All language subtitles for Agatha.Christies.Poirot.S13E03.720p.BluRay.x264-YELLOWBiRD

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.