All language subtitles for Agatha.Christies.Poirot.S13E02.720p.BluRay.x264-YELLOWBiRD

Good Lord.

Later every morning,
that lad, isn't he, Marina?

Disgraceful.

Is that the last
of them, then, sir?

I would have been
quite happy to...

No.
I wanted to write them myself.

Seems only right.

Old friends, you see, George?

Old friends.

Extra!
Extra!

Read all about it!

World on the brink!

Well, then...

Captain Hastings?

A few words?

Really?

Me?

Oh.

Well, I don't really...

Hard to know what to say,
isn't it?

Gosh.

My friends.

I know.

To my master.

The best of masters.

To our dear friend.

To Monsieur Hercule Poirot.

God rest his soul.

"I urge you to believe
that I speak the truth,

that the world is in the grip

of sinister forces bent
on tipping it into chaos.

Beware.

Beware the Big Four."

Secret societies?

Sinister plans
for world domination?

It's all a bit Bulldog Drummond,
don't you think, Mr. Tysoe?

At first, yeah, I did.

But I've had more letters since.

I think there's something in it.

You remember that locomotive
that came off the rails,

the Plymouth Express?

Course.

My correspondent
claims that was the work

of the Big Four.

And the riots in India.

Local agitators.

Not according to these.

A crank, young man.

The idea there's some sort
of organizing power

controlling the world,
it's a very common fantasy

amongst paranoiacs.

Mr. Ingles.

I've been doing some research.

Mr. Tysoe, we stand

on the edge of an abyss.

Germany, Italy.

A storm is gathering.

We've enough to worry about

without some far-fetched
nonsense like this.

"Far-fetched"?
Is it?

If you could go over to the left
of the chessboard, please.

Sir.

Well, there's
a sight for sore eyes.

Ah!

Mille tonnerres.

Mon cher Inspector Japp.

- Hello, Poirot.
- Ah, mon ami.

Mon ami.
It has been too long.

Far too long.

My dear Inspector Japp.

Assistant Commissioner now,
if you don't mind.

Pardon. Pardon.

I've been following

your progress with
the interest most keen.

Mon ami.

You are here
in the capacity professional?

I'm not quite
a spent force yet, Poirot.

They still wheel me out

for the occasional
important assignment.

Lot of foreign bigwigs
here tonight.

Mr. Ryland
over there's requested

a discreet police presence
for this chess match.

I must say, it's nice
to get out from behind a desk,

stretch the old pins again.

Though there won't be many more
assignments like this, I fancy.

Well, you know, time,
it catches up with us all, no?

Perhaps also for Poirot
the shadows are lengthening

and the moment, it has come to
think of the life that is quiet.

You retire, Poirot?
Never.

You attract mayhem,
always have done.

Who's the lady?

Ah, that is
the great Madame Olivier.

Ah, right, one of Ryland's
Peace Party johnnies.

One of your lot, isn't she?

Comment?

- Belgian?
- Non!

She's French, not Belgian.

But in her field
she is the genius.

Her research
into the nervous system,

it is truly groundbreaking.

Hmm. You might say
she has the greatest brain

in the Western world.

The greatest scientific brain,
indeed.

Of course.

Ah, well, excuse me, Poirot.

Duty calls.

Assistant Commissioner.

Oh, pardon me, sir.

Monsieur Poirot.

Madame Olivier.

May I introduce Stephen Paynter

of the British diplomatic corps,

an invaluable supporter
of the Peace Party?

A cause most worthy, monsieur.

And this is...

Do remind me.

Dr. Quentin, Mr. Paynter's
personal physician.

Quite the turnout, madame.

You must be pleased.

We have done it together,
all of us.

Ladies, gentlemen,
may I welcome you

to our informal little soiree

on behalf of our guiding light

and founder, Li Chang Yen?

Now, ill health prevents him

from leaving China,
but he is with us

in spirit.

We're all aware of
the international situation,

at the grave pass
at which the civilized world

finds itself,

which is why
we in the Peace Party

see it as our mission,
our duty,

to avoid the lamps'
going out once again.

Hear, hear!

One day, years ago,

I woke up and I realized

that I hadn't a clue
what to do

with all my money.

Tell us how you got
your money, Mr. Ryland.

This is
an invitation-only event, sir.

You won't answer my telephone
calls, Mr. Ryland.

How else am I supposed
to reach you?

This is intolerable.

Eh?

What are you hiding?!

Who are the Big Four?!

Well,

it seems that everyone
wants to be here tonight.

And why wouldn't they?

To witness this demonstration
of unity

between East and West

via this ancient
and beautiful game.

Now, I would like to thank

our friend,
the Russian ambassador,

for coaxing our guest
out of retirement.

May I introduce to you
the illustrious

Dr. Ivan Savaranoff?

- Oh!
- Who?

Dr. Savaranoff.

He is the greatest
of the Russian grand masters.

You are not a player of chess?

No. Dominoes is more
in my line, Poirot.

Welcome, sir.

He's getting on a bit.

It is many years since he's been
seen in public, mon ami.

I warn you, sir,
I may be an amateur,

but I won't be beat
without a fight.

That's always been my motto.

Well, then,

without further ado,
let battle commence.

Pawn to king four.

Pawn to king four.

Knight
to king's bishop three.

Knight to
queen's bishop three.

Ah!

A doctor!

Someone call a doctor!

Can I help, monsieur?

I have some expertise.

I'm afraid it's too late.

He's gone.

They had trouble getting

this out of his hand.

Rigor mortis, I expect.

I expect so.

If you please to show Poirot
the belongings of the old man.

Ah.

I don't know what
you're getting yourself

so broody about, Poirot.

You only had to look at him

to know he wasn't long
for this world.

Natural causes, dicky ticker.

It says so here.

Quelle coincidence.

What's that?

The researches of Madame Olivier
concern the effects

of atropine and morphine
and so on on the heart

and the nervous system.

Ah, so that's what
she meant by "expertise."

Oui.

But, alas, it was too late
for her to save him.

So, after all these years

of being a recluse,
he agrees to travel

halfway round the world
for a publicity stunt.

I have no doubt

that Dr. Savaranoff
was paid most handsomely.

Ah, but why was Ryland
prepared to pay so much?

You again.

Yes, we were never
formally introduced, were we?

Lawrence Boswell Tysoe,
Associated Papers.

- Come on, son.
- Mon ami.

What is your interest here,
Monsieur Tysoe?

Something fishy
about the old man's death.

Dr. Savaranoff
died of natural causes.

Really?

Don't tell me
the great Hercule Poirot

would bother with something
like this unless foul play

was suspected.

If and when we have
something to announce

to the press, you'll
be the first to know.

Don't be so hasty.

Play your cards right, maybe
I can supply you with the truth

about Abe Ryland, fill you in

on the skeletons he's got
hiding in his closet

and what he knows
about the Big Four.

What is this Big Four?

Ring me, Mr. Poirot.

You won't regret it.
Ring me.

Curtain up in five,
ladies and gentlemen.

I'll have a word
with someone.

Look, there she is.

Stop it, you terrible boys.

Got your number.

Flossie, I say.

Those boys
are just outrageous,

aren't they?

Mmm.

Did you ever play Juliet,
Flossie?

Yes.

Quite recently, actually.

Oh... right.

Oh, you're not reading

that rubbish again, are you?

It's not rubbish.

It gives me the horrors, all
these rumors about another war.

Hmm.
Oh, I almost forgot.

Reg asked me
to give this to you.

Somebody must have
left it at stage door.

A letter?
For me?

Must be fan mail.

Well, open it, then.

Ooh, even better, a valentine.

But it's April.

Oh, yes, so it is.

"Dear Flossie, never forgotten,
until we meet again.

Four kisses."

Well?
Who is it from?

It doesn't say.

Huh.

Monsieur Tysoe.

Knew you'd come.

Can't resist a scoop,

eh?

You'd have made a good
journalist, Mr. Poirot.

I think Poirot
has the wrong kind

of morality for the work.

You're too modest, I'm sure.

S'il vous plait.

Monsieur Tysoe, you spoke
of skeletons in the armoire

of Monsieur Ryland.

Arm what?

Oh, I see, in the cupboard.

Well,
let me tell you, Abe Ryland

is not the man everyone
thinks he is.

Real name's Abram Ryakhin,
born in Kursk.

Appeared in America
about 25 years ago,

the outbreak
of the Great War.

Changed his name,

his voice,
his whole identity.

So, my question is: why?

What is it that you know?

I know how he made his money.

Arms dealing.

- Huh?
- He made millions.

Selling weapons to the Allies

and the Kaiser.

You have proof of this?

Naturally.

And maybe he was planning
on doing the same thing again.

What is this Big Four
that you mentioned?

Certain...
information been coming my way.

Letters.

And what do they say,
these letters?

Well, not so fast, now,
not so fast.

I've shared my information
on Ryland.

It's only fair you show
a little reciprocity,

wouldn't you say?

What is it you want?

Full access to
your investigation.

I work alongside you
and your copper pal.

Monsieur Tysoe,
you seem to be a man

who is ambitious,
who is creative,

and perhaps even with
some level of intelligence.

That supposed to be
a compliment?

But you are not a man
of discretion, monsieur.

Were we to share information,
what would stop it

from appearing
in your newspaper?

It seems I'll have to play
a lone hand

in this investigation.

That would be foolish, monsieur.

You would be wise to reveal
what you know,

for your own safety
if for nothing else.

I don't respond to threats,
Mr. Poirot.

If you change your mind,
you know where to find me.

You've let Li Chang Yen
know what happened last night?

I've telegraphed.

Then there is nothing more
we can do for now.

What is troubling you?

We have enemies
out there, Regine.

Those who seek to destroy
both us and our work.

And I've learned
that in this life

you can only trust number one.

They had trouble getting
this out of his hand.

Rigor mortis, I expect.

Ruy Lopez...

Assistant Commissioner Japp,
s'il vous plait.

Will this take long,
gentlemen?

I'm a very busy man.

Monsieur Ryland...

do you remember
the exact succession of moves

made by Dr. Savaranoff?

Of course.
He used the Ruy Lopez opening.

It's the soundest in the game.

And Savaranoff was reputed
to favor this?

Yeah.
So what?

If you'll please tell us
what was the third move

of the white piece
in this opening?

- Bishop to queen's knight five.
- Bon.

The exact move that sealed
the fate of Dr. Savaranoff.

If you please to be patient.

This, it is the white bishop
from the chess set,

the exact piece
that Dr. Savaranoff

was clutching in his hand
when he died.

They look identical, no?

Two white bishops
from the same chess set?

Ah.

There is a rather thin metal

which passes up
through this chess man.

What?

Et maintenant...

Observe.

The table, it is electrified,

and so when Dr. Savaranoff

places the white bishop upon
this particular silver square,

the electric current passes
right through his body,

killing him instantly.

He was electrocuted.

Oui, bien sur. Regarde.

The table, it is clamped
to the floor,

so the current passes
through it.

It is, en effet, the killing
machine most elaborate.

From where was it obtained,
may I ask?

You'd have to ask one
of my staff, monsieur.

I don't concern myself
with such matters.

You do not concern yourself
with the death of a man?

He was an old man.

Old men tend to die,
in my experience.

From natural causes, yes,

not usually via electrified
chess tables.

Now, you just listen to me.

If you truly believe
Savaranoff was murdered

and in this colorful way

Monsieur Poirot suggests,
that's your prerogative.

But if you are even suggesting
that I had anything

to do with it,
then you're going

to have to get yourself
some proof.

Hello?

Could you put me through
to Mr. Tysoe, please?

He isn't?

No, no message.

Thank you.

A Madame Olivier
to see you, sir.

Please to show her in, George.

This way, madam.

I shall come straight
to the point, monsieur.

You have seen this?

Ah.

"Does the great detective,
Monsieur Hercule Poirot,

have suspicions regarding
the death of Ivan Savaranoff?

His inquiries currently
revolve around

Abe Ryland and his mysterious
Peace Party."

Calm yourself, madame.

It is merely the tittle-tattle.

We have no evidence that
Monsieur Ryland is involved.

There are those who seek
to discredit all of us

in the Peace Party, monsieur.

I implore you, do nothing
to aid these people.

Excusez-moi,
madame.

Hercule Poirot speaks.

Ryland was meant to meet some
German dignitary last night.

He never turned up.

Comment?

We haven't a clue
where he's got to.

He's gone, Poirot.
He's disappeared.

Good afternoon, sir.

You must be Meadows.

This is the local man
on the case, Poirot.

It's an honor, sir,
and an honor

to meet you, too, Mr. Poirot,
although I don't know

that there's very much
to interest you here.

Fairly grubby little murder,
if you ask me,

and not too much doubt about
who's to blame, neither.

The victim
was Jonathan Whalley,

something of a recluse
and a...

Sinophile.

Yeah, whatever that is.

It means that he was a lover
of all things Chinese, mon ami.

Ah, and this is the reason

for our interest in this case,
Inspector Meadows.

The late
Monsieur Jonathan Whalley

was the author
of this biography.

Have you got the details
of the household, Inspector?

Well, there are two servants.

Robert Grant, who's the kind
of manservant.

He lives in.

And Betsy Andrews,
housekeeper and cook.

You've worked for Mr. Whalley
for some time?

Oh, years.

He was a queer old cove.

Kept himself to himself.

Had his little obsessions
like they all do at that age.

Obsessions?

Crackers about all things
Chinese.

Did he ever marry?

No.
Can you imagine it?

What woman would have him?

Woe betide you

if you tried to move
one of his precious books

or tidy up his bloomin' letters.

Were there any
other friends or family?

Friends? No.

He had a sister.

But she died.

There was a...

a young nephew who came here
to stay with him

when he was orphaned.

That was before my time, though.

By all accounts,
they didn't get on.

Madame Andrews, can you tell
to us exactly

what occurred this
morning, precisement?

Grant went out to get the milk,
as he does every day.

I popped out to have a natter

with Mrs. Stubbs at Laburnum's.

She's buried two children,
poor soul,

and her husband's
none too clever at the moment.

And which
of you returned first?

Oh, that would be Grant.

He came in by the back door,
put the milk in the larder...

and then went into his room

to read the paper
and have a smoke.

So, it was you who discovered
the body, madame?

Just...
just there he was.

Poor soul,
he'd been knocked silly

and had his throat slit.

Oh, nasty, it was.

Very nasty.

Bon.

So, the story about Grant going
and fetching milk

is true
at least, then.

Oui.

Ah.

What is it, Poirot?

Une jambe de mouton.

- Mutton, sir?
- Oui.

Hmm.
Still frozen.

There's ice on it.

You're not suggesting he used

a frozen leg of mutton

to cosh the old gentleman,
are you, sir?

And then cut his throat

with the wishbone?

What is the day, mon ami?

- The day?
- Oui.

Well, Monday, of course.

Oui, oui.

To commit a murder on a Monday,
it is a mistake most grave.

Monsieur Robert Grant,
he is in custody, non?

We've taken him in
for questioning, sir, yes.

Grant's story was that he went
straight to his bedroom

and that it was Betsy Andrews
who discovered the body.

But, you see, then there's
the matter of the footprints.

Whalley kept his most valuable
Chinese curios locked

in this cabinet here.

- And is it locked now?
- Key's in the lock, sir.

Mr. Whalley kept it
on his person on his watch chain

at all times.

But someone has removed it.

Mr. Whalley was fond of boasting

that his most prized possession

was a set
of little ivory figures

that he kept in here,
18th-century, apparently,

and they're gone.

And this bloody footprint
here...

Oh, begging your pardon, sir.

It's all right, Meadows.

We know what you mean.

Well, it matches exactly
with Grant's boot.

And a footprint
which, if Monsieur Grant

were telling the truth,
he could not have made.

Quite so, sir.

So, you now have
the opportunity and the motive.

All that you require now

is that oh, so elusive element,
the proof.

The missing figures?

I have no doubt you will find
them hidden in the room

of Monsieur Grant, probably
underneath his bed.

Fancy seeing you here,
Mr. Poirot.

You seem to be everywhere
at once.

May Poirot inquire what
it is that you do here?

The news of this crime,
it has not yet been released.

I'm here for
the same reason you are.

- Indeed?
- Whalley knew something.

Something dangerous,
that much is obvious.

So somebody got him
out of the way.

And it was your source who once
again gave to you this tip-off?

I'm in possession of certain
information, yeah.

Well, well, if it isn't
the proverbial bad penny.

Assistant Commissioner.

I presume you can account
for your movements

at the time
of Mr. Whalley's death?

That's uncalled for.

Oh, we've got him now, sir.

Honest to God, I never did it.

It's a frame-up,
that's what it is.

I came back and went
straight to my room like I said.

I never knew anything
'til Betsy screamed,

so help me God I didn't.

If you do not tell the truth,
then that is the end of it.

But, guv'nor...

No, monsieur.

You did go into
the drawing room.

You did know that your master
was dead.

And you were preparing
to make a bolt for it

when Madame Andrews
made the discovery so terrible.

Come, now.

Is that not so?

I say solemnly to tell
to me the truth now.

It is your only chance.

Yeah.

- It's just as you say.
- Bon.

Mr. Whalley?

I came in and went straight
over to the master,

and there he was dead on
the floor, blood all around.

Then I got the wind up proper.

They'd ferret out my record
and for certainty,

they'd say it was me
as who'd done him in.

And the figures of ivory?

They was going to blame
the murder on me anyway.

The master had said how they
was worth a lot of loot.

I might as well
go the whole hog.

And then before I could make
a run for it, Betsy was back

and screaming the place down.

You expect us
to believe all that, Grant?

You ought to be ashamed
of yourself,

telling such
bare-faced lies

to an important man
like Mr. Poirot here.

Monsieur Grant,

when were you released
from prison?

Two months ago.

And how did you obtain your
position in the household?

Through one of them prisoners'
help societies.

Bloke met me when I come out.

He said this before, Poirot.

There's no record

of any such society placing
him with Jonathan Whalley.

I swear it, sir.

It was a pastor,
a priest.

Do you recall what he looked
like, this pastor?

No.

I'm sorry, sir.

He just sort of looked

middling height, ordinary,
you know?

I'm afraid I must go ahead
and charge this man, sir.

No.

If you do, Inspector Meadows,

you will charge the wrong man.

Monsieur Grant
is not the killer.

Thank you, sir.

I knew you'd believe me.

Huh.

Merci.

Sir, I've been thinking this
over, and it doesn't add up.

If it's not Grant, well,

no one else approached
the cottage all morning.

The neighbors' curtains twitch
like billyo here in Hoppaton.

If there'd been a stranger
come into the house, well...

You're not suggesting
Betsy Andrews?

Poirot will describe for you
the killer of Jonathan Whalley.

The murderer was a man
who was clever,

very clever.

First he posed
as a prison visitor.

Then he obtained a post
for Monsieur Grant,

with the deliberate intention
of making him the scaping goat.

Then he gave to him a pair
of boots, one of two pairs

that were duplicate.

The other he kept for himself.

Then he drove up
outside the house in a van.

Leaving it in full view,
he entered the house,

committed the murder
wearing the boots identical.

Then he drove away.

This man, he wore a hat
of straw and his clothing

was slightly bloodstained.

But, Poirot, the whole village
would have seen him.

Vrai dire.
Everybody saw him.

And nobody saw him.

He drove up in the van
of a butcher.

This leg of mutton
would not have remained frozen

if it was delivered on Saturday,
non.

Someone delivered this leg
of mutton today,

moreover someone on whom a trace
of blood here and there

would attract no attention.

Blimey.

I'll get round and arrest
the butcher straightaway.

No, do not trouble yourself,
Inspector.

The real butcher would have made
no such delivery today.

No, this is a business
most dark, mes amis,

and I fear we are only
at the beginning

of a long, long game.

Mr. Tysoe!

Ah!

You cannot say you have
not been warned, monsieur.

I know.

That's why I'm here now
and putting everything I've got

in front of you.

It started with
anonymous tip-offs.

Train crashes, riots.

I went to Ingles
at the Foreign Office.

Dismissed it out of hand.

Then the messages

started to become more cryptic.

Merci.

"The game will begin shortly,
a battle of wits,

and then a king shall fall.

Beware, beware

the Big Four."

That arrived along
with a dossier on Ryland.

"A king shall fall."

Yeah, obviously referring
to the chess game.

This was next.

"Death will come
to Hoppaton village.

The dragon shall feast."

Jonathan Whalley of Hoppaton,

he is found dead.

Someone on the inside
was trying to tip me off.

Someone inside the Big Four

turned traitor.

Now they've found him out,
and he's lying in a morgue

with a knife in his back.

Have you identified
the deceased man?

No, nothing yet.

- There's something else.
- Indeed?

This was inside
his coat pocket,

addressed to me
just like all the others.

Well, that's where
you should have left it.

- That's evidence.
- Yeah, well.

Playing cards?

Of a kind, oui.

But the first one

is of the origin Chinese.

And on it there
has been scored

le nombre un.

Li Chang Yen.
Has to be.

Brains behind
the so-called Peace Party.

Deux.

That's a Chance card

from a Monopoly set.

You don't have to be a genius
to work that one out.

Ryland.

Le nombre trois.

Why does it say D and not Q?

Because this is from
a French pack

of playing cards,
mon ami.

La dame.

Une dame française.

Et finalement,

from the major arcana
of the tarot...

Quatre.

C'est La Mort.

Death.

Mrs. Japp got dealt
one like that on Southend Pier.

Gypsy Meg.

Three months later,
the cat died.

One, two, three, four.

Whoever the dead man was,

he was trying to give me
a clue to their identities.

What is it, Poirot?

Do you not observe,

mon ami?

The edge of this card,
it is burnt.

"A toast to our future!

All my love.
Four kisses."

Hmm?

You're going to miss your cue
if you're not careful, darling.

Blast.

Oh.
Ah Ling.

We can't wait any longer.

Please, ring the gong
for dinner.

You're asking too much
of me, Regine.

What are you saying?

Remember our dream,
everything we talked about,

all we can achieve.

I don't think I can
go through with it.

Stephen...

I don't have your certainty.

I'm not like you.

It's wrong, what we're doing,
it's all wrong.

Still no news
of Mr. Ryland, Madame Olivier?

Nothing at all.

And it is also very damaging
to the party.

He should be protesting
his innocence.

The newspapers are full of talk
about the Big Four.

No, it is nonsense.

Quite.

It's true that there
is bad blood

between America and Russia,
though, isn't it,

after Savaranoff's death?

I've been speaking
with the Soviet ambassador,

trying to
calm things down, but...

My husband the conciliator.

What would the world

do without you, my dear?

Let's hope
we'll never find out.

I'll drink to that.

Oh.

They're here.

I hoped they'd join us
eventually.

It's really not that late,
my dear.

So sorry.

So very, very sorry.

Can you ever forgive me,

Auntie Di?

I was out with the chaps
and time just ran away from me.

You're on your own,
are you, Gerald?

I thought you were bringing
Miss Struthers with you tonight.

Oh, good Lord,

so I was, huh.

Well, Amelia will have sorted
herself out.

She's probably had a better
offer, what?

Or did I leave her at that
blessed party?

Oh, well.

Well, you're here now,
Gerald, that's all that matters.

Why don't you sit down?

So sorry.

You must be la grande dame,

Madame O.

Uncle Stephen speaks terribly
highly of you.

You're staying for a few days,
that's right.

I'm the black sheep
of the family.

A pleasure to meet you, Gerald.

Oh, uh, yes, remind me again.

Gerald.

The name's Quentin.

Oh, of course, of course.

Uncle Stephen's sore bones.
Terribly sorry.

Have you eaten, Gerald?

Ah Ling's finest curry?

Rather.
Fill up the bowl, my friend.

Now, where's the wine?

Anyone for a top-up?

That's him, poor bugger.

Stabbed in the lower back
with some force.

Kitchen knife.

But observe, mes amis.

Despite all the efforts
of the staff in this mortuary

to wash him down, the dirt,
it is deep, it is ingrained.

He'd been on the run
from the Big Four.

You're hardly going to stop

and run a tub, are you?

And yet you say his clothes,
his evening dress,

they are of some quality, yes?

Very nice, yes.
Bit old-fashioned, mind.

Poirot, he would
like to see them.

Sir.

It's been so kind of
Uncle Stephen to take me on.

Don't you think, madame?

Indeed.

Prodigal returns and all that.

It was the least I could do

for my brother's boy.

Shh, shh.
It's all under the bridge now.

Family feud forgiven
and forgotten.

I'm glad to have been
able to make amends

in some small way.

It's curious, most curious.

What is?

The cloth,
it is of the quality most fine,

and yet the fashion,
it is of since 30 years.

No labels.

Ah.

What is it?

There's a fragment,
that is all.

- A name?
- Of a kind, oui, but...

E-R-M-A-N.

"Herman"?

"German"?

You think he stole the clothes,
some kind of disguise?

Now, mes amis, we must discover
the identity of this man

and find out his connection
with the Big Four.

Stephen!

Stephen!

Stephen!

Unlock the door!

Ah Ling, hurry!

Stephen, answer me!

Oh!

Oh, what a terrible way
for a man to die.

Ruddy odd if you ask me.

Why the fire?

I mean, it makes the face
completely unrecognizable.

Oui.

Do you think that
was the intention?

Poirot, he has thought of this,
but, no, there seems.

little doubt that
the dead person

is Monsieur Stephen Paynter.

So, the killer comes into
the room, pulls him off the bed

and drags him over to the fire.

Not the easiest way
to kill a man.

Constable.

There would have been
a struggle tremendous.

And screams, screams,
which nobody in the house

admits to hearing.

Who discovered the body?

Chinese manservant.

Chinese, Poirot.

And Diana Paynter,
the wife of 30 years.

Smelt the smoke

apparently from her own bedroom.

Alors, Madame Paynter, she does
not share the bedchamber

with her husband?

Didn't you hear me, Poirot?

30 years.

To be honest, I think Mrs. Japp
would jump at this type

of sleeping arrangement,
if we had the room.

See you, Inspector,
the finger?

A clue most bizarre, non?

Ah, now, apparently Mr. Paynter
kept a notepad, a pen,

and a bottle of ink
by his bedside,

and this is what he wrote
last night.

Dr. Quentin, you were
the personal physician

of the late Monsieur Paynter?

That's correct.

Stephen had
a heart condition,

easily managed with
the right medication.

But it was thought prudent that
there should be someone on hand.

What has his state of mind
been lately?

He'd been anxious.

All this stuff in the papers
is enough to alarm anyone.

And now Ryland's vanished.

It's a great blow to the party.

When did you
last see him alive, Doctor?

Around 11:30 last night.

He asked to see me
before he retired to bed.

How did you find him?

He was very agitated.

I suggested a tonic, but he said
he just wanted to get to bed.

One final question,
if I may, Doctor.

Merci.

Do you recognize this man?

He does look
vaguely familiar.

For what reason?

He's something

to do with the Peace Party,
I think.

I met so many people through
Stephen and his work

that I really
couldn't say for sure.

No, I don't know him.

Try to think carefully,

madame.

Perhaps you met him through
your late husband and his work?

Stephen rarely thought
to include me in his work,

monsieur.

I'm sorry I can't

be any more help to you.

We do not wish
to distress you, madame.

I loved my husband, monsieur.

But I realized some time ago

that my affection
was no longer reciprocated.

Last night

I learned for certain what I had
suspected for some time,

that he...

that he...

That he and Madame Olivier were
conducting the love affair?

How did you...?

This Poirot had observed
at the chess tournament.

I am so sorry, madame.

And did you hear

any kind of disturbance
in the night, Mr. Paynter?

No.

Believe me, after the amount
of booze I put away,

it's a miracle I woke
at all this morning.

Dead to the world, I was.

Oh, dear.

Sorry.

Are you sure I can't
get you anything?

Bit early for me, sir.

Thank you all the same.

It would be for me,
too, usually,

but, you know,
poor old Uncle Stephen.

You hear about these kind
of freak accidents

happening all the time.

Still, a shock when it happens

to one of your nearest
and dearest.

You think, then,
that this was an accident?

Well, what else
could it have been?

How did you and your uncle
get on together?

Well, I don't feel
I had the chance

to get to know him properly.

I've only been here
a few months.

Is that so?

Yes. Father and Uncle Stephen
fell out, you see.

There'd been an incident
when I was only a nipper.

And do you know the nature
of this incident?

Well, this.

A firework exploded in my face.

Father always blamed
Uncle Stephen.

I don't even remember it,
of course,

but they never spoke again.

So, he gets a tidy sum
as a result of Paynter's death.

And the manner of his death,
so violent and dramatic.

The fire that consumes the face
of Monsieur Paynter,

an echo grotesque
of the burning of his own face.

And as he lies dying,
Monsieur Paynter,

he dips his finger
into the ink,

and scrawls the letter G
onto a notepad,

a final desperate attempt

to indicate the identity
of his killer.

Gerald did it for revenge
and for the cash?

Non, non, mon ami.

A fourth murder with
a connection to the Peace Party

and the Big Four?

Non.

This is an attempt most crude
to frame young Monsieur Gerald.

Hmm.

Well, I suppose we'd better
have the big one in.

I shall do all I can
to assist you.

This is a terrible loss
for the world,

and for me personally.

Perhaps you can
assist us, madame,

with the identity
of this man?

He's not known to me, monsieur.

Then perhaps

you should take
a closer look, madame.

My eyesight is excellent.

I can assure you,
I do not know

who this man is.

Madame, we understand that
before dinner last night

you and Monsieur Paynter
conversed in private?

Yes, we talked of the future
of the Peace Party.

That's a lie.

Mrs. Paynter, please.

I may not have

your world-class brain, madame,

but I have sense enough

to know when my husband
is conducting

a love affair behind my back.

Diana.

He wanted
to finish it with you,

and your pride couldn't
bear it.

I heard him.

"It's all wrong.
I can't go on with this."

That's what he said.

I wouldn't be surprised
if you killed him

rather than let him
come back to me.

It is not true.

Mrs. Paynter.

Monsieur, surely
you cannot believe...

We believe, madame, that we are
dealing with an organization

so ruthless that it will not
hesitate to execute

any who stand in its way.

If you know anything at all
about the Big Four,

I implore you to tell it to us.

You accuse me, monsieur?

There is evidence to suggest,
Madame Olivier,

that one of the members
of the Big Four is a woman,

a French woman.

Gentlemen, I find your
accusations contemptible

and absurd.

You will try
and prevent me if I leave?

No, I can't do that, madam.

You're not under arrest.

You have not heard the last
of this, not by any means.

Mille tonnerres!

We should not have
antagonized her.

It is not yet the time.

"I can't go through with this.
It's all wrong."

Maybe he wasn't referring
to their affair, Poirot.

So, he was killed because
he wanted no more to do

with this organization
so sinister?

Where the hell is this going,
Poirot?

We've got nothing to go on,
nothing.

There must be a link, mon ami,

a connection however abstruse
between these cases,

something that we have missed.

The link's obvious, Poirot.

It's the ruddy Peace Party.

If what Tysoe's mysterious
source told him is true,

then they're exactly
the opposite

of what they claim to be:

fifth columnists working to
start a war, not prevent one.

Poirot must think.

Think.

Assistant Commissioner Japp,
sir.

Poirot, she's gone.

Gone?
Who has gone, mon ami?

Madame Olivier.

She's done a bunk, too,
just like Abe Ryland.

No one's seen hide nor hair
of her

since she left Paynter's place.

And there's something else.

We've had the tests back
from Paynter's body.

He was drugged.

That's why he didn't cry out

when his head
was put in the fire.

The drug was very specific.

Gelsemine.

Gelsemine?

Non.

What is it?

You recall

the scientific researches
of Madame Olivier?

They are concerned principally
with the nervous system.

In small quantities gelsemine
is used to treat the heart.

In large quantities,
it induces paralysis

and immobilization
of the nervous system.

That confirms it.
She's in on it too.

It would appear so.

Such an eventuality,
it is tragic, non?

To think that it is possible
that such a woman...

Never mind that.

We're making progress at last.

We've identified Number Three
of the Big Four.

Oui.

You'll find
everything exactly as it was.

Until you catch the fellow
who done it,

I'm not allowed
to touch a thing.

And there remains no word from
the nephew of Monsieur Whalley?

He does not return
to claim his inheritance?

No.

Not that I'm surprised.

I mean, who'd want to live here
knowing what had happened?

I wish he would show up, though.

There's boxes of junk
just sitting up there.

Madame, you said before
that he and his uncle,

they did not get on?

So I gather.

Before my time, as I say.

And what became of him, madame?

Oh. Lived here 'til he was
in his 20s, I think.

And then...

Maybe he went off
and joined the circus.

Just give me a shout

when you're done.

Merci, madame.

Oh, no, not again.

Just give it to me later, Reg.

They're for you.

How lovely.

"My darling Flossie.

Soon our time will come.

Four kisses."

Huh.

Of course, there's no grace
about the profession these days.

These young actors
and actresses,

they can't project.

They're used to speaking into
a microphone for the wireless

or for the talking pictures.

The profession
can be a very cruel place.

Especially when the first bloom
of youth has gone.

Mmm.

Do you go to the theater,
Mr. Poirot?

Yes, indeed.

Well, then,
you must have seen me.

I got wonderful reviews
for my Eliza Doolittle.

"A confident and dazzling
Miss Flossie Monro."

- No... no.
- No?

Well, I did "The Importance
Of Being Earnest"

at the Vaudeville in '26.

I had a great success with that.

No.
Perhaps something more recent.

More recent.

Well, let me think.

I was at the Duke of York's
a few years ago

in "Share My Cab," but...

Oh, yes, indeed.
This Poirot did see.

What did you play?

The accordion.

For some years
you appeared

in a repertory theater
company, madame.

'Moiselle.

Pardon, mademoiselle.

The Methuselah Players.

Yes! How on earth
do you know about that?

Oh!
They were happy times.

I have been speaking to some
of your fellow actors

and they tell to me
that this company,

it closed down not long
after that season.

Yes, such a shame.

Oh, thank you.
Thank you.

Mmm.

Merci.

Does the name Albert Whalley
mean anything to you?

Whalley?

No, no, I don't think so.

Why, should it?

No, it appears that he was
a member of the audience

very devoted
to the Methuselah company.

In fact,
he collected mementos

from the repertory season
in 1924.

Oh, a fan, was he?
Oh.

Well, really, Mr. Poirot,

you can't expect me to remember
all my admirers

over all these years.

- Non, mademoiselle?
- No.

I mean, for instance,
only this past few weeks

I've been sent all sorts
of things.

Cards, flowers, champagne.

All from an anonymous admirer.

- Vraiment?
- Mmm!

This arrived
just the other day.

A valentine

in April?

Yes, I thought
it was queer, too.

But you know what some of these
fans can be like.

You permit Poirot to see?

Oh.

Merci, mademoiselle.

Ah.

"Until we meet again."

Mmm.

Hercule Poirot speaks.

Oui, monsieur, an interview,
it is possible.

Bon.
What is your address, monsieur?

What a difference
a few weeks make.

Quite, sir.

I sent away that journalist
fellow with a flea in his ear,

and now it seems
he was right after all.

Bulldog Drummond come to life.

And the best of men
lies dead.

Monsieur Poirot
was a brilliant man.

Lord knows we could do with more
like him at this moment.

Is there any hope
for peace, sir?

This Big Four business

has the entire international
community on edge.

Do you have anything concrete
to go on, sir?

Nothing.

Li Chang Yen
has put out a statement

denying any knowledge
of the Big Four.

Well, he would, wouldn't he?

And Ryland and Madame Olivier

are still nowhere to be seen.

What about Number Four?

Indeed.

How does one track down
Death himself?

Poirot knew.

If only we could find out
what knowledge he took with him

to his grave.

He always liked things
just so, didn't he?

Quite.

He was on to something,
wasn't he?

He had to be.

I only wish I knew what.

I've been so wrapped up
with all these new leads

that have been coming in.

Poirot seemed quite content

to go off and pursue things
on his own.

I suppose
he must have grown

quite used to that.

Yes, I suppose so.

One thing we know for certain.

He was getting too close
to the Big Four,

so they eliminated him.

Yes.

Well?

"Well"?

Well, hang it all, Japp.

- What are we going to do next?
- Eh?

We can't let Poirot
die in vain.

We've got to stop them.

Now, hang on, Captain Hastings.

We can't be faint-hearted now,
man.

Are you with me or not?

For Poirot's sake, together
we have to stop the Big Four!

Listen, these people
mean business.

They'll stop at nothing.

If even Poirot
couldn't stop them...

Good Lord, man.

I never thought I'd hear
such conchie talk from you.

Well, if you won't do anything
to stop these brutes,

then I certainly will.

And I'll leave
no stone unturned.

Good day!

So...

what do I do now, old chap?

Good old Hastings.

Old soldiers
never die, Mr. Japp.

Sir.

Yes, George?
What is it?

A telegram has arrived
for you, sir.

For me?

Hello?

Anybody here?

Oh.

It's...

It's Miss Monro.

I've come for the audition.

It's funny, I was just talking
about this place

to someone the other day.

Strange to be back here
after all this time.

I'm not late, am I?

Your letter did say 4:00.

Hello?

Help...

Help me.

Please.

What's going on?

What do you want with me?

Welcome, Miss Monro.

Welcome to the lair
of the Big Four.

Oh, my God.

You've heard of us.

How gratifying.

Talk to me, Miss Monro.

Tell me all you know

about the Big Four.

I don't understand.

Why...

Waiting, Miss Monro.

You wouldn't want to disappoint
me, would you?

I only know what I've seen
in the papers.

What have you read
in the papers?

Well... it's all run from China,
isn't it?

Number One.

Go on.

Um...

then there's that American
with all the money.

Number Two.

Continue.

Please, I...

Continue!

The French woman.
Um...

Madame...

Madame Olivier.

Number Three.

And Number Four.

Tell me what you know
of Number Four.

Nobody knows, do they?

Are you Number Four?

Think back, my darling.

It has been some time.

Do I...

know you?

All my gifts,

the cards, the roses, they
didn't bring back any memories?

You're my admirer?

You're...

you're my fan?

Think, Flossie.

Think back to that season
at this old theater.

15 years ago.

We performed together

on this very stage.

Claud.

Claud Darrell?

It's...

Is it really you?

It is, my love.

Well, what's this
all about, Claud?

I mean...
It's just a joke.

It's just a silly joke.

No, my dear.
It's serious!

Deadly serious!

I adore you, Flossie.

Don't you realize that?

I'd do anything for you.

I've done so much already.

All for you.

Do you remember what you
said to me on that day?

What day?
It was years ago, years.

I can never forget it, you know?

I asked you if I could take you
out to dinner and you said...

Oh, Claudie.

Don't be so ridiculous.

As if I could fancy
someone like you.

You're such a funny little
shrimp, aren't you?

No, I deserve
the best, Claudie.

Someone who's going to make
something of himself.

Someone the whole world
will remember.

Someone the whole world
would remember.

But I was young, wasn't I?

I mean, I was young and foolish
and full of myself.

Yeah, well, the whole world
will remember me now,

won't they?!

The whole world
will remember the Big Four.

Li Chang Yen, Abe Ryland,
Regine Olivier and me.

Claud Darrell.

Number Four.

The Destroyer.

Death himself.

You mean...
you've done all of this,

all of this...

just for me?

Tell me you love me, Flossie.

Tell me you love me.

Tell me.

I think you're the most
remarkable man...

I've ever met.

Let me take you away from here.

Just...

Just one thing

to take care of first.

I think not, monsieur.

Oui, monsieur.

Despite the best efforts
of the Big Four, Hercule Poirot,

he lives.

You're dead.

Dead and buried.

Non.

It was all smoke and mirrors.

Is that not the expression?

But now it is time
to bring down the curtain

on the Big Four.

I rather think
that'll be my decision.

All right, son, the game's up.

You've pulled off

some stunts in your time,
Poirot,

but this beats them all.

I should say.

I have much to explain
to you, mes amis,

but first, if you please,
mademoiselle.

Flossie.

Flossie.

Come on.

I think you'd better
sit down, sir.

What about these two?

Shouldn't we do something

in case they...

What's the matter with them?

One moment, mon ami.

What a pass in which
we find ourselves.

The world stands on the brink
of a conflict most terrible.

And what do we discover
is behind it all,

fomenting suspicion on a scale
that is global?

A cabal most terrifying.

Puppet masters who threaten

to plunge the world into war.

And yet, and yet...

What was the first reaction
of anyone who was told

of the Big Four?

That it was like something from
a storybook, n'est-ce pas?

Bulldog Drummond.

Precisement, Monsieur Tysoe,

precisement.

Because that is all it is,

mes amis.

Mere theater.

The Big Four are not real.

Non.

They exist

only in the crazed imagination
of one man.

That's not possible.

A man who would plunge the world

into chaos because
of a passion

that is unrequited.

Albert Whalley,

who was later to take on
the stage name

of Claud Darrell,

and who for the past few months

has been masquerading

as Dr. Quentin.

But what about Li Chang Yen?

And these two?

Li Chang Yen is as innocent
as he claims.

And these poor unfortunate souls

are merely pawns in the game,

kidnapped and kept here,

their disappearances
orchestrated

to throw suspicion onto them.

But why don't they say anything?

Because they are
drugged, mon ami.

Drugged with gelsemine.

Good grief.

Oui.

The same drug that was used

to anaesthetize Stephen Paynter
before he was killed.

They are fully conscious,

but their physical paralysis,

it is complete.

But mercifully, it would
appear in this case,

the effect, it is only
temporary, mon ami.

Everyone believed it,
though, didn't they,

the Big Four?

Fleet Street,

the police,
the great British public.

Oui, monsieur,

for some time even
Hercule Poirot was taken in

by your charade so deadly.

With your help, of course,
Mr. Tysoe.

What?

I just had to wind you up
like a clockwork toy

and off you went.

You and your little newspaper.

Spreading fear,

confusion, hate.

An emotional soup,

pulsing.

You really have been a most
useful ally.

But my informer?

The letters?

The playing cards?

All sent from Monsieur Darrell.

So, the fella who turned up
with a knife in his back?

In reality a tramp

dressed in a theatrical costume,

the clues of the playing cards
planted upon him.

Reality, Monsieur Poirot?

Who is to say

where fantasy ends
and reality begins?

Well, let us speak
of beginnings, monsieur!

Act One of a drama
so very strange.

Albert Whalley.

A boy,

an orphan,

poor and unloved...

who was sent away to live
with his uncle

who was cold and aloof.

Albert Whalley is a name
I haven't used in years.

Non, but an uncle
who disapproved

of your fantasies
and your desire

to tread the boards.

All those years of listening
to that old fool.

Going on about
his precious Chinaman,

Li Chang Yen.

I began to see
possibilities.

Oui.

But then you had the task
most difficult, non?

To worm your way

into the confidences
of the members

of the Peace Party.

Child's play.

I forged my references

and quietly took up my position
as Dr. Quentin.

Paynter's condition is not
really very difficult

to research.

I'm an actor, Monsieur Poirot,

and a bloody good one.

Oh, yes, indeed, monsieur,
your ability to blend in,

to pass yourself off
in all manner of disguises,

which has proven so useful.

You have the genius
of the character actor.

Grazie.

Help!

No!

No!

Mr. Tysoe!

Uh!

Savaranoff was killed
to implicate Abe Ryland.

Your uncle died to throw
suspicion onto Li Chang Yen.

And Stephen Paynter,
who was innocent,

murdered to incriminate
Madame Olivier.

He was a weak fool.

His weakness was his conscience.

I merely persuaded him

that it wasn't decent for them

to continue
their silly love affair.

That's all it was, then?

Diana Paynter overheard him
ending the affair?

It had nothing
to do with the Big Four?

Indeed so, mon ami.

But why?

In God's name, what the hell
was it all for?

For me.

Wasn't it, Mr. Poirot?

Oui, mademoiselle.

For the woman who spurned him
all those years ago.

For therein lies your tragedy,
Monsieur Darrell.

The very gift that could have

turned you into
the actor supreme

makes you forgettable.

The man who blends in.

The man whose name nobody

ever can quite remember.

The man who...
disappears.

Albert Whalley, Claud Darrell,

Dr. Quentin, Number Four.

Whatever you choose
to call yourself, monsieur,

you adore the flourish
that is theatrical.

You've got a nerve.

Comment?

All this.

You'd already
worked out where I was.

You could have sent the police
to arrest me at any time.

But instead you wanted
your grand finale,

show everyone
just how clever you've been!

Oh, we're more alike

than you think, Poirot.

Sit down!

Nobody moves!

Don't be a fool,

Darrell.

You'll never get away.

My men are surrounding
the building.

If Flossie won't have me,

then we're
all going to go out

in a blaze of glory.

Oh, my God.

Poirot,

we've got to get everybody
out of here.

One minute.

One minute...

before I...

bring down the final curtain

on the Big Four.

Poirot.

You will not do it, monsieur.

To do all this

for the love

of one woman.

You will not send her to
her grave, Albert Whalley.

You cannot.

It's all right.

It's all right, son.

It's all right.

You've spoilt everything!

You've spoilt it all,

you insufferable little man!

But I am Number Four,
do you hear me?!

The Destroyer.

Death itself.

Ah!

He's dead.

Good afternoon, gentlemen.

It is a source of great relief
that after our terrible ordeal

we are able to clear

not only our own reputations
but that of the party as well.

Indeed.

Li Chang Yen wants to reassure
every civilized nation

that we will continue
to strive for world peace.

The Big Four has
proved to be a fiction,

but still we stand

on a precipice.

The situation
remains grim,

but if war does come,

the powers of light
will be united as one.

I will have to eat
some humble pie,

naturally.

But I do have the exclusive
story of Number Four to write,

so that's some consolation.

Thanks for the opportunity
to be in at the end,

Mr. Poirot.

I hope you've learned
your lesson, mate.

Check your facts
before you print.

Incidentally, how did
you work it all out?

Oh, it occurred to Poirot
for some time that this case

had the flavor of the theater.

And the label of the costumier,
Max Berman & Sons,

was the first mistake
of Monsieur Claud Darrell.

His scrapbook led me towards
Mademoiselle Monro.

Of course, naturellement,

he kept his eye
most closely upon her,

but when she met with me,
Hercule Poirot, he panicked.

Hercule Poirot speaks.

I understand you've
been trying to contact me.

My name is Claud Darrell.

Yes, indeed, monsieur,
in connection with your time

at the Methuselah Theatre.

An interview, it is possible?

Certainly.
I can spare you

a moment or two
later on this afternoon.

Bon.
What is your address, monsieur?

Flat A, 41 Wilberforce Road,
Islington.

At what hour?

Shall we say 4:00?

Parfait.
Au revoir.

But I hoped that even
if for one moment

Monsieur Claud Darrell
could believe

that his plan had succeeded,
then the subsequent realization

of his failure would
be all the more devastating.

And Hercule Poirot,
he was proved correct.

I still can't quite believe
I managed to do it,

convince him

I was in love with him.

I warned Mademoiselle Monro

that she would need courage

and that it might prove
to be most dangerous.

But when the moment, it came

that Claud Darrell were to
make contact with her again,

as I knew that he would,
we must be ready, oui?

It was the performance
of a lifetime, mademoiselle.

I had a wonderful director,
Mr. Poirot.

Merci.

Well, delightful
as this all is,

I need to get on
and write my column.

I don't suppose you'd be
interested in giving me

an exclusive interview,
would you?

"The woman who stole the heart
of Number Four"?

Oh, perhaps.

Maybe we could
discuss it further,

over lunch.

Don't mind if I do.

The performance of a lifetime

certainly gives a girl
an appetite.

So, where do you fancy?

Simpson's is lovely.
I've not been there for a while.

Or we could go dancing.

Mes amis?

Well, Poirot, we're...

we're pleased,
you know, that...

you're not, you know, dead.

Of course, we are, but...

But why did you go through
with this horrid charade,

making us believe
you'd been killed?

But it was vital, Miss Lemon,

vital that
you should believe it.

It was necessary for Poirot
to disappear,

because in this way,
the guard of Number Four,

it would be dropped.

George?

I'm sure you had the best
intentions, sir.

No man is a hero
to his valet.

Can you ever forgive me,
mes amis?

It was all for the best...

I suppose.

But you know this affair
of the Big Four,

it has done some other good.

Has it not reunited me
with all my oldest friends?

Almost all.

Because where is Hastings?

Where is Captain Hastings?

Well, there's been no sign
of him

since he charged off,
I'm afraid.

Surely he must have heard
the news by now.

Good Lord!

Poirot!

I thought you were dead.

Mon ami, Hastings.

Mon ami, mon ami.

It is the most
extraordinary thing.

I was only saying...