?

- Like what?
- Like fixing up a divorce, for instance.

People do it all the time.

With most of my friends
it's almost a full-time occupation.

Arlena's all right.
She just adores to flirt, that's all.

There's nothing in it.
It's all on the spur of the moment.

Spur of the moment?

You really are blind.

Who the hell do you think booked
Patrick Redfern in here in the first place?

You don't mean...?

I'm afraid so.

Even so. With me a deal is a deal.

I don't approve of quick marriage
and easy divorce.

Arlena is my wife.
That's all there is to it.

Till death do you part?

Exactly.

I see.

Well?

I could just kill that cow!

Well, what the hell do we do now, Odell?

Just leave it to me.

- I'll think of something.
- Hm!

My hero!

I swear, if you were a man,
I would divorce you.

Hello, darling!
You'd better get a move on.

Where have you been?

I've just been having a word
with Daphne.

Mm. You get on like a house on fire
with her, don't you?

She's a nice lady.

Yes, I suppose she is.

As hotel proprietors go.

And you get on rather well with Redfern,
don't you?

He's a nice fellow.

Yes, I suppose he is, as gigolos go.

What's that supposed to mean?

You liked him well enough
when you met him in London.

I've never set eyes on the man before.

Really?

I could have sworn you were there.

It must have been the night of
your regimental dinner.

Well, anyway, what does it matter?

He just happens to be a guest here
who took me for a boat ride, that's all.

He just happens
to be a guest here, Arlena,

because you just happened
to book him in.

The bitch Daphne!

I refuse to talk about it!

You don't want to talk about it.

Oh, look here, Christine.

I can't even speak to a pretty woman
without you jumping to the conclusion

that I'm having an affair with her!

Aren't you? You leave me
here alone and go off with her.

I'm the laughing stock of the whole hotel.

Of course you're not!
You're being ridiculous!

Arlena and I are just good friends,
that's all!

I don't believe you!
Please, let's just go away.

No, I absolutely refuse.
Here we are and here we stay!

- If you don't like it, then you can...
- Yes, what can I do?

Well, I'm looking forward to having
a nice little chat with you, Patrick.

Oh, Myra, that is so beautiful.

- How's your drink?
- Incredible.

- How are you?
- Darling...

- Too much sun?
- Good!

Hmm.

Good.

That's enough, Linda.
It's adult time.

- Off to bed.
- Come on, darling. Let her stay.

She is on holiday after all.

Scram, Cinderella.

That was terrific!

Isn't she wonderful?

Wonderful! Wonderful!

Truly!

Mademoiselle!

Abracadabra!

I know how you did that.

The egg's in your top pocket.

I'm not five years old, you know?

Been for a bathe, darling?

What's it look like?

Darling, there is no need to be snappy

just because you went to bed
bright and early last night.

I always keep mine behind my ear.

What?

Hm.

Oh, there you are!

I was looking for you.

I'm going sketching at Gull Cove.
Would you like to come?

- Yes, I'd love to.
- All right.

I'll see you down in the hall
in ten minutes.

Ah, hello, Mr Poirot.

Monsieur Poirot, just the man!

Would you be very kind
and help me push this out?

You require assistance, madame?

Oh! It's like trying
to launch the Mauritania.

Without the champagne!

Voilà.

Oh, thank you so much. Oh...

And, Monsieur Poirot,
please don't tell anyone where I've gone.

- Everyone will keep following me about.
- Everyone, madame?

Well, perhaps some people
more than others, but...

I just want to be alone.

- Voilà.
- Enjoy your swim.

There she goes.

Not a care in the world!

- I'll make her care.
- Oh, what do you know about care?

If it'd been up to you, the good Samaritan
would've passed by on the other side.

I have an idea, but I need to work it out.

Well, don't forget about my cousin,
Hatty Heimenheimer.

It took her so long to "work out an idea",

they finally had to stash her away
in the booby hatch!

Odell?

Odell?

Hey, hey, hey, where's the fire?

Sorry.

- Have you had your breakfast?
- I had a piece of toast.

Linda, you really are naughty.

Andreas goes to all the trouble
of preparing decent English breakfasts

instead of those
weedy continental things,

and you eat toast.

I'm sorry.
I just wasn't hungry.

What's the matter?

Is it Arlena?

She's so beastly.

You don't want to worry about her.

Things have a habit of working out.
I promise you.

Yes, if you make them.

Would you like to come for a stroll
with me to the lighthouse? It'll be fun.

This must be my lucky day.
I've never been in such demand.

I'd like to, but I can't. I've already got
a date to go sketching with Christine.

That's all right.
I'm glad to see you're making friends.

Good morning, Kenneth.

Ah, good morning.

Good morning, darling.

Oh, there's a letter for you.
The boatman just brought it over.

Ah, thank you.

Seeing your daughter
has just turned me down,

would you like to come
for a walk with me,

before my staff meeting at 11:30?

Oh, I'd love to,
but... but I'm afraid I can't.

This must be answered straight away.

Well, this isn't my lucky day, Linda.

Well, you can't
get away from me at 12:30.

We're playing tennis.
Remember?

I remember.

Er... by the way, Linda,
have you seen your mother?

- No, thank God.
- Linda, I won't tell you again...

Oh, clean it, clean it.

Don't just lean on the thing.

Here we all are.

Well...

Well, what a... colourful outfit!

Oh! Oh, I'm so glad you like it.

Er, Linda and I
are going off sketching, Mr Marshall.

But don't worry,
I'll take good care of her.

- See you on the tennis courts at 12:30.
- Bye, Daddy.

Have a nice time.

Er, morning, Poirot.
Been swimming?

- You saw me?
- No.

Yes, I have been swimming! I, er...

There's nothing like the shock
of cold water and rhythmic movement

to stimulate the little grey cells.

Yes, of course. I, er... I don't suppose
you've seen my wife about, have you?

- Madame Marshall?
- Mmh.

What, she rose so early?

Yeah, well, she's not in our rooms.

Oh, by the way, I was looking
for that fellow Redfern earlier.

- I don't suppose you've seen him either?
- Is someone taking my name in vain?

A very good morning to you, gentlemen.

What kind of paintings
do you do, Mrs Redfern?

- Call me Christine.
- Thank you.

Er, they're not paintings.
They're sketches...

I hate filthy birds.
I can't stand them.

I did some seagulls once.
It was very boring.

Hi, Patrick! Going for a spin?

How about taking me along?

Er... Well...

What time is it, dear?

- Five to 12:00.
- Lord, I must fly!

I'm playing tennis at 12:30.

- That's a fine boat!
- I think it belongs to Sir Horace Blatt.

Odell and I were on it once, I think.

Look. I wonder who that is.

You know exactly who it is,
you naughty boy!

Would you be a sport
and take the boat back for me?

I'll come back with Arlena, I'll walk.

Are you kidding?
I don't know how to work this thing.

Ah, look, it's simple. This lever puts her
in gear and all you have to do is steer.

Well, just this once.
But don't get me involved.

Oh, you're a sport.

Boo! Hey, come on! Wake up!

Oh, my God.

What's the matter?

She's dead!

She's been murdered!

- Strangled!
- Strangled?

It's just not possible.

Well, we'd better get some help!

I'll go. You'll stay with the body.

Are you kidding? I can't do that!

Yeah, you're right. The murderer
may still be about here somewhere.

- Can you make it to the hotel?
- In a flash. This thing's no problem.

Well, you'd better hurry!

Madame Marshall
has been strangled.

There are contusion marks
around the head and the neck.

This much is evident.

We must now send for the police
and acquire a doctor

in order to establish the time of death.

Have you ever met a Tyranian doctor,
Monsieur Poirot?

The limit of their skill is determining
the fitness of an ox to pull a cart.

That may be so,
madame, but, er...

Er, dear Monsieur Poirot,
a word in your ear.

The whole world knows
that you are a man

of enormous discretion and gallantry,

a man not only privy to the secrets
of kings and prime ministers,

but also a man who would never willingly
stand by and see a lady in trouble

without rushing to her aid.

I appeal to you now, as just
such a frail woman in need of help.

- In fact, I throw myself on your mercy.
- Er...

Couldn't we make this
a private investigation?

You know how peculiar people can be
about a spot of murder.

The scandal
of a famous stage star...

being murdered here
would ruin my hotel.

I'm very sorry, madame,

but there is no way to avoid this
becoming an official matter.

Well, in due course of time,
of course I quite agree,

when it can be released
in the proper manner.

But consider,
just think what everyone will say

if they were to discover
that you were here ahead of the police

and failed to solve the crime.

I mean, Monsieur Poirot,
both our reputations are at stake.

I bet it pongs something rotten in there.

Only of the breath of the sea.

Oh, how poetic you are,
Monsieur Poirot.

You have the true soul of France.

The true soul of Belgium, madame.

Oh, yes, of course.
Oh, how mortifyingly stupid of me!

Oh, do please forgive me.

In due course of time. Hmm.

What do you say, monsieur?

Will you bring your colossal brain power
to the aid of a lady in distress?

Will you clear up this hideous mess
for me with all the brilliance...

and discretion for which you are
world famous?

One moment, madame, I must carry out
a little investigation of my own

before answering your question.

Monsieur Redfern, at what time did you
and Madame Gardener find the body?

Oh, it was 12 o'clock exactly.

That bloody gun went off as we were
coming round these rocks there.

As you know, I sent Mrs Gardener back
for help immediately.

I touched nothing
except to make sure the body was dead.

Oh, yes, you acted quite correctly.

Well, since I was the last person
to see Madame Marshall alive,

when I pushed her off
in her pedalo at about 10:20,

it means the time of death
can be established

as being between 10:30 and 12 noon.

How absolutely brilliant!

A doctor after all could only give us
an approximate time

and how she was killed, which I know.

I don't need the help of a doctor!

Messieurs!

It's a terrible tragedy, Poirot.

It's terrible.

She may have been a bit flighty,
Arlena, but...

no one would've wished this on her.

Ah, just between ourselves,

you may have guessed,
but she was the lady in question.

That was not too difficult to guess.

I suppose it bloody wasn't.

Well, I'd best chalk it all up
to experience and be on me way.

There's no point in intruding

in the grief of the new husband
and all that sort of thing.

You had no chance
to speak to Madame Arlena?

Well, of course not.
I've only just arrived, haven't I?

Oh, yes, of course.

There's only one thing
that puzzles me in that case.

You remember the false diamond
I left in your possession?

Yes.

Well, then how did I happen
to find it once again

on the beach near the dead woman?

Oh, dammit, Poirot.
I'd make a rotten murderer, wouldn't I?

Leaving clues all over the place, eh?

All right, I confess.

- You confess?
- No, I...

I mean, I confess
I had a word with her.

I was coming in on the boat and
I saw Arlena on one of them paddle things

going into a beach along there.

Anyway, I stopped the boat
and I rowed meself over.

I know. It's better than confronting her
in front of her husband, you know?

We had a bit of a barney, what with her
pretending to be all surprised and that.

Er, anyroad,
she promised to sort it out by tonight.

She did not tell you
where the real jewel was?

No, dammit, she didn't.

If you don't mind, Monsieur Poirot,
I'd like to go and get changed now.

I'm getting a little chilly,
what with the shock and everything.

I was very fond of Arlena,
as you well know.

Yes, you may well have been, monsieur.

And yet there are cases of men
that have killed those women

who made it impossible for them
to return to the wives they really loved.

Well, I assure you,
that is not the case here.

I could have taken off
at any time I wanted.

Anyway, you know
I had nothing to do with it.

You yourself saw me from the terrace
go off in the boat with Mrs Gardener.

Oui, c'est exact.

It would seem
that I am your alibi, monsieur.

Please go and get changed.

So, that young man's been
sniffing round Arlena, has he?

Well, can't say I blame him.

I'm sorry, Sir Horace,
but it's my duty to put it to you

that you were furious
with Madame Arlena,

that you were determined
to get your jewel back,

you came up here in order to demand it.

She laughed in your face.

You lost your temper, you strangled her.

That is poppycock!
That is bloody poppycock!

If it is poppycock,

then it's most regrettable
that you said in front of me

that you would willingly
"wring her neck".

Oh, well, that were...
That was just a bit of chat, that's all.

Oh!

Look...

All I did was tell her that she couldn't
make a monkey out of me

and I threw that bit of glass at her.

Look, if I had killed her, my crew
would have seen me, wouldn't they?

They were all on deck, bloody watching.

They're not averse to clocking
a decent bit of crumpet, are my lads.

Sometimes I think it's the only thing
that wakes them up.

So, if you don't believe me, ask them!

Très bien.

All the same, I must ask you
not to leave the island for the moment.

If you insist,
but if I were you, Poirot,

I would chercher le hubby.

Huh.

You'll find they're favourite when
dealing with the Arlenas of this world.

Hm.

It's a little difficult
to accept your condolences, Poirot,

when in virtually the same breath
you accuse me of murdering my wife

because she was unfaithful to me.

Oh, I can understand that, of course.

But I hope you realise
I'm rather easier to get on with

than the Tyranian police would be.

And therefore I will ask you
where you were

between 11:00 and 12:00 this morning.

That's very simple.
I was in here typing

until I changed for tennis
a few minutes after 12:00.

How very curious.

Because, you know,
when I passed by your door

at what must have been about 11:15,
I heard no sound.

I can't help that.

One does occasionally pause
to think, you know?

Here.

This is what I typed.

As you can see, it would have taken
at least an hour to do.

With respect, you could've typed that
yesterday, brought it in with you.

There's absolutely no proof
that you typed it this morning.

Excuse me, Monsieur Poirot,

I just couldn't help overhearing.

I have the proof you need.

- You do, madame?
- Well, yes.

You see, every week it's my custom
to collect all my staff together,

give them a collective boot up the bum.

It does them no end of good,
particularly the Eyeties.

Keeps them up to snuff,
as my old papa used to say.

Anyway, that meeting
was this morning at 11:30,

and just before it,
I came up here to have a wash

and I poked my nose in here
and I saw Kenneth hard at it, so I...

I just didn't disturb him.

But, madame,
you cannot see the desk from the door.

I... I saw him in the mirror.

In the...

Oh, in the mirror!

My goodness, you do type fast, Ken.

You must be the Horowitz
of the Remington.

Tell me, madame,
how many fingers am I holding up?

Three.

Yes. And now how many?

Well, that...
That's not fair, you're hiding.

Madame, you cannot see in the mirror
someone seated at the desk.

It is not me that is hiding,
it is you who are lying.

Now, Monsieur Marshall,

are you, by any chance, lying also?

It should be fairly obvious, Poirot,
that that letter, all eight pages of it,

is in reply to this one
from my stockbroker,

which arrived by this morning's post
at about 10:30.

It should, therefore, be equally obvious

that I must have typed it
when I said I did.

Yes, it would appear so.

Now to revert to you again, madame.

I'd like to ask you a question about your
promenade to the lighthouse this morning.

- You went alone, I believe?
- Yes, I did.

And you must have passed the bay
on which Arlena was murdered?

Yes. Yes, I did.

I also saw Arlena sunning herself.

Oh!

'But then you must have taken
the same path home.

'There is no logical alternative.

'And I am suggesting to you,

'you could have gone down to the beach,

'murdered Arlena Marshall

'and still been in time
for your staff meeting at 11:30.'

What utter balderdash!

You can't possibly think
I'd want to kill Arlena

just because the silly cow
succeeded on the boards and I didn't.

No, that I do not think.

But there is a certain tenderness
between you and Monsieur Marshall.

Otherwise why take that absurd risk
of trying to protect him just now?

What if there is? What does it matter?

It matters because Madame Arlena
was in the way.

Monsieur Poirot,
you have the French obsession...

I'm sorry, the Belgian obsession,
with crime passionnel.

But you're barking up the wrong tree.

You see, I know, I know who did it.

Huh! You do, madame?

Of course.
It was Sir Horace Blatt.

When I came back here
from my walk at about 11:15,

I saw him down on the beach.

He was jumping up and down
and screaming blue murder at Arlena.

I've never seen a fellow in such a fury.

But why did you not
tell me this before, madame?

Well, he is an old chum, isn't he?

I didn't know then you were going to start
hurling accusations at me and Kenneth.

But he is the chap you want, so why
don't you run along and question him?

Yes. I already have done, madame.

And he is exonerated by his crew.

All the same,
his story does confirm yours.

Without knowing it, you have
corroborated your own alibi.

Bravo, madame.

I'm sorry, Kenneth.
I nearly put you in it.

I was only trying to help.

I know.

I forgive you.

I don't want to hear
any more about it, Patrick.

If you hadn't been poodle-faking
with that awful woman,

you wouldn't have been there
in the first place!

Oh, madame.

May I have a quick word
with you, please,

about how you spent this morning?

Why me?
I've got nothing to do with all this.

You had no reason
to love Arlena Marshall, madame.

Well, perhaps not.

But I was with Linda all morning.
I went to her room early

to ask her to come to Gull Cove
to do some sketching.

She wasn't there. I mean,
she came along a few moments later.

She'd been swimming.

And then we set off
and we were there all morning.

If you don't believe me, ask Linda.
She'll tell you.

- Calmez-vous, madame.
- Mr Poirot, I'm all right now.

Now I want you to think about this
very, very carefully.

At what time precisely
did you leave the cove this morning?

Well, I was there until 12 o'clock
and I went off for my tennis game.

You had a watch?

No. No, I didn't.

Then how did you know
it was precisely 12 o'clock?

Because, well,
when I climbed to the top of the cliff

and was waving to Linda,
who'd gone for a swim,

'that awful gun went off.

- 'The one they fire at noon every day.'
- 'Yes.

'What did you do then, madame?'

'Well, I was late, you see, for my tennis,
which was fixed for 12:30,

'so I simply tore back to the hotel
as fast as I could

'and changed into my tennis things.

'And I went to the court
where I met the others.

'Mr Marshall, Mrs Castle
and Mr Gardener.

'I played with Mr Gardener.'

- I'm sorry I'm late.
- Oh, not at all, my dear.

I was sketching at Gull Cove.
Lost track of the time.

Don't worry. It's only a matter
of four minutes exactly.

I'm afraid you have to
come and play with me.

We'd barely started
when the news about Arlena came.

Of course, it's a dreadful thing,
Mr Poirot, but I can't pretend I'm not...

A little relieved. Hmm.

Well, I can understand that.

Is there anything else you want to ask?

Not for the time being. Hmm.

Come in.

- Hello.
- Hello.

Excuse me, mademoiselle,
for intruding into your grief.

Grief? That's a good one.

Why should I be sorry for Arlena?

You hated her so much?

I'm glad she's dead
if that's what you mean.

She was horrid to me
and beastly to my daddy.

Yes.

Would you mind if I ask you
a few questions about this morning?

Why should I?

I was with Christine Redfern.

She wanted to go to Gull Cove
to draw some stupid cliffs.

- And did she?
- Oh, yes.

She sat under her big hat
while I sunbathed.

She gets all blistered
if she sits out in the sun.

- Yes.
- It's bad luck, really.

Here it is. She gave it to me.

- It's not bad, really.
- No, she has talent, that one.

These are undeniably, er...

...cliffs.

- When did she leave you?
- Five to 12:00.

How can you be so sure?

Because she asked me.

What time is it, dear?

- Five to 12:00.
- Lord, I must fly!

I'm playing tennis at 12:30.

'She got into a fearful panic
about being late for tennis

'and rushed off back to the hotel.'

- Would you like this?
- Thanks. It's super.

I'll see you later after my swim.

'I remember I was halfway down the
beach when Christine called after me.'

Don't forget your bathing cap!

'I'd forgotten my bathing cap,
so I had to come back and put it on.

'What a bore!'

Now did you see anyone else
while you were swimming?

No. No one.

Apart that is from Christine
waving from the top of the cliff.

Look!

Why don't you stop asking me
all these silly questions about Christine?

She couldn't have murdered Arlena.

Neither could I.

That slimy Rex Brewster's
the one you should be talking to.

He hated Arlena.

He's the one
who really wanted her dead.

How can you say that?

- He admired her so much.
- Don't be daft!

He'd written this filthy book about her,
which she wouldn't allow him to publish.

Excuse me, mademoiselle,
but how do you know all this?

Cos I heard them having a row about it
on the beach yesterday.

They thought I'd gone away, but I hadn't.

Maybe he won't be able to publish it
if he's hanged for murder first!

If I can't see you faces shining
in every knife, fork and spoon,

I'll have your guts for garters,
understood?

Oh, madame! Have you any idea
where I can find Monsieur Brewster?

Rex? I thought I saw him
go out into the garden.

Oh, but... Come here.

He's not the one you want.

- You should chercher la femme.
- Really, madame?

Absolutely. I have been having
a little think and I worked it all out.

If Horace Blatt is in the clear
and Kenneth Marshall is in the clear

and I'm in the clear
and Patrick Redfern is in the clear

and Myra Gardener is in the clear
because she was with him,

then it's all down
to little Miss Cringe, isn't it?

- Miss Cringe?
- Yes.

The jealous wife, Christine Redfern.

You don't wanna believe all that stuff
about her being too weedy.

Women fight like tigers
when they're losing their husbands.

Not that I've had much experience
in that sort of thing myself.

But what is your theory?
I mean, how did Madame Christine do it?

Well, I don't know. She probably battered
Arlena with a bit of driftwood

and then finished her off with
a little pressure on the carotid artery?

- The artery there, yes.
- The carotid artery.

Everyone knows that.
It's in all the crime novels.

In fact, only the other day a child of 11
did something like that, in Hungary.

Or was it Crete? I don't know,

but anyway,
she used a pair of nutcrackers.

I know. Perhaps I'd better
go and see if any are missing.

No, madame, unfortunately, there are
no nutcracker marks on the throat.

And Madame Christine
could not possibly have done it.

Her alibi had been confirmed
by Mademoiselle Linda

and vice versa.

How very irritating!

"Under the high...

"lazy...

"noonday Adriatic sun,

"the body lay on its back,

"arms outstretched,

"parodying in death a position
she so often occupied in life."

Oh. That is marvellous. That's...

Oh.

So, you've come, Monsieur Poirot,
to question me about poor Arlena.

I am shattered.
I am absolutely shattered.

She was so wonderfully funny,
so very generous.

Not generous enough
to give you a release,

so you could publish
that manuscript, eh?

Who told you that?

Never mind, but it is the truth,
n'est-ce pas?

You cannot libel the dead.

Now you are free to publish
your saucy tales and reap the reward.

Well, I will admit,
from that point of view, I have benefitted.

Oh, but I assure you, monsieur,
that the loss of so radiant a performer

infinitely exceeds
any possible gain to myself.

You must believe that.

The time of death has been narrowed
to between 11:30 and 12:00.

Where were you at this time?

- I was on a pedalo.
- A pedalo?

Mm.

Whereabouts?

How should I know?

I wasn't carrying a chart at the time.

Oh, que c'est amusant.
How amusing that is!

Chart or no chart,
it was perfectly possible for you

to have watched
Sir Horace Blatt's boat leave

and then to have pedaloed
into Ladder Bay,

there to find
the unsuspecting Arlena asleep,

and then you strangled her.

'Monsieur Poirot, are you aware
that it would take nearly two hours

'to paddle around the island
from Ladder Bay to Gull Bay?

'At 12 o'clock precisely,
as that boring old gun went off,

'I pedalled into Gull Bay.

'Linda was there, swimming.

'In fact I nearly hit her. She was
splashing around like a deaf seal.'

'You say that you saw
Mademoiselle Linda

'swimming in Gull Bay at 12 o'clock?'

'Certainly,
I asked her to help me pedal back,

'but the little charmer refused.'

What do you want?

What did you say?

I said, "Good god, darling.
Help me pedal this damned thing back.

"My legs are killing me."

Pedal it back yourself!

So you see, darling,
I simply could not have killed Arlena.

Monsieur, if you are so anxious
to find a murderer,

why don't you find out
who tried to murder me?

Murder you?

What do you mean?

Well, after I'd been left by that
lazy little cow Linda to rupture myself,

I pedalled off.

'About ten minutes later,
a bottle came whizzing over the cliff

'and smacked down in the water
right next to me.

'The damned thing
missed my head by inches.

'I looked up. There's nobody around.'

Well, I must congratulate you on that
highly interesting and imaginative story.

I refer of course to your visit,
your fictional visit, to Gull Bay at noon.

Er, what do you mean,
"fictional"? Linda!

Mademoiselle Linda denies
having seen anyone there at the time.

What? Oh, that lousy little hoyden!

I mean, I know she loathes me
because I adored Arlena,

but this is ridiculous.
You just wait till I catch her.

You! Linda!

Hey! Linda. You, you, you just wait!

Stay, stay right... Linda!

Ah, Linda, you tell Monsieur Poirot
that I was with you this morning

when you were swimming in Gull Cove.

Why should I? You weren't.

What? You lying little brat!

You just tell him
that you saw me on that pedalo.

You tell him that you refused
to help me pedal back! You tell him!

Oh! You tell him!

- Take your hands off my daughter!
- Then you tell her to tell him the truth!

Well, Linda, did you see Mr Brewster

when you were bathing
in Gull Cove this morning?

Oh, all right then. Yes, I did.

Linda, you mustn't tell lies.

- You can get people into serious trouble.
- Serious trouble?

Hell, darling!
You can get them hanged!

That was rather the idea,
was it not, mademoiselle?

I'm sorry.

Kindly accept my apologies, monsieur.

Incidentally, I accept your alibi.

That's real white of you, Mr P!

Now, Monsieur Poirot.
I'm not as lucky as my dear wife.

I have absolutely no alibi.

I was sitting over there
on a stone bench reading my book,

and between the hours
of 11:00 and 12:15, I didn't move.

Now, I'm well aware, Monsieur Poirot,

that in your world,
when a murder takes place,

everyone automatically
comes up with a watertight alibi.

However, I belong to that great world

of millions of innocent men and women

who, curiously enough,
don't have the foresight

to provide themselves with an alibi

when a murder is taking place
of which they know absolutely nothing.

Consequently,
as I was guilelessly reading my book,

there was no gardener to come trotting by
respectfully touching his forelock

and registering the time
on his grandfather's turnip watch.

In short, Monsieur Poirot,
I don't have the ghost of an alibi.

Of course, I could have scampered over
the top of that peak, like a mountain goat

and, er... swarmed down
the famous steps we've all heard about

and then crept up on Arlena

and strangled her
with these powerful hands of mine.

But, unfortunately for you,
I did no such thing.

So, you see,
I have a big fat motive, but no alibi.

Next question?

Next question is what did you do

when you had finished
being unobserved in the garden?

I went up to my room,
again unobserved, to change for tennis.

I was rather thirsty
and so I rang the bell.

'Naturally, no one answered.

'Where the goddamn staff
had disappeared to was a mystery

'worthy even of your talents,
Monsieur Poirot.

'I turned on the tap,
but there was no water. Not a drop.

'Someone was running a bath
down the hall fit to float Noah's Ark.

"'Damned odd time for a bath",
I'd have said.

'Anyway, I changed and appeared
suitably attired in my Fred Perry outfit

'on the tennis court at precisely 12:30

'to join Daphne and Marshall.

'Mrs Redfern came a few minutes later.'

And that, Monsieur Poirot,

concludes the case for the defence.

Hm, you make pleasantries, monsieur,

but no alibi is still...

...no alibi.

Hm.

If you're looking for that,
I've got it in here.

I've been using it
to sort everything out for you.

Look, I was wrong about
chercher la femme.

Sorry about that, but it's quite obviously
chercher le fruit.

Rexy is the only one unaccounted for.
Look, look, I'll show you.

See, at 11:30, Arlena Marshall
was left here alive by Horace Blatt,

who then sailed on down here.

Now, at the same time,
Myra and Patrick were here,

Linda and Christine were here,
Kenneth was here

and I was in my staff meeting.

So it has just got to be
our genial columnist.

And, what's more,
I know how he did it.

- Oh, you do, madame?
- Absolutely!

See, recently I was reading a
magazine story about a woman in Malaya

who was drowned by a huge moray eel,
which darted out of a hole,

dragged her to the floor of the ocean,
its teeth buried in her throat.

Now that's what gave me
the clue I needed. You see, Rex...

Rex Brewster could've been lurking
in the water here off Ladder Bay

and when Arlena
appeared on her pedalo,

he could have leapt up,
pulled her off it...

Er, very interesting, madame.

The only snag is of course
that Madame Marshall was not drowned.

Far less was she gnawed to death.

And perhaps
even more damaging to your theory

is the fact that it has been established

that Monsieur Brewster
was here in Gull Cove

with Mademoiselle Linda at 12 o'clock.

He could not possibly have pedalled
all the way from Gull Cove to Ladder Bay

in half an hour.

Well, that's very inconvenient of him.

I mean, if he didn't do it, who did?

I just don't see who could have.
Everyone has an alibi.

Oh, no, they do not, madame.

Monsieur Gardener
does not have an alibi.

Seems rather proud of the fact.

Oh, but he does, dear, most definitely.

What are you telling me, madame?

At half-past 11
I was having my staff meeting,

you know, giving the hired help
a pleasing stream of the old rancid,

and in particular pointing out to Andreas

that there was absolutely no point
in making your curry de poulet vindaloo

so hot that it actually raised welts
on the surface of your tongue,

when I looked out of the window
and there was Odell reading a book.

He stayed there throughout
the entire meeting. I'm positive of it.

Well, what's the matter?
Have I said something?

You've said a great deal, madame.

Oh, I...

I see what you mean.

You... You mean nobody did it.

And yet we still have a body, madame.

- Ah, "Rigoletto".
- Correct.

Ah, Verdi. Quelle élégance!

It's funny to think, if Giuseppe Verdi
had been an Englishman,

his name would have been Joe Green.

Yes, I suppose it would, yes.

Well, it used to make the boys laugh

when I was trying to din Latin
into them when I was a teacher.

Little boys laugh easily
if it keeps them away, even for a moment,

from their study of Latin.

Messieurs-Dames, please forgive me
for interrupting the cocktail hour,

but there are two questions of great
importance, which I must put to you.

First of all, did anybody here
throw a bottle into the sea this morning?

No?

Secondly, did any of you
take a bath at 12:15 today?

An odd time for ablutions.

Hmm. How remarkable!

A bath which nobody admits having taken

and a bottle which flies by itself.

Joe Green.

It's rather more amusing
than at first I thought.

- Morning, Sir Horace!
- Hello, lass. Enjoy your swim?

Yes. Sorry I'm so puffed. The water was
freezing and I'm running to get warm.

Crying his eyes out?

- Tell him to pull himself together.
- Hello, Daph!

That reminds me of a lady policeman.

Look, she's all out of breath.

She's telling her friends
how she caught a burglar.

She said, "I chased him past the grocer's,
and the butcher's and the baker's."

And then she said,
"I finally caught him by the cobbler's."

Sorry, I don't find that remotely funny,
Sir Horace.

Oh, oh... I stand corrected, Daph.

I'll tell you what I don't find so funny,
and that's waiting for the great detective!

- Oh, good morning, Monsieur Poirot!
- Listen here, Poirot.

Not only have you not
found Arlena's killer,

but what is more,
you haven't found my diamond,

so I'm off if it's all the same to you.

The Gardeners and the Redferns
want to go, too.

I can't say I blame them.
The place is like a morgue.

Oh, I am so sorry.

Madame, there is nothing like
a good night's rest

to clear the little grey cells.

Kindly ask all our friends
to forgather in the lounge

after they have finished
their petit déjeuner.

- When all will be revealed.
- What?

- You mean you know?
- Oh, yes.

Well, give us a few clues!

I wish you to consider very carefully,

a bathing cap, a bath, a bottle,
a wristwatch, the diamond,

the noonday gun, the breath of the sea
and the height of the cliff.

From that you should be able
to solve it yourselves.

We meet again in one hour.

Now I am going to have
my œuf à la coque. Ah...

There goes the most insufferable man
in the world!

"Œuf à la coque."That's about his mark.
It's what he talks mostly.

Mesdames, mademoiselle, messieurs.

The reason I asked you to meet me here
this morning, please, monsieur...

...is that I, Hercule Poirot,

have discovered the identity
of the murderer of Madame Marshall.

This need surprise no one.

Are you all comfortable?

Even the murderer?

This has been a most unusual crime,

in that apparently nobody
had the opportunity of committing it.

Madame Marshall was killed
between 11:30 and 12 noon yesterday

and yet every single one of you
had a perfect alibi,

including you, Monsieur Gardener,
without knowing it.

I'm very sorry if I have disappointed you.

We had undeniably a body,

which meant that somebody was lying.

Who?

After exercising considerable reflection,

I came to the conclusion
that it was you...

...Madame Redfern.

Me?

But I didn't lie to you. I swear it.

Oh, yes, you did, madame.

When I asked you at what time
you left Gull Cove yesterday,

you said it was 12 o'clock.

You knew this, you said,
because you heard that awful gun go off

'when you were standing
on top of the cliffs waving at Linda

'who was swimming in the water below.'

But Monsieur Brewster
was in the bay at the same time.

It is very curious
that you did not mention him.

And it's even more curious
that when I confronted Monsieur Brewster

with the fact that his story
about entering the bay on his pedalo

at the very moment
that the midday gun went off

was denied by Linda, he lost his temper.

He attacked the poor girl.

It would've been so much easier for him
to have called his second witness.

You, madame. He must have seen you
standing on top of the cliff.

And yet he made no mention of it.

Why not? The answer is obvious.

'You were not there.'

But I was there!
And I did wave and Linda waved back.

- Tell him, Linda!
- It's true. She did wave, honestly.

Yes, she probably waved, but there was
no noonday gun, was there?

I don't remember it. No.

There was no noonday gun
for a very good reason.

It was not 12 o'clock.

But she asked me the time. I looked
at my watch and it was five to 12!

Ah, the watch.
Now that is very important.

Let us go back
to yesterday morning, shall we?

'I was having breakfast
on the terrace, an egg,

'and in the course of performing some act
of léger de main for you, mademoiselle,

'I happened to notice
that you were not wearing a watch.

'This was not particularly surprising
as you had been swimming.

'A fact that could be noted by anyone
looking out of a hotel window.

'You, Madame Redfern, actually told me
you went to her room early

'to ask her to come with you to Gull Cove
to do some sketching.

'But that she was not there.

'What a perfect opportunity to put
Mademoiselle Linda's watch forward...

'20 minutes?

'A few moments later, as you told me,

'Linda appeared in the corridor,
as you knew she would.

'And you invited her to accompany you.'

- Would you like to come?
- Yes, I'd love to.

All right.
See you in the hall in ten minutes.

Hello, Mr Poirot.

Your plan to make Linda your false alibi
was now in motion.

Hmm. This is pure supposition, Poirot.
I've never heard such twaddle.

Twaddle or not, it is the only explanation
which fits all the facts.

Now if you will be a little patient,

I will explain to you exactly
what happened next at Gull Cove.

'Madame Redfern, unseen by Linda,
consulted her own watch,

'which she was wearing
but kept concealed

'under the sleeve
of that strange voluminous outfit

'she chose to protect her from the sun.

'It is of course 25 to 12:00.

'She then asked Linda the time,
who naturally said it was five to 12:00.

'Linda then starts to go down to the sea.

'While her back is turned,

'Madame Redfern returns Linda's watch
to the correct time,

'then calls Linda back, telling her
she has forgotten her bathing cap.

'Now why should she bother to do that,
you may ask?

'The answer is simple.

'Remember, at 12 o'clock
the noonday gun is due to go off.

'And she can take no chance of Linda
hearing and noting it.

'A girl splashing about in the sea
and wearing a bathing cap

'would hear nothing.

'So let us see exactly what happened

'as Madame Redfern hurried up
from the cove to the top of the cliff.

'It is 20 to 12:00. She pauses to wave.

'Linda waves back.

'But there is no Mr Brewster.

'No noonday gun.

'Madame Redfern now turns
and runs across the path

'which separates Gull Cove
from Ladder Bay.

'That takes her six or seven minutes,
no more.

'She arrives at Ladder Bay
at about a quarter to 12:00

'and sees Madame Arlena
sitting impatiently,

'awaiting the arrival of Patrick Redfern,

'with whom, I am convinced,
she had a rendezvous.'

Oh, Christ!

'Suddenly, to her great chagrin
she sees you, madame,

'about to come down the ladder.'

I couldn't have climbed down the ladder.
I suffer from vertigo. You know that.

I only know that because you took
good care to stage an incident

showing me that you suffer from vertigo.

The day before yesterday, on the terrace.

'As we were having a stroll
and I was drawing your attention

'to the sunbathing figures
on the beach below us,

'you suddenly fell against me
and stepped back,

'saying you suffered from vertigo.'

But she does have it, Poirot.
She's always had it.

That is not the case, monsieur.

Your wife only pretended to have it
in order to prove

that she could not
have climbed down the ladder.

'But, yesterday afternoon, I myself
stood on the cliff overlooking Gull Cove

'and I discovered something
rather interesting.

'In order to have seen Linda
in the water below

'and to wave to her,

'you would have had
to stand right on the very edge.

'Although I do not suffer from vertigo,

'I myself... was quite dizzy.'

For you, madame,
had you suffered from vertigo,

it would have been impossible.

Let us now resume the story

from the point at which
you descended the ladder.

Madame Arlena
decided to avoid a confrontation

and was about to leave the beach

when she noticed a small grotto
at the base of a cliff.

You may well ask
how I knew she had been in there.

'Yesterday afternoon,
not only did I discover the false diamond

'that Sir Horace Blatt had returned to her,

'but my excellent wine taster's nose
had detected,

'not as you put it, Madame Castle,
a "pong", but souffle de mer,

'the breath of the sea,

'which, as you know, Monsieur Marshall,
was her favourite perfume.

But I am digressing.

You ran down onto the beach,
but Madame Arlena had disappeared.

Arlena!

Where are you?

I know you're here.

I want to talk to you!

Be with you in a minute.

Well, what is it?

Look here, Poirot. Haven't we heard
just enough of this blarney?

Arlena was not murdered with
a blunt instrument. She was strangled.

And if you would care to bend those
beady Belgian eyes on Christine's hands,

you'll see that they are too small
to have strangled anyone.

Yes, I quite agree.

In fact, that was a major stumbling block
to my theory.

Redfern's right. This knocks your theory
out of court, Monsieur Poirot.

Odell, please!
You weren't even there and I was.

Remember,
I saw her lying there strangled.

Christine couldn't have done it.

I'm absolutely of your opinion, madame.
In fact, she did not do it.

The murder was committed by...
her husband, Patrick Redfern.

Now you really are
talking out of the top of your hat!

Oh, for God's sakes!

Patrick couldn't have done it,
any more than his wife.

Don't forget,
I was with him the whole time

between 11:30 and 12:00 when we came
into the bay and saw her lying there.

That is the whole point, madame.

'One moderately well-made young woman
is very much like another.

'Two brown arms, two brown legs

'and a little piece of bathing suit
in between.

'What exactly did you see from your
place in the boat, Madame Gardener?

'The ardent young lover,
Monsieur Redfern,

'bending over the body
with suntanned limbs

'wearing Arlena's white bathing costume

'and a red Chinese hat.

'As I pointed out a couple of days ago,

'all bodies lying on the beach are alike.

"'They are not men and women", I said.

"'There is nothing personal
about them", I said.

"'They are like rows of butcher's meat
grilling in the sun", I said.

'No wonder you were fooled
into imagining

'that you had seen
the corpse of Madame Marshall,

'when what you had actually seen

'was the live body
of Madame Christine Redfern.

'That is why the murderer
had to conceal the face,

'because it was not the murder victim
lying there, but somebody else.

'And who else would help
Monsieur Redfern, but his own wife?

'And now the performance
for the benefit of the witness is over.

'Madame Gardener departs
from the bay by boat to fetch help.

'And what do you think happened,
Madame Gardener,

'as soon as you had disappeared?

'Why, the corpse leaps to her feet
and runs into the grotto

'in order to remove
Madame Arlena's bathing costume,

'which she had stripped
off the unconscious woman.'

And worn to play her part as a corpse.

I've got a point, Poirot,
which will scupper your whole case.

Christine is as pale as pasteurised milk.

The question is how could I have possibly
mistaken her arms and legs for Arlena's?

This covers nothing at all, madame.

In answer to your question, I would
ask you to consider the bizarre nature

of Madame Redfern's beach apparel.

'When I saw Madame Redfern
in the lobby yesterday morning,

'she was wearing
a totally exaggerated garment,

'which completely covered her
from wrist to neck.'

No mere fear of the sun could have
occasioned such a choice of dress.

She had to wear
such an all-concealing outfit

because underneath
she was brown as a nut.

In the grotto, after having climbed

into the unconscious Madame Arlena's
swimming costume,

all she had to do
was to stain her hands and neck.

'Something she could not
have done earlier. Why?

'Ha-ha. Because Linda
would have noticed.

'She puts on the earrings

'and then she runs out of the grotto

'and onto the beach,

'settles herself on Arlena's towel

'and puts her great big Chinese hat
over her face

'and lies still to await the arrival
of her husband and yourself.

'Dead... on cue, as it were.

'And this, I must admit,
he stage-managed superbly,

'timing his appearance at Ladder Bay

'exactly to coincide
with the sound of a noonday gun.'

The rest was easy.

She now changed back
into her original costume.

It was about five past 12:00.

'Madame Redfern
bids her husband a hurried farewell.

'The clock is ticking.

'She runs back across the island
to rejoin the path

'leading from Gull Bay to the hotel.

'Oh, she has one more task to perform.

'She must get rid of
the incriminating bottle of suntan stain.

'The bottle that no one
would admit throwing.

'So she hurls it over the cliff...

'but has the bad luck to have the event
witnessed by Monsieur Brewster,

'whom it almost hit.

'She reaches the hotel,
arriving there about 12:15.

'I myself timed the journey.

'But then I was not running
like a young gazelle, for obvious reasons.

'Madame Redfern now takes the bath,
heard by Monsieur Gardner,

'the bath no one would admit to taking,

'in order to wash off the suntan.

'She changes into tennis clothes

'and appears on the court
a few minutes late it is true,

'but unruffled and smiling,
a picture of innocence.'

Yes, Monsieur and Madame Redfern,

I blame myself for not having seen
through your little charades earlier,

but then, unfortunately,
not even Hercule Poirot is perfect.

From the moment you arrived here,

you started playing out
a series of carefully rehearsed scenes,

'in such a manner
that all might hear or see.

'Together, there were scenes
of hysterical jealousy

'played close to open windows.'

- You don't want to talk!
- Now look here, Christine!

I can't even speak to a pretty woman
without you jumping to the conclusion

that I'm, well, having an affair with her?

But you are, aren't you?

'A part, you, madame,
took every opportunity

'to give the impression
that you are a physically frail woman

'who's no good at sports and who had
to hide her skin away from the sun

'because it blistered
and made her look like, what was it?

'An Italian ice cream?

'And who was altogether to be pitied
as a poor little helpless abandoned wife.

'Whilst you, monsieur,

'took elaborately indiscreet pains
to advertise your romance,

'instead of trying to conceal it
as any prudent lover would.'

I think you will all agree
that it was a most audacious plan.

Brilliantly executed.

Oh, yes, brilliantly.

But the one thing you have failed
to supply, Monsieur Poirot, is motive.

Why on earth should I kill Arlena?

I absolutely adored her.

Oh, adultery may be reprehensible,

but it certainly is not criminal.

No, monsieur, you did not adore her,

you adored her money.

And, more especially, the magnificent
diamond offered her by Sir Horace Blatt.

Those who teach Latin to small boys
are not exactly overpaid.

You're not at all the romantic figure
you like to present.

You are a hardened adventurer
and a vicious swindler,

who had absolutely no moral compunction

in borrowing the diamond
from Madame Arlena

and of substituting a paste copy.

Oh, pray, do continue, Monsieur Poirot.

Oh, yes, monsieur,
politeness is very much part of the act.

You knew that sooner or later
your deception would be discovered.

Too bloody right!

And you had to eliminate
the only witness capable of exposing you.

And what better opportunity
than on holiday,

in a small exclusive island,

where you could plan
and execute her murder?

'Picture to yourself the scene,
mes amis.

'The half-lit grotto.

'Madame Arlena
slowly returning to consciousness

'and the so solicitous Monsieur Patrick

'preparing le momentjuste to strike.'

Oh, Patrick.

'Suddenly,
his hands around her throat.

'She struggles

'and it is the end of poor, foolish,

'beautiful, gullible Arlena Marshall.'

And that, mesdames,
mademoiselle, messieurs

is the story of the murder
of Arlena Marshall.

The only thing they had not foreseen

was the presence on this island
of Hercule Poirot.

The well-known romancer
and teller of tales.

Excellent plot line.

Imaginatively conceived.

Good, clear narrative style.

I'll give you nine out of ten, Poirot.

I'm deducting one mark
for total absence of proof.

Is that true?

We've sat here and listened to all that
and you can't prove a word of it?

Hmm.

Unfortunately, Monsieur Redfern
is absolutely right.

I haven't a shred of evidence.

Although that is unquestionably
what happened.

Well, I don't think we need
to sit here and be insulted

by this fanciful little mountebank.

Come along, darling.
Shall we go and pack?

Er, just give us five minutes, Mr Poirot,

and I'm sure we'll be able
to work out how you did it.

After all, where were you
at the time of the murder?

You've let that pair get off scot-free
and I haven't even got my diamond back!

You've made a right cock-up, Poirot.

Oh, how very kind of you to see us off.

Oh, goodbye, my dear friends.

I don't think there'll be any necessity
to leave a forwarding address.

Oh, just a moment, Mr Redfern.
Haven't you forgotten something?

Why pay, Patrick?
They've done nothing but insult us.

Oh, we must pay it, darling.

After all, we wouldn't want anybody
to think we were cheats now, would we?

- I know you'll take a cheque.
- Certainly.

Of course, I also know that you're
thinking the cheque may well bounce.

But I'm afraid that's as good as it gets.

Here you are, dear.

I've put a little extra on
for the inconvenience.

Oh. Thank you so much.

Er, would you mind me
saying something, Miss Castle?

Your ensemble
does absolutely nothing for you.

Goodbye.

Un instant, s'il vous plaît,
Monsieur Ruber.

Monsieur Felix Ruber?

- Who did you say?
- Who the hell is Ruber?

Felix Ruber is the widower of Alice Ruber,

'whose strangled body had been
discovered on the Yorkshire moors

'some months ago.

'I was called in by
the Trojan Insurance Company

'to examine the police report.

'In the event of Mrs Ruber's death,

'her husband was a beneficiary
of a large sum of money.

'The police were satisfied that it was
the work of a madman or a tramp,

'and so was I, since the only
possible suspect, the husband,

'had a cast-iron alibi,

'which had been established
by a woman hiker

'who had found the body
earlier in the day.

'But last night I asked myself.

'A strangulation, an innocent witness,
a change of time.

'Could the similarity in the pattern
of the events here on the island

'and those on the moors
be a mere coincidence?

'Non, mes amis.

'The lonely hiker was none other
than Madame Christine Redfern.

'While Monsieur Ruber was on a train,

'undoubtedly attracting attention
to his presence

'before potential witnesses.

'The bigamous Monsieur Ruber
was now free

'to return to his surviving wife,
Madame Redfern.'

Oh, yes, monsieur,
you were clever enough

to avoid putting your signature
in the hotel register,

but, you know, the signature on
this cheque is really quite good enough.

Different names, of course.

Here on the claim form
for Alice Ruber's insurance policy,

it appears as Felix Ruber,

and here on the hotel cheque
it appears as Patrick Redfern.

Different names,

but, monsieur,
undeniably the same handwriting.

My God.

You were wrong to tell me
that little joke about Giuseppe Verdi

being called Joe Green in English

or that you had once taught Latin
to small boys.

It was at that moment that I realised

that in that language
"Felix Ruber" is "Red Fern".

You see, it is folly
to try and trick Hercule Poirot,

even in a dead language.

Do you really think
anyone's going to believe the evidence

of a couple of scribbled signatures?

And your bloody silly word games?

Oh, monsieur, if my modest assumptions
are too fanciful for you,

then perhaps a photograph of a hiker
and the mourning husband,

which must have appeared
in the local papers

and which I of course have sent for,

will be enough proof to hang you, sir.

You will be arrested for the murder
of Alice Ruber and of Arlena Marshall.

But before that, there is a small favour
I would like to ask of you.

Would you smoke the pipe,

which has been conspicuous
by being unlit since you arrived here?

No?

Dommage.

As I thought.

Sir Horace, please be careful
to whom you give it next time.

My God, you're a wonder, Poirot.

Yes?

Poor Monsieur Poirot.

Brave Monsieur Poirot.

I've just had a telephone call
from His Majesty

and he is very pleased with...

The King of Tyrania?

He's very pleased with the way
the matter's been cleared up so quickly

and so discreetly.

He's so pleased that he's awarding you
the Order of Saint Gudrun the Inquisitive.

- Saint Gudrun the Inquisitive?
- First class!

How many classes are there?