Original subtitles

James Gordon Bentley, you have been tried for murder.

Abigail McGinty was found by the baker...

on the floor of her sitting room...

with extensive wounds to the head.

Her house in Broadhinny evinced no sign of forced entry.

All the Police Surgeon was able to ascertain...

was that she had been hit with a sharp, heavy implement...

probably some time the night before.

You, Bentley, were suspected from the very beginning.

You knew where she kept her money.

You had recently lost your employment.

And then the investigating officer...

Superintendent Spence...

found £60 in legal tender...

under a stone by the garden path.

So you had the motive, and you had the opportunity.

CLERK, VOICE-OVER: Will the defendant please rise.

How do you find the defendant?

We find the defendant guilty.

JUDGE: James Gordon Bentley, for the premeditated murder...

of Abigail McGinty...

I sentence you to be taken from here to a place of execution...

...and there to be hanged by the neck until you are dead.

[ Crying ]

Well done, Superintendent. You brought a first-rate case.

SPENCE, VOICE-OVER: There was never much doubt...

about the outcome.

But I don't think he did it.

He was just a lad from the village.

I dare say to the jury, Bentley looked like a murderer.

He's a bit unappealing, a bit shifty but...

in my experience, your actual murderers...

tend to look, well, cocky.

Not this little fellow.

Something in my water says he just isn't the murdering type.

Which is why I've come to you.

I can't shake off this feeling...

that I've sent an innocent man to the gallows.

Pale ale, sir, will that be acceptable?

Marvelous. Thanks.

A creme de menthe, sir.

Merci, George.

But this man, he had a trial that was fair?

I'd say so. He had a decent counsel.

So according to the law, this James Bentley...

he has nothing to complain of?

If he's hanged for something he didn't do...

he's got something to complain of.

But your job, it is over.

Yes. They've put me on a fraud case.

I'm off to Glasgow.

It's a very fraudulent place, Glasgow.

So, what is it that you suggest?

I wondered if you'd look into it.

You perceive things in -- pardon me --

a funny kind of way.

You might find something I've missed.

But it's the devil of an imposition, to ask you to --

Do you know what is the biggest problem of my life?

-No. -An abundance of leisure.

I will look into this for you, Superintendent, with great joy.

But what if I discover that...

James Bentley is guilty after all?

I'll put his head in the noose myself.

[ Indistinct shouting ]

[ Doors bang ]

I lived with my mum.

I looked after her until she died.

And then I had to sell up.

And so you became the lodger of Mrs. McGinty?

Yes. I was taken on...

at Breather and Scuttle in Kilchester.

It's about 4 miles from Broadhinny on the train.

Sorry, but I am not familiar with Breather and Scuttle.

-They sell houses. -Ah.

Well, I never sold no houses,

but I showed a few people 'round.

Most of them never came back, so Mr. Scuttle let me go...

and I couldn't get another job.

And so your money, it ran out?

Yeah. Yeah. 3 pound a week she charged me.

And so you became, what is the phrase...

en arriére, in arrears with your rent?

I was 2 months behind.

Alas. So tell to me, if you please...

what were you doing on the night Mrs. McGinty died?

Oh, what's the point? I'm for the chop.

No, no, no. If you have the fresh evidence...

you can still lodge an appeal.

Yeah, but I haven't got fresh evidence, have I?

I have told you, I am Hercule Poirot.

Perhaps I can discover for you some?

Well, thank you, sir, thank you very much.

Bon.

Good.

Et maintenant: the night of the death of Mrs. McGinty.

She had her supper about half 6.00.

Her bread, kipper, and margarine.

I goes out for a walk about 7:00.

I came back about 9:00.

I go straight to bed.

Next morning, there she is, dead.

That's it.

How did you feel at that moment?

Well, I hadn't had any breakfast.

I was starving.

Sir.

Thank you, sir.

Oh, I'm so sorry, we've just closed.

If you are looking for a property,

I'm sure Mr. Scuttle can see you tomorrow.

Non, non, non, mademoiselle. Thank you.

It is not a property that I seek.

Hercule Poirot. I make a further inquiry...

into a former employee of the Breather and Scuttle.

Monsieur James Bentley.

Oh. Is there new evidence? Is he going to appeal?

Oh, I'm so glad.

You liked him?

Amy called him a drip. But, yes, I liked him.

He writes, you know. He's a decent chap, really.

It makes me very happy to hear that, mademoiselle.

Tell to me if you please, did he ever talk...

about his landlady -- Mrs. McGinty?

He said she gave him kippers too often.

James doesn't like kippers.

Did he ever mention to you...

that he knew where she kept her money?

Actually, he did.

He said she kept it under a floorboard...

because she didn't trust the bank.

He reckoned he could help himself to it any time.

Oh, Lord, I shouldn't have said that, should I?

De rien, mademoiselle, de rien.

Now I must hurry myself to catch my train to Broadhinny.

But, tell me, mademoiselle, how do you call yourself?

Maude Williams.

Mademoiselle Williams, the question, it is this:

if James Bentley did not kill Mrs. McGinty, who did?

I hope you'll be comfortable, Mr. Poirot.

If there's anything you'd like to change, please, say so.

The only thing I would change, madame...

were it within my power...

would be to provide you with a suitable domestic.

I know. It's a terrible bother.

We had a really good daily, but she was murdered.

Just my luck.

She came every Monday, every Thursday.

Regular as clockwork.

Why are there bloody geese in the hall? Maureen?

Oh, hello.

Monsieur.

New PG? I hope you enjoy your stay.

It's a decent part of the world.

Our terms are weekly in advance, if you don't mind.

Dinner shouldn't be too long now.

Madame.

The window in my room, it does not close properly.

There is the current of the cold air.

I know. Johnny's father and mother...

were badly off, poor dears.

Never did a thing to the house.

And when we came back from India...

Johnny couldn't afford to, either.

And now he's writing his memoirs.

"Highways and Byways of Hindustan."

That's why the place is falling down...

and that's why we take in PGs.

-PGs? -Paying Guests.

Good boy.

Things are a bit buggered at the minute, financially.

Can't be easy for Johnny, in the village.

They're all very nice people in Broadhinny.

I say, do you mind me slicing these in here?

The smell in the kitchen is just completely unacceptable.

Not at all, madame.

Perhaps I should tell you a little bit more about myself.

I am a detective.

-Are you? -Mais oui.

Oh.

Hercule Poirot.

The most famous detective in the world.

And I am here to investigate the murder of Mrs. McGinty.

Ouch! Ooh.

Madame, you will forgive me, but I do not think...

that tonight I will require the dinner.

Take one twice a day, Bessie, and the hot flushes should stop.

Thank you, Doctor. Thank you.

Good day.

Monsieur le docteur.

S'il vous plait, madame.

I says to Auntie, you oughtn't have...

a man like that in the house.

Wandering about muttering to himself.

Might go off his head.

And, of course, he did. Dreadful.

Then he goes and hides the loot under a stone.

I mean, what kind of halfwit does that?

If you please, may I ask of you...

some questions about your auntie?

She's dead, poor soul. She was 64.

My uncle died young of pneumonia...

so Auntie goes out as a charlady.

There's plenty rich people hereabouts...

who don't know how to mop their own floors.

And your auntie, did she live in this house for long?

-Oh, forever. -And you, Madame Burch?

We were lucky to get this. It's got a garden.

Oh, so your auntie left you this house in her will?

Don't say we wanted her money -- the little bit she had.

Don't think we wanted the house, either.

But you're not gonna say no, are you, if you inherit?

What did Auntie like?

Oh, normal things, you know. Knitting, cats and dogs.

Oh, she loved her Sunday papers. All the film stars and that.

-Tea? -Merci.

No milk, if you please.

No milk?

No.

You foreigners are fussy, aren't you?

Merci, madame.

Bessie? Who's this?

Oh, this is Mr. -- Oh, I can't pronounce his name.

He came to see where poor Auntie was killed.

-This is my husband. -Monsieur.

What are you doing in my house?

He's got a letter, Joe. From the police.

It's like I told your Superintendent...

we was at the cinema, in Kilchester.

That's 3 mile from Drymouth, 4 mile from here.

You travel by the train?

No, mate, can't afford it.

We travel by bike, don't we, Bessie?

I don't travel at all.

[ Bell rings]

Mademoiselle.

How can I help you, sir?

I am Hercule Poirot.

And if you please, I would like to buy...

some writing paper and some envelopes.

This is a nice blue Bond.

So what brings you to Broadhinny, then?

The murder of Mrs. McGinty.

Ah. That. That was a shocking carry-on.

You knew her well?

We'd pass the time of day. Anything else?

Yes, if you please, 12 one-penny stamps.

Tell to me, you know her niece -- Madame Burch?

I know Bessie Burch.

And Mrs. McGinty, she was fond of her?

Oh, very fond, I think.

And the husband of her niece?

Mrs. McGinty was fond of him, also?

As far as I know.

And when did you last see Mrs. McGinty?

Let's think. She died on a Wednesday.

It must have been early on Monday.

She came in for a bottle of ink.

A bottle of ink?

I expect she wanted to write a letter, don't you?

-[ Bell rings] -Morning, Mrs. Carpenter.

Miss Sweetiman.

Oh, sorry, sorry.

Good gracious, it's you, Monsieur Poirot.

Madame Oliver? But what are you --

-I'm so sorry. -But what was it?

It was only an apple core. Won't do you any harm.

What are you doing here in the sticks?

-You don't live here, do you? -No.

No, you live in that awful, modernist place in town.

So it's a murder? Not my hostess, I hope?

Who is your hostess?

She lives somewhere around here. Place called Laburnums.

Any idea where it is?

A chap called Robin Upward is supposed to be

dramatizing one of my books.

Oh, felicitations, madame.

To have a work performed on the stage!

Superbe! Oh, turn to the right.

Who's been killed this time?

-An elderly charlady. -Oh.

A young man, he has been convicted and sentenced to hang.

But he didn't do it, and you know who did. Splendid.

I do not know who did it.

I am not even convinced that the young man, he is innocent.

Men are so slow. I'll soon tell you who did it.

-Ha. -A woman's intuition...

that's what you need.

Now, if a woman were head of Scotland Yard, well...

-Ariadne! Hello! -Oh, it's him -- Shakespeare.

Don't worry, I'll be discreet.

No, madame. I do not wish you to be discreet.

-Truly? -Truly.

So pleased you could come.

I've just had the most fantastic idea for the denouement.

-Have you? -Yes.

Oh, good. Ah, Robin.

This is Monsieur Poirot.

—Delighted! -Enchanté, monsieur.

Come on, let's have a drink.

I'm extremely pleased to meet you, Mrs. Oliver.

Robin's told me so much about you.

I've read all your books.

This is an old friend of mine. Monsieur Hercule Poirot.

Madame.

We met in the village just by chance.

-Robin. -Yes, Madre?

Get some drinks. Get cigarettes.

Yes, of course.

Are you an author, too, Monsieur Poirot?

-Je regrette qua non. -Oh.

He's a detective. A real one.

You know, Sherlock Holmes type.

Deerstalkers, violins, that sort of thing...

and he's here to solve a murder.

But who has been murdered, monsieur?

You already know of it, madame. It occurred last November 22.

Mrs. McGinty? Well, that's all over, surely?

No, no, it's not over at all. They've arrested the wrong man.

What was his name?

A Monsieur James Bentley.

But he didn't do it.

Poirot's got to find the real murderer...

before they execute the other one.

I expect his little gray cells are churning.

It's all frightfully exciting.

-Ah. -Ah.

A White Lady for you, my darling.

Thank you, my dear.

-Mrs. Oliver. -Oh, thank you so much.

Monsieur?

Non, merci.

She used to work here. Mrs. McGinty.

If you can call it work. Going through drawers.

Peering into one's checkbook. The nerve!

Now, don't get your blood-pressure up, Madre.

She had her uses.

Oh, Robin. Of course, you're right.

I suppose she did sweep and scrub.

Robin is as good as a daughter to me, Mrs. Oliver.

He thinks of everything.

You're wasting your time snooping in Broadhinny.

We're all very nice people here.

Good luck with your play.

Good luck with your murder.

-Monsieur. -Au revoir, monsieur.

Au revoir.

You have everything that you need, madame?

Oh, yes. I'm perfectly well provided for.

I have reams of paper and oceans of ink.

And I'm sure Robin has gin. What more does a girl need?

You have brought your own ink?

Always do. Who'd be without ink?

Madame.

No, she always went down to the Post Office...

and used the telephone.

So she never wrote to you at all?

No, Auntie didn't hold with writing letters.

But if someone wrote to her, she would write back?

I suppose. But who'd write to her, though?

Most of the furniture we sold.

The police kept some things. But everything else...

Madame, please, allow me to help.

Everything else is in here.

3 days before she died.

Aren't you staying for lunch?

There's pancakes, if I can get them out of the pan!

Non, madame, it is necessary that I go to London.

But I return tomorrow and then perhaps...

I shall teach you how to make the omelet.

Au revoir. To the station, if you please.

The Sunday "Comet," November 19. Eva Kane.

"Her kindly relatives in the New World...

"offered her a home after Craig was sentenced.

"Changing her name, the pitiful girl...

"seduced by a cold-blooded murderer...

"left these shores forever.

"'My daughter shall grow up happy and innocent,' she said.

"Her life shall not be tainted by the past.”

Your hot chocolate, sir.

Merci, George. Oh la -- le deuxième photo.

"Lily Gamboll was too young to be tried for murder.

"But her conduct during her years at the Approved School...

"is said to have been exemplary.

"Now, having atoned for her tragic lapse...

"Lily Gamboll lives somewhere, a good citizen...

"a wife, a mother.

"'Where,' asks the Sunday "Comet," 'are these women now?“

Mademoiselle Horsfall...

after writing an article such as this...

do you often receive the letters?

Oh, sure. You bet.

Some people have nothing more constructive to do...

than write letters.

Look, let's make this snappy, can we?

Oui. Mademoiselle, I will endeavor to be snappy.

Tell to me, do you remember receiving a letter...

from a Mrs. McGinty of Broadhinny?

McGinty. McGinty. I remember the name.

Conked on the head by the lodger, right?

Ha. Not a very noteworthy crime.

No. A charlady, merely.

I mean, no sex appeal.

Look here -- you know, I do remember.

McGinty, from Broadway, practically illiterate.

Broadhinny.

Broadway. Atrocious handwriting.

Yes, so you may have mistaken it.

I didn't mistake it. She wrote from Broadway.

Something about a photograph.

She knew where there was a photograph like in the paper --

would we pay her anything for it and how much?

How did you respond?

Sent back the standard reply. To Broadway.

Broadhinny.

So she never received it.

But she did recognize a photograph...

and that is most interesting.

Mademoiselle Horsfall, I thank you...

very, very much, indeed.

Oh, pardon me, just one other thing.

This article that you wrote on the individual cases...

the tragic women -- is it accurate?

Accurate? Heck, who knows?

No, what I mean to say is that...

the characters of your heroines

may not be quite as you represent them.

Look, it's romantic fiction for a Sunday paper.

Now, I've no doubt Eva Kane was a thorough bitch.

As for little Lily Gamboll --

well, I wouldn't let her anywhere near my cutlery.

Eva Kane went abroad, you know...

to the New World, to the Dominions...

to "start a new life."

And there is nothing to suggest, is there, mademoiselle...

that she did not return to this country?

Not a goddamned thing.

Au revoir.

The incomparable Hercule Poirot.

Monsieur le docteur.

Well, this is an honor.

Have we crime in our midst? My wife will want to know.

Ah, non. I seek fresh evidence in the McGinty case...

and I understand that she was employed here.

Would you say that she was a person who was truthful?

Truthful? What do you mean, truthful?

I mean truthful in the way most people mean truthful.

If she were to tell you something...

was she likely to be telling the truth?

I really couldn't say.

You'd have to ask Mrs. Scott, the housekeeper.

You employ a housekeeper as well?

Yes. Mrs. Scott's knees aren't very good.

We just had McGinty for scrubbing the kitchen floors.

That sort of thing. Blacking the grates.

She was an excellent worker.

There's little doubt that Bentley did it, you know.

Did you know him?

Yes, he consulted me once or twice.

Should have been more, but he couldn't afford it.

Nervous type.

Coddled by his mother when she was alive.

One sees that so often.

We've another case in point right here.

-Ah, oui? -Yes.

Mrs. Upward. Laura Upward.

She keeps that son of hers tied to her apron strings.

He's a clever enough fellow, Robin --

not quite as clever as he thinks he is, mind you.

And she -- to my way of thinking --

insulates him from real life.

Have they been here long?

In Broadhinny? Only 3 or 4 years.

And you yourselves, Doctor?

We've been here about 8.

I gather you're staying at Long Meadows.

-Oui. -Poor devil.

It's coming to something when the best family in the county...

has to take in lodgers, isn't it?

Ah, this is my wife Mrs. Rendell.

Madame.

Do you know who this is, Shelagh?

This is the great detective -- Hercule Poirot.

Don't mind her. She does that.

We're both very crime-minded. Read a lot about it.

Really? Criminology, or the fiction...

or the Sunday papers?

All 3.

Do you descend as low as to the Sunday "Comet"?

Where would Sunday be without it?

Let me fetch you a drink.

I mean, you do see, don't you, Ariadne darling?

Here we have your fantastic young man, your Sven Hjerson...

he's arriving dripping with sweat...

having skied the 10 miles from the village.

-He's 60. -No, no, no.

I see him more as 35.

But I've been writing books about him for 30 years...

and he was at least 35 in the first one.

Ariadne, darling, if he's 60...

then how can we have any sexual tension...

between him and your young girl?

Your Ingrid? I mean...

that would just make him a dirty old man.

-It certainly would. -Well, then, he can't be 60.

He must be 35.

But all the people who've read my books know how old he is.

Ariadne, darling, I have explained this...

several times now -- It's not a book, it's a play.

We must have some sexual tension between Sven and Ingrid.

You know how it is -- they're antagonistic at first...

but secretly they like each other, until finally...

Sven Hjerson never cared for women.

What? Oh, no, no, Ariadne, you can't make him a pansy.

I mean, he's an outdoors sort of chap.

-He skis. -He does not ski.

He's 60!

I have to go for a walk.

[ Doorbell rings ]

[ Dance music playing ]

What the hell do you want?

-[ Music stops ] -Excusez—moi, Madame Carpenter.

I don't require any cleaning fluids.

-Go away. -If you please --

Hercule Poirot.

And I have a few questions to ask you...

about the death of Mrs. McGinty last November.

I don't know who you mean.

Madame, you do not remember the McGinty?

No, I don't. Now be off.

But you surely remember her murder?

Or is the murder of servants so common in this place...

that you do not even notice it?

Oh, the murder. Yes, of course.

I'd forgotten the old woman's name.

Even though she worked for you here in this house?

She didn't. I wasn't living here then.

Mr. Carpenter and I were only married 3 months ago.

But she did work for you. On Fridays.

When you were Mrs. Selkirk and lived in Rose Cottage.

If you know the answers to everything...

I don't see why you bother asking questions.

She was only a stupid, old charwoman.

She kept her money under the floorboards...

for pity's sake.

Somebody murdered her for it.

Like an item in the Sunday papers.

Ah, the Sunday papers. Oui. Like the Sunday "Comet"?

Do you take the Sunday "Comet," madame?

We take the "Observer" and the Sunday "Times."

But I recommend the Sunday "Comet"...

for the photographs, if for nothing else.

Guy!

A foreigner. I think he's press.

He's been asking questions about that horrid murder last year.

Some old char -- Do you remember?

I hate things like that, really.

Look here, have you been annoying my wife?

Non, monsieur.

Simply I make the fresh inquiry...

into the circumstances of the death of Mrs. McGinty.

-And all I -- -Oh, God.

Quiet, Eve.

Monsieur, she came to you on Wednesdays.

Wednesday was the day of her death.

So she was here on that day?

I'm spectacularly busy.

I'm running for Parliament, don't you know.

I really don't have time for all this.

Monsieur, all I want to know is...

if she said something to you on that day...

that caught your attention.

Did she talk very much?

Dear God, she talked all the time.

That class of person always does.

One doesn't exactly listen.

Anyway, she didn't know she was gonna be murdered, did she?

So what does it matter?

Such a brutal crime. A meat chopper. Ugh!

The police never found the murder weapon, madame.

Oh, we all know it was a meat chopper.

Bentley must have, I don't know, hidden it somewhere.

In the same way as he has hidden her money?

Under a stone?

I don't quite see what you're driving at.

She was just an old biddy from the village.

A frightful liar, too.

-That is interesting. -Eve --

What lies did she tell, madame?

Stupid things. About people.

-Things that aren't true. -Eve, be quiet.

You're not really a journalist, are you?

-Monsieur, I -- -Croft!

SPENCE, VOICE-OVER: The date of execution...

has been set for Monday fortnight.

Have you any ideas? Anything at all?

Here are the photographs.

The ones the Sunday "Comet" used.

You'll never make an identification from them.

You recall the Craig case, Poirot?

Oui, d'accord. Alfred Craig...

the Town Clerk of Parminster...

and Eva Kane, 19 years of age.

She it is who falls in love with Craig, and Craig with her.

And one day the neighbors, they hear that the wife...

has been ordered abroad for her health.

But her health, it declines, and in time she dies.

But she does not die on the French Riviera.

She dies in the cellar in Parminster -- poisoned.

Enfin, Craig is executed, and Eva Kane...

who is expecting a child, flees from the country.

SPENCE: Yes, she went to Australia.

And I can tell you the name she took: it was Hope.

Evelyn Hope. Colleagues of mine...

think that Eva Kane was a clever, little actress.

That she did the murder -- and Craig swung for it.

But if it is true --

-There's no evidence. -No.

But if it is true that Eva Kane is a killer,

then peut-étre she may kill again.

Then there's Lily Gamboll.

Ah -- Lily Gamboll.

She is rescued from a tenement that was overcrowded...

in the East End of London.

She was placed in the care of her aunt in the suburbs.

Wimbledon.

And one evening, Lily Gamboll...

she wished to go to the pictures...

but her aunt, she said no.

So Lily Gamboll, she picks up...

the meat chopper from the table...

swings it at the head of her protector...

and because her aunt, she is weak and small...

the blow, it killed her.

Lily Gamboll used a chopper on her aunt...

and McGinty was dispatched with a similar instrument.

If Mrs. McGinty saw the photograph...

it was in one of her regular houses.

And if Eva Kane is still alive...

she must have more than 60 years...

and her daughter would be in her thirties.

I have only met one person in Broadhinny...

...who has the right age to be Eva Kane...

and that is Madame Upward.

But she suffers from the arthritis.

She is confined to the wheelchair.

Also, she does not have a daughter.

Only a son, whom she adores.

But if Mrs. Upward was Eva Kane...

mightn't her son kill Mrs. McGinty...

for the sake of his mother's reputation?

No, I think he might use it for publicity...

for one of his plays.

But you know there are 3 women who have the right age...

to be the daughter of Eva Kane.

Shelagh Rendell, the wife of the doctor...

...Maureen Summerhayes from Long Meadows...

...and Eve Carpenter.

Let us first to consider the daughter of Eva Kane.

Maureen Summerhayes, she does not strike me...

as a "clever little actress"...

even though she has been away for many years in India.

Shelagh Rendell, she is afraid of something...

but of what I cannot discover.

But Eve Carpenter, a woman who wears the, what is the word?

The maquillage, the makeup. The most expensive.

Married to a man with the ambitions political...

who has a great sense of his own importance.

There is also something else about Eve Carpenter.

She is so vain that she will not wear the spectacles --

only those that have a tint.

And without the spectacles, she cannot even...

see to cross the room.

But you know from the point of view of age...

any one of these 3 women could also be...

Lily Gamboll.

At the time of the death of Mrs. McGinty...

Madame Carpenter was not Madame Carpenter.

She was a young widow, very badly off...

living in the cottage of a laborer...

engaged to the rich man of the neighborhood.

If only Guy Carpenter had discovered...

that he was about to marry a woman of low origin...

who had bludgeoned to death her aunt with a meat chopper --

You do think it's Eve Carpenter, don't you?

I do not know.

Peut-étre she has the skeletons in the armoire.

Mais, certain there must be some reason that she tells to me...

that Mrs. McGinty was a liar.

The whole thing's damn thin.

Does anyone really commit murder...

for the reasons we've been considering?

Ah. The passion for respectability...

it is very strong, Superintendent.

These are not artists or bohemians.

No, very nice people live in Broadhinny.

They tell to me so themselves.

[ Telephone ringing ]

[Taps]

I think that you do not originate...

from Kilchester, mademoiselle.

No. Moved here about a year ago.

Was in London before that. Tired of it.

Tired of London?

May I ask, what was your employment?

I worked in publicity.

And now you work for the Breather and Scuttle.

I fancied a change.

But do you make progress, Monsieur Poirot?

That's what I want to know.

Mademoiselle, we do not have any suspects.

We do not have the murder weapon.

And we do not have any evidence...

that James Bentley did not do it...

so to speak truly, non, we do not make the progress.

But there are only 2 weeks until they hang him.

Aah!

[ Woman screams ]

Thank you. Thank you very much, Sergeant.

My pleasure, sir.

Superintendent Spence, if you please.

Superintendent, I have some very good news for you.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

It is that someone has attempted to kill me!

[ Laughter]

[ Indistinct conversations ]

So, after a while, the golfer turns to his caddy and says...

"Caddy, why do you keep on looking at your watch?"

To which the fellow replies,

"It's not a watch, sir, it's a compass!"

[ Laughter ]

It's him. It's him.

I've had a look at everybody, and it's him.

It's always the Doctor.

Thank you so much for coming...

to my little soiree, Monsieur Poirot.

-Madame. -I wish I could have...

found some more intellectual company for you both, but...

She's not as bad as she makes out, in my opinion.

If only she'd make a little more effort...

she'd be up on her pins in no time.

She lets young Robin do everything.

I hear she gets about when she wants to.

You know, yesterday somebody tried to push me...

under a train at Kilchester.

Good gracious.

I think they intended to kill me.

Well. Dr. Rendell had a surgery in Kilchester yesterday...

so that settles it.

No, no, no, not quite.

Monsieur and Madame Carpenter, they were also there.

He was speaking at the meeting political.

She was doing the shopping.

Major Summerhayes, he was there also, buying the pig-feed.

Well, Robin Upward's in the clear.

He and I were at work all day on the wretched dramatization.

Now he wants Sven having sex in a sauna.

Sven's never had sex in his life!

You don't know how I suffer.

Madame, I, too, suffer.

The cooking of Madame Summerhayes,

it is beyond description.

Well, it is not cooking at all.

And the currents of the cold air...

...the long hairs of the dogs, the chairs...

the terrible, terrible beds in which [ try to sleep.

And the coffee -- Words cannot describe to you...

the fluid they serve to you as coffee.

I do like parties. Such lots of lovely gin!

And it's all thanks to you, Mrs. Oliver.

I wish I could write books. I can't do anything, really.

There was a woman writing in the paper the other day...

the Sunday "Comet."

A very, very silly woman. Horsfall or something.

She was asking whether it's better...

to let your child be adopted...

and have every advantage -- every advantage! --

or whether you should keep it whatever your circs.

Idiot. I was adopted. I had every advantage.

And it's always hurt, really sodding hurt...

to know that my mother didn't want me.

I was so cruelly abandoned.

Well, just be thankful someone took you in, darling.

It's cold out there.

Well, I wouldn't give up my children, if I had any...

for all the advantages in the world!

Come along, old girl.

I feel so alone!

[ Imitating Maureen ] I feel so alone!

-[ Laughter ] -Let's get you home.

No.

So, Monsieur Poi. Pol... Poirot --

I suppose you have reason for thinking...

James Bentley didn't do it.

Oh, tell us, please!

If he didn't kill her, who did?

Haven't you got any clues, Poirot?

That's it, clues.

Clues that mean everything to the detective...

and nothing to you, until at the end...

you fairly kick yourself.

Don't you, Mrs. Oliver?

I usually kick myself at the beginning.

Come on, Poirot. Give us a glimpse...

at the workings of your colossal brain.

Yes, give us a clue!

You wish for clues?

Voilà!

Heavens!

Good Lord. Is that it?

What frightful frumps!

Who are they?

Who's that awful child?

My dear, that hat!

But why are they clues?

Who are they?

You do not recognize these photographs?

-Recognize? -You do not, shall I say...

remember having seen one of these photographs before?

No.

Madame Carpenter? Madame Rendell?

Madame Rendell, you perhaps?

Oh!

Ah, yes. Madame Upward.

You recognize one of these photographs, do you not?

Yes...I think so.

Which one?

So you have seen this photograph before. When?

-Oh...I can't... -Madre.

Quite recently. I can't remember where.

But I'm sure I've seen that photograph before.

Mrs. McGinty also recognized the photograph...

and now Mrs. McGinty, she is dead.

You must tell me anything you know, madame.

Anything at all.

You are a woman who is secretive, madame.

When I come to a decision, I act.

Knowledge is power.

Power must only be used for the right ends.

You'll excuse my suggesting that you don't perhaps appreciate...

the pattern of our English country life.

In other words, you say to me that...

"You are only a damned foreigner."

Be careful, madame.

There is danger.

Where is it, Joe? Where's the money?

Woman, mind your business, all right?

[ Sobbing ] You're doing it again, just like before!

But we don't pay rent now, so they can't kick us out!

We own the bloody place!

I think I'll smoke. Good night.

[ Breathing heavily ]

MAJOR SUMMERHAYES, VOICE-OVER: I've never been so humiliated.

You embarrassed me in public. Stupid woman!

You embarrassed me. You lost all our money.

At least I had something to inherit...

which is more than you did.

It's not my fault I came from parents...

who didn't have that sort of money...

-Oh, shut up. -Don't speak to me like that.

I'll kill you! I'll kill you with my own bare hands!

[ Telephone ringing ]

[ Ringing continues ]

It's the telephone for you.

Merci, madame.

Madame, there is also a new current of cold air in my room.

Hercule Poirot?

I've got another theory.

Joe Burch, married to that niece of McGinty's.

They had money troubles.

Joe fritters it, they can't pay the rent.

Joe leaves the cinema in Kilchester...

cycles the 4 miles to Broadhinny...

clobbers the old girl, then pedals back...

just in time for the credits.

Then they inherit the cottage.

Got it? See you later.

MAUREEN: Here, boy! Come on.

Where have you gone? Come on.

S'il vous plait, madame... what is this utensil?

Oh, you've found that, have you?

-Oui. -It's a sugar cutter.

Or sugar hammer.

Or something. For chopping up sugar.

It's rather fun, isn't it? Oh, my head!

You brought it back, perhaps, from India?

Oh, no. We bought this...

at the Jumble Sale at Christmas.

It came from Baghdad.

At least, that's what Shelagh Rendell said.

In one of her more loquacious moments. Ha ha.

Merci, madame.

[ Whistling ] Come on, boy.

A sugar hammer?

Oui, madame. it is an instrument of brass...

with a handle of wood...

and there is on it a bird...

and there is also inlaid the stones, blue and red.

Oh, yes.

Madame?

Oh, yes, we bought it in the bazaar.

On holiday, last year.

But it looked out of place, so I took it to the Jumble Sale.

I see. So, you kept it here,

in this house, until Christmas --

and then you took it to the Jumble Sale?

No, it wasn't the Christmas sale.

It was the one before that. Harvest Festival.

The Harvest Festival?

So when is that -- September, October?

The end of September.

Are you sure you took it to the Jumble Sale in September...

and not at Christmas?

Yes.

Why are you really here in Broadhinny?

To inquire into the death of Mrs. McGinty.

Nonsense. If's absurd.

No one believes that for a moment.

She was a char!

Look, I know what you're actually after.

And it's not true. None of it's true.

He wouldn't. I just know.

Madame...

And you, a professional -- a so-called professional --

I would have thought it beneath your dignity...

to come down here and hound a man!

To harry him like a dog, like a beagle, it's, it's --

Madame --

Those letters were written by cowards!

Cowards and liars! Traitors! Filth!

Don't you believe a word.

Madame!

[ Door slams ]

It is not glamorous. It is not fashionable.

It's cheap.

Sven Hjerson is a vegetarian.

Sven Hjerson has always been a vegetarian.

He's got a little machine for chopping carrots.

Yes, yes, Ariadne, precious, yes, but why?

I don't know why I ever thought of the revolting man.

I must have been mad! These things just happen.

You try something and people seem to like it...

and then you go on -- and before you know where you are...

you've got someone like that maddening Sven Hjerson...

tied to you for life.

Shouldn't you spend some time on casting, Robin?

-Hmm? -Didn't you think...

Cecil Leech was a good idea?

Oh, that is very shrewd, Madre.

You know, Cecil Leech could do it.

Now, why don't we motor over to Kilchester tonight?

He's in my touring production at the Rep.

[ Bell ringing ]

To London, if you please. Express.

Ooh. Scotland Yard. Fancy.

Mademoiselle Sweetiman, from your accent...

I suspect that you are not from these parts.

No, I'm a blow-in.

May I ask, where the wind it has blown you from?

I grew up abroad. Never mind where.

[ Man whistling ]

Hello, Joe.

Monsieur.

Oh, Madre, I'm so sorry.

I just don't want you to feel lonely, that's all.

Look, we can cancel it.

You'll do no such thing. Go out and have a lovely time.

You'll enjoy it, Mrs. Oliver.

If I'm lonely, I'll ring up one of the neighbors.

-Well, if you're sure. -Of course I'm sure.

Good night, sweetheart.

-Good night. -Good night.

Damn. Hang on a minute.

Sorry, darling. Almost forgot your coffee.

Now, are you sure you're gonna be all right, precious?

I'll be fine.

[ Indistinct conversations ]

I've something for you.

Something that might help the investigation.

Mrs. Carpenter.

Eve Carpenter used to be an exotic dancer...

at the Cactus Club in Soho.

How do you know this?

I've been scouting around.

And?

She's still got the publicity stills.

Pretty audacious, actually.

Mademoiselle, are you telling to me...

that you have broken and entered?

Certainly not.

I was conducting a survey for the Estate Agents' Guild.

I simply ask the burghers of Broadhinny...

if I might peep inside their lovely homes.

They invariably give me a tour.

I also noticed something at Dr. Rendell's house.

His wife was --

Dinner!

Well, that was incredibly well received, wasn't it?

You know, I think that Cecil is going to be just perfect for us.

Look, let me sign your program.

Oh, that would be so kind of you.

Pleasure. There you are.

Marvelous.

I'll just put the car away.

Jolly good.

We're home, Mrs. Upward.

It was terribly sad.

But he's ever so talented, I suppose.

I'm going to bed.

Mrs. Upward?

Mrs. Upward?

[ Gasps ]

Neat, quick, efficient.

The Thuggees did it that way in India.

Victim doesn't cry out or struggle.

Pressure on the carotid artery.

I wager it was someone she knew. They had a coffee together.

There are no prints on the cup, but there's lipstick -- look.

And there was a strong smell of scent.

Very expensive scent.

You say Mrs. Upward recognized one of your photographs?

So many think of murder as a game.

It is not a game.

I told this to her, but she would not listen.

[ Indistinct conversations ]

Come in, Mrs. Summerhayes. I think you know these people?

Yes.

So?

I was here. Last night.

At what time?

I don't know. She telephoned me.

She was lonely.

Well, she spoke to Johnnie, actually.

[ Telephone rings ]

Hello.

Come and have coffee, she said.

Well, Johnnie was working as usual...

and their coffee's a lot better than ours, so --

So you had coffee with her?

-I rang the bell. -[ Bell rings ]

-Mrs. Upward? Hello? -But nobody answered.

I called out, but there was no answer.

You've hit the bull's eye with that sugar-hammer thing.

People don't realize that even a microscopic amount of blood...

will show up under analysis nowadays.

And it fits the head-wound rather snugly.

Please to have a look at this, Superintendent.

"Marine Life of the Great Barrier Reef."

It has some illustrations that are splendid.

But please to take a look at the flyleaf.

Evelyn Hope.

Eva Kane.

But how did you?

The Great Barrier Reef, mon ami, it is situated where?

Australia. Mrs. Upward.

You have not told to me, madame, about your visit to Kilchester.

It was like going to see his family.

He's more at home in the theater than he is at home.

And yet he has feelings so strong for his mother...

and cares for her so diligently.

So perhaps he made to her the telephone call that evening?

To his mother? Oh, yes, absolutely.

Indeed? At what time?

About 7:15, I suppose.

Just before we got to the theater.

And how was Madame Upward?

Then, oh, she was fine.

You know, it's not very nice to discover a body.

No.

I shall have to write a lot less screaming in future.

They'll hang me eventually. They're keen.

Your friends work hard for you.

What friends?

Maude Williams.

What's it got to do with her?

She is convinced that you are not guilty.

Ma foi, is it a crime to like a pretty girl?

Tell to me!

We went for a walk together once.

It was nice. She's nice.

I liked her hair. She had lovely, dark hair.

And her clothes.

Mother's were old-fashioned, but hers were nice.

And she's kind.

She came to Broadhinny?

Yes. On Estate Agent business.

And you took her to the pictures, or perhaps a meal?

No. No, sir, I didn't have any money.

We just walked. Bumped into that writer chap.

Maude said I should talk to him about my poems.

Poems?

Yeah, I write these little poems.

She asked him for his autograph. She said he was famous.

Robin Upward?

That's him. Yeah.

Maude said I could be famous one day if I stick at it.

And this was just a little while before Mrs. McGinty was killed?

Yeah, it was on the Monday. She died on Wednesday.

I wish to ask you something else, Monsieur Bentley.

Mrs. McGinty, she took the Sunday "Comet."

That's right.

Did you ever read her Sunday "Comet"?

No. I was brought up to believe it was trash.

So you did not see it that week?

No.

And Mrs. McGinty, did she speak of...

anything that she read that Sunday?

Oh, she did! Yeah, she was full of it!

She went on and on!

All right, now, this is very important...

so please to be careful.

What did she say?

It was about some ancient murder case.

Craig? Maybe not. Conway? I can't recall.

She said someone connected with it...

is living in Broadhinny now.

Did she say who?

Well, it was his mother, wasn't it?

Whose?

The chap we were just talking about.

The writer chap.

Madame Upward?

Yeah, yeah. I think so.

Or was it someone else? I wasn't really listening.

It is disheartening to reflect, monsieur...

that if you are hanged, it is because...

you do not pay the proper attention...

to the people with whom you converse.

I don't want to be hanged, sir. I haven't done anything.

It's my mind, it wanders, right? Just do what you can, please?

Why, Superintendent, should a woman keep...

a photograph of herself when she is young?

Vanity?

Oui. So she has been a pretty girl...

so she keeps a photograph of herself...

to remind her what a pretty girl she used to be.

When the mirror, it says to her things most distressing.

If Eve Carpenter or Shelagh Rendell...

both women who are most attractive...

had a photograph such as this...

I think they would tear it into pieces very quickly...

for fear someone should see it!

Non. Your reason of vanity we may discount.

Let us take another reason: sentiment.

The memory of someone you love.

Did anybody love Lily Gamboll at that age?

Surely the whole point about Lily Gamboll...

is that she was a child that was not loved...

this child of the slums.

So I conclude -- It was not sentiment, either.

Look here, Poirot, what you're saying is...

that nobody would have kept that photo.

Exactement, mon ami.

But someone did.

Mrs. Upward admitted she'd seen it.

But had she?

Dash it all, Poirot, you said she had.

Yes, but I believe that she was lying.

She noticed the photograph, yes...

but she pointed to the other one for to create a screen of smoke.

Why? Was she being blackmailed? She was a wealthy woman.

Madame Upward has seen something.

She intends contacting the person concerned...

at the first opportunity.

And the first opportunity was when Robin Upward...

went to the theater.

[ Telephone rings ]

Hercule Poirot?

I shall be there first thing tomorrow.

[ Knocking ]

[ Crying ]

I know I shouldn't, but I do. He's just too persuasive.

He asks me, and I can't say no.

Mademoiselle Sweetiman, it is vital...

that you tell to Poirot who he is.

Joe. Joe Burch.

The husband of the niece of Mrs. McGinty?

And you have met him on the night of the murder?

MISS SWEETIMAN, VOICE-OVER: I saw someone...

going in to Laburnums.

I think it was a woman.

Sorry I'm late, sweetheart.

The Major said I had to tell you.

Monsieur Upward, your play, it goes well?

Well, no, to be honest.

I was just having a little break.

But I must persist.

I feel it's what poor old Madre would have wanted.

By the way, I hope my typing's not too noisy for you.

-Pardon? -My typing.

I hope it's not too noisy.

Non, non, non.

I can't stay at Laburnums on my own.

Where is it?

What is it you look for, madame?

The Ministry of Agriculture form about the bloody pig.

Got it!

[ Typewriter keys clacking ]

Madame Rendell.

S'il vous plait, madame, may I ask of you something?

Did Madame Upward telephone to you on the day of her death?

Yes.

At what time?

Mrs. Scott, the housekeeper, took the message.

Ask her.

And what was the message?

Was it perhaps to ask you to go there that evening?

Yes. But I'm ashamed to say I took my medication...

and I fell asleep after dinner.

When I awoke, it was too late, it was dark.

I should have gone.

Merci, madame.

Doesn't this take the pressure off James?

He can't have killed Mrs. Upward.

He's in prison.

What is it that you want, mademoiselle?

I believe in James Bentley. He is a troubled soul...

but I believe he can do great things.

I want to clear his name.

Tell to me what you discovered at the house of Dr. Rendell.

On reflection, it may have been nothing...

but his wife was burning letters.

There was a pile of letters...

in the grate in her sitting-room, still smoldering.

Now, what might she be up to?

She hardly looks the type to be having an affair.

Does the name Evelyn Hope mean anything to you?

Evelyn Hope?

I see you know the name.

Why, yes.

It was the name Eva Whatsername took when she went to Australia.

It was in the paper. The Sunday "Comet."

The Sunday "Comet" said many things, mademoiselle.

It did not say that.

Evelyn Hope is a name that I discovered...

in a book at the house of Madame Upward.

-What? -Why did you want...

the autograph of Robin Upward?

Why did you come to this part of the world in the first place?

How did you know Eva Kane went to Australia?

Sorry. I've got to go.

Where to, mademoiselle?

I've got to go. I'm sorry. Goodbye.

Mademoiselle?

I'll pay you whatever you want.

You're a private investigator, aren't you?

I'll pay you whatever you ask. Get the police off my back.

They think I killed the Upward woman.

And did you, madame?

No! I was at home, listening to the radio.

-Guy was at a meeting. -[ Telephone ringing ]

Croft took the message from Mrs. Upward...

asking me to go down and see her.

-Did you go? -Why the hell should 1?

Damned dreary old woman.

Thought she was a bloody movie star.

Why do you not wear your spectacles, madame?

Oh, I do sometimes. I had to as a child.

Also, the plate for the teeth?

Yes. I was a sad, little thing.

I am sure your mother, she did not think so.

I couldn't tell you. She left pretty sharpish.

What the hell are we talking about, anyway?

Will you take the job?

Je regrette que non, madame.

A question of money, is it? How much?

That is your great mistake, madame.

To think always in terms of the question of money.

[ Door opens ]

MAUREEN: Scissors.

Ah.

[ Door closes ]

SPENCE: I've been making inquiries in Dublin.

There's a woman called Lily Brogan...

serving life in Mountjoy Gaol...

for chopping up her spouse with a meat cleaver.

She's the right age.

She wears thick glasses, has a vile temper...

and is said to have originally come from Wimbledon.

Hardly conclusive.

Fixed.

So, this woman in Dublin, she could be Lily Gamboll?

Yes, which leaves us with Evelyn Hope...

formerly Eva Kane...

who reportedly died in Australia 20 years ago.

Eva Kane was the governess to the Craig family, n'est-ce pas?

Yes.

And where there is a governess, il y a des enfants.

The children.

Yes. 2.

They went to live with relatives...

when their mother was killed.

Wait one little minute.

Confirm for me this, mon cher Spence:

Eva Kane leaves the country before Craig...

he is executed, c'est vrai?

-Yes. -And at this time...

she is expecting a child?

Yes, like it said in the paper.

Mon Dieu, how stupid is Poirot!

Do you know, mon ami, what is a secret Polichinelle?

I don't speak foreign, Poirot.

Ah. Then quickly, Superintendent!

Into the car! Vite!

Mesdames et messieurs, I will not make for you the history...

that is long and complicated.

But it is necessary that I should start...

at the very beginning.

Mrs. Abigail McGinty.

A woman who was simple, hardworking.

Down on her knees, scrubbing your floors.

Alas, Mrs. McGinty, she is killed...

and a young man, James Bentley, he is tried and convicted.

But, my dear friends...

Superintendent Spence from Scotland Yard...

had doubts that Bentley was truly guilty.

And so he approached me, Hercule Poirot...

...to confirm his suspicions, or not, as the case may be.

And so the first question for Poirot to ask --

it is this: why did Mrs. McGinty die?

By now you know about the photograph...

that was published in the Sunday "Comet," oui?

Bon. Well, Mrs. McGinty has recognized...

one of those photographs.

In fact, James Bentley told me so himself...

...that she saw this photograph at the house of Madame Upward.

But when I produced my 2 photographs...

-Voila. -at her house that night...

...Madame Upward pointed to the photograph...

of the child killer -- Lily Gamboll.

But Madame Upward pointed to the wrong photograph...

quite deliberately to shake me from the scent.

But one person was not deceived.

The murderer.

And here I will not beat around the shrubbery.

The photograph that Madame Upward recognized...

was the other one -- that of Eva Kane...

the accomplice in the Craig murder case.

In the following evening, Madame Upward, she is killed.

[ Choking ]

But before she died, 3 women received the telephone calls.

[ Telephone rings ]

Madame Eve Carpenter. Madame Shelagh Rendell.

Madame Maureen Summerhayes.

We must now look to them.

Now, Madame Upward made this call herself...

asking each of these women to come and see her that evening.

Now, had these women anything in common?

Nothing, it would seem, except their age.

Each has the right age to be the daughter of Eva Kane.

But when these summonses were received...

what actually occurred?

Madame Summerhayes went to the Laburnums.

-[ Bell ringing ] -Mrs. Upward!

POIROT, VOICE-OVER: She could not...

make herself heard, and so she departed.

Madame Carpenter and Madame Rendell...

for different reasons, they did not go.

And yet there were traces of lipstick on a cup on the table.

There is also another witness, who shall remain incognito...

who saw a woman walking up to Laburnums.

Et aussi, we have the evidence of a scent:

scent that is strong, exotique, expensive.

And exactly the same as is used by you...

Madame Carpenter.

I never went near the place! Guy! Do something!

We know already certain things...

about your wife's past, monsieur...

things that she would rather keep hidden.

You bastard!

Perhaps she has further secrets?

Let me inform you, Poirot...

we have laws of slander in this country.

Is it a slander, monsieur, to say that your wife...

wears a certain lipstick or uses a certain perfume?

You utter bastard! This is ridiculous!

Anyone could go splashing my perfume about!

Exactement!

Anyone could.

And someone did.

Clumsy and crude. But it made me to think.

Scent, lipstick on a cup.

But surely lipstick, it can be removed very easily.

Every trace. But it was not!

Why not?

And it seemed to me that there was...

an emphasis most deliberate on femininity...

an underlining of the fact that it was a woman...

who committed the murder.

So, Poirot, of course he begins to suspect that it was not.

The telephone calls that these women received --

they were only messages.

None of them actually spoke to Madame Upward herself.

She communicated with Monsieur Croft, your butler...

...Madame Scott, your housekeeper...

...and of course with you, sir.

Major Summerhayes.

What did she say to you, in fact?

-[ Telephone ringing ] -Hello?

She said ask Maureen to pop 'round for coffee, if you would.

Just so?

Just so. What are you implying?

No, nothing, monsieur.

It's just that did she sound to you normal?

Was she under any stress?

I wasn't really listening, damn it.

I put the receiver down and called for my wife.

I was hard at work on my book.

But I suppose her voice sounded strained.

Do you think someone forced her to do it?

I only know, monsieur, that someone was most anxious

to involve a woman -- any woman.

I ask myself, why?

And the only answer, it seemed to me, could be this:

that it was not a woman who killed Madame Upward, but a man.

And so we arrive to here: a man killed Madame Upward...

and from the evidence that we now have...

it is conclusive that the same man killed Mrs. McGinty.

But what kind of man?

A man they knew?

A man to whom they would open the door?

A man who would, how you say, "pop around" --

by foot, by car, by bicycle?

Both of these murders hinge on a photograph.

And after the second murder...

...I'm sure you will all agree with me...

that the very presence of this photograph for the murderer...

it is very dangerous.

It should be destroyed?

But it was not.

How do I know this?

I discovered this photograph only yesterday...

in a drawer in this room.

Eva Kane.

And on the reverse...

"My mother."

I don't understand. I never saw...

You told to us that you were adopted.

You never knew your parents.

But someone did, someone knew, someone discovered.

Someone has all the ancestral pride...

of the family...

and someone who, rather than let the world know...

that his wife was the daughter of Eva Kane...

would rather die or, in this case, would rather Kill.

Now, look here, you filthy swine...

I've just about had enough!

Anyone can put a photo in a drawer!

You're quite potty.

I've never seen that picture before in my life.

Except at the Upwards' that night.

Who's that awful child?

You are fortunate, madame, that Poirot knows...

he is telling the truth.

Because this photograph, it had been placed in this drawer...

only a little while before I found it.

How do I know this? Because I replaced...

the contents of this drawer earlier...

and it was not there then.

So it must have been placed there during that interval.

And so both crimes were committed by a man.

And for the simplest of reasons: money.

In a flyleaf of a book that I discovered at Madame Upward...

is the name written Evelyn Hope.

Now, Hope was the name given to Eva Kane...

when she left England to go to Australia.

But if her real name was Evelyn,

then it is quite natural to suspect...

that she would give this name to her child.

After all, Evelyn is a name that can be given...

to a man as well as to a woman.

But why did we suspect that the child of Eva Kane...

was a girl?

Because the Sunday "Comet," it told us so.

In an article written by Mademoiselle Pamela Horsfall.

But, mes amis, this article, it was a work of fiction.

How could Pamela Horsfall possibly know...

the sex of a child that was unborn?

Accurate? Heck, who knows?

Non!

Evelyn Hope was the son of Eva Kane.

He left Australia, came to England, found work.

He attracts the attention of a widow who is rich, lonely.

And little by little, she grows to adore him.

He changes his name to hers by deed poll...

and they come to Broadhinny.

But your real name, monsieur,

it is Evelyn Hope...

...n'est-ce pas?

What are you talking about?

The name Evelyn Hope, that I discovered...

in the flyleaf of the book, monsieur...

it is in your handwriting...

...as are the words "My mother"...

...on the back of this photograph.

And it was this photograph that Mrs. McGinty found...

when she was tidying your room.

She assumed that it was a photograph...

of Laura Upward when she was young.

She could have no idea that Madame Upward...

was not your real mother --

but your real mother, monsieur, it was Eva Kane!

And you know that if your Madre, she knows...

she would throw you out.

Out on your own, to fend for yourself.

It is not easy to make a living as a playwright, eh, monsieur...

without the help of a generous banker?

So Mrs. McGinty, she is silenced.

You ridiculous, little man!

Where do you get these absurd ideas from?

I will tell it to you.

You know, from the beginning, I thought that there was...

something unnatural at the Laburnums.

Your attitude to Laura Upward, monsieur...

it was not the attitude of a son to a mother.

It was rather the attitude of a protégé to a patronne.

And Laura Upward, even though she adores you...

she treats you as an object of luxury...

for which she has bought and paid.

Oh, but all goes well for Robin Upward.

Soudainement, here is the successful playwright!

Until comes along the McGinty.

What are you to do?

You steal the sugar hammer from the Summerhayes.

You can steal anything from the Summerhayes.

You drive your car to her cottage.

And Mrs. McGinty, she is expecting le petit cadeau, eh?

The little present, perhaps even the pay-off.

Instead, you smash in her skull.

Next, you fake a burglary.

You mean Monsieur James Bentley to be fingered.

You met him only a few days before.

You found him to be a man of little intelligence...

so he will discover the body.

He will panic. He will incriminate himself.

Et voila! -- He does. He is tried and convicted.

And all goes well until I produce my 2 photographs...

at the house that night.

And at that very moment, you know that...

your "Madre," she knows.

And so you prepare your mise en scene.

Damn. Hang on a minute.

POIROT, VOICE-OVER: You leave Madame Oliver...

sitting in the car.

Almost forgot your coffee.

Now, are you sure you're gonna be all right, precious?

I'll be fine.

Oh!

[ Choking ]

POIROT, VOICE-OVER: And you Kill her!

And the murder, it takes a matter of seconds.

And now to make it look as though...

a woman committed the crime.

You smear the cup with lipstick...

lipstick that you had taken from the handbag of Madame Carpenter.

You even brought along a bottle of her scent most favorite.

Now for the final act of incriminating a woman...

...you make a telephone call to your mother...

on your way to the theater with Madame Oliver.

From Kilchester. Is that not right?

Yes! Yes, I did, and she was fine.

Now, that is enough!

I shall certainly be contacting my lawyers immediately.

This lawyer had better be an expert, monsieur.

Because you did not telephone to your mother.

Because at that time, Laura Upward...

she was already dead.

Oh, you made the telephone call, yes.

But you made the telephone call to 3 women.

Madame Eve Carpenter, Madame Shelagh Rendell...

and Madame Maureen Summerhayes.

You employed all the skills of the actor that you once were!

[ Mimicking Mrs. Upward ] Hello. This is Laura Upward.

I wonder, would you please give Mrs. Rendell a message?

And now you wanted to place any one of these 3 women...

at the scene of the crime.

And once you had discovered that...

Maureen Summerhayes, she had been there...

it was then that you conceived the idea...

of placing this photograph amongst her possessions.

After all, the sugar hammer was hers...

and because she had been adopted...

she would find it very difficult to prove...

that she was not the child of Eva Kane.

But you forgot to observe one little fact, monsieur.

The fact that Madame Maureen Summerhayes...

never, at any time, wears the lipstick.

Is that not so, madame?

No. I never wear lipstick.

You see, monsieur, when I tidied the drawer...

I knew that the person who had placed this photograph there...

-[ Typewriter keys clacking ] -was typing above my head.

And then I remembered what you said to Maureen Summerhayes...

when she admitted to being adopted that night.

Just be thankful someone took you in, darling.

It's cold out there.

POIROT, VOICE-OVER: And then I remembered...

the title of your play as told to me by Madame Oliver.

"Abandoned."

And then I knew that you, Monsieur Robin Upward...

or rather Monsieur Evelyn Hope --

you were also adopted.

Is that not so? Is that not so?

Yes.

Yes.

Don't look at me.

Please!

Don't look at me.

Hello, there!

I'm not late, am I? We said 4:00, didn't we?

I believe we said 3:00, madame.

Oh, well, never mind. So, it was Robin Upward.

Whilst I was sitting in the car. I must confess I'm astonished.

I was certain it was the Doctor. Or Joe Burch.

I am afraid, madame, that your female intuition...

it has taken the day off.

Nonsense. My mind was on other things, that's all.

But I am so sorry that your play...

it will not now be written.

You can be sorry if you like, Poirot.

Personally, I'm overjoyed.

Now, hop in -- I'll take you back to London.

Oh. I'll just move these. Give you some room.

So, who was it who tried to push you under a train?

Robin Upward?

Non, non, non, non, non. Let me explain it to you.

Over a period of years in the town of Stoke on Trent...

a number of people who are terminally ill...

are assisted in their suicides by taking drugs...

that are prescribed by a local doctor.

A crime? A mercy killing?

Dr. Rendell?

Oui. D'accord.

Enfin, the gossips, they begin to write letters of malice.

But I could not find any evidence...

that the doctor benefited financially.

But the tongues, they will flap, n'est-ce pas?

The doctor has a wife with a neurosis...

so they have begun a new life in Broadhinny...

[ Woman screams ]

Et tout va bien.

Until comes along the meddling, little Belgian.

Oui, c'est moi.

But Poirot, you know, he is immortal.

And what is more, he knows everything.

Par example, he knows it was you that night at Laburnums.

You were the girl.

And Poirot, he also knows your real name.

It is Craig. N'est-ce pas?

And Eva Kane was your governess?

She killed my mother.

I went there that night to take my revenge.

I was going to kill her, but she was already dead.

And now...I know it wasn't her after all.

[ Sighs ] Thank God I didn't pull the trigger.

[ Sniffles ]

So, do you intend to charge me or something?

It is time to go.

So go.

Bon chance!

Whitehaven Mansions, if you please.