All language subtitles for e0aa8b64a11c621644a084216f33de175c5352aff04b6f3005c1e403d489983bfb03f5b6fe33ed9a67239c665340801fa6314e85f2c5bab03176d4265639

Please, please, you must come quick.

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

It's alright, miss.

No need for you to take another look.

Ruber, Alice, Mrs.

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

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

Hercules Parrot, sir.

Poirot, mademoiselle.

Pucker your lips as though about to bestow a kiss!

- Poirot.
- Morning, Poirot.

I hope you have good news for me.

This case has been hanging fire for four months.

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

where an insurance company must...

laugh and lump it.

Oh, well.

The usual 100 guineas, I take it?

By the way, Poirot.

Take a look at this.

It is the property of Sir Horace Blatt.

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

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

38 pounds, seven shillings and sixpence.

You are of course quite right, it is paste.

The question is why should
a millionaire industrialist

perpetrate such an obvious fraud?

Precisely, he must have known
the stone would be examined.

So you see, there is something of a mystery.

Rest assured, with Hercule Poirot,

mysteries never last for long.

Exactly.

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

You know that you can count on my discretion.

Very well, I will see Sir Horace this afternoon.

Hardly this afternoon, I think.

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

Would a further 200 meet the case?

Guineas.

It will make my forthcoming holidays
even more attractive.

So that's your game, is it?

You come out here
and as near as dammit accuse me,

Horace Blatt, of fraud?

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

over one bloody jewel?

I am worth millions, Poirot.

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

God, I could wring her bloody neck!

If you would care to confide in me,

I should be most honored.

Alright, I'll tell you this much.

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

She told me she was so madly in love with me

that she'd leave the show she was in.

Oh, she was an actress, you know,

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

So I bought her this stone from Tiffany's.

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

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

You see, that wasn't a fair do.

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

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

for three days' fumbling on the high seas.

Oh, monsieur, who can put a price
on les affaires de coeur?

I bloody can.

And this was too high.

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

Of course she tried to put me off,

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

and I sent it along to be insured and...

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

It would appear to be the only explanation,
monsieur.

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

I happen to know that in three days' time

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

I'll give her a little holiday!

Daphne's place?

Yes, you know, Daphne Castle.

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

then when he upped and married the present queen

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

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

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

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

Anyway, you'd better come with me.

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

Alas, monsieur.

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

It... it needed all my courage
to make this small trip.

Oh.

I will take the train and join you there.

Mes compliments a Monsieur Jerome.

Waiter?

Could I have another brandy and the bill, please?

Patrick, really,
we haven't got time for another drink.

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

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

Why do I always have to do everything?

Monsieur Poirot, your reservation
on the night train has been confirmed.

The tickets will be at the desk.

Thank you, eh.

I must go.

I've got to catch that damn boat.

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

You're supposed to be enjoying yourself.

God knows you're paying enough for it.

But, don't I know it?

As a matter of fact, Daphne,

I was wondering if you would care to trade my bill

for a super piece in New Yorker?

You know the sort of thing.

Farewell courtesan, hello inn-keeper.

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

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

How are the Gardeners this morning?

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

Good morning, Gardeners.

Everything tickety-boo?

Good morning.

Sure, Daphne,
but I could wish that my shower worked

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

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

I guess not.

Well, at least we've got a shower.

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

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

Isn't that so, Odell?

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

It was your cousin, Thelma Snatchball.

Okay, if you insist, but there were two shacks.

One for the guests and one for the staff.

It was very stylish.

Boat's coming in, Daphne.

Prepare to repel boarders.

That'll be Arlena.

Do you mean Arlena Stuart?

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

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

Oh, how marvelous!

I am her greatest fan,
it will just make my vacation.

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

Hail and farewell, I'll never tell,
you've cast a spell over me...

We produced it.

Remember, dear?

Oh, good God, darlings, I plumb forgot.

Oh, isn't that the one
that she walked out on after just three weeks

and your biggest hit in years?

You know damn well it was.

And just what was that?

A sudden breakdown in health?

More like a sudden attack of gold digging.

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

Funny man.

Well, if that's Arlena, she must be being dressed
by Woolworths these days.

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

Patrick and Christine, I seem to remember.

Excuse me, I must put my hostess hat on.

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

closing a hit show like that.

Would either of you care to comment on that?

Why don't you go and play with yourself?

Excessively.

Is coarseness a substitute for wit, I ask myself.

Hello!

I'm Daphne Castle.

Welcome to the island.

- How do you do?
- Looks lovely.

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

Oh, and a naughty one too, I hope.

- Would you care to sign in?
- Naughty?

Yes, what are the holidays for,
if you can't do a spot of flirting

- and get a bit pissy boots?
- Quite right.

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

Patrick, really.

You know perfectly well
that I've got a splitting headache

and I've got all the unpacking to do.

Andrea will show to your room, if you like.

Thank you.

After two days on that suffocating steamer

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

Anyway, I'm no good at...

(speaking French)

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

This may come as a nasty surprise to you,

but shock absorbers have been standard on
motorized vehicles for 30 years.

Stop playing ball with my Vuitton!

Linda, you gormless oaf, do something!

Like what?

Like stop them, cretin.

Kenneth, this is a nightmare.

Take it easy, Arlena and we'll soon be there.

Soon can't be soon enough for me.

Of all the fancifully dreadful journeys.

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

Pinched the only decent taxi from under your nose.

Yes, I do believe it is.

Good morning.

Since we are all obviously
going to Daphne's island,

I'd better introduce myself.

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

Hercule Poirot, enchanté, Madame.

Charmed and this is my stepdaughter, Linda.

Linda, do stop standing there like a cough drop
and say good morning to Monsieur Poirot.

- Morning.
- Bonjour, mademoiselle.

Was your journey as frightful as ours,
Monsieur Poirot?

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

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

We have to pay double on the way home.

It's only a 20-minute boat trip.

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

You mean you've been there before?

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

After the death of my first wife.

God's teeth!

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

The noonday gun?

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

to commemorate the glorious victory
of Kosovo-Metohija in 1193.

I am reliably informed that
a mere handful of Tyranian cavalry

routed over 50,000 barbarous Bosnian fanatics.

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

One success too many.

Arlena!

Arlena, darling, I love you!

That tub was even more uncomfortable
than that damned taxi.

What if the bitch refuses to do the show?

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

After all, we sell the show on her name.

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

Welcome to the island, everybody!

Kenneth oh it's marvelous to see ou!
I I

Absolutely marvelous.

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

It's three, actually.

Wonderful to be here.

You never met Linda, did you?

No, no, I didn't.

Hello, hello, Linda.

Welcome to the island.

And I don't think you know Arlena.

Oh, oh, yes, yes, I do.

Arlena and I are old sparring partners.

Hello, Daphne.

Oh, it's been years.

Well, a little time, yes.

Years.

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

not that I could ever compete.

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

higher than any of us...

and wider.

Kenneth, this is such a surprise.

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

I had no idea it was Daphne Castle.

Yes, quite.

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

It's been a long journey.

Oh, certainly.

Andreas!

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

They'll be brought up in a minute.

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

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

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

Perhaps... perhaps you'll sign in.

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

- You are too amiable, Madame.
- Perhaps.

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

They've all got far too many skeletons
in their cupboards

to join in with enthusiasm.

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

Pendant les vacances
my desires are simply a good valet,

(speaking French)

At eight o'clock in the morning precisely,

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

That's all.

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

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

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

Gilly is my oldest friend, Rex.

Oh, God, darling, I didn't know that!

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

Did you hear what Gilbert said about the Queen?

No.

Well, you see, Gilbert said...

Do you know what the Queen calls...

His friend said, "No, what does the Queen..."

- Enjoying it?
- I couldn't have one.

- This was delicious, if I could.
- Oh, I can get you a drink.

Thank you.

How about a cocktail, Monsieur Poirot?

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

No, if I could have a (speaking French)

Do you have banana syrup?

Certainly.

Oh, my!

I'm the last to arrive!

Have a sausage, dear.

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

Have you... have you met the Redferns?

Christine and Patrick.

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

Why, if it isn't Odell and Myra!

What on earth are you two doing here?

It's wonderful to see you, Arlena.

We have a fabulous show for you.

Oh, it's a real humdinger, honey!

And Odell insisted that we both come over
here together to see you personally.

Well, it's very sweet of you.

But I'm sort of retired, you know.

This is my new audience.

Have you met my husband?

- How do you do?
- How do you do?

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

Keeler's mad to do it, but we're holding her off
until you have a chance to look at it.

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

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

- Hello, Rex.
- How do you do?

- I'm Kenneth Marshall...
- Excuse me.

I must talk to you, Arlena darling.

Not now, Rexy-poo.

Thank you.

Cheers.

Good morning, Linda.

How is your lovely mother?

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

Darling, didn't anyone ever tell you
that peevishness

is unbecoming in young ladies?

No.

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

Morning, Gardeners!

- Good morning.
- Oh, good morning, Arlena.

I think it's gonna be a hot day.

Good morning Mrs. Redfern.

Well well she's in wonderful sha e.
I I

Yeah, how much was it we paid Kleinfield,
Klausewitz and Stummerhoppen

to contest that phoney doctor's certificate?

$20,000.

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

Say no more, it's yours.

Next question?

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

So talk.

It's a bit private.

You heard the little man, Linda.

Scram.

Well, what is it?

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

the proofs of the biography yet?

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

I knew... I knew you'd love it.

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

and when.

Well, there aren't too many stars
were born in Tooting Bec

at the turn of the century.

And the sweet way you wrote about how I landed

my first leading role in Flames of Eternity.

However did you find out?

I bribed his wife.

Naughty Rex!

Ah, the days of my youth.

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

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

But, Arlena darling, you promised.

When we were in New York
and I've spent the advance.

I simply must have that release.

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

But, Arlena, angel, you must.

I said forget it, I'm not going to sign
that release and that's final.

You're going to regret this, Arlena.

That's a promise.

Good morning, Mrs. Marshall.

Good morning, Mr. Brewster.

- Hello.
- Oh, hello.

Oh, Linda, what are doing here?

Acting as chaperone, gooseberry or spy?

Ijust wanted a chat.

I don't seem to be having much fun.

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

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

Bonjour, Madame.

Bitch!

No, no, put me down!

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

I shall cry, I shall, I shall cry!

You do not care for the aquatic sports

or the sunbathing, Madame.

I wish I could.

But I don't go brown.

I sort of resemble a cassata.

Pink skin, white blisters, and green in the face.

Unlike your husband, I observe.

No, he manages those things rather well.

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

But why, Madame,
I do not indulge in those sports myself

and yet I assure you,
I am very far from being a goose.

Ah, there you are, Monsieur Poirot.

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

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

Such a valve still has to be invented, Madame.

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

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

Good morning, Kenneth.

Are you going for a swim, the water is so hot
the lobsters are coming out red.

Good morning.

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

Patrick?

Aren't you getting a little tired of rowing?

That was last night.

- And this morning he starts all over...
- Andre, Andre, I don't care.

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

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

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

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

I'm so sorry, are we late?

Patrick insisted on rowing me around the island,
it's much bigger than I thought.

Poor darling, he's absolutely exhausted.

Not in the least surprised.

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

The sun would have been much too strong for you.

You know that.

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

No, I thought I told you last night.

I've given up the theatre.

These two are all I'm concerned with now.

What's it called anyway?

It's Not Right And It's Not Fair.

Sounds like a black man's left leg.

- It's alright, Mr. Poirot.
- Whoa, whoa, Pardon, Madame, Je m'excuse.

Please stay.

I'm just being silly.

I wish I had more self-control,
didn't show what I feel.

Well, that is sometimes not easy for the ladies.

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

- What, Madame?
- Pity.

I can't bear to be pitied.

Everyone round here seems to feel so sorry for me.

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

"Poor little thing," they're saying.

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

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

Will you allow me to tell you something, Madame?

The Arlena Stuarts of this world do not count.

Their domination is of the moment.

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

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

Oh, yes, I do, Madame.

Your husband loves you.

I know that.

Come, let us take a little promenade.

Hm?

Ah.

How I wish I could do that, just lie in the sun.

Pourquoi, Madame?

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

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

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

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

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

I'm better now.

In fact I am determined to enjoy myself.

It's so blissful here, so tranquil,

so far from all violence and trouble.

Yes, you are right, Madame.

The sky is blue, the sun is shining,

and yet you forget that everywhere

there is evil under the sun.

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

Yes, I know.

Just having a bit of a think.

About Arlena?

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

- Not much.
- No, it never is.

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

- Worse.
- Thought it might be.

Poor Kenneth, you do pick 'em.

Oh, I can cope.

Do you think Linda can?

What do you mean?

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

YGS .

Yes, a pity about that.

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

Then, why don't you do something about it?

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

People do it all the time.

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

Arlena's alright,
she just adores to flirt, that's all.

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

Spur of the moment?

You really are blind.

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

You don't mean...

I'm afraid so.

EVGH SO.

With me, a deal is a deal.

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

Arlena is my wife.

That's all there is to it.

Till death do you part?

Exactly.

I see.

Well?

I could just kill that cow!

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

Just leave it to me.

- I'll think of something.
- Hm!

My hero.

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

Hello, darling, you'd better get a move on.

Where have you been?

I've just been having a word with Daphne.

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

She's a nice lady.

Yes, I suppose she is.

As hotel proprietors go.

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

He's a nice fellow.

Yes, I suppose he is, as gigolos go.

What's that supposed to mean?

You liked him well enough
when you met him at the Grangers in London.

I never set eyes on the man before.

Really?

I could have sworn you were there.

It must have been the night
of your regimental dinner.

Well, anyway, what does it matter?

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

He just happens to be a guest here, Arlena,

because you just happened to book him in.

The bitch Daphne!

Christine, I refuse to talk about it!

That's rich, you don't want to talk about it?

Oh, look here, Christine,
I can't even speak to a pretty woman

without you jumping to the conclusion
that I'm having an affair with her!

Well, aren't you, you leave me here alone all day
and go off with her.

I'm the laughing stock of the hotel.

Of course you're not, you're being ridiculous.

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

I don't believe you!

- Please, let's just go away from here.
- I absolutely refuse.

Here we are and here we stay and if you don't like
it then you can...

Yes, what can I do?

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

Oh, Myra, that is so beautiful.

- How's your drink?
- It's Incredible.

- Too much sun?
- Yes.

Good!

That's enough, Linda, it's adult time, off to bed.

Oh, come on, darling, let her stay.

She is on holiday after all.

Scram, Cinderella.

You're the top.

You're the Colosseum.

You're the top.

You're the Louvre Museum.

You're the nimble tread
of the feet of Fred Astaire.

You're the National Gallery,
you're Garbok salary.

You're camembert.

You're the Nile,

You're the Tower of Pisa,

You're the smile on the Mona Lisa.

I 'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop.

But if, baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top.

You're the top,

You're a new invention.

You're the top.

You're the fourth dimension,

I'm a frog without a log on which to hop.

- But if, baby, I'm the bottom.
- Sorry.

You're the top!

Isn't she wonderful?

Wonderful, wonderful!

Mademoiselle!

Abracadabra!

I know how you did that.

The egg's in your top pocket.

I'm not five years old, you know.

Been for a bathe, darling?

What's it look like?

Darling, there is no need to be snappy

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

I always keep mine behind my ear.

What?

Oh, there you are!

I was looking for you.

I'm going sketching at Gull Cove.

Would you like to come?

- Yes, I'd love to.
- All right, I'll see you down in the hall

in ten minutes.

Ah, hello, Mr. Poirot.

Monsieur Poirot, just the man!

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

You require assistance, Madame?

It's like trying to launch the Mauritania.

Without the Champagne!

Thank you so much.

Oh, and, Monsieur Poirot,

please don't tell anyone where I've gone.

Everyone will keep following me about.

- Everyone, Madame?
- Well, perhaps some people more than others,

but I just want to be alone.

- Voilé.
- Enjoy your swim.

There she goes.

Not a care in the world.

I'll make her care.

Oh, what do you know about care?

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

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

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

Well, it took her so long to work out an idea,

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

Odell?

Odell?

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

Sorry.

Have you had your breakfast?

Had a piece of toast.

Linda, you really are naughty.

Andreas goes to all the trouble of preparing
decent English breakfasts

instead of those weedy continental things

and you eat toast.

I'm sorry, Ijust wasn't hungry.

What's the matter?

Is it Arlena?

She's so beastly.

You don't want to worry about her.

Things have a habit of working out.

- I promise you.
- Yes, if you make them.

Would you like to come for a stroll
to the lighthouse, it'll be fun.

This must be my lucky day.

I've never been in such demand.

I'd like to, but I can't.

I've already got a date
to go sketching with Christine.

That's alright,
I'm glad to see you're making friends.

Good morning, Kenneth.

Ah, good morning.

Good morning, darling.

Oh, there's a letter for you.

The boatman brought it over.

Ah, thank you.

Seeing your daughter has just turned me down,

would you like to come for a walk with me,

before my staff meeting at 11:30?

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

This must be answered straight away.

This isn't my lucky day, Linda.

Well, you can't get away from me at 12:30,
we're playing tennis, remember?

I remember.

By the way, Linda,
have you seen your mother?

No, thank God.

Now, Linda, I won't tell you again...

Oh, clean it, clean it.

Don'tjust lean on the thing.

Here we all are.

Well.

Well, what a colorful outfit!

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

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

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

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

Have a nice time.

Morning, Poirot.

Been swimming?

- You saw me?
- No.

Yes, I have been swimming!

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

to stimulate the little grey cells.

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

- Madame Marshall?
- Mhm.

What, she rose so early?

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

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

I don't suppose you've seen him either, have you?

Is someone taking my name in vain?

A very good morning to you, gentlemen.

What kind of paintings do you do, Mrs. Redfern?

- Call me Christine.
- Thank you.

Hi, Patrick, going for a spin?

How about taking me along?

Eh, well.

What time is it, dear?

Five to 12.

Lord, I must fly.

I'm playing tennis at 12:30.

That's a fine boat!

I think it belongs to Sir Horace Blatt.

Odell and I were on it once, I think.

Look.

I wonder who that is.

You know exactly who it is, you naughty boy!

Would you be a sport and take the boat back?

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

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

Look, it's simple, this lever puts you in gear

and all you have to do is steer.

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

You're a sport.

BOO!

Hey, come on, wake up!

Oh! my

What's the matter?

She's dead!

She's been murdered!

- Strangled!
- Strangled?

- It's just not possible.
- Well, we'd better get some help!

I'll go, you'll stay with the body.

Are you kidding, I can't do that!

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

Can you make it back to the hotel?

In a flash, this thing's no problem.

You'd better hurry!

Madame Marshall has been strangled.

There are contusion marks
on the head and the neck.

This much is evident.

We must now send for the police

and acquire a doctor
in order to establish the time of death.

Have you ever met a Tyranian doctor,
Monsieur Poirot?

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

Oh, well, that may be so,
Madame, but, uh...

Dear, Monsieur Poirot, a word in your ear.

The whole world knows that you are a man

of enormous discretion and gallantry,

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

but also a man who would never willingly stand by

and see a lady in trouble
without rushing to her aid.

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

In fact I throw myself on your mercy.

Couldn't we make this a private investigation?

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

The scandal of a famous stage star

being murdered here would ruin my hotel.

I'm very sorry, Madame,
but there is no way to avoid

this becoming an official matter.

Within due course of time,
of course I quite agree,

when it can be released in the proper manner.

But consider, just think what everyone will say

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

and failed to solve the crime.

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

I bet it pongs something rotten in there.

Only of the breath of the sea.

Oh, how poetic you are, Monsieur Poirot.

You have the true soul of France.

The true soul of Belgium, Madame.

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

Oh, do please forgive me.

In due course of time.

Well, what do you say, monsieur?

Will you bring your colossal brain power

to the aid of a lady in distress?

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

and discretion for which you are world famous?

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

before answering your question.

Monsieur Redfern.

At what time did you
and Madame Gardener find the body?

It was 12 o'clock exactly.

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

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

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

Oh, yes, you acted quite correctly.

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

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

it mean the time of death can be established
as being between 1o:3o and 12 noon.

How absolutely brilliant!

A doctor after all could only give us
an approximate time

and how she was killed, which I know.

I don't need the help of a doctor.

Messieurs.

It's a terrible tragedy, Poirot.

It's terrible.

She may have been a bit flighty, Arlena,

but no one would've wished this on her.

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

That was not too difficult to guess.

I suppose it bloody wasn't.

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

There's no point in intruding in the grief

of the new husband and all that sort of thing.

You had no chance to speak to Madame Arlena?

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

Oh, yes, of course.

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

You remember the false diamond
I left in your possession?

YGS .

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

on the beach near the dead woman?

Oh, dammit, Poirot.

I'd make a rotten
murderer, wouldn't I?

Leaving clues
all over the place, eh?

All right, I confess.

- You confess?
- No, I...

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

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

going into a beach along there.

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

I know. It's better
than confronting her

in front of her husband, you know?

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

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

She did not tell you
where the real jewel was?

No, dammit, she didn't.

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

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

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

Yes, you may well
have been, monsieur.

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

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

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

I could have taken off
at any time I wanted.

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

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

Oui, c'est exact.

It would seem that
I am your alibi, monsieur.

Please go and get changed.

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

Well, can't say I blame him.

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

that you were furious
with Madame Arlena,

that you were determined
to get yourjewel back,

you came up here
in order to demand it.

She laughed in your face.

You lost your temper,
you strangled her.

That is poppycock!

That is bloody poppycock!

If it is poppycock,

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

that you would willingly
"wring her neck".

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

Oh!

Look...

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

and I threw that bit
of glass at her.

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

They were all on deck,
bloody watching.

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

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

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

Trés bien. All the same,
I must ask you

not to leave the island
for the moment.

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

I would chercher Ie hubby.

Huh.

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

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

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

because she was
unfaithful to me.

Oh, I can understand
that, of course.

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

than the Tyranian police would be.

And therefore I will ask you
where you were

between 11:00 and 12:00
this morning.

That's very simple.
I was in here typing

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

How very curious.

Because, you know,
when I passed by your door

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

I can't help that.

One does occasionally
pause to think, you know?

Here.

This is what I typed.

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

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

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

Excuse me, Monsieur Poirot,
Ijust couldn't help overhearing.

I have the proof you need.

- You do, madame?
- Well, yes.

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

give them a collective
boot up the bum.

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

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

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

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

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

Ijust didn't disturb him.

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

I... I saw him in the mirror.

In the...

Oh, in the mirror!

My goodness,
you do type fast, Ken.

You must be the Horowitz
of the Remington.

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

Three.

Yes. And, now, how many?

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

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

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

Now, Monsieur Marshall,

are you, by any chance, lying also?

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

is in reply to this one
from my stockbroker,

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

It should, therefore,
be equally obvious

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

Yes, it would appear so.

Now to revert to you
again, madame.

I would like to ask you a question
about your promenade

to the lighthouse this morning.

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

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

Yes. Yes, I did.

I also saw Arlena
sunning herself.

Oh!

But then you must have taken
the same path home.

There is no logical alternative.

And I am suggesting to you,

you could have
gone down to the beach,

murdered Arlena Marshall

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

What utter balderdash!

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

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

No, that I do not think.

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

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

What if there is?
What does it matter?

It matters because
Madame Arlena was in the way.

Monsieur Poirot, you have
the French obsession...

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

But you're barking up
the wrong tree.

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

Huh!

- You do, madame?
- Of course.

It was Sir Horace Blatt.

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

I saw him down on the beach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. I already have
done, madame.

And he is exonerated by his crew.

All the same, his story
does confirm yours.

Without knowing it, you have
corroborated your own alibi.

Bravo, madame.

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

I was only trying to help.

I know.

I forgive you.

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

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

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

Oh, madame!

May I have a quick word
with you, please,

about how you spent
this morning?

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

You had no reason to love
Arlena Marshall, madame.

Well, perhaps not.

But I was with Linda all morning.

I went to her room early

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

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

She'd been swimming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had a watch?

No. No, I didn't.

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

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

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

that awful gun went off.

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

What did you do then, madame?

Well, I was late, you see, for my tennis,
which was fixed for 12:3o,

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

and changed into my tennis things.

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

Mr. Marshall, Mrs. Castle,
and Mr. Gardener.

I played with Mr. Gardener.

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

I was sketching at Gull Cove.

- Lost track of the time.
- Don't worry.

It's only a matter
of four minutes exactly.

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

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

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

A little relieved. Hm.

Well, I can understand that.

Is there anything else
you want to ask?

Not for the time being.

Hm.

Come in.

- Hello.
- Hello.

Excuse me, mademoiselle,
for intruding into your grief.

Grief? That's a good one.

Why should I be sorry for Arlena?

You hated her so much?

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

She was horrid to me
and beastly to my daddy.

YGS .

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

Why should I?

I was with Christine Redfern.

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

- And did she?
- Oh, yes.

She sat under her big hat
while I sunbathed.

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

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

Here it is.
She gave it to me.

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

These are undeniably, uh...

...cliffs.

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

How can you be so sure?

Because she asked me.

What time is it, dear?

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

I'm playing tennis at 12:30.

She got into a fearful panic
about being late for tennis

and rushed off back to the hotel.

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

I'll see you later
after my swim.

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

Don't forget your bathing cap!

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

What a bore!

Now did you see anyone else
while you were swimming?

No. No one.

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

Look! Why don't you
stop asking me

all these silly questions
about Christine?

She couldn't have
murdered Arlena.

Neither could I.

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

He hated Arlena.

He's the one who really
wanted her dead.

How can you say that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'll have your guts
for garters, understood?

Oh, madame!
Have you any idea

where I can find
Monsieur Brewster?

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

Oh, but come here.

He's not the one you want.

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

Absolutely. You see,
I have been having a little think

and I worked it all out.

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

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

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

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

- Miss Cringe?
- Yes.

The jealous wife,
Christine Redfern.

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

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

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

But what is your theory?

I mean, how did
Madame Christine do it?

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

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

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

Yes, well, everyone knows that.

It's in all the crime novels.

And you know, in fact,
only the other day

a child of 11 did something
like that, in Hungary.

Or was it Crete? I don't know, well, anyway,
she used a pair of nutcrackers.

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

No, madame,
unfortunately, you see,

there are no nutcracker
marks on the throat.

And Madame Christine
could not possibly have done it.

Her alibi had been confirmed
by Mademoiselle Linda

and vice versa.

How very irritating!

"Under the high..."

...lazy...

...noonday Adriatic sun,

the body lay on its back,

arms outstretched,
parodying in death

"a position she so often
occupied in life."

Oh. That is marvelous.

Thafsu.

Oh.

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

Oh, dear, I am shattered.

I am absolutely shattered.

She was so wonderfully funny,
so very generous.

Not generous enough
to give you a release,

so that you could publish
that manuscript, eh?

- Who told you that?
- Never mind,

but it is the truth,
n'est-ce pas?

You cannot libel the dead.

Now you are free
to publish your saucy tales

and reap the reward.

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

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

infinitely exceeds
any possible gain to myself.

You must believe that.

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

Where were you at this time?

- I was on a pedalo.
- A pedalo?

Mm.

Whereabouts?

How should I know?

I wasn't carrying
a chart at the time.

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

Chart or no chart, it was
perfectly possible for you

to have watched
Sir Horace Blatt's boat leave

and then to have
pedaloed into Ladder Bay,

there to find
the unsuspecting Arlena asleep,

and then you strangled her.

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

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

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

I pedaled into Gull Bay.

Linda was there, swimming.

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

You say that you saw
Mademoiselle Linda

swimming in Gull Bay
at 12 o'clock?

Certainly, I asked her
to help me pedal back,

but the little charmer refused.

What do you want?

What did you say?

I said, "Good god, darling.

Help me pedal
this damned thing back.

My legs are killing me."

Pedal it back yourself!

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

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

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

Murder you?

What do you mean?

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

I pedaled off.

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

and smacked down
in the water right next to me.

The damned thing
missed my head by inches.

I looked up.

There's nobody around.

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

I refer, of course, to your visit,

your fictional visit,
to Gull Bay at noon.

What do you mean “fictional“?

- Linda!
- Mademoiselle Linda denies

having seen anyone
there at the time.

What?

Oh, that lousy little hoyden!

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

but this is ridiculous.

You just wait till I catch her.

You! Linda!

Hey! Linda.

You, you, you just wait!

Stay, stay right... Linda!

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

when you were
swimming in Gull Cove.

Why should I?
You weren't.

What? You lying little brat!

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

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

You tell him!

Oh! You tell him!

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

Well, Linda,
did you see Mr. Brewster

when you were bathing
in Gull Cove this morning?

Oh, all right then. Yes, I did.

Linda, you mustn't tell lies.

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

Hell, darling!
You can get them hanged!

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

I'm sorry.

Kindly accept
my apologies, monsieur.

Incidentally, I accept your alibi.

That's real white of you, Mr. P!

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

I have absolutely no alibi.

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

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

Now, I'm well aware,
Monsieur Poirot,

that in your world,
when a murder takes place,

everyone automatically
comes up with a watertight alibi.

However, I belong
to that great world

of millions of innocent
men and women

who, curiously enough,
don't have the foresight

to provide themselves with an alibi

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

Consequently, as I was
guilelessly reading my book,

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

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

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

Of course, I could have scampered
over the top of that peak,

like a mountain goat
and, uh, swarmed down

the famous steps
we've all heard about

and then crept up on Arlena
and strangled her

with these powerful hands of mine.

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

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

Next question?

Next question is,
what did you do

when you had finished
being unobserved in the garden?

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

I was rather thirsty
and so I rang the bell.

Naturally, no one answered.

Where the goddamn staff
had disappeared to was a mystery

and worthy even of
your talents, Monsieur Poirot.

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

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

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

Anyway, I changed
and appeared suitably attired

in my Fred Perry outfit

on the tennis court
at precisely 12:30

to join Daphne and Marshall.

Mrs. Redfern came
a few minutes later.

And that, Monsieur Poirot,

concludes the case
for the defense.

Hm, you make pleasantries,
monsieur, but no alibi is still...

...no alibi.

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

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

Look, I was wrong
about chercher la femme.

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

Rexy is the only one
unaccounted for.

Look, look, I'll show you.
See, at 11:30,

Arlena Marshall was
left here alive by Horace Blatt,

who then sailed on down here.

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

Linda and Christine were here,
Kenneth was here

and I was in my staff meeting.

So it has just got to be
our genial columnist.

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

- Oh, you do, madame?
- Absolutely!

See, recently I was reading
a magazine story

about a woman in Malaya

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

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

Now that's what gave me
the clue I needed.

You see, Rex, Rex Brewster
could've been lurking

in the water here off Ladder Bay,

and when Arlena
appeared on her pedalo,

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

Uh, very interesting, madame.

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

Far less was she gnawed to death.

And perhaps even more
damaging to your theory

is the fact that
it has been established

that Monsieur Brewster
was here in Gull Cove

with Mademoiselle Linda
at 12 o'clock.

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

in half an hour.

Well, that's very inconvenient of him.

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

I just don't see who could have.

- Everyone has an alibi.
- Oh, no, they do not, madame.

Monsieur Gardener
does not have an alibi.

Seems rather proud of the fact.

Oh, but he does, dear,
most definitely.

What are you telling me, madame?

Well, at half-past 11
I was having my staff meeting,

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

and in particular
pointing out to Andreas

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

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

when I just happened to look out of the window
and there was Odell in the garden reading a book.

He stayed there
throughout the entire meeting.

I'm positive of it.

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

You've said a great deal, madame.

Oh, I... I see what you mean.

You... you mean nobody did it.

And, yet, we still have
a body, madame.

- Ah, "Rigoletto".
- Correct.

Ah, Verdi. Quelle élégance!

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

his name would have
been Joe Green.

Yes, I suppose it would, yes.

Well, it used to make
the boys laugh

when I was trying to din some Latin
into them when I was a schoolteacher.

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

from their study of Latin.

Really, Horace.

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

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

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

No? Secondly, did any of you
take a bath at 12:15 today?

An odd time for ablutions.

Hmm. How remarkable!

A bath which nobody
admits having taken

and a bottle which flies by itself.

Joe Green.

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

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

Yes. Sorry I'm so puffed.

The water was freezing
and I'm running to get warm.

Crying his eyes out?
Tell him to pull himself together.

Hello, Daph!

That reminds me
of a lady policeman.

Look, she's all out of breath.

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

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

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

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

Oh, oh, I stand corrected, Daphne.

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

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

Not only have you not
found Arlena's killer,

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

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

The Gardeners and
the Redferns want to go, too.

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

Oh, I am so sorry.

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

to clear the little gray cells.

Kindly ask all our friends
to forgather in the lounge

after they have finished
their petit déjeuner.

- When all will be revealed.
- What?

- You mean you know?
- Oh, yes.

Well, give us a few clues!

All right, I wish you
to consider very carefully,

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

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

From that you should be able
to solve it yourselves.

We meet again in one hour.

Now I am going to have
my oeuf é la coque.

Ah...

There goes the most
insufferable man in the world!

"Oeuf a la coque."
That's about his mark.

It's what he talks mostly.

Nobody is allowed in.

Well, you remember when we spent
that weekend off the coast of Provence.

YGS .

Mesdames, mademoiselle, messieurs.

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

is that I, Hercule Poirot,

have discovered the identity
of the murderer of Madame Marshall.

This need surprise no one.

Are you all comfortable?

Even the murderer?

This has been a most unusual crime,

in that apparently nobody had
the opportunity of committing it.

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

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

Monsieur Gardener,
without knowing it.

I'm very sorry ifl have
disappointed you.

We had undeniably a body,

which meant that
somebody was lying.

Who?

After exercising
considerable reflection,

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

Madame Redfern.

Me?

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

Oh, yes, you did, madame.

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

you said it was 12 o'clock.

You knew this, you said,

because you heard
that awful gun go off

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

who was swimming
in the water below.

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

It is very curious
that you did not mention him.

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

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

at the very moment
that the midday gun went off

was denied by Linda,
he lost his temper.

He attacked the poor girl.

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

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

And, yet, he made
no mention of it. Why not?

The answer is obvious.

You were not there.

But I was there!

And I did wave
and Linda waved back.

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

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

I don't remember it. No.

No, there was no noonday gun
for a very good reason.

It was not 12 o'clock.

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

Ah, the watch.
Now that is very important.

Let us go back to
yesterday morning, shall we?

I was having breakfast
on the terrace, an egg,

and in the course of performing some slight act
of léger demain for you, mademoiselle,

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

This was not particularly surprising
as you had been swimming.

A fact that could have been noted
by anyone looking out of a hotel window.

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

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

But that she was not there.

What a perfect opportunity to put
Mademoiselle Linda's watch

forward 20 minutes?

A few moments later,
as you told me,

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

And you invited her
to accompany you.

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

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

Hello, Mr. Poirot.

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

Hmm. This is pure
supposition, Poirot.

I've never heard such twaddle.

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

Now if you will be
a little patient,

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

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

which she was wearing
but kept concealed

under the sleeve
of that strange voluminous outfit

she chose to protect her from the sun.

It is of course 25 to 12:00.

She then asked Linda the time,

who naturally said
it was five to 12:00.

Linda then starts
to go down to the sea.

While her back is turned,

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

then calls Linda back,

telling her she has
forgotten her bathing cap.

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

The answer is simple.

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

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

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

would hear nothing.

So let us see exactly
what happened

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

It is 20 to 12:00.

She pauses to wave.

Linda waves back.

But there is no Mr. Brewster.

No noonday gun.

Madame Redfern now turns
and runs across the path

which separates Gull Cove
from Ladder Bay.

That takes her six
or seven minutes, no more.

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

and sees Madame Arlena
sitting impatiently,

awaiting the arrival
of Patrick Redfern,

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

Oh, Christ!

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

about to come down the ladder.

But I couldn't have climbed
down the ladder.

I suffer from vertigo.
You know that.

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

showing me that
you suffer from vertigo.

The day before yesterday,
on the terrace.

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

to the sunbathing figures
on the beach below us,

you suddenly fell against me
and stepped back,

saying you suffered from vertigo.

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

That is not the case, monsieur.

Your wife only pretended to have it

in order to prove that she could not
have climbed down the ladder.

But, yesterday afternoon,

I myself stood on the cliff
overlooking Gull Cove

and I discovered something
rather interesting.

In order to have seen Linda
in the water below and to wave to her,

you would have had to stand

right on the very edge.

Although I do not
suffer from vertigo,

I myself was quite dizzy.

For you, madame,
had you suffered from vertigo,

it would have been impossible.

Let us now resume the story from the point
at which you descended the ladder.

Madame Arlena decided
to avoid a confrontation

and was about to leave the beach

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

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

Yesterday afternoon, not only
did I discover the false diamond

that Sir Horace Blatt
had returned to her,

but my excellent wine taster's
nose had detected,

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

the breath of the sea, which,
as you know, Monsieur Marshall,

was her favorite perfume.

But I am digressing.

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

Arlena!

Where are you?

I know you're here.

I want to talk to you!

Be with you in a minute.

Well, what is it?

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

Arlena was not murdered
with a blunt instrument.

She was strangled.

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

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

Yes, I quite agree.

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

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

Odell, please!

You weren't even there and I was.

Remember, I saw
her lying there strangled.

Christine couldn't have done it.

Oh, I'm absolutely
of your opinion, madame.

In fact, she did not do it.

The murder was committed by...

...her husband,
Patrick Redfern.

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

Oh, for God's sakes!

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

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

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

That is the whole point, madame.

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

Two brown arms, two brown legs

and a little piece
of bathing suit in between.

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

The ardent young lover,
Monsieur Redfern,

bending over the body
with suntanned limbs

wearing Arlena's
white bathing costume

and a red Chinese hat.

As I pointed out
a couple of days ago,

all bodies lying
on the beach are alike.

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

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

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

No wonder you were
fooled into imagining

that you had seen the corpse
of Madame Marshall,

when what you had actually seen

was the live body
of Madame Christine Redfern.

That is why the murderer
had to conceal the face,

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

And who else would help
Monsieur Redfern

but his own wife?

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

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

And what do you think happened,
Madame Gardener,

as soon as you had disappeared?

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

in order to remove
Madame Arlena's bathing costume,

which she had previously stripped
off the unconscious woman

and worn to play
her part as a corpse.

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

Christine is as pale
as pasteurized milk.

Now the question is, how
could I have possibly mistaken

her arms and legs for Arlena's?

This covers nothing at all, madame.

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

of Madame Redfern's beach apparel.

When I saw Madame Redfern
in the lobby yesterday morning,

she was wearing
a totally exaggerated garment,

which completely covered her
from wrist to neck.

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

She had to wear
such an all-concealing outfit

because underneath
she was brown as a nut.

In the grotto,
after having climbed

into the unconscious
Madame Arlena's swimming costume,

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

Something she could not
have done earlier.

Why? Ha-ha. Because Linda
would have noticed.

She puts on the earrings

and then she runs
out of the grotto

and onto the beach,

settles herself
on Arlena's towel

and puts her great big
Chinese hat over her face

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

Dead...

...on cue, as it were.

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

timing his appearance
at Ladder Bay

exactly to coincide with
the sound of a noonday gun.

The rest was easy.

She now changed back
into her original costume.

It was about five past 12:00.

Madame Redfern bids
her husband a hurried farewell.

The clock is ticking.

She runs back across
the island to rejoin the path

leading from Gull Bay to the hotel.

Oh, she has one more
task to perform.

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

The bottle that no one
would admit throwing.

So she hurls it over the cliff,

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

whom it almost hit.

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

I myself timed the journey.

But, then, I was not running
like a young gazelle,

for obvious reasons.

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

the bath no one
would admit to taking,

in order to wash off the suntan.

She changes into tennis clothes

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

but unruffled and smiling,
a picture of innocence.

Yes, Monsieur
and Madame Redfern,

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

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

From the moment
you arrived here,

you started playing out a series
of carefully rehearsed scenes,

in such a manner
that all might hear or see.

Together, there were scenes
of hysterical jealousy

played close to open windows.

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

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

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

But you are, aren't you?

A part, you, madame,
took every opportunity

to give the impression
that you are a physically frail woman

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

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

An Italian ice cream?

And who was
altogether to be pitied

as a poor little helpless,
abandoned wife.

Whilst you, monsieur,

took elaborately indiscreet pains
to advertise your romance,

instead of trying to conceal it

as any prudent lover would.

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

- Brilliantly executed.
- Oh, yes, brilliantly.

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

Why on earth should I kill Arlena?

I absolutely adored her.

Oh, adultery may be reprehensible,
but it certainly is not criminal.

No, monsieur, you did not adore her,
you adored her money.

And, more especially,
the magnificent diamond

offered her by Sir Horace Blatt.

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

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

You are a hardened adventurer
and a vicious swindler,

who had absolutely
no moral compunction

in borrowing the diamond
from Madame Arlena

and of substituting
a paste copy.

Oh, pray, do continue,
Monsieur Poirot.

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

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

Too bloody right!

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

And what better opportunity
than on holiday,

in a small, exclusive island,

where you could plan
and execute her murder?

Picture to yourself
the scene, mes amis.

The half-lit grotto.

Madame Arlena slowly
returning to consciousness

and the so solicitous
Monsieur Patrick

preparing le moment juste to strike.

Oh, Patrick.

Suddenly, his hands
around her throat.

She struggles and it is the end

of poor, foolish, beautiful,

gullible Arlena Marshall.

And that, mesdames,
mademoiselle, messieurs

is the story of the murder
of Arlena Marshall.

The only thing
they had not foreseen

was the presence on this island
of Hercule Poirot.

The well-known romancer
and teller of tales.

Excellent plot line.

Imaginatively conceived.

Good, clear narrative style.

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

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

Is that true?

Do you mean to say we've sat here
and listened to all that

and you can't prove a word of it?

Unfortunately, Monsieur Redfern
is absolutely right.

I haven't a shred of evidence.

Although, that is unquestionably
what happened.

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

by this fanciful little mountebank.

Come along, darling.
Shall we go and pack?

Uh, just give us
five minutes, Mr. Poirot,

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, goodbye, my dear friends.

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

Oh, just a moment, Mr. Redfern.

Haven't you forgotten something?

WhY Day, Patrick?

They've done nothing but insult us.

Oh, we must pay it, darling.

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

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

Of course, I also know
that you're thinking

the check may well bounce.

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

Here you are, dear.

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

Oh. Thank you so much.

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

Your ensemble does
absolutely nothing for you.

Goodbye.

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

Monsieur Felix Ruber?

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

Felix Ruber is the widower
of Alice Ruber,

whose strangled body had been discovered
on the Yorkshire moors some months ago.

I was called in by
the Trojan Insurance Company

to examine the police report.

In the event of Mrs. Ruber's death,

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

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

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

had a cast-iron alibi,

which had been established
by a woman hiker

who had found the body
earlier in the day.

But last night I asked myself.

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

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

and those on the moors
be a mere coincidence?

Non, mes amis.
The lonely hiker

was none other than
Madame Christine Redfern.

While Monsieur Ruber
was on a train,

undoubtedly attracting
attention to his presence

before potential witnesses.

The bigamous Monsieur Ruber
was now free to return

to his surviving wife,
Madame Redfern.

Oh, yes, monsieur,
you were clever enough

to avoid putting your signature
in the hotel register,

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

Different names, of course.

Here on the claim form

for Alice Ruber's insurance policy,
it appears as Felix Ruber,

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

Different names, but, monsieur,

undeniably the same handwriting.

My God.

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

being called Joe Green in English

or that you had once taught
Latin to small boys.

It was at that moment that
I realized that in that language.

"Felix Ruber" is "Red Fern“.

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

even in a dead language.

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

of a couple of scribbled signatures?

And your bloody silly word games?

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

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

which must have appeared
in the local papers

and which I have,
of course, sent for,

will be enough proof
to hang you, sir.

You will be arrested for
the murder of Alice Ruber

and of Arlena Marshall.

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

Would you smoke the pipe,

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

No?

Dommage.

As I thought.

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

My God, you're a wonder, Poirot.

Yes?

Poor Monsieur Poirot.

Brave Monsieur Poirot.

I've just had a telephone call
from His Majesty

and he is very pleased with...

- The King of Tyrania?
- Yes, he's very pleased

with the way the matter has been
cleared up so quickly and so discreetly.

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

- Saint Gudrun the Inquisitive?
- First class!

How many classes are there?