Original subtitles

Welcome, Sir George, Lady Stubbs.

Good evening, Sir George.

Good evening.

I'm so thankful you're here, at last.

A shocking night. Hattie should get

straight to bed, or she'll catch a chill.

Come along, my dear.

Come at once Nasse House Devon.

Need help urgent.

Ariadne Oliver.

You been here before, sir?

Non.

Take the scenic route along the river, shall I?

Non, merci.

Afternoon, ladies.

You don't mind, do you, sir? Foreigners, see?

Can't read a map.

Buongiorno.

Mademoiselle.

Thank you. It is most kind, please.

Grazie.

Miles, yet, to the youth hostel. - Oh, her is not speak English.

We meet first time this morning on the platform at Exeter

and, now, we are big friends.

We explore Devon together.

I could show you a few beauty spots, if you like.

Tsk.

The hostel's that way.

Don't cross

Sir George's land, though. He don't like it.

Grazie mille.

Thank you, Stan.

If you please, may we hurry?

Welcome to Nasse, monsieur.

I believe

Mrs. Oliver to be down

by the battery, sir, that way.

Help! Help! Someone, quick!

Help! Help!

Help! Help!

Someone, quick! - Oh!

Oh, hello, Poirot.

What is wrong, madame?

Nothing's wrong.

I just wanted to see if someone would come.

How loudly one might have to shout.

These woods are frightfully dense.

I thought you were in danger!

Certainly not.

How are you, Poirot?

Un peu énervé,

chère madame.

You telegrammed to me that you need help and,

for this reason, I come by the express from London!

Well.

I do need help.

I'm most awfully worried.

There are some very strange people here.

Very strange, indeed.

They're holding a fête tomorrow

and they thought they'd have a treasure hunt.

Then, they thought no, that's been done to death,

so they thought they'd have a murder hunt, instead,

and they offered me a tidy sum

to come and dream it up.

Well, anything's better than writing,

so I've been busily inventing motives

and suspects and victims, and so forth,

and it costs a bob to enter and all you get for that

- is the first clue. - Good fun.

Madame, Poirot, he is arrived to Devon, mais pourquoi?

Because there's something amiss.

I think someone's going to die.

If there were to be a real murder tomorrow,

instead of a fake one,

I shouldn't be in the least surprised.

Whose idea was it, this murder hunt?

The Warburtons, I think.

The owners of the property?

No, no, that's Sir George Stubbs.

Awfully rich and awfully common.

Bought the place a year or so ago,

along with his wife, who's outrageously beautiful,

but as dumb as a fish.

The corpse will be in here.

Sally Legge was going to do it, but, now, they want her

to dress up in a turban and tell fortunes,

so it's a Girl Guide

called Marlene Tucker.

Hideous child!

Just has to sit here and read comics...

I've written a clue on one of them...

and flop down, when she hears someone coming,

with this around her neck.

Hello. I've brought lemonade.

Oh, that is most kind, Miss Brewis.

Good afternoon, sir. - Mademoiselle.

Lady Stubbs must be rushed off her feet,

with all the preparations.

Do thank her for the drinks.

Lady Stubbs has one of her headaches.

She's not yet up.

I've planned every detail

and it all dovetails nicely,

but things keep changing.

The fortune-telling's a good example.

I feel I'm being jockeyed along.

"Jockeyed along"?

Manipulated.

So someone is making the suggestions?

Writers can't stand suggestions.

If you suggest something, we do exactly the opposite.

But I am being jockeyed along.

And I can't figure out how.

To tell the truth, I'm worried.

Perhaps the big suggestion, it is put,

to which you, of course, say non,

because it is preposterous,

but, then, an idea most trivial

may be found to have been smuggled in?

Yes, yes, something like that, yes.

Who is making these alterations?

Different people. It would be easier

if it were just one, wouldn't it?

And you have told to them that Hercule Poirot, he is coming?

Yes, I said you'd be giving away the prizes

for the murder hunt. Everyone's thrilled.

Mrs. Oliver!

Hang on! I'll walk up with you!

All safe, sir.

That's Michael Weyman,

an architect.

I'm meant to be designing a tennis pavilion.

Do you know what he's asked for?

A Chinese pagoda.

Selfmade men:

stinking with money,

but with no taste, whatsoever.

For instance, look at this.

It's quite nice, of its kind,

well in keeping with the house.

But these things are meant to be...

What's the phrase?

situated on an eminence.

Ha! And here's this poor little devil,

tucked away in the woods.

Perhaps there wasn't anywhere else.

What about the grassy bank by the house?

It's perfect, but, no.

A tree comes down in a gale.

"Right," says the selfmade twerp,

"We'll put the folly there. Tidy up the place."

Look, it's only on a yard of concrete,

subsiding already.

These people are extraordinary.

Ah, that's Amy Folliat.

Her people owned Nasse, originally.

Then, she lost both her sons and had to sell up.

And, yet, she lives here, still?

Precisely. Odd, or what?

Is this the great

M. Poirot?

Enchanté, Mme. Folliat.

It is kind of you to help out with our prizes.

This clever lady has contrived

a most intricate problem.

I have been admiring the house.

I thank you.

It was built by my husband's great-grandfather.

There was an Elizabethan manor, before,

but it burnt down.

It must be hard for you,

to have strangers living in residence now.

Well, so many things are hard, monsieur.

Now,

if you'll excuse me,

I'll see if they have your room ready.

What do you think?

Comment?

It is only one instant since I have arrived!

Well, I've been here 3 days

and, every time someone says something,

I get the strongest impression they're lying.

My intuition tells me something is wrong.

Ah, la.

I'm well aware you think me irrational.

Madame, one calls things by different names, hein?

It may indeed be that you have seen something;

it may indeed be that you have heard something.

And it may be... if I may so put it...

that you do not know what it is that you know.

You are aware only of the result

and that, madame, it is your intuition.

Whatever it is,

I feel certain someone is going to die.

We must do something about it.

Poirot, is it? - Oui.

Welcome.

Welcome, old man. - Merci, monsieur.

Yes. George Stubbs. - Ah.

It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm delighted you could come!

Ah, yes.

Let me introduce you to some people.

The fortune-telling:

over by the magnolia, or at the far end

of the lawn, by the rhododendrons?

What do you think? - By the magnolia.

My tent can't go by the magnolia;

it will cause a bottleneck. - Rubbish!

Down at the end, please, Captain.

What about the coconut shy?

Yes, not too near the house, Jim.

I've just replaced the windows.

Fair point.

Now, may I introduce famous gent

Hercule Poirot.

Yes, indeed, M. Poirot.

Captain and Mrs. Warburton.

Hello, there. - Captain.

Delighted. - Madame.

Yes, and Alec and Sally Legge.

Monsieur.

Madame.

We'll find you a job later on.

Watch out, Poirot.

Sally can make a man do anything, what?

So, come and meet the wife.

Excuse me.

Hattie.

This is Mr. Poirot. He's our guest.

Madame.

You chat nicely while I go

and locate some coconuts. - Bon.

Right.

Do you mind if I sit down, madame?

So much walking!

Have a seat. - Merci.

Hmm, it's pretty, isn't it? - Tres jolie.

It's an emerald.

George gave it to me.

He gives me lots of things. He...

Devonshire is a county most pleasant, n'est-ce pas?

It is when it isn't raining, but there aren't any nightclubs.

Ah, bon, you like the nightclub?

Oh, yes.

I love music and dancing and champagne

and wearing my nicest clothes and all my jewels.

It's best to be rich, isn't it?

Perhaps if I was not rich, I should look like her.

Imagine.

Tea, my lady.

Tea is stupid.

Perhaps our guest would like some, Hattie.

Shall I be Mother?

Is it going to be like Ascot tomorrow?

I can wear a very big hat.

Not quite like Ascot, dear.

There's so much to do.

You really should be helping out,

instead of staying in bed 'til after lunch.

I've got a new dress. Come and see.

We're just having a cup of tea.

No, come with me! Come now! - Oh, very well.

Please excuse us.

Tsk. You really must try

to be more polite. - Yes, yes.

Beautiful creature, isn't she?

Oui.

See that ring George bought her?

Whether he spotted she's away with the fairies,

I couldn't say,

but, then, he's hardly an intellectual himself, is he?

Sir George is inside the stocks and shares, I believe.

Yes. Not exactly a gentleman's game, what?

But, still, you are the friends?

Good grief, no choice.

Not with an election coming up.

Jim,

you've got to settle this. We agreed my tent should be

at the far end, by the rhododendrons;

it's the only place.

My wife doesn't think so.

You're the member of Parliament.

Show her who's boss.

Are you out of your mind?

All right,

I'll see what I can do.

Have you seen Amy Folliat?

I believe that Mme. Folliat is inside with the Lady Stubbs.

She seems to be most solicitous towards her.

Ah, yes, well, she was Hattie's guardian.

Before I walked her up the aisle, of course.

Her people were in sugar in the Caribbean,

but there was a typhus epidemic

and both her mother and her father lost their lives.

Rotten bloody luck, actually,

but Amy Folliat was a friend of the family

and took young Hattie under the wing.

Oh, that is commendable.

She's a damn good egg, actually.

Ah, Amanda, there you are.

I want you to go and order some wire fencing,

straightaway, please. - I don't think you're allowed

to pen people in the tea tent, sir.

Not the tea tent, dear, no no no.

Over there, in the woods, where they're coming through.

They just keep wandering in. - Who are?

Trespassers! Foreigners,

cutting through,

you see, Poirot, through to the ferry.

Girls in little, short trousers.

Ah, oui, d'accord. The trousers of the girls are...

Exactly.

I have a gentleman on the telephone with coconuts.

Right, the coconuts, yes.

Right, so, how many has he got? - As many as you like, sir.

Look at them all, buzzing around.

Busy, busy bees.

World's going to pot and they're holding

a garden party.

Une fête de jardin?

But that is an activity honored by time, monsieur.

The apathy of these people.

They're all feeble-minded.

Do you know what I should like to see done in this country?

I'd like to see every feeble-minded person put out.

Don't let them breed.

Finish them off, all the simpletons.

How would you do that, M. Legge?

Oh, I'm a chemist.

I could do it easily.

Any theories?

Everybody seems to me to be completely normal.

Are you trying to be amusing?

Perhaps that is not the right word.

Lady Stubbs, it appears,

is subnormal; Alec Legge, abnormal.

Oh, he's all right. He's just having a nervous breakdown.

But everyone seems in a state of agitation,

which, I believe, is characteristic

of the preparations for a fête, in England.

Mrs. Oliver,

your corpse is here.

Ah, hello, Marlene.

A Guide is honest, reliable, and can be trusted.

Can you come

and have a look at her costume? - Yes.

I was going to be stabbed.

Now, she says, I'm gonna be strangled!

That's not fair.

This gentleman knows all about murder.

Why don't you ask him?

Seen a lot of killin's, have you?

One or two, mademoiselle, oui.

Any sex maniacs?

I like sex maniacs. I've read about them.

I do not think you would like to meet one.

If someone leaves a woman's body in the woods,

with no clothes on, dead, like,

he's liable to be a sex maniac, in't he?

That would be an assumption most reasonable, oui.

That's what my granddad said,

but he's daft, so no one believes him.

Ah. - Marlene,

come and try your costume.

Bollocks!

Hattie!

Hattie!

Hattie, come back!

You're completely mad!

Hattie!

You permit, madame?

Oh.

I'm so sorry Hattie dragged me off earlier.

It was rude of her.

Lady Stubbs is a little... comment en dit...

capricious?

Hattie is a dear, good child.

Ah?

I know her very well, you see.

Because she was once your ward.

My husband died in Flanders.

My elder son was killed on active service

against the Pashtun

and, to cap a sorry tale,

my... younger son

took up aviation

and crashed,

trying to break the record to Nairobi.

Oh!

That meant three lots of death duties.

Well,

Nasse had to be sold.

I was very unhappy and I was glad

of the distraction of having a young person to look after.

For a time, we lived in Paris.

My, we had fun.

I became very fond of Hattie.

All the more so, when I realized

that she was not terribly...

capable.

Thank heaven there was no money to speak of.

Had she been an heiress, I dread to think

how vulnerable she might have been,

but her father died bankrupt

and we felt ourselves fortunate

when George Stubbs came along.

It was most fortunate, indeed.

George Stubbs is a good man.

Oh, I know he's a complete vulgarian,

but he is fundamentally decent.

Ah, oui, I think that you have made the arrangement

most prudent, madame.

I am not like the English, a romantic about these matters.

Et voici, here you are, still at Nasse House, hmm.

Sir George lets me live in the lodge

and I count myself very lucky.

Indeed, you have found for yourself

a haven most peaceful, madame.

A haven from the storm, yes.

The world is a wicked place, M. Poirot.

There are very wicked people in it.

Hmm. Thank you.

What do you want me to put on this poster,

"Madame Zuleika" or "Romany Leigh, Gypsy Queen"?

No one likes Gypsies, round here.

Better make it "Madame Zuleika".

With a snake around her neck.

Snake in the grass.

I had a snake, once,

but it swallowed the rabbit.

Had to chop it up.

Quite good fun.

Do you still paint, Michael, like you used to?

Sold out, Sally.

30 pieces of silver.

Everyone has to earn a living, what?

What, in Parliament, Jim?

That's not really an honest living, now, is it?

What? - Waste of time, Parliament.

Don't be such a rotten old sulk.

Why, Alec has a point. What do you think, Mrs. Oliver,

should all politicians be eliminated?

Eliminated?

I don't know.

They make ever such good suspects, as a rule.

They certainly do.

I mean, just look at my husband.

You couldn't get more shifty, if you tried.

Excuse me. I'm going to bed.

Hattie? - I feel strange.

Darling.

Darling, we're at dinner!

What?

Oh, Lady Stubbs has gone early to bed?

Malheureusement, oui.

She suffers, perhaps, from the mental confusion?

Oh, no.

She knows exactly what she's doing.

What do you think?

I think, madame,

that I take the little walk.

Monsieur.

Do you want the ferry, sir?

Oh, non. Non, merci.

I stay at Nasse.

Oh!

'Tis up at Nasse, you are?

Oui.

I worked for the Folliats many a year.

A lot of them left of course, except old Mum,

up at the lodge. Met her, have 'ee?

Mme. Folliat? Oui.

Bad luck, her's had.

Trouble with her husband, trouble with her sons.

They were all right when they was boys,

always down here, crabbin'; but, when they grows up, phew.

Master Henry, he died for his country, fair dos,

but Master James?

He was wild!

One of they as couldn't go straight.

By, he was vexin', Master James.

Aeroplanes, flyin'.

That's no way to die. - Non.

No, indeed.

Ah, what is your opinion of Sir George?

Pardon, Monsieur...?

John Merdell.

M. Merdell.

Oh, non. Non, merci.

Gentleman be powerful rich.

Wife's a fine lady from London.

Ah, I remember the night they arrived.

Worst gale we ever had.

Big tree down in the woods, made a rare mess.

Where the folly, it now stands?

Ah. Damn silly place for it, too.

Never happen in t'squire's day. London nonsense.

It is sad, is it not, that the time

for the Folliat family, it is finished?

Always be Folliats at Nasse.

Monsieur?

Old Mum still be here, bain't she?

G'night, sir.

Bonne nuit.

Now, ahem,

here are some new ideas for the pagoda.

What do you think?

See? - Hmm.

Ohh!

Oh, no!

What is it, darling?

It's from my cousin Etienne. He's coming here!

He's coming in his yacht!

Oh.

No! - Oh, may I see?

Who is this Etienne De Souza? - A distant cousin.

He says he's coming here today! - Well, it's a pity

he's dropping by on the afternoon of the fête,

but never mind;

we shall make him welcome. - No, we can't!

We can. - Ohh, I need to lie down!

I have a headache! - Hattie, dear.

Take some aspirin and, then, it will go away.

Shall I bring you some? - No!

Sweetheart! Excuse me.

Oh, Hattie, darling. - I don't want to see Etienne!

I don't like him! He's wicked!

He does bad things!

No no no, it's going near the center,

Rogers.

No, Rogers,

put the urn on the left! - Righto, ma'am.

The left! - Oh, the left.

Oh! Hello, Poirot.

Ah!

Bonjour, madame. What a beautiful day.

Yes.

And isn't it nice, to have Nasse lived in again?

We were all so afraid it would become an hotel.

So many houses have.

"AA 3 stars", and what have you. Ghastly!

I must say,

George Stubbs has done wonders for the place.

He's got good blood in him, somewhere.

Father a gent and mother a barmaid, that's my guess.

I see she got her way with the fortune teller's tent.

No no no no!

No, you're trespassing!

You can't come through here! Do you understand?!

The youth hostel is that way!

This is private land!

Hop it! This won't do!

Poirot.

Might I meet you in the study?

What's that, Hattie?

Yes, I'll shut it.

Well, I put a padlock on the gate,

but they come through the wood.

They don't seem to understand a word I'm talking about.

They just jabber on in Dutch or French, or whatever.

One of them was, I think, Italian.

Well, precisely, yes: foreign.

Poirot,

will you answer me a question,

with the benefit of all your experience?

Most certainly, monsieur. I will try.

Is Michael Weyman after my wife?

Monsieur?

Well, she's behaving damn oddly:

all these headaches and this constant lying down,

and, every time I look at her,

there's Michael bloody Weyman,

hovering nearby.

Sorry, I'm just being

pathetic, but...

if you should see her getting up to anything...

I mean, anything at all...

you will let me know?

You look ridiculous.

Hurry up!

Everybody, this way! Come along!

Gather round, please.

Now, I declare the garden fête open!

Bravo!

Madame, let us separate.

We shall watch with the peeled eye.

Take thee a ride!

Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Hopper!

This is just like old times.

Isn't it the greatest success?

I've restocked with floribundas.

Just one small bomb would do it.

What about you, ladies?

Would you like to have a go?

Here, sir. You look lucky.

It's for charity, sir.

Children's fancy dress!

Form up, please.

All the pirates!

You've won! Well done. Congratulations, sir.

Here's the first clue.

It's a photograph.

Work out what it is

and you'll get the second clue.

Good luck!

I see you're enjoying yourself.

It is most horrible, is it not?

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new champion.

Little girl, un petit cadeau pour toi, hein?

Thank you. - Anything?

Non.

As far as I can tell, they're all just enjoying themselves,

which is a little galling.

How are you? Good to see you.

Bonjour, mademoiselle.

You come also to the fête? - Oh, it is so fun!

My friend comes later

and, then, we go by bus to Torquay.

You remember my friend?

Oui. I saw her this morning. - Oh, yes.

The man was rude! Now, he is polite.

Ha!

Raffle tickets! Raffle tickets!

Mlle. Brewis.

Someone's made a speedy recovery.

Oh, look, some ice cream!

Madame.

That which you wear on your head,

it is a creation most beautiful!

Like something from the Royal Ascot, n'est-ce pas?

You will make a long journey,

Possibly by train.

I see a luxurious train

and great riches will be yours

at the end of your quest.

La!

Mme. Oliver told to me that, originally,

you were to be the victim,

but that you had been snatched from her by the occult.

I wish I was the body.

Oh, this is exhausting!

Is it 4:00 yet?

I want my tea.

What do you think?

Je crois que vous avez raison.

There is something that is uncomfortable.

Yes, and a murder hunt would be awfully convenient,

if you wanted to conceal a murder! Wouldn't it?

But a murder, madame, requires a victim,

so who is this victim?

This is what we must discover.

I say, seen Lady Stubbs?

She's meant to be judging the fancy-dress.

Non.

What's the woman playing at?

I shall have to get someone else.

Has anyone seen

Lady Stubbs?!

Sally.

Thank you.

Excuse me!

Is this the house of Sir George Stubbs?

Oui, d'accord.

I am Etienne De Souza.

Ah! Enchanté, monsieur!

I am Hercule Poirot.

De Souza, is it?!

George Stubbs. - Good day to you.

Yes, a jolly busy one, actually.

You know, welcome to Nasse and delighted,

delighted to meet you.

My cousin Hattie is here?

Yes, yes. Yes, she is.

You will dine with us this evening, I hope.

Can we put you up?

I will sleep on my yacht, the Esperance.

Now, where the devil is my wife?

You hang on here

and I'll be straight back.

So it is some time

since last you saw your cousin?

I have not seen her since she was 14 years old.

Ah.

Then, her parents suddenly died

and she was sent abroad.

As a child, she promised to have good looks.

She is a woman most beautiful, monsieur.

And...

that is her husband?

Oui.

Lady Stubbs! Have you seen Lady Stubbs?

Have you seen my wife, Lady Stubbs?

Has anyone seen Lady Stubbs?

You haven't seen Lady Stubbs, have you?

Big hat and the sunglasses.

She seems to have completely disappeared.

I feel certain that someone

is going to die.

Lady Stubbs? No?

I saw her last...

The world is

a wicked place, M. Poirot.

Have you seen Lady Stubbs? Hattie!

- Have you seen Lady Stubbs?! - Lady Stubbs!

Lady Stubbs... you haven't seen her, have you?

We don't know where she is.

Lady Stubbs, she has disappeared.

They look everywhere. She is gone.

Where can she be?

Anyone think of the boathouse?

Bon.

Hattie!

It's locked, to make sure

nobody finds the body by accident.

It's rather brilliant, don't you think?

Marlene! It's Mrs Oliver.

I'm coming in.

Marlene, you can get up. It's only me.

Marlene?

Marlene?

That which you have feared has happened, madame.

Elle est morte.

Well, you don't mean...

You don't mean... oh!

Marlene!

Marlene Tucker, local girl.

- Lift. - I got it.

Garrotted with a length of rope.

Doctor says she's still warm,

dead no more than an hour.

So the killer isn't far away.

I daresay.

But who'd want to murder a 14-year-old child?

"Johnny goes with Kate".

"Georgie pinches hikers in the wood".

Sir George Stubbs.

I'll need a room, sir, and I'll want to question

both yourself and Lady Stubbs, I'm afraid.

Yes, of course, but my wife seems

to have disappeared from view.

We'll find her, eventually,

but I doubt she'll be much help.

I feel

awful.

Put that in capital letters: AWFUL!

Because, you see, it's my murder.

I organized it.

I don't usually drink, but,

Poirot gave me this for the shock.

Did you say "Poirot"?

I don't suppose you remember me, M. Poirot.

Most assuredly.

It is the young Sgt Bland, whom I met,

it is now since 14, 15 years, in...

Gloucestershire.

What a memory.

I cannot, for the life of me, remember

why I should ever have wanted the Yugoslavian wife

of a biochemist to be the victim,

and I wasn't expecting a man in a yacht.

What man in a yacht?

He sent a letter to Lady Stubbs and she was frightened.

Frightened of what? - Frightened of him!

And, now, she's disappeared.

Can you tell me anything

about a man and a yacht?

Oui, bien sûr. Etienne De Souza,

the cousin of Lady Stubbs.

Who was afraid of this

Etienne De Souza. Do you know why?

I heard her say he was a bad man.

Oh. Do you think her fear was real?

Ah, if it was not, she is an actress very clever.

You came ashore in a launch at Nassecombe Quay.

Did you see a small, wooden boathouse on your way?

Yes, and, had I known it belonged to Nasse House,

I should have come ashore there, but I didn't.

Did you see any signs of activity?

In the boathouse?

No.

Originally, the part of the victim

was to have been played by Sally Legge,

but, one evening,

Sally told all our fortunes

and she was thought to be strikingly good at it.

Someone suggested one

of the Girl Guides could be the corpse, instead,

so Sally became Madame Zuleika.

Was Marlene Tucker happy to be the victim?

Oh, she was thrilled.

I noticed a plate and a glass.

Yes, she had some jam tarts and a fruit drink.

I took the tray down myself.

Lady Stubbs asked me to.

Right. What time, exactly?

Ooh, let's see.

I'd say about quarter past 4:00.

Where were you between a quarter past 4:00 and 5:00?

How do you pin it down so exactly?

Miss Brewis saw Marlene at 4:15.

Lady Stubbs asked her to take down

some food and drink to the boathouse.

Lady Stubbs asked her to do that?

I hardly think so.

Lady Stubbs's mind revolves entirely around herself.

Marlene could die of malnutrition,

for all she'd care.

At a quarter past 4:00,

Marlene Tucker was alive and well?

Oh, yes.

I called out and she opened the door.

She was fine.

Moronic, but fine.

Do you enjoy working for Sir George?

I can't imagine doing anything else.

Now, you listen here, Bland:

now, you've simply got to do something.

My wife

has been missing for 2 hours!

I am going half-mad with worry.

I've got men looking into it.

We do have a murder to deal with, sir.

Well, let's hope it's not two, then!

This is a murder

investigation,

so would you answer my question, please, sir?

Where were you this afternoon?

I went to the pub across the river.

Working for these lunatics

has driven me to drink.

How well do you know

your cousin?

My second cousin.

I don't know her well.

And, yet, you just thought you'd pay her a surprise visit?

Hardly a surprise visit, Inspector.

I wrote to her 3 weeks ago from Saint-Malo.

I said I hoped to arrive in Nassecombe around about today.

It is hard to be specific on a sailboat.

Did she reply?

To be frank with you, gentlemen,

I don't think Cousin Hattie

has the mental capacity for writing letters,

though I understand she has grown into a lovely woman.

Haven't you seen her?

No, I have not.

Where is she?

She's probably just gone for a walk!

She's a grown woman!

Rather a helpless one, by all accounts.

Yes.

When she wants to be.

Tell me everything you know about Lady Stubbs.

How would you describe her?

I'd describe her as... ornamental.

pretty, but...

useless.

Backward?

"Backward"?

No. Cunning little minx.

She didn't leave by boat.

The road was closed.

I reckon she's still on the property, somewhere, sir.

Why? Nothing to stop her hopping across the fence

and making off across country.

Madam was wearin' "a biascut chiffon dress

with double rouleau straps"... whatever that is...

"a large, red hat; and shoes with 3-inch heels."

I don't think she'll be doing no cross-country run.

Well, she could've changed her clothes.

Her maid says nothing's missin'.

No suitcase packed.

Nothing.

Lady Stubbs!

Lady Stubbs!

Lady Stubbs!

Lady Stubbs!

Lady Stubbs!

Lady Stubbs!

Lady Stubbs!

Hoskins, stand the men down.

Uh-huh, very well, sir.

Inspector Bland.

Poirot, he should have prevented the murder of Marlene Tucker.

The least he can do is to find the killer.

Si vous permettez, I would like to help.

Anything?

No, sir. I'm sorry.

Sir George, there is something I should like to ask you.

Did your wife receive a letter

from Mr. De Souza 3 weeks ago,

saying he was coming to this country?

No, we only heard the man was arriving this morning.

Well, why did she dread seeing him so much?

Well, I'm

blessed if I know. - Monsieur.

Exactly what did she say?

She said

he kills people.

Well, she couldn't actually say

who De Souza was supposed to have killed,

or where or why.

You know, but don't tell me he arrives here off his yacht

and immediately strangles a girl in my boathouse.

It doesn't make any sense. - Sir George,

the door to the boathouse,

it has a Yale lock, oui? - Yes.

So no one may enter without a key?

So, if you permit me to ask:

there are how many keys?

Three.

One was a clue in the murder hunt,

concealed in some foliage at the top of the garden.

The second key was in the possession of Mrs. Oliver.

Where's the third key?

Ah, it's here.

Where

it always is.

Now, do you see what that means?

The only people who could've got into the boathouse were,

firstly, the person who completed the murder hunt

and found the key, which didn't happen;

secondly, Mrs. Oliver,

or someone to whom she gave her key,

which she says didn't happen, and Poirot was with her.

Right. - Or, thirdly,

someone who Marlene herself admitted to the room.

Ah, but that could be anyone

out of 200 or 300 people, couldn't it?

Non, Sir George,

because, when the girl heard someone to approach,

she was to lie down and pretend to be dead.

She was to be discovered by the person

the key.

Therefore the only other people whom she could have admitted

when they called to her from the outside

were those people who had organized this murder hunt.

Yourself, Lady Stubbs, Miss Brewis, Mrs. Oliver.

Who else did Marlene know, Sir George?

Ah, right, um...

Alec and Sally Legge,

Michael Weyman,

the Warburtons,

oh, and Mrs. Folliat.

Sorry.

It is as you said to me yesterday, madame:

a world that is very wicked.

Well, it's true.

This morning, Lady Stubbs,

she also spoke of wickedness.

I shouldn't pay too much attention

to the things Hattie says. - So everyone tells to me.

She has always had the mental age of a child.

As you know, madame, such people

are not always accountable for their actions.

In a fit of rage,

they might even kill. - No!

Hattie was a gentle, warmhearted girl!

She would never have killed anyone,

never!

Then, can you think who might have killed Marlene Tucker?

No, I can't.

What can you tell me about the local people?

Capt Warburton?

He was working hard at the fête all afternoon.

Mrs. Warburton?

Enid Warburton runs the Girl Guides and the gymkhana.

She's clearly beyond reproach.

The Legges, what do you know about them?

They're just holidaying here.

Mme. Legge, she's a lady

most attractive, n'est-ce pas?

Vivacious. - Oui.

Is it possible, do you think, that, at any time,

Sir George Stubbs felt the attractions to Mme. Legge?

Good heavens, no!

Sir George is extremely fond of his wife.

Was it you or Lady Stubbs

who asked Miss Brewis to take jam tarts down

to the girl in the boathouse?

Goodness, all these questions.

I remember Miss Brewis collecting some cakes,

but I don't recall that anyone asked her to do so.

You were serving in the tea tent

between 4:00 and 5:00.

I believe Mrs. Legge came in there at that time

for her tea. - No, she didn't.

Well, she was dressed as Mme. Zuleika, remember?

She never set foot in the tea tent.

Sorry it's so late, Mrs. Legge.

Please, tell me when you last saw Lady Stubbs.

I think when I came out of my tent to go and have tea.

I remember her hat.

Massive, wasn't it?

When did you take your tea?

4:00.

In the tea tent.

Was it crowded?

Yes, awfully.

A coach party from Torquay.

Did you see anyone you knew there?

Not a soul.

Good morning, sir. - Bonjour.

Is there any sign of Lady Stubbs?

No, I do not believe so.

Oh, M. Henden, tell to me, if you please,

for how long a time have you been, here, the butler?

Just over a 12-month, sir.

Ah. Bon. Merci.

There's an invitation from the Lord-Lieutenant of the county.

Mademoiselle.

And Hodgson's written about the state of the milking sheds.

Damn the milking sheds to hell!

Where is my wife?!

Women don't just disappear, do they?!

Utter, utter fool!

What on Earth possessed him to marry her?

Eh bien, it has been a marriage unfortunate?

Disastrous!

All she ever does is spend his money!

Why, this year, alone, she's bought two minks

and a Russian ermine. He's such a...

He's such an innocent

and she's a sly, scheming, clever cat.

You say "is" and not "was".

Oh, she isn't dead.

She's gone off with another man.

She likes men!

She's already made a fool of Michael Weyman.

But M. Weyman, he designs her tennis court.

Tennis!

She wouldn't know a double fault from a fruitcake.

Weyman tried it on and she gave him the heave-ho

because she's found someone else, so he has, too.

If M. Weyman no longer pursues Lady Stubbs,

what is it about her that makes you so suspicious of her?

She meets someone on the sly, Poirot.

She slips out of the house and into the woods.

She was out the night before last.

All that yawning and saying she's too tired for dinner?

Half an hour later, she's slipping out

by the kitchen door.

She's an alley cat, Hattie Stubbs!

It's an unpleasant thing to have to face,

but I'd say we've some kind of psychological lunatic

wandering freely in Devon.

He won't be local.

Somerset, perhaps.

Peut-être.

Therefore a question, if you please.

How is it possible for a strange man

to have gained access into the boathouse?

she came out.

She got bored.

Girls do. Trust me.

The most likely thing is that Marlene

saw Hattie Stubbs being murdered,

so she had to be disposed of, too.

Crush her windpipe, drag her back inside,

flick the Yale... easy.

Oui.

Sir George Stubbs believes that his wife,

she is still alive.

Men will believe anything.

Look, I like George Stubbs.

He and his wife have done wonders for Nasse.

Amy Folliat has sponsored them, of course,

and she has influence in the county.

Why, there have been Folliats here since Tudor times.

Always been Folliats at Nasse.

"Albert loves Doreen".

"Biddy Fox has a secret den".

Oh, Marlene, Marlene.

Alors, she spies.

Oui, she looks and she learns.

But something, it is not ápoint.

Oh, Poirot!

Your brain, it is so slow!

We've found something!

Is it hers? - Let me see.

Christ, it's her hat.

Where is she? Where's my wife?

I don't think we'll find her here.

I'll tell you where you will find her:

where you're too bloody stupid to have looked before!

And where's that, sir?

On that fellow's... that fellow's yacht,

that Etienne De Souza!

Damn coincidence, isn't it?

I mean, he turns up and all bloody hell breaks loose!

I have a warrant to search your vessel.

Do you think I'm hiding my little cousin onboard?

I don't think anything, sir.

Rather as I suspected.

You have lost something, madame?

Oh, you made me jump.

Yes, I have.

Or must one rendezvous when one can?

I don't know what you mean.

Ah.

Poirot is not a husband,

alas, but,

he knows that they can be jealous.

I doubt mine is.

I hoped, when I came down here,

that everything would get better,

but it hasn't.

Alec's just...

well,

he's still Alec.

I don't want to live like this.

Non.

Have a look 'ere, sir.

Got something? - Yes, sir.

This is the jacket the gentleman was wearing yesterday

and...

look what I found in the pocket.

What is it?

It is the ring worn by Lady Stubbs

at the time of her disappearance.

It matches Sir George's description.

How do you come to have this, Mr. De Souza?

I have no idea.

I've never seen it before.

Well, maybe you have, maybe you haven't,

but it's grounds enough for me to arrest you.

For what, may I ask,

for being foreign?

For the murder of Harriet Stubbs.

For the...

You have no proof at all.

This is meant to be a civilized country!

We like to think so, sir. Hoskins.

Is this what you were looking for, madame?

Oh, yes!

Thank you, M. Poirot.

I must have dropped it.

Oui.

We've got him, Poirot.

Her ring is in the pocket of his blazer.

With that, and all the hearsay evidence,

I reckon I can get a conviction.

For the murder of Lady Stubbs, whose body has never been found?

Well, it was dumped in the river.

Floated out to sea. It'll turn up, in time.

No, I'm sure she was killed here at Nasse.

I closed the roads, put a man at the quay,

checked all the buses and trains.

There was never a sign of her.

No, she was dumped in the river, near where we found her hat,

and Marlene Tucker saw it happening,

so, probably, De Souza fixed her, too.

Non, it is not Etienne De Souza.

Why not?

How did he know where to find her,

when his boat, it had only just arrived?

Non. It does not make any sense.

Bonjour, M. Merdell.

Do 'ee want the ferry, sir?

Non, merci. I return today to London.

Poor fella!

Why must 'ee do that?

Because Poirot, he has failed. Because...

Poirot is an imbecile.

Did Hattie Stubbs

ask Mlle. Brewis to take the jam tarts

to Marlene Tucker in the boathouse?

If not, why does she say that she did?

Is it possible that Mlle. Brewis

found Marlene Tucker already dead?

In which case, why does she not report this?

She is a woman most sensible.

Unless she killed her, of course.

Non. Pas de motif.

Why did Etienne De Souza lie about writing to his cousin

3 weeks before his arrival at Nasse House?

Is it, perhaps, an attempt

to make his visit to appear natural or expected?

Certainement, Sir George

receives him amicably, although he does not know him.

Attendez.

Sir George does not know Etienne De Souza, hein?

But his wife, who does know him, does not see him,

so is it conceivable

that the Etienne De Souza who arrives at the fête

is not the real Etienne De Souza?

When is his trial?

Three weeks.

The jury will take one look at De Souza

and they will convict him. This man will hang!

Usually, the villain's the husband.

Oui. Je sais.

This husband, he has the alibi.

There are 200 people willing to testify

that Sir George, he never left the fête.

But there is someone,

someone, who knows what happened to Hattie Stubbs.

Do you think the body's still there?

It appears that she has been thrown into the river,

but it is possible that she is in the grounds.

There isn't a priest's hole, or anything like that, is there?

No, I asked this question to M. Michael Weyman.

He tells to me that the house

is not of the correct period for this.

All the same, there might be something,

tsk, in the structure

that only the family know about.

But the only member of the family

who is left is Mme. Folliat.

Well, she knows everything there is to know about Nasse,

doesn't she?

It is a true thing that you say.

She knows everything.

Par exemple, she knows straightaway

that Hattie Stubbs is dead.

She knows even before the death of Marlene Tucker

that the world, it is a place most wicked.

What is there that she does not know?

M. Legge!

You are leaving Nasse House?!

Yes.

Sally's cleared out. - Non!

With that bastard, Weyman. - I do not think she will be

as happy with him as she would be with you.

Ah, you think so, do you?

Yes, I do, monsieur.

And shall I tell you what else I think?

I think that your opinions, so extreme,

have made you impossible to live with!

Your wife, Sally Legge, she is a woman of loyalty,

but you have pushed her too hard, monsieur!

You are a man who is

very lonely, very desperate,

and, if you had told to your wife, Mme. Sally,

just how you are so lonely

and how you are so desperate,

she would never have left you for Michael Weyman!

You don't know how right you are.

Oui.

I've been an absolute dummy.

Oui. - Politics, eh, Poirot?

Hardly worth losing your wife for.

Non, I do not think they are, monsieur, non.

What shall I do?

I think what you should do, monsieur,

is to find Mme. Sally, but immediately,

ask her to forgive you, and beg her to come back.

And Hercule Poirot? He is always right, monsieur.

Do you know? I think I will.

Bon.

And I'll go to the bloody Chelsea Arts Club

and I'll get hold of Michael Weyman

and I'll throttle the ponce with his ridiculous tie.

Bon!

And, if you please, M. Legge?

Do not actually kill him, hein?

Bonjour, madame!

I feel very sorry for George.

The strain's been very great.

So, Sir George still believes

that his wife, she is alive?

I think he's given up hope.

He does not say so, but...

Of course, I've hardly seen him lately.

Spends most of his time in London.

He's drinking too much. - Oh.

I am very tired, M. Poirot.

I have not much to live for.

But you have your home.

Monsieur, I am grateful to George Stubbs

for renting me the lodge, but I do rent it!

I pay him a yearly sum for it,

with a right to walk in the grounds!

The grounds of my ancestral home.

Oh, je suis désolé. Madame,

I do not mean to offend.

I mean only to say that this is a place so beautiful.

It is, in fact, one of the most beautiful places

I have seen in England. It has about it

the great peace and the great serenity.

Yes.

But is there still the same peace and serenity now, madame?

Why shouldn't there be?

Because a murder, it has gone unavenged;

and blood, it has been spilled.

And here is the smell of it, the reek of it,

drifting across the lawn on the breeze!

I think that is quite enough!

Madame, until the curse is lifted,

there will be no peace at Nasse.

You know this is true!

You know a great deal... perhaps everything...

about the murder.

You know who killed the girl. You know why.

You know who killed Hattie Stubbs

and you know, perhaps, where the body, it now lies!

I have only my suspicions and to speak out

on mere suspicion would be wrong, wicked!

As wicked as what was done here, it is not since 5 weeks?!

As wicked as the killing of a girl

who was only 14 years of age?!

Don't talk about it.

It's over and done. It's finished!

No, madame, it is never finished, with a murder!

Jamais!

Mademoiselle, where is M. Merdell?

Granddad?

He's dead.

"Granddad"?

So M. Merdell was your grandfather?

Your grandfather, he was very old, hein?

He didn't die 'cause he was old.

He died 'cause he was drunk.

He slipped, when getting off the boat one night, and fell in.

Washed up 2 days later at Helmouth.

And how do you call yourself?

Gertie Tucker.

A relation to Marlene Tucker?

Her was my sister.

So, M. Merdell was her grandfather also!

He got cross at her when she got the makeup.

The makeup, Gertie? - Loads of lipstick, she had.

And scent.

Hid 'em in her knicker drawer.

Lovely, they was.

Tell to me, Gertie: how did Marlene

get the money to buy these things?

Her see goings-on, in the woods.

Gertie!

Marlene would promise not to tell and...

they give her money. - Gertie!

But who would give her mon...

At last, at last!

Poirot, he begins to see.

"Come at once.

Nasse House Devon."

Mais pourquoi?

Because, it is important, madame.

I should hope so!

I was due to give a talk.

That's why I'm dressed in this ridiculous outfit.

Instead, I ran for the express train.

What was the subject of your talk?

My writing. Awfully pleased

not to have to give it, as a matter of fact.

I mean, what does one say about how one writes books?

You just think of an idea and force yourself to write it.

What am I going to say for the other 59 minutes?

Madame, your hat,

c'est magnifique.

Oh, thank you.

It was jolly expensive.

Hats are really a symbol, nowadays, aren't they?

They don't keep your head warm or shield you from the sun

or hide your face from people you don't want to meet.

I mean, they're just

ornamental.

Always, you give to me the ideas.

Hmm.

Tell to me, madame:

in your murder hunt, you have, as one of your suspects,

a biochemist.

Do you know a biochemist, personally?

Yes, I know Alec Legge.

And you also know his wife, Sally Legge,

but she is not Yugoslavian, is she?

So what gives to you the idea of having a wife

who is Yugoslavian for the victim?

Oh, I don't know, all those youth-hostelers, perhaps,

all those girls in shorts.

But, madame, I am most interested in how you write.

You are a woman who is most sensitive.

You are affected by the atmosphere,

by the personalities that surround you.

These are the inspirations for your brain,

that is so fertile.

So, tell to me, madame: when you first designed

your murder hunt, did you intend for the body

to be discovered in the boathouse?

No, I did not! - Ah.

I intended it to be found in that pavilion,

tucked away among the rhododendrons,

and then, someone... I can't remember who...

began insisting it should be found in the folly.

Well, that was obviously bonkers!

I mean, anyone could've strolled in there, quite casually.

I couldn't agree to that.

Non. So you accepted the boathouse, instead.

And that was the technique that you described to me

on that first day, hmm? The jockeying along.

One last thing, madame:

do you remember telling me that there was a final clue

on one of the comics

that was given to Marlene Tucker to read?

Was it something like "Biddy Fox has a secret den"?

Good gracious, me, no!

Nothing silly like that.

No, it was a perfectly straightforward clue:

"Look in the hiker's rucksack."

Epatant!

The comic on which that was written

would have to be taken away. - Why?

Because immédiatement, it points to the murderer!

Ah!

Insp Bland, you must telephone

to Scotland Yard tout de suite. - Why?

Because Etienne De Souza,

he is innocent. - Ugh!

No, he is a man of great wealth! - So what?

So, what is his motive?!

Let me put to you the facts.

Ugh, facts? What facts?

The fact that old John Merdell

was the grandfather of Marlene Tucker,

the fact that Lady Stubbs always wore

those particular types of floppy hat,

the fact that Marlene Tucker had cosmetics hidden

in the back of her drawer,

and the fact that Mlle. Brewis maintains

it was Lady Stubbs who asked her

to take refreshments to the boathouse.

You call those facts, do you, in London?

You prefer the hard evidence,

such as the body of Lady Stubbs?

I know where it is hidden and who hid it there!

So, if you please, to make that telephone call

to Scotland Yard!

Why did you ask me to come here?

I think that you know, madame.

Good evening, sir.

There have now been three murders:

Hattie Stubbs,

Marlene Tucker,

and John Merdell.

Merdell?!

That was an accident.

He fell from the quayside. He was drunk!

Non. No, it was not an accident, madame.

He knew too much.

He knew all about the Folliat family.

He knew about your husband.

He knew about your two sons who died abroad.

Only they did not, did they?

Henry was, indeed, killed in action

on the northwest frontier, but James...

No, he did not die, as you said.

James, who was so brilliant, so wild.

James,

who was also, to you, so shaming.

John Merdell told me of him, madame,

and the records have been checked.

What did he do to that young dairy maid

when he was only, what, 14 years of age?

You know?

Oui.

And where did you send him, madame?

South Africa. - Oui.

You said you never saw him again.

You heard that he had died in an aeroplane crash.

You mourned, you said your prayers, but,

what, then, has happened, madame?

He came back. - Oui.

Because your son, he made the pretense of his own death

and, then, you learned that he is pursued

by the police in several countries

and you agree...

and he must have been so persuasive...

you agree to give him one more chance.

Just one.

Oui.

I believe that you are a woman most sincere

and most moral.

And I believe that it was from the best of your intentions

that you did everything you could to give to your son,

who was wayward, a new life.

At that time, you had in your charge

a young girl who was, sadly, subnormal.

But she was rich, hein? So rich.

She was worth a fortune!

But you gave it out that her parents

had lost all their money and you were advising her

to marry a man who was wealthy

and several years older than herself.

And who could disbelieve you?

Your lawyers in Paris, where you were living,

at that time, handled everything.

And Hattie Stubbs,

when she came of age,

would sign whatever you put in front of her.

And so, in the end,

Sir George Stubbs,

the new identity assumed by your son James,

became a man who was very rich,

rich enough to buy Nasse House.

And there, your plans, they ended, eh, madame?

Your son, he was a wealthy man,

he had his ancestral home. And Hattie Stubbs? Well,

you could take care of her.

a marche!

I never dreamed...

No, you never dreamed

that your son James, he was already married!

He was married to a girl he met in Trieste,

a girl of the criminal underworld,

who is determined not to be parted from your son!

She's a wicked,

wicked creature!

But your Hattie

knew no one in England!

Good evening, Hattie.

Come along, my dear.

When they arrived back at Nasse House

after their marriage, all of the servants,

who were new, including the butler,

barely caught sight of her that first evening!

And the following morning,

the woman that they met

was not Hattie Stubbs, non, but this Italian,

made up to look like Hattie, behaving as Hattie,

but Hattie, the real Hattie,

was dead!

She was killed the first evening

she arrived here, by your son!

Oui, by your son, madame:

James Folliat!

This plan, it was so clever.

The false Hattie Stubbs, over the years,

would respond to treatment.

She would get better and better and make the full recovery!

But this Italian did not convince

Mlle. Brewis...

I have a headache!

Who was herself in love

with Sir George.

But then, something unforeseen occurs.

A cousin of Hattie, Etienne De Souza,

writes to her a telegram...

Oh, no!

Telling her that he is visiting England

on a yachting trip. - What is it, darling?

Alors, he would not be deceived by an imposter.

It is strange, is it not,

that, although the thought, it did cross my mind,

that this Etienne De Souza may not be Etienne De Souza,

it never occurred to Poirot

that Hattie Stubbs was not Hattie Stubbs.

And there was a further complication:

John Merdell used to...

What is the word?

Chatter to his granddaughter Marlene Tucker.

If someone leaves a woman's body

in the woods, with no clothes on,

he's liable to be a sex maniac, in't he?

Well, nobody else would listen to him

because they thought he was a little daft,

but he told to his granddaughter Marlene

that Sir George was, in fact, Master James.

Alors, Marlene Tucker,

she blackmailed Sir George for her silence.

But, in so doing,

she signs her death warrant.

They arrange it so that Marlene Tucker is killed

and Hattie Stubbs goes missing,

in such a way, the suspicion,

it is thrown onto her cousin Etienne De Souza.

Hence, the references to him being a man most wicked.

Delighted to meet you, at last.

And Sir George,

he plants the evidence.

This "Lady Stubbs"

was to disappear permanently.

After a period of mourning,

Sir George would rejoin her in Italy,

where they would again be married.

All that was necessary for her now

was to double the parts for a little more

than a period of, what? 24 hours.

When Hercule Poirot, he arrives,

Hattie Stubbs takes the bus to Exeter.

Afternoon, ladies.

And traveled back in the company

of a youth-hosteler

she meets on the train.

You don't mind, do you, sir?

She books in

to the hostel with this Dutch girl.

But, by teatime, she is here,

back at her window.

After dinner,

she retires early to bed.

I feel strange.

But Mlle. Brewis sees her

to slip out of the back door.

She spends the night in the youth hostel,

returns to Nasse for breakfast,

after which she spends the rest of the morning

in her room with her... pfft... headache.

She then stages her appearance

as a trespasser.

You can't come

through here!

Sir George shouts to her from the window

of his wife.

What's that, Hattie?

He turns and even pretends to speak to her inside.

She is not there!

No one would ever dream

that these two women were the same person,

and no one did.

And so, the final act of this drama, it is staged.

A little before 4:00 on the day of the fête,

Hattie Stubbs tells to Mlle. Brewis

to take the jam tarts to Marlene.

She does this because she is afraid

that Mlle. Brewis may do this independently,

and that would be fatal to their plans.

She slips into the tent of the fortune teller

while Sally Legge is out,

as she has a secret rendezvous with Michael Weyman.

She goes through the back, into the pavilion,

where she changes into the costume of a hiker,

which she kept

in her rucksack.

Poirot, he has found the buckle

from the strap.

And that is why the pavilion, it was not used

for the murder, hein.

She then goes down to the boathouse

and calls to Marlene to let her in...

And she strangles her.

She leaves her big, floppy hat by the riverside

and hastily joins her Dutch friend on the lawn.

A little before 5:00, they take the bus to Torquay

and, a little after 5:00,

the police, they arrive.

Where she is now, I do not know,

but I am convinced that the police, they will find her.

Remember, madame, that, before, they were not looking

for an Italian confidence trickster, non;

they were looking for Hattie:

simple, subnormal,

and dead.

And this, you have always known, madame.

You revealed your knowledge to me

when you spoke to me in the dining room

on the evening of the fête.

You revealed most clearly... although Poirot,

he did not see it, at the time...

that, when speaking of Hattie Stubbs...

I shouldn't pay too much attention

to the things Hattie says.

You were speaking of two different people.

Hattie was a gentle, warmhearted girl!

She would never have killed anyone,

never!

There remained one problem to be dealt with:

the man who knew the truth about your son,

John Merdell.

His death is made to look like an accident,

as if he had fallen into the water

while he was drunk,

but, in fact,

it was murder, madame,

murder committed by your son James Folliat.

Alors, if you please

to come with me, madame.

It is a good place to bury a body.

A tree, it is uprooted in a storm;

the soil, it is disturbed;

and, very soon, a young lady,

she is covered with concrete.

And, on the concrete,

a folly, it is built.

The folly of the owner of Nasse.

M. Poirot,

I will face my punishment, I assure you of that,

but, before I do,

will you give me a few moments with my son?

As a courtesy

to an old lady.

As a courtesy from an old gentleman, madame,

I will allow it.

Bless you.

Right, let's bring in Sir George.

If you please to wait.

I have allowed to Mme. Folliat a few moments.

You've no authority to do that.

Dommage.

It is done.

Mother.

And what are you doing here, hmm?

They're digging up the folly.

You know what they will find.

Ruddy good scheme.

Almost worked.

It was like every one of your schemes:

it was cruel and criminal

and it failed.

You have brought disgrace to the family name,

the name of Folliat!

Oh, dear God.

What am I to do?

You will do, James,

exactly what I tell you.

For once... just for once...

you will obey your mother.

What put you on to them,

intuition, perhaps?

Non, madame.

The deduction.

When old John Merdell told to me

there will always be Folliats at Nasse,

it was his little, private joke

and Poirot, he has realized this very late.

You see, madame,

he knew.

So, now, will you release De Souza?

Yes, all right.

Time's up! Come on.

What's he done?

Quick! Follow me!

Sir!

Those were gunshots! - Yes, sir.

Bon.