All language subtitles for Agatha_Christies_Poirot_S12E03_x265_720p_BluRay

[Thunder rumbling]

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It doesn't have to be
a masterpiece, Ariadne.

No, no.
I'm going to take my time.

Last one looked like
it had had a stroke.

How are we doing, girls?

Grand, grand.

Sharp, now.
The children are arriving.

You will stay for the party,
Mrs. Oliver?

Well, I'm not feeling too well,
actually.

Won't go on long.
You know what children are like.

They get so giddy.

That suit you?

-Um...
-Excellent. First rate.

They'll be thrilled to meet you,
I'm sure.

Well, must get on.
Time's wing'd whatsit, eh?

Rather a force of nature,
Mrs. Drake.

Mm.

It's very good of you to muck in
like this, Ariadne.

And your talk tomorrow.

Ah, well, I've been meaning
to have a word with you

about that, Judith.

I'm not feeling too clever.

I hope you've not picked up
Miranda's cold.

Such a shame she couldn't come
to the party.

She was so looking forward
to it.

[ Sneezes ]

-JUDITH: Bless you.
-Thank you.

...which followed
President Roosevelt's speech

earlier on today.

That is the end of the news.

[Thunder crashes]

Are you sitting comfortably?

No.

No?
Good.

We wouldn't want that,
would we?

Not on a dark and stormy night
like this one.

[ Cackling ]

[ Laughter, shouting]

She's coming to get us!

We shall have to keep an eye
on you, Mrs. Oliver.

There'll be no apples left
to bob with.

My besetting sin, I'm afraid.
I can't resist them.

All this must have set
Mrs. Drake back a bob or two.

The year's on the turn, vicar.

Must we freeze yet again?

Alas, I'm afraid the heating
at St. Wulfric's

packed up ages ago.

Maybe you should try wearing
an extra woolly?

It's all right for you
in that cassock.

Bet you're got up like Scott
of the bloody Antarctic

under that lot.

-[ Sneezes ]
-Oh, bless you.

I do beg your pardon.

No, no, no.
It's my fault.

I'm always in the way.

Mrs. Reynolds.
Local martyr.

Frances, did you ask Cook
to soak the raisins?

Of course I did, Ma.

Do pace yourself, darling.

Sun's well over the yard-arm,
mother mine.

Come on, Edmund.
Lend a hand, for God's sake.

EDMUND: I'm rather absorbed
as it happens.

Roderick Usher has just found
his sister bricked up.

"We have put her living
in the tomb."

It's awfully good.

Well, I'm more concerned with
the Fall of the House of Drake,

at the moment,
so stir your stumps.

Oh!

Joyce Reynolds, you duffer.
What do you think you're doing?

-Sorry, miss, I'm sure.
-That's all right.

MISS WHITTAKER:
Look at the poor pumpkin.

LEOPOLD:
♪ Joyce smashed the pumpkin ♪

I Joyce smashed the pumpkin I

Go and boil your head, Leopold!

-[ Laughter]
-Ow! Mind out, Joyce.

[Muffled talking]

[ Cheering ]

Oh, bravo Leopold.

Now, who's next?

Patience, Cathie.
Everyone will get a turn.

Leave that, Mrs. Reynolds.

The party's not over yet.

You enjoy yourself.

Oh, I don't mind.

I like to help out.

All right, all right,
who's next?

Mrs. Drake says you're a writer.

The one who does
the murder stories.

Yes.

You must make a lot of money
out of it.

ARIADNE:
A bit.

That's not very polite,
is it, Joyce?

And you have a detective
who's a Finn, haven't you?

Sven Hjerson.

Why a Finn?

I've often wondered.

I saw a murder once.

Don't be silly, Joyce.

-I did!
-Oh, really?

ROWENA: Of course
you didn't see a murder.

Don't say such foolish things,
dean

Has everyone had a go
at the apples, vicar?

I did see a murder.

I did.
I did.

What kind of murder,
you ridiculous creature?

She's making it up.
Again.

I'm not!
I saw one.

We're going to play Snapdragon
next. It's great fun.

It wasn't really till
a long time afterwards, I mean,

that I began to realize
it was a murder I saw.

That's more a Christmasy thing,
isn't it?

Well, we Drakes always play it
at Halloween.

Why didn't you go
to the coppers, then?

Because I didn't know at
the time that it was a murder.

ARIADNE:
Is that the one

where you pluck fruit
out of a bowl or something?

That's right.
Raisins soaked in liquor.

-Bit like Frances.
-Ha, ha.

COTTRELL:
Then set fire to.

In the dark.

JUDITH:
Of course, now I'm older,

I know that it was a murder
I saw.

Utterly potty.

When was all this
supposed to have happened?

Years ago.

I was quite young at the time.

FRANCES:
You're young now, you nit.

Who murdered whom?

Oh, I shan't tell
any of you now.

You're all so beastly.

JUDITH: Poor Miranda.
She's missing a smashing party.

[Banging]

MISS WHITTAKER: Oh, my God.
Gave me the shock of my --

ROWENA:
Who's there?

What is it, Miss Whittaker?

Thought I saw...

It's just the wind, I expect.

A feeling of sick dread
came over me

as I gazed upon
that dreadful countenance.

At that obscene parody
of a human face.

Even as I watched,

his blood-shot eyeball began to
roll down the livid green skin.

"Fool!" he hissed.

"Insect "

Not enjoying it, sir?

It is the subject matter,
George.

It is distasteful.

Poirot, he has seen much evil
in this world.

It should not be the subject
of such mockery.

GEORGE:
Oh, it's just a bit of fun, sir.

I love a good blood-curdler, me.

And very appropriate
for the time of year.

George, at this time of year
in Belgium,

it is the custom to light the
candles in memory of the dead,

not to tell the stories macabre.

[ Indistinct conversations]

I grieve for your carpet,
Mrs. Drake.

There's water everywhere.

It'll set you back quite a bit
to get it spruced up.

Oh, it's old, Vicar.
Not to worry.

[Banging]

Now what?

Jehovah's Witnesses?

FRANCES:
[Chuckles]

It's Halloween
for young and old!

Now, who would like
their fortune told?

ARIADNE: All the bells
and whistles, I see.

Woodleigh Common's
very own witch.

Ma won't like this.

Mrs. Goodbody
was certainly not invited.

EDMUND:
Mummy?

ROWENA: Yes, dear, very good.
You should be in films.

Now, come along.

We don't want any unpleasantness
in front of the children.

Now, come along.

-No, but I want to stay!
-Come along.

For the kiddies!
For the kiddies!

Ah!

Everybody ready, now.
Come along.

JUDITH: Yes, come on.
Into the parlor.

-Come on, now.
-Snapdragon time.

That's it.

Quickly.

[ Indistinct conversations]

CHILDREN:
Snip! Snap! Dragon!

Snip! Snap! Dragon!

Take care, don't take too much.

Be not greedy in your clutch.

Snip! Snap! Dragon!

With his blue
and lapping tongue,

many of you will be stung.

Snip! Snap! Dragon!

For he snaps at all that comes,

snatching at his feast of plums.

Snip! Snap! Dragon!

Here he comes with flaming bowl.

Shut the door.

Snip! Snap! Dragon!

ARIADNE:
Oh, dear, you're drenched.

What a clumsy thing
you must think of me.

No, no, it can happen to us all.

Mustn't let the children run
about in their stockinged feet.

I'll get a brush.

Mrs. Baker!

[Thunder crashes]

Dragon!

Snip! Snap! Dragon!

Very well, everyone.
That's your last go.

-[ Groaning]
-Oh, yes.

Come along, now.
It's 10:00.

It's way past
most of your bedtimes.

Time to go home now.

Come along, now.
Home, home.

Would you all be dears

and round up the little waifs
and strays?

Some of the older ones gravitate
to the cloakrooms

and what have you.

Whatever for?

What have you, I should think.

Has anyone seen my Joycie?

I'll do a head count.

Aah!

[Telephone rings]

Hercule Poirot speaks.

Oh, thank God you're in.

My friend Ariadne.

Yes, it's me.

POIROT: But you are breathless.
What is the matter?

Something, it has upset you?

ARIADNE:
Upset me?

Dear God.

I shall never be able to look
at another apple again.

CHILDREN:
Snip! Snap!

Snip! Snap!

Ahh.

[ Exhales slowly]

[Smacks lips]

Glorious, isn't it?

Ow'.

-The leaves are like gold.
-MICHAEL: No, no.

I meant the mucky old window
and the dusty seats.

The pervasive odor of Capstan
Navy Cut and schoolboys' socks.

I see you have been
out of England

some little time, monsieur.

Fresh off the boat.

From Athens.

Superb.

But I do miss the old country.

Heading far?

Woodleigh Common.

Me too.
How very nice.

Yes, I live there,
as a matter of fact.

Indeed?

Mm.

For how long, may I ask?

MICHAEL:
About three years. Yes.

Came to do a garden.
Never left.

That's what I do.
Gardens. Creation thereof.

A very beautiful
part of the world.

Michael Garfield.

Hercule Poirot.

Oh, well, there's a turnup.

POIROT:
Oui.

Good to know you, monsieur.

Je vous en prie.

On pleasure bent, I trust?

Indeed, no.

No?

Non.

Regardez.

MICHAEL:
Good God. Poor kid.

POI ROT: Oui, d'accord.

The murder of a child, it is a
crime so terrible, n'est-ce pas?

Have they got anyone for it?

Non, non.

And this little girl, Joyce,
she was known to you?

No, no,
I couldn't claim to know her,

but seen her around the place,
I expect.

So you'll be coming round

to give everyone
the third degree, then?

Perhaps.

In the meantime, I wonder,
some advice, 37! vous plait?

Yes.
Fire away.

If I were to seek out
the local --

How do you call it?
The chitter-chatter.

Oui, the local gossip.

To whom should I go?

[Laughs]

Monsieur?

Tell me.

Do you believe in witches?

God, this is grim.

What?

I mean,
clearing up after a party

is always a bit of a chore,

but when one's had a murder,
it feels so very parochial.

Stop trying to be clever.

I don't have to try, Edmund.

Stop it, both of you.

-Sorry, Mummy.
-Sorry, Mummy.

ROWENA:
It's bad enough

that this terrible thing
happened in our house

without you two snapping
at one another

like a couple of terriers.

You know who the police will be
straight onto, of course.

What the hell do you mean?

Well, they hauled you in

when that grubby little crook
got himself killed.

And they couldn't find anything
to pin on me then either,

could they, Edmund?

MIRANDA:
What are you doing, Mummy?

Oh, just old clutter.

Lots of things I should have
got rid of long ago.

I'd rather you stayed in,
Miranda.

You're still off-color,
and besides --

I know what you're going to say.

There really is a maniac
on the loose.

Will you stay indoors?

For me?

Of course I will.

I'll have to telephone Cathie,
though.

[Doorbell rings]

POIROT:
Mademoiselle.

Who are you?

Hercule Poirot.

JUDITH:
Oh, hello.

Yes.
Ariadne said you were coming.

I'm sorry it's under
such dreadful circumstances.

POIROT:
Yes, indeed.

But it is most kind of you
to accommodate me.

JUDITH:
Oh, it's a pleasure.

Where are my manners?
Come in, please.

POIROT:
Merci.

Are you the detective man?

Ah, oui.

Hercule Poirot.

He is the greatest detective
in the world.

And how do you call yourself?

I'm Miranda.

Mlle. Miranda.

You'll be wanting to see
Ariadne, I expect.

I'm afraid she's in bed,
poor thing.

POIROT:
Indeed?

[Humming]

[ Coughs ]

You'll stay, then?

Get to the bottom
of this ghastly thing?

Oui, madame.

"I saw a murder once."

That is what the girl said?

Lots of people were talking,

but we all heard her
quite distinctly, didn't we?

There was
a general pooh-poohing.

Did you believe her?

Of course not.

She was showing off, I'm afraid.

It's a rather tiresome age.

It seems unkind to say it.

Non, non, non, madame.

In a case of murder,

it is not unkind to say
what the victim was like.

Indeed, it is most necessary.

And this girl,
she gave no details?

No names?

ARIADNE:
No.

She got a bit upset because
people were laughing at her.

Did she say when this murder,
it occurred?

Years ago, she said.

But she said it in a rather
would-be grown-up sort of way.

She had not told the police?

ARIADNE:
No.

She said, "I didn't know at
the time that it was a murder."

Well, that is a remark
most interesting, hein?

ARIADNE:
[Coughing, sniffling]

POIROT: How is it that you
come to know Mme. Oliver?

I went on a Hellenic cruise
this year.

I managed to prevent Ariadne
from falling into the harbor.

We became fast friends
after that.

And you have lived here
a long time in Woodleigh Common?

Oh, yes.
Years.

And M. Butler?

I'm afraid
it's rather a sad story.

Max was a pilot.

He had an accident.

It happened
before Miranda was born,

so he never saw his little girl.

Ah.
Je suis désolé, madame.

But he would have been of her
most proud, I am sure.

What now, monsieur?

Alors, now it is time

for Poirot to make a visit
to the police.

It's a horrible business.

The death of a child
is always a bit of a wrench.

But this...

He was probably peeping
through the French windows.

That lock's very unsound.

He saw there was
a kiddies' party going on,

lured the girl to the library,
and then killed her.

He?

Some lunatic.

They let all sorts of people
roam the streets these days.

And you have interviewed
all those who were present

at the Halloween party

and established
their whereabouts?

Of course.

With what result?

No one seems to remember when
they last saw Joyce Reynolds.

The murder almost certainly
took place

during the game of Snapdragon.

All the lights in the parlor
were off.

If anyone came or went,
no one saw who they were.

And what about what was said
by the little girl?

That she witnessed once
a murder?

Utter rot.

You know what kids are like.
Always exaggerating.

They'd tell you black was white
at that age.

Why? You reckon
there's something in it?

I do not know.

A young girl boasts
to have seen a murder

and some hours later,
that girl, she is dead.

It could be cause and effect,

but if so,
somebody lost no time.

There have been murders
not solved in this area?

Look, I don't mean to be rude,
sir.

I mean, I've heard of you,
of course.

Who hasn't?

But we have very modern methods
of policing nowadays.

I know you're very hot
on your theorizing.

Your psychological whatnots.

But I think this is better
left to us, don't you?

To the professionals.

We'll get there,
don't you worry.

Of that I have no doubt.

What are you going to do now,
then?

With your permission, I will
visit the scene of the crime.

Good day to you, Inspector.

JUDITH: This is Mrs. Drake's
famous garden.

POIROT:
But it is exquisite.

I'll have to tell Mrs. Drake

Ariadne can't give
her W.I. talk this afternoon.

Though under
the circumstances...

Ah, oui.
Vraiment. Oui.

She's assumed command
magnificently.

She's rather good at that.

[Humming]

Madame, s'il vous plait?

Pardon?

Merci.

All right?

Oui, merci.

C'est formidable!

And yet people
very rarely visit here.

And why is that?

-Monsieur!
-Ah.

M. Garfield.

Mrs. Butler.

So, what do you make
of my little kingdom?

Ah, so this was the garden
that you came here to execute?

C'est vraiment superbe.

MICHAEL: Of course, officially,
I finished it ages ago,

but beauty always draws me back.

I'm a bit like that dauber

they used to drag
out of art galleries

because he'd still be retouching
his paintings

years after they'd been sold.

Another five minutes,
and it'll be a masterpiece.

We really shouldn't keep
Mrs. Drake waiting.

POIROT:
Non.

-Monsieur.
-Monsieur.

My poor Joyce.

It's God's will, I suppose.

He moves in mysterious ways.

They say he gathers
those close to him

who he cannot bear
to be parted from.

Now all I've got is my Leopold.

Oh, thank you.

Mrs. Butler.

And this must be --

Hercule Poirot.

Enchanté, madame.

This is Mrs. Reynolds
and Leopold.

Master Leopold.

I am so very sorry
for your loss.

Oh, thank you.

You're the detective, are you?

Oui, madame.

It's very good of you,
I'm sure,

to come down here and help us.

De rien.

I do not wish to distress you.

I only wish to ask of you
a few questions perhaps?

Oh, of course.
Please do sit down.

Merci, madame.

No Mrs. Oliver?

I'm afraid she's come down
with Miranda's cold.

Oh.

POIROT: Madame, you saw no one
leave the room

during the game
of the Snapdragon?

No. No, no.

It was pitch black, you see.

And there was an awful lot
of to-ing and fro-ing.

Yes.
No wonder nobody noticed him.

Noticed who, madame?

The killer.

The police think it was a tramp
or something, don't they?

Oui, but you know this remark
that was made by your daughter?

That she once witnessed
a murder?

Oh, God forgive me
for saying this,

but we all know
what my Joycie was like.

She loved to tell a tall tale.

She'd have been showing off

to try and impress
that London person.

Perhaps.

But if she did witness
such a thing, then...

Are you sure you're going about
this the right way, monsieur?

Shouldn't you be looking
for Joyce's killer

in the here and now?

"Old sins cast long shadows,"
madame.

CHILDREN:
Snip!

Snap!

Snip!

Snap!

Snip!

Snap!

Snip!

Snap!

Snip!

[Children whispering]

[Bird cawing]

[Flies buzzing]

[ Hisses ]

[ Hisses ]

[Knock on door]

POIROT:
Mme. Goodbody, I am told

that you have the knowledge
unrivaled in this village.

Nosy, in other words.

No, no, not at all.

[Laughs]
I don't mind what people think.

You'll always get the truth
out of Mother Goodbody, mister.

More than from most others
round here.

I's always been on the outside,
me, looking in.

That ways,
you get to see things different.

I sees things all the time.

Sometimes with me eyes,
sometimes in the leaves.

Comment?
The leaves?

Tea leaves, my duck.

You can see a lot in 'em.

Past, future.

Sometimes just tea.

Maybes our little Joyce
might have seen things, too.

Quite so.

Let me see.

-Deaths in the village?
-Oui.

How far back?

Well, Mlle. Joyce said
that the murder took place

when she was quite young,

so perhaps in the last
five years or so?

Well, of course,

there's plenty has had
their three score and ten

and died natural.

But as far as I can see,
there's only three possibles

for this murder
what Joyce said she saw.

And they are?

[Clears throat]

Beatrice White.

Mademoiselle?

Bon.

M. Lesley Ferrier.

Lesley...

Ferrier.

Bon.

And Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe.

POIROT:
Llewellyn-Smythe.

Alors, let us take them, then,
in the order of their deaths.

Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe
went first.

2112 years back.

She was Mrs. Drake's old aunt.

I used to char for her.

Then she got rid of me
and got herself a whatsit.

An opera girl.

An opera girl?

Oh.

Ah.
An au pair girl.

That's what I said.

Olga Seminoff.

Foreign, she was.

The vicar arranged it.

I always thought that Olga was
a right little gold digger.

Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe was rich,
you see.

Ooh!
Rich as Croesus.

So there was some suspicion
surrounding her death?

Well, she had a bad heart.

Nobody said
there was anything funny

about her going like that.

But it was sudden.

So, therefore, it is possible

that she was poisoned
by this Olga?

But, then, how would little
Joyce know of a thing like this?

Oh, it's possible, in't it?

Ow'.

And the next name?
Lesley Ferrier?

MRS. GOODBODY:
He was a clerk.

Solicitor's clerk
here in the village.

They never got who did it.

But the point is, he and Joyce
were under the same roof.

He was Mrs. Reynolds' lodger.

Ah.

So there is certainly
the connection there.

And this Lesley Ferrier, did
he have any other associates?

He was courting a girl
in the village.

That tarty piece.

Rowena Drake's daughter.

Ah.

And yet the little Joyce

said that "I did not know
at that time it was a murder."

So this does not fit in
with a crime of such violence.

Alors, the last name,

this Mlle. Beatrice White?

She was Joyce's schoolteacher.

Drowned.

Accident they reckon.

Apparently,
she had been drinking.

Ah.
This Poirot likes better.

It is much more likely.

The thing is, you see, there'd
been mutterings about her.

From the parents.

About her suitability.

She was very thick
with the church organist,

Elizabeth Whittaker.

Very thick.

I see.

Alors, you have been of the
greatest assistance, madame.

Merci beaucoup.

Evening, Vicar.

Oh, Miss Whittaker.
I was just shutting up shop.

Mrs. Reynolds is thinking

of "Before Jehovah's Aweful
Throne" for the funeral,

and I'm a bit rusty.

Thought I might do
some practice.

Be my guest.

Oh.
You've had another one, then?

Yes.

-Good evening.
-Good evening.

POIROT: Tell to me,
if you please, M. Fullerton,

were you satisfied with M.
Lesley Ferrier as an employee?

He had his points.
Handled clients well.

-But...
-But?

He'd been in bother with
the police when he was younger.

I gave him the benefit
of the doubt.

Took him on here.

It didn't really work out,
though, alas.

Non?

I rather suspected

he was snooping
into private documents.

I was on the point of giving him
a formal warning when...

POIROT:
He was stabbed to death.

I'm afraid so.

POI ROT: Vraiment.

Now, I am given to understand
that M. Lesley Ferrier

was close to Mlle. Frances,

the daughter of Mme. Drake?

I believe they were
stepping out together, yes.

And I wonder, M. Fullerton,

did you ever act on behalf

of the late
Mme. Llewellyn-Smythe?

I did, indeed.

Nothing fishy about her passing,
I'd say.

She was a good age.

No, the queer business
was what happened afterwards

with the will.

POIROT:
The will?

FULLERTON:
As you are aware,

Louise Llewellyn-Smythe's
last will and testament

had remained unaltered
for several years now.

Legacies for Frances and Edmund,

then the bulk of the estate

passed on to yourself,
Mrs. Drake,

and to your late husband.

Come on, Fullerton.

Don't drag it out.

A few weeks ago, however,

I received the following letter
from Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe

which contained
the following document.

It is a codicil
to the original will,

drawn up in her own hand.

Your aunt states clearly

her desire to leave
her entire estate and fortune

to Miss Olga Seminoff.

What?

There must be some mistake.

Olga?

The notion
that she would disinherit

her own flesh and blood

and leave everything
to a virtual stranger, well...

And the family Drake,
they contested the codicil?

FULLERTON:
No need in the end.

A forgery.

D'accord.

And what became
of Olga Seminoff?

Up and left soon after.

Just so.

[Clock chimes]

Well, if that's all...

Ah, yes, of course.

Merci beaucoup, M. Fullerton.

Chère madame,
you should not work.

You should rest.

I have deadlines, Poirot.

In sickness and in health.

And my child of an editor
is pressing me for another draft

of "I'll Huff and I'll Puff."

Comment?

Sven Hjerson solves a murder

in a hot-air balloon
over Abyssinia.

Anyway, how are you getting on?

With the real murder?

Eh bien, I have verified

what was told to me
by Mme. Goodbody.

And there appear to be
three deaths

which might possibly be
the murder

which was referred to
by Joyce Reynolds.

Ah, yeah,
I've been thinking about that.

It seems to me Joyce wouldn't
have said what she did

had she known who had actually
committed this murder she saw.

Poirot has considered this also.

Either that
or she did not recognize

that the murderer was present
at the Halloween party.

It is most intriguing, non?

JUDITH:
Ready when you are, monsieur!

Madame,
I must now take my leave.

I attend the morning service

here in the church
in the village.

Ohh!

What's the matter?

It is my feet.

They cause me the pain.

ARIADNE: It's those silly
patent leather shoes of yours.

Ludicrous for the country.

Now, why don't you get yourself

a nice pair
of those buckskin ones

with the rubber soles?

POIROT:
Madame.

Chère madame, I do not know
that I agree with you.

COTTRELL: "And they brought also
unto him infants,

that he would touch them.

But when his disciples saw it,
they rebuked them.

But Jesus called them unto him
and said,

"Suffer little children to come
unto me and forbid them not,

for of such
is the Kingdom of God.

Verily I say unto you,
whosoever shall not..."

You must come to luncheon today,
monsieur.

I should be delighted, madame,
but alas...

Excellent.
Shall we say 1:00?

Merci.

Don't worry, M. Poirot.
We can spare you.

COTTRELL: But the disciples
think this is important

that they say, "No, stay away."

And Jesus says,
"No, that is the whole point."

[ Indistinct conversations]

You must wrap up, Miranda.

It's nippy out there.

It's nippy in here.

"Only sleeping."

Do you think that's true, Mummy?

MICHAEL: Well, as a gardener,
I'd have to say no.

I favor "Turning into compost."

We're not used to seeing you
here, Mr. Garfield.

Have you seen the light?

Compost?

Well, it's not a bad idea,
is it,

to return to nature?

I was wondering if we could
go and take some tea

sometime soon?

The three of us?

-Oh, yes.
-No, I'm afraid not.

Why not?

You've been poorly, my darling.
That's why.

She's not made of glass,
you know.

Monsieur.

MICHAEL:
Lovely morning.

RAGLAN:
Cheerio, Mr. Fullerton.

Inspector, you progress
in the hunt for the lunatic?

Yep.

Master Leopold, is it not?

Ah, c'est trés jolie.

It is a present, perhaps?

Pocket money.
I saved up.

Most perspicacious.

I wouldn't pay much attention to
what Joyce said if I were you.

POIROT:
Indeed?

It was all a lot of hooey.

Who on earth
would she see murdered?

I suppose you expect me
to be all sad

and boo-hooing about the place,

but I'm not.

I know she was my sister
and all that,

but I didn't really like her.

[ Indistinct conversation ]

COTTRELL: An extraordinary
woman, Mrs. Reynolds.

Quite extraordinary.

Not the girl's flesh and blood,
of course,

but still so very stoic.

It's M. Poirot, isn't it?

Yes, indeed, Reverend Cottrell.

Pardon, but not the girl's flesh
and blood?

Stepmother.

Ah.

Tell to me, if you please,
about the child Joyce Reynolds,

what was she like?

Well, one hates to speak ill
of the dead,

but she was rather given to
embroidering things, I'm afraid.

Always telling tall stories.

I remember her uncle
had been to India on holiday,

and she had us all believing
that she'd been there.

Went on about a maharajah

and shooting at tigers
and elephants and so on.

And the stories
got added to every time.

There were more tigers.

Far more tigers
than were remotely possible.

And she hadn't even been there.

But this does not mean that
every story she told was a lie.

Excuse me, if you please.

Mlle. Whittaker?

Oh, you must be M. Poirot.

I heard you were here.

Mademoiselle.

If you please, tell me
about your poor friend

Mlle. Beatrice White.

What do you mean?

Beatrice?
What for?

Well, it might be relevant

to the death
of the child Joyce Reynolds.

But how could it?

There was nothing suspicious
about Beatrice's death.

It was an accident.

The inquest said
it was an accident.

But at this present time,
no one is suggesting otherwise.

She meant to you a great deal.

Beatrice was the finest person
I've ever met.

I cared for her very deeply,
monsieur.

And I only discovered
how much she cared

when it was too late.

Good day, monsieur.

CHILDREN:
Snip! Snap!

Snip! Snap!

Snip!

Miss Whittaker.

Are you all right?

Yes.
Quite all right, thank you.

This is where it happened,
isn't it?

Your poor friend.

I know what it's like
to lose someone.

But the pain does pass in time.
Believe me.

I --

I just can't help thinking
of what might have been.

-Do you understand?
-Of course.

So many of us have lost
loved ones, haven't we?

Poor Mrs. Reynolds now.

Oh, that woman!

She rather gives me the horrors.

Putting it all down
to the Almighty

and his impenetrable plans.

Well, I suppose we all cope
in our own way.

Wants us all to think
she's the model Christian.

But there's not a lot of charity
in that heart, I can tell you.

Reynolds wanted Beatrice
out of the school.

Well, she got her way.

[Water splashes]

[Shears snipping]

Mm.
You can't keep away.

Monsieur.

Mme. Butler, she has told to me
that this garden,

it is open to the public.

And yet, this -- this place
of beauty, it is deserted.

Oh, yes,
it's supposed to be unlucky.

It's old superstitions left over
from the Civil War.

Indeed?
-MICHAEL: Oh, yeah, yes.

The Witchfinder General.

Very active round these parts,
he was.

Lot of poor old hags
were dunked to death.

Comment?

Dunked?

MICHAEL:
Dunked, yes.

Drowned.

There was a pond
somewhere over there

and they used to put the accused
witch on a ducking stool

and plunge her into the water,

and if she floated,
she was guilty,

and if she sank,
she was innocent,

so a bit of a no-win situation,
frankly.

Ow'.

CHILDREN:
Snip! Snap!

It is curious to consider,
is it not,

that this garden so beautiful
of Mme. Llewellyn-Smythe

was nearly inherited
by someone else.

What do you mean?

POIROT:
The claim of the au pair.

Olga Seminoff.

Oh, that.

Yes, yes, that was funny.

Very like her to aim high.

So, you knew her?

Oh, yes.

Ever so popular with the young
men of Woodleigh Common.

You are suggesting she was
possessed of the loose morals?

Well, that is one way
of putting it.

Young Olga
was a raven-haired beauty.

You were an admirer of hers,
monsieur?

MICHAEL: No, no, no, no,
not my type at all.

You off to the house?

Oui. I have a luncheon
appointment with Mme. Drake.

Do take care, old boy.

You will only survive

if you look at her reflection
in a polished shield.

[Laughs]

POIROT:
Monsieur.

ARIADNE: "Sven Hjerson narrowed
his eyes and surveyed the room.

'You do realize, of course,

that the killer was in
the balloon the whole time?”

No, no, no.
That doesn't work, does it?

He couldn't have been there

if he had to sign
the poison register.

[Sighs]

Miranda dear, are you listening?

Hmm?

Oh, yes.
Sorry.

Sorry, Mrs. Oliver.

Where were we?

I've just realized I've got to
cut one of my favorite ideas.

Shame.

Does that happen a lot?

More than you'd think.

Heigh-ho.

One often has to sacrifice
one's babies.

Sacrifice?

Sorry. Sorry.
I didn't mean that to sound...

Oh, dear, here's me going on
about my silly book.

It's perfectly all right.
Honestly.

It's awfully nice
having you here, you know.

Really?

I can't say I've been
exactly effervescent company.

Even so.

It's always just been
the two of us.

I think Mummy must get
awfully lonely.

[Clock ticking]

Please put that book away,
Edmund.

Yes, Mummy.
Sorry.

How are you finding us here
in Woodleigh Common, Mr. Poirot?

Common?

Indeed most uncommon,
Mlle. Frances.

Frankie, please.

I mean, fancy saddling
your daughter

with a name like Frances Drake.

ROWENA:
I've told you a thousand times,

it's only ignorant people
who make a joke --

Yes, but it's me
who has to live with it.

I've heard them all.

Armada this, game of bowls that.

I've even been begged to throw
down my raincoat over a puddle

for some queen or other.

I forget his name.

That was Raleigh, not Drake.

Shut up, Edmund.

You have lived here long time?

Ten years or so.

My late husband and I came here
to be with my aunt.

We were the only family she had.

Ah, yes.

Mme. Llewellyn-Smythe?

That's right.

And then poor Daddy died.

Run down by a motorcar.

Some youths going
at a reckless speed.

And when Aunt Louise passed
away, the house came to us.

Although, there was a moment
when we feared it wouldn't.

All that fuss
with that wretched babushka.

What was she called?
Molotov?

Don't pretend
you don't remember Olga's name.

ROWENA:
Poor ignorant girl.

I felt rather sorry for her.

I didn't.
What a bitch.

Language, Frances.

At least Olga was genuinely fond
of Aunt Louise.

Unlike you.
You were always snapping at her.

She thought you were
a sniveling little mummy's boy.

Children!

-I'll fetch the port.
-Madame.

Not entirely sure
where it's got to,

now we no longer have a man
about the house.

Mrs. Baker!

How is your investigation going,
Mr. Poirot?

Do you really think
Joyce was telling the truth?

Eh bien, there is still
a murder not solved

Here in Woodleigh Common, hein?

That of M. Lesley Ferrier,
the clerk to the solicitor.

And I believe that he was
a close acquaintance of yours,

mademoiselle?

Lesley had certain attractions,
but he was deeply unsuitable.

EDMUND:
You spent most of the time

consumed by the green-eyed
monster, didn't you, Sis?

Anyway, it was all over
between us when it happened.

EDMUND:
All over.

Yes.

I can still hear
the smashing of crockery.

ROWENA:
Success!

A vintage tawny.

Bottled the year
of Queen Victoria's Jubilee.

What do you say, monsieur?

A quick snifter and then
a bracing stroll in the garden?

It's a devil to keep up,
but Aunt Louise loved it, so...

Oh, really, it's intolerable.

Mother.

He loiters.
It's unnerving.

Well, I shan't stand for it
any longer.

EDMUND:
Mummy, don't.

You!
Get away from this house!

You are not welcome here.

I beg your pardon?

ROWENA: I've made it perfectly
clear to you, Mr. Garfield,

on numerous occasions

that I do not approve of you
hanging around in this fashion.

MICHAEL:
I'm afraid I can't help it.

It's such a lovely view.

So, if you don't mind,

I think I might go and tend
my Aster oblongifolius.

Ta-ta.

There's something I don't like
about that man.

Something uncanny.

I wouldn't be at all surprised
if...

POIROT:
No, no, no, madame.

Michael Garfield
is not responsible

for the death of Joyce Reynolds.

He was in Athens at the time.

Poirot, he has already checked.

And the sources of Poirot,
they are impeccable.

[ Bang ]

Oh.
It's you.

Not surprised you'm jumpy.

Not surprised at all.

Can I help you?

Jeyes' Fluid?

You can't have got through
the last lot already.

Well, I daresay I could make it
go a bit further.

That foreigner's been to see me.

Asking questions.

COTTRELL:
Really?

He was particularly interested
in that Olga of yours.

Hardly mine.

Well, you was the one

that organized all them girls
to come over here.

And there hasn't been one since,
has there?

I discontinued the scheme.

Olga let me down.

She let us all down.

I always wondered, though,
what you got out of it.

What on earth do you mean?

MRS. GOODBODY: Well, putting
all them waifs into service.

What was in it for you?

My Christian duty.
Nothing more.

Obviously, there were one or two
minor expenses.

MRS. GOODBODY:
I'll bid you good night, then.

Sweet dreams.

Oh, and if you can remember
the disinfectant, Vicar.

This whole place needs
a thorough cleanout.

[Creaking, heavy breathing]

[ Footsteps ]

[Hinges creak]

Aah!

It's this wretched fever.

That's why
I've only just remembered.

About the Halloween party.

Je vous implore, madame,
calmez—vous

and tell to Poirot
what has occurred.

Well, it was during
that silly Snapdragon game.

It was great fun, I'm sure,

but I was dead on my feet
by then

and it got awfully hot...

CHILDREN:
...don't take too much.

Be not greedy...

ARIADNE:
...so I went out into the hall.

And there I saw Mrs. Drake.

-Oh!
-Oh, dear, you're drenched.

What a clumsy thing
you must think me.

No, no.
It could happen to us all.

Mustn't let the children run
about in their stockinged feet.

POIROT: What do you think
had happened to startle her?

ARIADNE:
She saw something.

Must have done.

But here's the thing.

She was looking
towards the library.

-You understand?
-Oui.

Where Joyce was found
not long after.

Maybe she saw someone
she didn't expect to see.

And did you yourself
see there anyone?

No.

It is strange
because Mme. Drake,

she does not strike me

as a woman
that could be startled easily.

You concur?

I most certainly do.

CHILDREN:
Snip!

Snip! Snip!

Snip!

[ Indistinct conversation ]

[Laughs]

It ain't me
you should be scared of, missus.

Look to yourself.

Bloody curse there is on you.

Come on, Leopold.

MRS. GOODBODY:
First your husband.

Then your little girl.

Even your lodger.

All dead and moldering
in their graves.

Who's next?

Hey?

CHILDREN:
Snip!

Snap!

Snip!

Snap!

POIROT: Mme. Drake, I understand
that during the party,

you met with an accident?

Accident?

POIROT:
The vase that was dropped.

Oh, that.

That was very irritating.

I'd noticed earlier
that the flowers needed water.

The party was in full swing,

so I took the vase down to
the downstairs cloakroom

and filled it up.

Next thing you know,
it had slipped out of my hands.

Dreadful mess all over the hall.

Very stupid of me.

I felt an awful fool
in front of our guest of honor.

Mme. Oliver.

It was she that thought
that something startled you

or it was something unexpected
that you saw.

No, I didn't see
anything unexpected.

What would there have been
to see?

Everyone was playing Snapdragon.

Well, you did not see
perhaps someone

to open the door
of the library?

-The library door?
-No, of course not.

POIROT:
Are you certain, madame?

It is unwise to conceal matters
from Poirot.

I'm not accustomed to being
accused of lying, monsieur.

Non, non, non. Pas du tout.
Madame, pas du tout.

There may be an explanation
quite innocent for all of this.

But you must realize, madame,

that if you glimpsed someone
in the library at that moment,

you may well have seen
the murderer.

And by remaining silent,

you would be placing yourself
in the peril most considerable.

I'm touched by your concern,
M. Poirot.

But rest assured,
I am in no danger.

No danger at all.

Do you know, I think
it's turning chillier.

I don't know how you can stand
to be in here.

I'm incurably morbid.

Or hadn't you heard?

FRANCES:
What are you reading?

Fascinating stuff.

The Old Religion.

FRANCES:
What about it?

Some practices haven't died out

like they have in the cities,
you know.

Practices?

CHILDREN:
Snip! Snap!

FRANCES:
You mean the way Joyce was...

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch
to live."

CHILDREN:
Snip! Snap!

Oh.
Hello.

M. Poirot.

Ah.
Mlle. Butler.

Now, you should not be out here
on your own.

Your maman --

Oh, I'm perfectly safe.

I love it here.

Oui.
It is glorious.

Nobody knows where I am,
you see, when I come here.

I sit in the trees and watch.

I like that.

Watching things happen.

And what is it that you watch,
mademoiselle?

Birds and squirrels
and that sort of thing.

And people?

Sometimes.

But not many people come here.

What is it, mademoiselle?

Well, I was just thinking
about Joyce.

Ah.

I'll miss her.

We used to share secrets.

But she never told to you
about the murder that she saw?

No.

Joyce never told me
she'd seen a murder.

[Humming]

One codicil.

Merci.

It is most kind of you,
Inspector.

Kindness doesn't come into it.

Seems like you've got friends
in high places.

Friends at the Yard.

POIROT: It is just
as was told to Poirot.

Mme. Llewellyn-Smythe leaves
the whole estate

to the au pair Olga Seminoff.

Farcical, of course.

It's a forgery.

Not a very good one at that.

POIROT: And the signatures
of the witnesses,

a Mr. and Mrs. James Jenkins.

RAGLAN:
The odd-job man and his missus.

Emigrated to Australia
just after the old woman died.

And were they contacted?

-No point.
-Non?

RAGLAN: The signatures
were checked. Forged.

Like the rest of it.

It is possible for Poirot
to examine the belongings

of Lesley Ferrier?

Why not?

It's like bloody Liberty Hall
round here.

POIROT:
Such disarrangement.

Yes, that's the codicil,
all right.

The forgery.

POIROT: Non, monsieur.
You are mistaken.

I can assure you.

Non, non, non, monsieur.

This is the codicil

that was given to me
by the Inspector Raglan,

and it was this document

that was examined
by the experts

and declared to be the fake.

What's this, then?

POIROT: That is the codicil
that I discovered

amongst the personal belongings

of your former employee
Lesley Ferrier.

Were you aware, M. Fullerton,

that amongst the other petty
misdemeanors of Lesley Ferrier,

one of his convictions

was a three-month sentence
in prison for forgery?

Good Lord.

So Olga Seminoff got him
to forge the codicil?

It certainly appears so.

Now, this is odd.

Pourquoi?

FULLERTON: I'm no expert,
but it seems to me

that Ferrier has made
a far better job on this one

than the one he sent to me.

[Branch snaps]

CHILDREN:
Snip! Snap!

Snip! Snap!

MAN:
Good evening, Mrs. Drake.

Good evening.

CHILDREN:
Snip! Snap!

Snip! Snap!

Snip! Snap!

Snip! Snap!

Snip! Snap!

Snip!

[ Laughter]

[ Firework whistling,
exploding ]

You idiot!

You scared me half to death.

Guy Fawkes Night
is almost upon us, Mrs. Drake.

That's all.
There's no need to be scared.

MISS WHITTAKER:
Oh, God.

Oh, God.

[Children whispering]

Just like his blessed sister.

Inspector?

Do you still search for
your lunatic who has escaped?

All right, Mr. Poirot.

I give in.
Help me out, will you?

So, now you wish
to involve Poirot

in your détection moderne?

I'll listen to anyone right now.

Un moment.

Of course.

Mademoiselle.

A discovery most distressing,
n'est-ce pas?

Brought it all back.

Beatrice.

This is where they found her.

And the death
of Mlle. Beatrice White,

it was not an accident,
was it, mademoiselle?

I've told you before.

Beatrice wasn't murdered.

Non, non, non.
Not murdered.

But Poirot, he has considered

what you told to him
in the churchyard.

I cared for her very deeply,
monsieur.

And I only discovered
how much she cared

when it was too late.

"When it was too late."

How did you discover
her feelings?

There was a note, was there not?

And she took her own life?

God knows I thought
she was happy enough.

But Beatrice...

Beatrice could never reconcile
herself to her true nature.

Could never love me the way...

I didn't tell the police
about the note.

I wanted to save her
from the final indignity.

An unconsecrated grave.

I thought I could do that
for her at least.

If only we could have been
left alone.

Left in peace.

MRS. REYNOLDS:
Job, Reverend Cottrell.

Job was afflicted by the Lord
just like me.

He had everything taken away
from him.

Indeed, dear lady.

These things are sent to try us.

It's his will.

First, he took my Albert
from me, then Joyce.

Now dear Leopold
has been called to him.

POIROT: Reverend Cottrell.
Madame.

You have my —-

"The fire of God
is fallen from heaven

and hath burned up the sheep
and the servants

and consumed them,

and I only am escaped alone
to tell thee."

Isn't it dreadful?

Quite dreadful.

Yes, indeed.

Reverend Cottrell,
a word with you if I may.

Of course.

Mme. Goodbody tells to me
that you were responsible

for the presence
of Olga Seminoff

here in Woodleigh Common.

Olga?
Yes.

I started a little scheme.

Sort of missionary work
in reverse.

Indeed?

I visited Czechoslovakia
some time ago

and forged links
with some churches there.

Various families were eager

that their daughters
should better themselves.

Seek opportunities
in this country.

I was happy to help.

POIROT: And Olga Seminoff,
she was one of them?

Yes.

I managed to find a position
for her

with Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe.

That is most worthy of you,
monsieur.

Well, I did my best.

Tried to keep a pastoral eye
on her.

And this scheme of charity,
it no longer operates?

COTTRELL:
No.

Olga's disappearance rather
brought it to a shuddering halt.

Her parents
are still writing to me.

Blaming me for heaven's sake.

POIROT:
Blaming you?

Well, she's never been in touch,
you see.

Never returned home.

Two years, it's been now.

Hardly my fault.

The girl was trouble, monsieur.

Why do you say that?

Well, I can't claim to know
all the details,

but Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe
did come and see me one night

in a terrible state.

It's all because of Olga,
you see.

My dear lady, what has she done?

There's so much wickedness
in the world.

-It's really most upsetting.
-Whatever's the matter?

Can it be true?
If it is, then I have no choice.

I will have to involve
the police.

But, oh, the scandal.

Would you like me
to speak to her?

No. Forget I came to you.
I'll deal with it in my own way.

COTTRELL: At the time, I didn't
know what she was on about.

But when all that business

about the forged codicil
came to light...

Olga was a wrong'un.

That's all there is to it.

I wonder where she is now.

MIRANDA: I didn't know
what to do, you see.

Yes.

You're right.

It was me.

Sacrifices
are sometimes necessary.

I see that now.

-[ Doorbell rings]
-There's someone at the door.

Mrs. Drake's just heard
about poor Leopold.

I shall never forgive myself.

Of course you were right,
monsieur.

I ought to have told you
what I saw.

But I thought...
I thought...

POIROT:
Calmez-vous, madame.

Tell all to Poirot.

I thought I was acting
for the best.

You must believe me.

And now, if only I'd told you,
maybe we could have saved him.

Begin at the beginning, madame.

I did see something that night.

In the hallway.

The library door opened
rather carefully, and I saw him.

POIROT:
Whom did you see, madame?

Leopold.

Ah.

ROWENA:
Of course, it startled me.

I thought he was playing
Snapdragon with the others.

And what's more, he had such
a queer look on his face.

[Glass shatters]

He was always rather
a strange boy.

Not quite right, you know.

The way he looked, it upset me.

And that's why I dropped
the vase.

ARIADNE:
Oh, dear, you're drenched.

What a clumsy thing
you must think me.

I didn't think anything of it
at the time.

It was only later.

Later, when we found Joyce
that I began to think it over.

And of course you concluded
that Master Leopold,

he killed his sister,
n'est—ce pas?

God help me, I did.

And then when you came and
questioned me about things,

I couldn't say anything.

He's so young.

Was so young.

He couldn't have known
what he was doing.

I suppose I had
a half-baked notion

that I could get treatment
for him.

Not have him sent
to some dreadful institution.

I understand, madame.

His being killed must mean
something quite different.

He must have gone in there
and found Joyce dead.

And that must have given him
the most awful shock.

Not because he'd killed her,
but because he'd found her.

Oh, God.

Who can have done
these dreadful things?

Poirot will discover all,
madame.

It will not be long now.

ARIADNE:
So, that's the schoolteacher

out of the picture.

Where does that leave us?

The poisoned old lady
or the solicitor's clerk?

[Knock on door]

Cocoa anyone?

-Non, merci, madame.
-What do you think, Judith?

How much did
Rowena Drake disapprove

of her daughter's liaison
with a crook like Ferrier?

-Enough to kill?
-Well...

Or could Mrs. Reynolds
have been secretly attracted

to her lodger all along?

And where has Olga Seminoff
got to?

It occurred to me the vicar
might be shielding her.

And then there's Mrs. Goodbody.
Well, she's just odd.

Je vous implore, madame.

This is not one of
your detective fictions.

We must deal here
only with the truth.

I'm only trying to help.

I know you are, Ariadne.

The final piece of this puzzle,
it eludes Poirot still.

The victim.

One must always return
to the victim.

For their personality,
their nature, it is the key.

What has everybody
told to Poirot

about Mlle. Joyce Reynolds?

She is a liar.

A teller of the tall tales.

A boaster.
A little liar.

So when she claims to have
witnessed a murder,

nobody believes her.

And yet, she is...dead.

JUDITH:
Monsieur?

POIROT:
[Sighs]

I have been an imbecile
three times over.

An imbecile!

It was there all along.

The maharajah.

What?

Tigers, mesdames.
Elephants.

I remember her uncle
had been to India.

The story got added to
every time.

And she hadn't even been.

She had not even been.

She appropriated the story.

A murder that was witnessed
by someone else.

Someone with whom
she shared her secrets.

Miranda?

Your daughter, madame,

she is in the danger
most terrible.

JUDITH:
Miranda.

Miranda!

Sacre.

I only hope we are in time.

CHILDREN:
Snip! Snap!

MIRANDA: Are you sure
Mummy won't be worried?

POIROT:
Merci beaucoup, Inspector.

He will meet us there.

Come on, Ariadne!

It's so beautiful.

It's bright as day.

[Laughs]

You do look funny.

I don't mind if you laugh.

No one can hear.

Shall we?

Ahh.

You know
people used to worship here?

The sun and the moon
and the stars.

And they used to sacrifice
things as well.

I've explained to you
about sacrifice, haven't I?

I have to die
so that others might live,

so that beauty can live.

That's right.

What I saw,
was that a sacrifice, too?

In a way.

-And Joyce and Leopold?
-Mm-hmm.

Is it time?

Yes.

And now you and I will drink
to the past and the future

and...

Ahh.

...to beauty.

That'll be nice.

Uh, what does it taste of?

It'll taste of whatever
you want it to.

It's magical, you see.

It's quite magical.

You remember what I said,
Miranda,

about returning to nature?

Look at the moon.

And you will be there soon.

Up there amongst the cold stars.

Immortal.

Now, you hold the cup and drink.

Hmm?

Drink.

[Clicks tongue]

-Drink to beauty, Miranda.

Non!
[ Shouting ]

[Whistle blows]

You're right, of course.

Joyce just repeated
what I'd told her.

I suppose
she wanted to impress everyone.

And, alas, it cost her her life.

But you are now safe, ma petite.

Tell to Poirot what you saw.

Well, I thought it must
have been an accident, you see.

And nobody said anything
the next day,

so I sort of just forgot
about it.

I'd been by myself reading
in the garden

when I spotted Michael.

I was going to wave,

and then I noticed
he was dragging something.

It was a body.

But why didn't you tell anyone,
Miranda?

Why?

I thought it might have been
a sacrifice.

Michael told me
sacrifices are necessary.

It was only today
that he guessed.

Guessed that it was me,
not Joyce, that had seen him.

The thing is, I never even
told Joyce it was Michael.

Just that I'd seen a murder.

But whose body was it?

MIRANDA: I don't know.
I couldn't tell.

But I don't understand.

He couldn't have killed Joyce,
could he?

I thought he was in Greece.

Well, my men and I will be off,
Mr. Poirot.

Get Garfield
down to the station.

Bon, Inspector.

And perhaps it is time we were
all of us in our beds, non?

[ Indistinct conversations]

Or perhaps it is time for Poirot
to tell to you a story.

A Halloween story.

[Thunder rumbling]

"It was a dark
and stormy night."

Is that not
how one should begin, hein?

And such, indeed, was the night
of the Halloween party

here in this very house.

A little girl claims,
"I saw a murder once."

But which murder was this?

The stabbing of Lesley Ferrier,
the clerk to the solicitor?

The drowning of the teacher
Mlle. Beatrice White?

Or could it be that the elderly
Mme. Llewellyn-Smythe

was, in fact, poisoned?

ROWENA:
Poisoned?

But all of those people,
including Aunt Louise,

are lying in the churchyard.

They're certainly not
in our garden.

Précisément, M. Drake.

In fact,
there is only one person

who has disappeared
from Woodleigh Common

and whose whereabouts
are not known.

And Poirot believes that
the poor soul who lies buried

in this garden so beautiful

is the foreigner sans amis,

without a friend.

The au pair Olga Seminoff.

Nonsense.

Olga left the village after
that stunt with the codicil.

POIROT:
Oui.

The codicil that everyone
thought was a forgery, hein?

And, indeed, this one, it is.

This one...

is the article genuine.

You mean, Mrs. Llewellyn-Smythe
did leave everything to Olga?

POIROT:
Oui.

Don't be silly.

No, but it is true, madame.

The Reverend Cottrell told me

of a conversation he had
with your aunt.

Whatever's the matter?

Can it be true?
If it is, then I have no choice.

I will have to involve
the police.

But, oh, the scandal.

And what scandal was this, hein?

Perhaps the au pair
Olga Seminoff

had seen evidence
of a love affair illicit?

A love affair
between M. Michael Garfield,

the gardener of her employer,

and someone who loved him
with every cell in their body.

Someone who was determined
to have this Michael Garfield

no matter what the cost.

And it has led
this little village

to become the slaughterhouse.

Has it not, Mme. Rowena Drake?

ROWENA:
[Laughs]

I beg your pardon?

Are you seriously suggesting
Michael Garfield and me?

Mummy can't stand Michael.

Once again, M. Drake,
précisément.

And it is this that first caused
Poirot to suspect.

To quote the Shakespeare,

"Methinks the lady
doth protest too much."

You loved him, madame.

You love him still.

And so you set out
on your campaign of butchery.

It's utterly crazy.

You think so?

The "reckless youths" who caused
the death of your husband,

they were never caught,
were they, madame?

So I wonder what the good
Inspector Raglan would discover

if he searches into the alibis
of yourself and Michael Garfield

on the day
that your husband, he died.

Did you plan to stop there,
madame?

Because now you are the widow,
hein?

But you are still financially
dependent upon your aunt.

And you stand to inherit
her house and her garden

if this old lady, she dies.

And her health, it is most poor,
so what could be more natural

than her heart,
which is exhausted,

giving out?

But in the ointment,
there is a fly, hein?

Unbeknownst to you,
the au pair Olga Seminoff,

who had the devotion so genuine
towards you aunt,

has confided her suspicions
about your love affair.

And Mme. Llewellyn-Smythe
believes her.

The wickedness which she spoke
about to the Reverend Cottrell

was yours, madame.

Is it then that Lesley Ferrier,
the crooked solicitor's clerk,

contacts you and tells you
of the news so terrible

that your aunt has disinherited
both you and your children,

of neither of whom she is fond,

and left everything
to Olga Seminoff?

So the plan, it is this.

The criminal Ferrier will make
another version of the codicil

and substitute it
for the original.

A fake so clumsy

that any amount of scrutiny
will discredit

and the claim of Olga Seminoff
will collapse.

And, of course, you and Michael
Garfield agree to this plan.

And so now you are free
to dispose of your aunt.

Upon her death, everything goes
according to plan.

The au pair Olga Seminoff
is dismissed as a gold digger.

But she, herself, she does not
understand what has happened.

That this codicil
is now shown to be a lie.

So, was it in desperation that
she came to you, Mme. Drake?

OLGA:
I know it.

I know it in my bones.

You did away with her.

With my poor mistress.

And with your husband
before that.

You're absolutely raving, girl.

For goodness' sake,
get a hold of yourself.

You do not deserve to live
in this beautiful place.

It is mine!

It is mi--

And this tale of carnage
and horror is not over.

Non, not even yet.

Lesley Ferrier is never to see
the rewards of his actions.

The concealing of the codicil.

Non.

MICHAEL:
Ferrier?

Mr. Garfield.

FERRIER:
It's all there, I trust?

Pleasure doing business
with you.

The pleasure is all mine.

CHILDREN:
Snip! Snap!

Et alors, enfin,
the two of you are now safe.

The house of your aunt,
it is yours.

The money of your aunt,
it is yours.

And, of course,
the garden so cherished,

it is your paradise.

But its soil is drenched
in the blood of the innocent

and its fruit
is black and bitter.

And what, two years later,
at a simple party for children,

you hear a young girl say that
she witnessed once a murder.

I saw a murder once.

POIROT: And your heart
that is so full of guilt,

it leaps into your mouth.

Now, Joyce, what's all this
about a murder?

Oh, it's true.
I really saw one.

Where?

In —- In your garden.

I didn't realize it then.

But I know now.

Well, I'll believe you.
Thousands wouldn't.

I bet you half a crown

you can't get that last apple
out of the bucket.

-Oh, bet I can!
-Show me, then.

CHILDREN:
Snip! Snap!

Snip!

Snip! Snap!

Snip!

Snip! Snap!

[Coughing]

[Children whispering
"Snip! Snap!" ]

POIROT:
And only after,

when this deed so terrible,
it has been committed,

you realize
that you are soaking wet.

No adult has played the game

of -- what --
the apple bobbing, hein?

So, at once, you realize
how suspicious it will appear.

And so you devise a deception
also very clever

to explain away
the soaking of your dress.

ARIADNE:
Oh, dear, you're drenched.

What a clumsy thing
you must think me.

You blame the accident
on a glance directed

towards the door of the library.

A glance that was staged

and that you will use later
to cast suspicion elsewhere.

Michael Garfield,
he returns from Greece,

you tell to him
what has occurred,

and once again, you consider
yourselves to be safe.

Not so, madame.

For you were observed
to enter the library

with the little girl Joyce.

ROWENA: Now, Joyce, what's
all this about a murder?

JOYCE:
Oh, it's true.

I really saw one.

ROWENA:
Where?

And Poirot himself has observed
that Master Leopold

has unexpectedly become flush
with his pocket money

over the last few days.

How so?

Because his silence,
it was being bought.

But, madame,
you are not sure for how long

and so you decide to kill
Master Leopold

and you use the glance towards
the door of the library

to divert suspicion onto him.

He's so young.

Was so young.

Another lie so callous to add
to your catalog of deceit.

[ Firework whistling,
exploding ]

You idiot!

You scared me half to death.

Guy Fawkes Night
is almost upon us, Mrs. Drake.

That's all.
There's no need to be scared.

Is it done?

It's done.

Do you still have the receipt?

Good God.

Mummy?

Well, really, monsieur.

That was quite a horror story.

Perhaps you will not sneer,
madame,

when we have exhumed the body
of Mme. Llewellyn-Smythe

and examined the contents
of her stomach?

Or when this garden,
it is torn up to reveal

the last resting place
of Olga Seminoff?

Because this is where she lies,
mes amis.

Make no mistake.

In the place
where it is not remarkable

that the soil it is continually
freshly turned.

This "garden"

with which Michael Garfield
is never satisfied.

His masterpiece!

Or perhaps your composure
so absolute,

it will be shaken when you hear
from his very own lips

that Michael Garfield
never loved you.

It's all over, I'm afraid,
old thing.

I've no idea
what he's talking about.

Indeed, I doubt that Michael
Garfield ever loved anybody

but himself.

But he had a secret.

There had been someone else
in his life.

Another lover.

Had there not, Mme. Butler?

God help me, it's true.

I did love him once.

And then I became afraid.

His nature,

even his passion
for beauty and creation,

there was a sort of madness
to it.

I never told him about Miranda.

Do you not think I guessed,
Judith?

Hmm?

My beautiful child.

No.

No, no, no.

No, no, no!

It's you I should have drowned,

you filthy little beast!

It should have been you!

And you never had him.

Never!

I'm the only one he ever wanted.

Ever loved.

Say it isn't so, Michael.

Please. Please!

Don't make a fuss,
you silly creature.

It's so undignified.

It's true.

I did it all for the money.

Of course I did.

And for the garden.

Actually, I was thinking about
buying a little Greek island.

Start afresh.

No! No!

No!

I just like pretty things,
you see.

Is that so wrong?

One must have money
to get pretty things.

I was very fond of you, Judith.

Once.

But even you're losing
your looks now.

It is an awful shame,
do you not think, monsieur,

that we must all wither and die?

Get them out of here.

Thank you, Hercule.

Sir!

It's incredible.

Non.

As soon as Mme. Oliver told to
me of the dropping of the vase,

my suspicions,
they were aroused.

Because I knew that the killer
of Joyce Reynolds

would have been soaking wet.

Dreadful woman.
I always said so.

Trying to bully me
into giving that lecture.

And what about me and Michael?

How did you know?

Ah.

Your histoire, madame,
it did not fool Poirot.

Your husband who is dead?

Non.

Your husband
was a figure of fantasy,

a figure tragique,

a figure to conceal your
long-ago affair of the heart.

This husband, this pilot,
this Max, so beloved

and yet there was not
one single photograph of him

on your mantelshelf.

I wanted to give Miranda
some notion of stability --

a father figure
who was loving and selfless.

Dependable.

Everything Michael
wasn't capable of.

I hadn't seen him for years,
you see.

Then, that day, he turned up
in Woodleigh Common.

I tried to stay out of his way.

I expected he'd soon be gone.

But he stayed.

I had no idea he and Miranda
had become so close.

His influence over her.

There was a bond.

A bond that was natural.

But even this was not sufficient
to prevent him

from attempting to kill his
own daughter and save himself.

You had a lucky escape, Jude.

What now?
Will you stay here?

I don't think so.

ARIADNE:
Hard to believe it all happened.

All those grisly deaths.

It's like a nightmare.

Or a tale of terror.

Poirot, he was right, hein?

Halloween is not the time

for the telling
of the stories macabre,

but to light the candles
for the dead.

Come, mes amies.

Let us do so.

[Children whispering
"Snip! Snap!" ]

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