Poirot? Poirot! Hello!
Ah, Poirot. Welcome to Acapulco!
What's happened to you? You've gone native, have you?
Are you a beachcomber, perhaps?
Oh, well, when in Rome, you know...
I mean, no point looking like a tourist, is there?
No.
- Poirot. Coming? - No, no.
So, what's all this about you're writing your memoirs then?
Yes, it's true, I'm afraid.
Yes, I was made an offer, which I could not refuse.
But I must say, it fills me with dread that Hercule Poirot is at last, to be
revealing all... Well, almost all to his adoring public.
This is your car?
Yes, nifty little bus, isn't she?
You're sure it is a car?
It looks like some sort of kitchen appliance.
Women should beat their laundry against that.
- Have you thought of a title yet? - I haven't even started writing it yet.
I know, but um,... knowing you, I'm sure you've got some excellent ideas.
Well, the publisher came up with "My Life in Crime" by Hercule Poirot.
"My Life in Crime". That's jolly good. It's rather clever, isn't it?
Yes, it could even be "My Life Time in Crime".
Um, I don't suppose you're going to mention that silly, little episode in, in Normandy, are you?
You know, the, the enormous French woman.
Oh! The enormous woman in the hostel! Of course, I remember!
Yeah, yeah. Yes, well, it's not that funny. I mean think of my family.
I mean, they've got to read this book of yours.
Well, think of my reputation. Writing your memoirs is not a joke, you know.
The truth must be respected at all times.
- That is unless... - Unless what?
Unless you get me out of this stupid house party.
Take me to a hotel, forget about me. You know how I hate these things.
Yes. Yes, but you're going to thank me this time, Poirot.
You always say that. Remember the last time.
What happened, the fireworks, the dead trombone player?
Yes, but this place is absolutely magnificent. Frightfully nice bunch of Americans too.
They, they live here most of the year around.
Always this insane enthusiasm and the result is always the contrary.
This time for the first time, we've got Americans.
Yes, but one of them is another author. I thought that you two could compare myths.
Another writer? Is there such a thing?
Martin Blador, the playwright.
He's actually a woman though. Miss Janet Crisp.
- You mean he's undergone that frightful...? - Oh, no, no, no, no. Good Lord, Poirot. Nothing like that. No, dear me.
No, she just works under the name of a man. Yeah, it's her, um, what you Belgians would call, Nom de plume.
And then, of course, well, there's Charles Cartwright.
Charles Cartwright, American actor.
- Yes, he played the inspector in "Death is to Part". Remember? - No.
And he was the Naval commander in "North Atlantic".
- He uses a limp sometimes. - A limp?
Yes, good character touch.
Yes, says a lot about a man, a limp does.
- And then, there's, there's Egg and her mother. - Egg?
Her mother must be a hen.
Good Lord! What the blazes do you think you're playing?
Hastings, are you all right?
Oh, yes, yes, fine. Absolutely fine.
Oh, excuse me, may I introduce Hercule Poirot. This is Jennifer Eastman.
- How do you do? - Enchanted.
You can call me Egg, if you like. Everybody does.
Egg? What timing.
Excuse me? Oh, you mean the accident. I'm really sorry. I'm in a rush.
You're going to Crow's Nest?
Yes, we are, as a matter of fact.
Oh, good of us. I'll see you tonight then.
Mr. Poirot, it was nice almost running into you.
Oh, do you like the hat on or off?
- On. - Off.
Oh, well, I'll see you later.
It's rather a hard-boiled, little egg if you ask me.
I suppose you found her in the Crow's Nest.
Oh, no, no, no, no. The Crow's Nest is where we're staying.
Yes, it's, it's Charles Cartwright's house.
Charles retired from show business to this place about a year ago.
He refers to it as his cottage.
Well, his limp seems to have served him well.
Ah, good afternoon, Miss Milray. May I introduce Hercule Poirot.
Miss Milray, Charles' secretary.
Charles' assistant.
Yes, of course. Sorry.
I'm enchanted, madame.
Mademoiselle.
Uh, Miguel will show you to your rooms.
She's rather touchy, old man. Not to worry.
Do you speak English?
- Oh, well. All right. - After you, old man.
Oh, who are those people?
Ah, well, the man's Dr. Wallace Strange, he's an American neurologist.
He's rather famous and he runs a sanitorium in the country near here.
And the woman next to him, well,... Well, that's Angela Stafford.
Recognize her, of course.
No.
Oh, come off it, Poirot. I mean, even I know that Angela Stafford, the American actress has been in a leading light on Broadway for 20 years.
Well, I have not been entirely inactive during that time, you know?
I do not need Broadway for my dramas.
- Who is that woman in long trousers there? - That's Miss Janet Crisp, the playwright.
No, no, no, no. You weren't listening. No, no, the thing is it's a nom de plume. You see,...
I'm pulling your leg, I know. I was...
- Nom de plume. - Oh, Miguel.
Where's Señor Cartwright?
- ¿Dónde el Señor Cartwright? - Allá, señor.
Ah. Oh, look, yes. Ahoy there, Captain Cartwright!
Look at them up there! Oh, this is great! Great!
You're having too much fun again, Charles.
You're acting like a 20 year old.
I feel like a 20 year old.
It must be those vitamins that Milray's been giving me.
- Or it's the company you're keeping. - Or maybe it's the company I'm keeping.
How do you know it's an absolute mystery to me?
What's that?
Charles' adjustment to retired life.
I thought for one, that he would fight it, tooth and nail.
Oh, this isn't exactly Devil's Island, is it?
I mean, he has seen to all the amenities.
Yes, but... you know, to give up a career in both film and the stage, and then, get rid of those wonderful places in both California and Paris?
- And New York. - And New York.
Now, there was a house, did you ever see that one?
See it? I helped decorate it.
I'm sorry.
Charles and I were doing "Private Lives" on Broadway together at the time.
I forgot that you two were...
It's all right, Wally. It's easily forgotten.
By some people perhaps.
Who's that, playing first mate?
Oh, that's Daisy Eastman's daughter. Egg, they call her. She'll be coming tonight.
There's your answer, Doctor to the mystery of Charles Cartwright's successful retirement.
What, you mean that girl?
- Mhm. - Oh, I don't think so.
- She's just a child. - So is Charles.
But then, you should know that better than anyone.
Hello!
- Hello. I'm fine, thank you. How do you do, Doctor? Yes. - Officer, how are you?
And this must be Hercule Poirot.
Madame, I have admired your art for more than 20 years.
- This is Janet Crisp. - Monsieur. - How do you do?
- This is Dr. Strange. - Pleasure.
Wonderful work.
And... oh, yes. Out there, of course, our host, Charles Cartwright.
- Oh, la, la. - Oh, look, they're waving at us.
Hello! That's jolly nice! Hello! Hello!
That's... that's Wally up there and standing next to him is Angela.
Angela Stafford?
Mhm, she's nice and a lot of fun, you're gonna like her.
Let's see, that's Hastings. And that's the great Poirot.
Oh, and what makes Poirot so great?
He happens to be the most famous detective in the world.
Poirot!
I guess that means there won't be any exciting crimes around here this weekend.
No knives in the back or anything like that?
It's a murder weapon, Monsieur Poirot.
Oh, no, no. Just ruminating about this sword.
It must have killed several people during battles.
And here it is, living out its retirement on the wall of a glamorous home.
Appearances can be deceiving, Mr. Poirot.
- If I'm not mistaken, that's a prop. - A prop?
Yes.
- Oh, you mean the...? Yes, yes. - Yes, yes.
Charles brandished it in "The Royal Dragoon", I believe.
- "The Royal Dra..." - Well, well, well, the two writers huddling together.
Did you know that Mr. Poirot is a writer?
His memoirs, you mean. Yes, yes, I've heard.
In order to be a writer, one must have written.
Absolutely.
Oh, Wally, will you look after the two writers while I mix us some drinks?
- Do you also write for the cinema? - No, only for the theater.
I'm a bit of a snob, I suppose.
I write satires, brittle, little comedies. That sort of thing.
But I must confess that I've always had a particular fondness for murder.
Oh, good. There you are.
That Egg girl called while you were dressing, she wanted to know if she could bring someone else.
Did she say who?
No, she didn't.
Well, in some cases, you see, events come to people, not people to events.
For example, one man can travel to the ends of the Earth and nothing will ever happen to him.
While another man can barely get across town without being involved in a hold-up or a car crash or whatever.
And you think I belong to the second category, of course.
Mr. Poirot, from what I understand, you don't exactly have to go looking around for a crime to solve.
I should say not. Tell him about that trombone player.
Or the fat French woman perhaps.
Oh, here are the Eastmans.
Excuse me.
Good evening. How are you?
That mother and daughter, they're... they live in Acapulco?
Yeah, charming. Yes, um, yes, they speak quite well of shipping, you know.
Shipping?
Ricardo, hello. How is your father?
Very well, thank you. He's in Washington these days.
- Yes, well, give him my best wishes when you talk to him. - I shall do so.
- Please, come in. - Thank you.
Gracias, señorita.
Look out for the tray.
I hope your martinis are okay.
- I know you love martinis. ¡Olé! - Yes, that was wonderful.
There's somebody I want you to meet.
This is Hercule Poirot. The famous detective I've been telling you about.
This is my mother, Daisy Eastman.
It's not possible. Such a young mother. I am delighted.
I'm delighted to meet you. Especially, after your brush with death today.
Brush with death?
Oh, I mean Egg and her car.
Oh, the car! All of my life flashed before my eyes.
Well, it was all Hastings' fault.
I say!
Yes, it was, come to think of it. It was all your fault, Hastings.
Steady.
Who is the young gentleman?
Ricardo Montoya, Mr. Poirot.
- Ricardo... Montoya. Oh, yes, yes. - Montoya. Pleasure to meet you. - Hastings.
Be careful, Ricardo is a communist.
Freddie and Cynthia Dayton. The Reverend and Mrs. Babbington.
Come on in, I'm making some drinks.
- Oh, what a good idea. - Be nice.
My dear, you look absolutely divine. Did you do this?
Hi. How are you, my dear? So good to see you.
Oh, Egg. Have you met Angela?
No, I don't believe I have.
You're the actress, aren't you?
Yes, I'm the actress. How do you do?
Oh, and my orchids. Charles, you can't imagine how they're blooming.
It's a miracle.
Oh, I'm so happy to hear that.
What's all this about miracles? I thought that was my domain.
Oh, we're talking about orchids, dear.
- Ah, is she lecturing you about manure again? - Always talking to me about manure.
Milray, take the tray.
Charles, you'll just have to wait for the Fall collection.
- You can have a drink, Mother, but just one. - Thank you, dear.
Not for me.
Charles, Charles to you and your quaint little cottage here.
Charles! Charles! Charles!
Everything's good with the menu, right?
Let me see if I've got this right.
We're going to have grilled sole, pheasant under glass.
We're having chip potato and a chocolate souffle.
How does that sound?
- Steven! - Excuse me.
- What is it? - Give him some air.
I'm afraid he's dead.
I'll come and visit you tomorrow morning, okay? I'm terribly sorry.
- See that she gets there. - Yes.
Extraordinary thing, Poirot. I hadn't even been introduced to the poor chap then.
No, it was very sudden.
- Mr. Poirot, could we speak to you for a moment, please? - Yes.
You too, Hastings.
Oh, yes. Of course, yes. Yes.
This way, please.
Come in, please.
- Thank you, gentlemen. - Quite right.
Uh, Charles doesn't like it, uh, Reverend Babbington's death, I mean.
Well, of course, he doesn't. It's most distressing.
And painful too, judging from the poor man's expression.
Wally, did you ever see a man die like that before?
No, I haven't. But as a nerve specialist, I haven't seen that many people die before.
Dr. Vega has probably seen many more deaths than I have.
- Vega? - The doctor who was here tonight.
Oh, yes.
Wally, he wasn't here when the man died, he's just guessing what kind of a seizure it was.
What are you suggesting, Charles?
Murder?
It's a possibility.
And how? With some new, untraceable poison in a cocktail glass, perhaps?
Wally, it isn't funny. I mixed those drinks myself.
It is a possibility, isn't it, Poirot?
Logically, I would say it is not a possibility.
To kill an old man like that at a cocktail party, it would be extremely difficult to say the least.
- Why? - Why?
How would a murderer be sure that the old man would take that particular glass
out of a row of identical glasses, which were being passed at random on a tray?
No, no.
And... the motive? What would the motive be to kill an innocent, old clergyman like that? No.
He was not secretly wealthy by any chance, was he?
Quite the contrary. I should imagine.
Poirot... Excuse me, but wealth doesn't necessarily have to be a motive.
We ought to have his glass analyzed.
Well, it's a little late for that, Charles. Miss Milray has obviously had the glasses washed.
Yes, she had them all washed. All except this one.
But Poirot, I thought you said it wasn't murder?!
- Shh. - Oh, sorry, murder.
Well, my logic tells me it's not murder, but my instinct keeps tapping me on the shoulder.
I'm sure Charles knows what I mean.
Yes, I don't see any harm in having the glass analyzed.
Meanwhile,...
I think we ought to agree to keep this secret for the time being.
There's no point in alarming the killer, if there is one.
And I should hate to have a wonderful house party like this spoiled by the fact that... one of the guests is accused of murder.
Thank you, thank you!
Poirot? Hi.
Well, uh, the cat's out of the bag. Milray's told everybody about the missing grail.
Well, what do the analysis show?
Yes, where are the results, monsieur? Is there a murderer in our midst?
No, there's nothing unusual. There was nothing in the Reverend Babbington's glass except gin and vermouth.
Of course there wasn't. It was absurd to think that there was.
I think we can go now, Freddie.
Miguel, fetch our bags.
Uh, you know, the analysis and everything? That was my idea.
- I thought it was a great idea. - Well, I didn't.
Which one of us did you take for the murderer, Mr. Poirot?
There was no murderer.
Well, what exactly were the doctor's findings?
Nothing untoward... natural causes.
What about an autopsy?
Oh, come now, Egg. Really capture her imagination.
Can't you talk her out of all this foolishness?
It was a possibility.
What? That one of us killed the old man?
Yeah, I simply don't agree.
Neither do I.
Thank you for your hospitality, Charles. It certainly wasn't dull.
Yes. Ricardo, are you ready?
- Charles, thank you for everything. Do come by and we'll have a chat. - I will.
Good-bye, Daisy, Egg...
- Adiós, Charles. - Good-bye, Egg.
I was afraid this would happen.
So was I.
Poirot, excuse me. Your collar.
- Here, let me just turn it down. There. Absolutely. - I don't need any of that. All right, thank you.
Well, Poirot, Hastings, don't you guys look, uh, dapper.
- So do you. - Thank you. - Are you not coming with us?
Uh, no, I don't think so. I'm going to beat a graceful retreat, as they say.
How do you mean?
I'm leaving here. I'm moving out.
What's this? Who's leaving?
Oh, yeah. I'm, uh, I'm going to abandon ship, as you said I would.
I'm gonna put the house up for sale.
- Sell? - Yes, I'm gonna sell it.
I'm gonna put up the place for sale.
Anybody wanna buy a house, just check with Milray over there.
Don't you think you're being a bit hasty, Charles?
I mean, just because somebody drops dead in your living room?
That had nothing to do with it!
Or maybe, it does have something to do with it. I don't know. I just...
I just wanna clear out. I wanna... cut my losses.
Charles, where are you going to run to this time?
Wally, I'm not running anywhere! I'm just getting out! Is that okay by you?
- Good night. - Good night.
- What's all this about Charles?! - Mademoiselle, my heart!
Well, is it true about Charles going away?
Haven't you heard? He's already gone.
Oh, where?
- I don't know. It was all very sudden. Very dramatic. - Where has he gone?
It's that Angela Stafford, isn't it? It's gotta be her.
No, never.
- He liked me. I know he liked me. - I'm sure he still does li...
I think he still does like you. Of course, he does.
Then, why has he gone away like this without saying anything?
He must've thought it was for the best.
Then, it's Babbington's murder. Of course.
That's why he left. He's still upset about it.
Babbington's death, perhaps, but... I must remind you, mademoiselle, there is no murder.
Of course there is.
I thought you were on our side.
Poirot is only on the side of one thing.
And that is, uh, the truth.
Ah, Hastings, my good native guide.
Poirot, we're having it awfully close, you know. Hello, Egg.
Good morning. You're going back to L.A. already?
Yes, the publisher beckons.
- Oh, writing memoirs. - Yes.
Uh, listen, Charles has a house in L.A. Uh, it's, it's in Bel Air, I think.
- And if I run into him, I'll tell him that you send your warmest regards. - How's that?
Just tell him that I'm terribly disappointed.
Or heartbroken, if you should tell him I'm heartbroken.
- Heartbroken, are you sure? - Yes.
All right, heartbroken it is. Come, come. I'm late.
A pleasure.
I'll get him back, you know.
And I'll prove you wrong! It was murder!
Poirot.
Hello, Mr. Poirot. It's Egg, oh, and Hastings is here too, say hi.
Hola, amigo. How goes the book?
The book... Tell him that the words are flowing from my pen.
He says "the words are flowing from my pen."
Glad to hear it.
Have you run into Charles yet?
No, I'm afraid I've been too busy.
Well, when you do, tell him that something rather odd is going on around here.
That's why we called.
Hastings and I just ran into each other and discovered we've been invited to the same house party tonight by Dr. Strange.
Everybody has, it seems.
What do you mean everybody?
Everybody who was at Charles' party.
The Daytons, Angela Stafford, Janet Crisp.
Everybody except you and Charles, and maybe, Ricardo.
The weird thing is though is that Dr. Strange won't say why.
Is it not for dinner?
Yes, yes, but when I called him, he was being rather evasive.
He said there was gonna be a surprise or something like that. A revelation.
Well, perhaps somebody's going to jump out of a cake.
Don't you find this the least bit intriguing?
No, no. I'm sorry, I really don't.
Well, I do.
It may be a chance to uncover a motive... for Babbington's murder.
There is no motive simply because there is no murder.
And now, if you will excuse me, I, I have a book to write.
I'm working so hard I can't even sleep anymore. It's terrible.
- But... - Yes, and my kindest regards to our friend, the beachcomber.
- Yeah, good-bye, good-bye. - But, but...
Oh, la, la.
Oh! Sorry.
Bue... buenas tardes.
Strange, old place, isn't it?
Oh, Egg, please. Oh, and don't start delving at everyone's past.
There's nothing to spoil as the appetite as applying accusation of murder.
Yes, well, you nearly murdered me in that car.
Oh, Egg.
Buenas noches.
Well, come in, come in!
Egg, how are you?
Daisy, fashionably late as usual.
- Hastings. - Hi, how do you do?
Oh, you know, it's too bad Mr. Poirot couldn't be here. How's the book coming?
Oh, wonderfully well from what he says.
- Um, his words... what did he say? - Flowing.
- Oh, flowing from his pen. Yes. - Flowing?
- Well, see who it is. - Si, señor.
- ¿Si? Pasas. - I'm Ricardo Montoya.
¿Un momento por favor?
Señor Ricardo Montoya.
- Montoya? Well, show him in. - Si, señor.
Ricardo? What's he doing here?
Didn't you invite him, Egg?
No, I didn't. I did not. No, I...
Well, we'll see.
Hello, everyone.
Ricardo! Nice to see you.
I'm awfully sorry for barging in like this.
You see, I had a bit of an accident down at the road from here.
Well, there is always room for one more.
Uh, Rosa, another chair, please, for Mr. Montoya.
I appreciate that, thank you.
- Accident? What happened? - Yeah.
Nothing to worry about. I just smashed up the car and I couldn't again start it again.
Just cruising through the neighborhood, were you?
Yes, just cruising.
- What is it? - It's the sanatorium about a Mrs. Rushbridger.
- Mrs. Rushbridger? - Mhm.
Well, that's quite a mouthful, Carlos. You're a talented fellow, a first-class butler.
Isn't he, Rosa?
- Will you excuse me, please? - Yes, sir.
He's dead!
Oh, non.
Oh, why do I put "Do Not Disturb"?
Oh, hello.
- Are you all right? - Yes.
Then, then, why didn't you answer the phone?!
I unplugged it! I'm trying to write!
Well, I thought you were dead. Thank you, officer. I'm sorry. Thank you very much.
Poirot,... it's...
- You thought I was dead? Why? - It's, it's happened again.
This time, it's Wally. Wally is dead.
Was he murdered?
Well, I don't know, I don't know. I'm flying down there immediately.
Please, Poirot. I need you down there. Won't you come with me, please?
Ah, gentlemen, I'm Colonel Mateo.
It is an honor to meet you both.
- I have seen many of your films, Señor Cartwright. - Gracias. Thank you.
And of course, the famous Hercule Poirot.
It's not the first time we meet, you know.
The Managua affair?
Ah, what a memory. I was only a corporal then.
Yes, but like Napoleon, a very talented corporal.
Thank you.
- Oh, I must tell you something right now. - Please.
My wife and I think you were magnífico in "North Atlantic".
- Oh, thank you. Gracias. Thank you very much. - Very, very good.
- They don't make movies like that anymore. - No, I guess they don't.
Did you see it?
Huh? Oh, wonderful, wonderful.
So, when is your next film?
There's not gonna be one for a while.
- Oh, well, I... I'm sorry to hear that. - Don't be sorry.
And especially, to meet you under such circumstances.
Yes, this is terrible. Terrible.
Were you a friend of Dr. Strange's?
Yes, he was my friend. What happened?
- He was poisoned. - Poisoned?
By his, uh,... How do you say it? His butler.
Butler? That's not possible, sir. I mean, Roberto was with him for years...
Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Roberto is out on a vacation.
This is a new man.
In fact, he slipped away from us last night after we questioned him.
But, uh, I know how that seems, but we had three men posted.
Did he know that you suspected him?
We did not suspect him until after we questioned him.
Now, we know he's a very clever butler,... he always wore gloves. No fingerprints.
What poison was used?
Benzotine... It is very common and very deadly.
They use it to spray on orchids and such.
Orchids?
Where did I hear that before?
With your permission, may we see the butler's room?
Oh, yes. Please, follow me.
Miss Stafford thinks that he may have escaped through a secret passage.
She says Dr. Strange mentioned there was one in the house somewhere.
- He never told me about it. Did you find one? - No, not yet.
Tell me, how was the poison administered?
We don't know.
He was drinking wine. We have had the glass analyzed, but there was nothing.
Just the same, just like Babbington.
Ah, Babbington, yes. Yes, I have heard of this.
From this young woman called Egg.
But I think it's a coincidence.
You, yourself, were satisfied it was not a murder.
Didn't seem to be.
Well, as you can see, the butler left nothing behind.
Egg.
I'm so glad you've come.
- I felt horrible. - Yes. Yes.
So, Mr. Poirot, what do you think now?
You're referring, I presume, to the death of the Reverend Babbington.
I refer to his murderer.
You don't believe any of this nonsense about the butler, do you?
It is not nonsense, señorita.
It's not a coincidence either.
I'll tell you what I think.
I think Dr. Strange invited the same people to dinner because he suspected one of them of Babbington's murder.
But before he could say anything, the poor man was murdered himself!
Mhm.
Mucho gracias.
This is Dr. Strange's diary.
Just a few lines for yesterday.
"Party tonight, hope all goes well."
"I'm worried about "M" though. Don't like the look of things."
- Can I see that, please? - Yes.
"Worried about "M""? Who could that be?
Ricardo Montoya put in an appearance last night, did he not?
Yes, he did.
So did Carlos Morales.
Who?
Carlos Morales, the butler.
It's really all I can tell you. It all happened so suddenly.
And what about Wally?
Was he nervous, preoccupied? Anything I mean, irritable or...?
No, not in the least.
In fact, he was in very good spirit. You see, he was even laughing and joking with the butler, that Carlos character.
Laughing and joking with the butler?
That's hard for me to believe.
When was that?
After Carlos told him there was a telephone call.
From the sanatorium. It was about a Mrs. Rushbridger.
I remember because Wally was teasing him about mispronouncing the name.
Then, he said he was a good butler or something like that.
Doesn't sound like Wally, you know.
What was that name?
- Mrs. Rushbridger, I think. - Rushbridger.
We could go look her up.
Just you and me?
We make a good team, don't we?
I think so.
If you insist that you heard nothing, you saw nothing?
Yes, I have already told you this.
I know you have, but the young gentleman said he has his accident here, beneath El Castillo, he said.
And what is that if it's not El Castillo?
Yes, but that happened quite and up the road.
Listen, all I know is that this man pushes his car into here and he told me he had a crash.
Then, I look out and I see the front light of the car was broken.
Then, he asked me if he could leave his car here. And I said yes, that's all.
You know... Come.
Listen, I hear that there is a, how shall I put it, private entrance into the grounds of El Castillo.
I don't know anything about it, sir.
You mean, in all the time that you've been here, you've never seen anybody come in or go out from here into the grounds of El Castillo?
No, sir.
No.
You've been extremely helpful to us. Thank you very much, indeed.
Oh, one final question.
At what time did the young man fetch his car? You don't know.
I don't know.
When I came this morning, the car was gone.
And when you left last night, the car was here.
Would you... Would you like me to drive?
No, no, I'm fine.
Now, go on, you were telling me about the other possibility.
Well, this could be a long shot.
But what if the Rushbridger call was nothing more than just a code of some kind.
I mean, what if Wally hired someone to look into the Babbington death like a private investigator,
while everyone was spending the weekend at El Castillo?
You mean, he was searching everybody's house and...
Well, the main suspect's house.
He finds something then, he calls back with the agreed-upon message:
"Mrs. Rushbridger has arrived."
The butler delivers it and Wally breaks out in a grin.
He's solved the murder.
Huh? He's feeling great.
He says to the butler: "You're a great butler", or something like that.
What do you think?
Then, why did the butler disappear?
Yeah, why did the butler disa...? Well, maybe, he's got something on him.
I don't know. It was just a thought.
Hello? Anyone here?
They are all having supper, sir. Just like I said.
Are you sure this all right with Colonel Mateo?
Of course, thank you for your help, so far.
Buenas tardes, señor.
Poirot, I'm awfully sorry, but I still don't quite understand why we're going to the library.
I mean, nobody went in there that night.
With the possible exception of the butler.
He must've disappeared somewhere. After all, he's not a magician.
Yes, but, in the library? I... Just a minute. The secret passage.
Have you ever known a secret passage that does not start in a library?
- Well, now, you come to mention it, I... - No, of course not.
We'll start here because the safe is nearly always behind a picture,
and the secret passage is nearly always behind a book.
Hastings, what have you touched?!
Poirot...
Good Lord!
After you, old man.
Every time there's danger, your manners become impeccable.
Oh, thank you very much.
Are you having trouble?
I... I wonder what this is for?
What have you done?!
Oh, my goodness! Look at that!
- Look! No! - It doesn't work!
Come on, follow me. It's only the candle now.
Allô!
- Be careful here. There's a step. - What? Oh, I see.
I never thought I'd end my life in there.
Pipes?
I hope there's nothing electrified here, or perhaps nuclear.
No, it won't still... No, we'll have to go back.
- Oh, I second that. After you, old man. - Oh, so polite.
Always the same story with you.
I wonder if there are any rats here?
Not one more word out of you, Hastings! Do you hear me? Not one word!
It's not my fault.
Who said it would be different this time?
Such nice people, interesting people, American people?
It was you!
I'm never going to come out with you again! This is the last time! Do you under...?!
- Look, I think there's someone coming. Come on! - I know there is someone coming! What a fool!
- Rosa! - Rosa!
Was it Carlos Morales you were on your way to meet?
No, it was mi novio. My boyfriend.
Your boyfriend?
Yes, he works just below here at the café.
Oh, he is perhaps a waiter.
No, he works in the bar.
All right. Take it, dry your tears on that.
And, uh, on the night of the murder, were you on your way to see him then?
I wanted to, but then, I hear someone coming, so I went back to my room.
At what time was this?
Almost... 10 o'clock.
Did you happen to see who it was?
- No. - No.
But from the footsteps, I could tell it was a woman.
How?
Well, whoever it was, she's wearing very short heels.
Because they sound like...
...like that!
Poirot! Hastings! I thought you disappeared.
I was just about to call the police.
They weren't here a minute ago. I looked.
Yeah, you're quite right, you're very observant, señor, thank you very much.
Egg told me you might be here.
I'd like to talk to you about her.
Yes, well, now that you have found us out.
Of course. One moment, could you... could you sit there, please, just for a second?
I just want to ask this young lady one more question.
What was this famous butler like? I mean, did you have an opportunity to talk with him?
No, señor. He was very private.
We only saw him when it was time to serve the dinner.
Well, thank you very much. You've been very helpful.
Thank you.
Oh, you better take this. It's... it's very dark in there.
Thank you very much. Thank you. Gracias.
Thank you. Forgive me for...
Monsieur Poirot, I am sorry. I suppose I'm getting a bit frantic.
- But it's about Egg and all this murder business. - Yes?
You see, she sees it as a sort of lark.
An escapade with Charles, but quite frankly, I'm worried.
About the escapade with Charles or about the murder?
Well, the murder, of course.
You see, Egg is so frightfully impulsive.
And when she sets her mind on something, there's no stopping her.
It's like a... a kink in her personality.
She gets it from her father's side of the family, of course.
I'm afraid I'm partly to blame as well.
I do try to be firm with her, but...
Well, take today, the first thing I know, she's rushing off to some sanatorium...
...to see that... that patient. You know, that... that Mrs. ...
Mrs. Rushbridger?
Yes, yes, that's the one.
Oh, and right now she's with that poor Mrs. Babbington, awaiting the results of some sort of autopsy.
- The exhumation, yes, of course. - Yes.
Do you know what she said to me as she was rushing off this morning?
And she wasn't teasing either.
She said that she was thinking of coming back here and laying in wait.
Because the killer always returns to the scene of the crime.
Now, can you imagine?
Was she going to take some cheese and wine?
- I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have said that. It's a joke. - It's all right.
Señor Poirot, a telephone call.
Oh, thank you.
Poirot.
I see, yes. I see. Tomorrow morning?
All right. We will be there, yes. Good-bye.
That was Charles.
Our suspicions are confirmed.
The Reverend Babbington was poisoned with Benzotine.
These are the same glasses that were used during the cocktail party?
Yes, they are.
And you, Miss Milray were the last person to handle them.
But of course, nobody could have tampered with Steven Babbington's drink. Nobody.
Oh, except Mrs. Babbington.
Mrs. Babbington?! What a terrible thought!
You don't seriously think that she's the killer, do you?
No, no, no, I'm thinking aloud.
If only Doctor Strange had been murdered first.
Then we might be on to something.
Why do you say that?
Because at least we would have a motive.
Who, in his right mind, would kill an old gentleman like Steven Babbington?
Whereas a doctor, that's quite different. A doctor has many professional secrets.
He also has the capacity of putting people away,
of isolating them if he deems that they are dangerous to themselves or to other people.
No one can imagine a lot of reasons for killing a famous neurologist.
Wally still wouldn't have been the first victim in the case.
I should very much like to know the reason why.
He didn't drink cocktails. He couldn't stand them.
He couldn't stand cocktails?
Oh, what case.
What are you writing? There's nothing to write about.
You're so stupid.
It's so obvious to me that both these crimes are two halves of the same crime.
In order to understand one part, one has to understand the other and therefore,...
I don't know, I just don't know.
Well, what do we do now?
I'm open to any suggestion, mademoiselle.
Why don't we separate into little groups and ask some questions in a friendly way, of course.
I mean, maybe some of us will turn up something.
Excuse me, but shouldn't that be left to the police?
Oh, come on, Mother. How often do we get a chance to solve a real crime?
Remember, you're still a suspect yourself.
I guess we all are.
You know, I could be fired for this.
Why? You have done nothing.
Well, that's exactly why I could be sacked.
Listen, Poirot. If you're so certain that one of the guests is the murderer, why don't we round them up and question them one by one?
I can be certain of only one thing, my friend.
And that is that there was no deliberate murder of Reverend Babbington.
As for rounding them up, we can do that at a later date.
Buenos tardes, señorita.
This is Colonel Mateo, I'm Hercule Poirot.
- We telephoned you earlier. Yes, yes. - Yes.
This way, please.
- Mrs. Rushbridger. - Thank you.
Is she evermore lucid?
Very rarely. She's been diagnosed as catatonic.
That's a form of schizophrenia.
- Oh, yes. Was it you who telephoned Dr. Strange that night? - Yes, sir.
The next question may seem peculiar to you.
Was there anything about what you said which might be construed as amusing?
Not at all.
Oh, one final question.
Does anybody ever ask after Mrs. Rushbridger, apart from her family, I presume?
No, sir. No one.
All right. Thank you very much.
Well, Charles and Mademoiselle Egg seem to have lost interest in their theory.
They sure have. They're off playing policemen with the rest of the suspects.
Yes. Colonel, we have stirred the pot. We shall soon know what comes to the surface.
There she is, go get her.
Oh, I don't know how I let you talk me into this.
Come on, Mother. All you gotta do is say you're thinking of updating my wardrobe,
then, ask her about Babbington.
Well, what about you? That Freddie Dayton is a bad character.
Oh, come on, Mother. We'll be at the yacht club.
- Now, go on. - Come on. - All right.
She secretly loves this, you know.
Yeah, well, are you sure you wanna go through with this, hmm?
If Freddie Dayton is as fond of women and drink as you say he is, no problem.
Just don't let yourself be flattered by that Angela Stafford.
There is a young lady here to see you, sir.
A young lady? Well, it couldn't be my lovely wife, could it?
Well, what a wonderful surprise.
- I hope I'm not intruding. - No, not at all.
So, what I can do for you?
Charles recommended that I talk to you. It's about Mother.
Well, not really. Actually, it's about me.
You see, right now, Mother's in your shop determined to buy me a whole new wardrobe.
And she doesn't realize how... Well, how tight things are financially.
I've even been thinking about going to work myself.
- No. - Yes.
And well, since fashion has always been an interest of mine,...
Of course, of course, of course.
Come in. I was just about to order us a drink.
This one's cut very simply, but it's rather elegant, don't you think?
Yeah. Yes, it is quite nice.
God knows Egg could use some simplification.
I suppose you've heard the latest about poor Preacher Babbington...
The autopsy results, I mean.
Yes, I did.
You know him from before, didn't you?
No.
But I mean, you've met him before. I think he mentioned it that night.
No, I never saw him before in my life. You must be thinking of someone else.
I'm very grateful to him and poor Dr. Strange though.
Really? Why?
Well, as long as the case remains unsolved, there's just half a chance I murdered them myself.
So now, I find all sorts of dreadful women coming in to order clothes for me just for the sensation.
Silly, isn't it?
A reverend's one thing. Nobody murders reverends.
- A doctor, it's a different story. - Yeah, I guess it would be.
Got too much power, if you ask me. Lock a man up... into hell, call you to take a cure.
I'm not about to take that damn cure, I don't care what my wife says.
I imagine she can be very insistent.
I would love to know what goes on in that precious sanatorium of his.
But that's what they want.
Dr. Strange and your wife?
And others. Others who are watching me too like that... rabbit-faced woman.
The one who writes the plays. Want to tell me what she was doing in my room the night of...?
The night of the murder?
Found her poking around. Looks more like a weasel.
- Did you tell the police? - The police? That's all I need.
Did you tell anybody?
What is it? What's wrong?
Somebody put you up to this, didn't they?
- No. - Was it my lovely wife?
No, I just wanted to talk to you myself.
About how poor you are. Yeah, well, you're good.
You're very good.
Studied with a master, didn't you?
Charles Cartwright, the man of a thousand faces.
Do you mean to say that you actually drew up a list with our names on it?
Charles, you have gotten carried away again.
This is important to me. Wally was our friend.
Isn't there anything you can tell me that maybe you noticed?
Not that I haven't already told the police.
What about this Carlos character?
I don't know. I hardly noticed him.
I mean, he just sort of blends into the wall, if you know what I mean.
And with that other guy, that... that Montoya. Now, he made an unexpected entrance.
A new method of gatecrash, you could call it.
Excuse me, ma'am. You have another visitor.
Ah, Miss Crisp.
Good afternoon, my dear.
- Charles. - Charmed.
Janet and I are putting on one of her plays.
- "Two-Way Traffic", you remember? - Yes, I do.
We're putting it on for all the big wigs at the consulate, it should be lots of fun.
Excellent.
I hope I'm not interrupting anything.
- Oh, don't be silly. - Does it look like it?
Charles is here in the role of a detective.
This way, Charles can kill two birds with one stone.
Rather unfortunate choice of words, isn't it?
- Oh, would you like some coffee? - All right.
Why don't you pour us some?
- Huh? Sure. - Okay.
We were just talking about that dreadful night on El Castillo.
Maybe you noticed something.
About what?
About the murder.
I'm afraid not.
Oh, don't be so secretive, Jan.
I know what she's gonna do. She's going to expose all of this in a book about the case.
Well, are there any revelations of any kind that we should see?
- Forgive me, forgive me, I... - Guess you didn't like the coffee.
Now, don't be funny, Charles. We're all edgy about this.
- It could've happened to anybody. Are you all right? - Yes, I'm fine, thank you.
I, for one, think that it's time that we got everything out into the open.
We should all get back together again including that Hercule Poirot.
He apparently had the same idea, I just spoke with him.
And?
Well, he saw the act for the play and decided to have a little party for us at his hotel this afternoon.
Everyone's invited, he said.
I wish to toast Madame Stafford and Miss Crisp,
who have collaborated in a wonderful play, which I'm sure will be an enormous success,
and to which we will flock in our droves.
- The play. The play. - The play.
Why don't you drink? Look, we have drunk and we are not dead, are we?
- I don't think so - No.
There is nothing in here except some bubbles and the juice of the fruit, that's all.
I guarantee that.
You have the word of Hercule Poirot!
That's good enough for me.
Ah, Charles. I could trust you, I knew that.
To you, Egg.
Thank you very much.
So, the play...
Have you noticed how champagne dissolves all tensions?
Well, you can't really blame us, Monsieur Poirot,... not after the last two parties.
Yes, and now that we're all here, what's the real reason for this one?
Come on, Mr. Poirot.
Charles! Charles! Charles! Charles!
No, fool, you let this happen! You killed Charles!
That's right, it was I who killed Charles Cartwright.
But you know, Miss Egg, there is a little trick I learned in the Far East.
To kill people and to bring them straight back to life again.
Charles, that was a wonderful performance.
Stand up now and take the applause.
Charles?
Charles!
Poirot!
You are a tricky customer.
- You monster! - Unforgivable! - I don't think it was that bad. I mean,...
No, no, no, it's a joke. Don't blame him. It was... it was my fault.
I simply had to go through with this demonstration in order to prove one point, which I did.
And that is that the human eye, in this case, there are 10 of us, 20 human eyes...
...cannot look at two different things at the same time.
What does that mean?
Well, let us say that there had been poison in Charles' glass.
When the police came to investigate the glass, would they find the poison in it?
No, they would not because that is not the glass that was in Charles' hand.
This one is.
And while you were all rushing towards Charles, worried about him,...
...I had time to switch glasses without anybody noticing.
Which proves it could be done. It is exactly what the murderer did on two occasions.
The first time, in the Crow's Nest and the second time, of course, in El Castillo.
Then, you know who the murderer is?
No, I, not quite, but I do know that that murderer may strike again at any minute.
So that I beg all of you, if you have any knowledge about either of the two murders in question,
which you have not yet told me, please to come forward without delay, I beg this of you.
And I'm being utterly serious.
No?
Excuse me.
Thank you very much.
- What is it? - A telegram for you, old man.
Forgive me.
"I must see you as quickly as possible. Stop."
"I have important information about the death of... Dr. Strange."
Signed Margaret Rushbridger.
Margaret, "M"... "I'm worried about "M"."
That's what Wally said in his diary.
Yes, yes, you're quite right.
Charles, I think you ought to go there and see her.
Tell Colonel Mateo about this and when you have done that,...
...go with Charles, if you will, to the sanatorium.
Hastings, thank you very much.
And what about you?
Me? No, I'm afraid I'm not going anywhere.
The things are now such complexity that my duty is to stay here... and think.
Oh.
We gotta talk to you, Mr. Poirot.
Ricardo's got a confession to make.
A confession? Please, come in.
Now, what is the nature of this confession?
It's not what you think, Monsieur Poirot.
I'm not the killer.
But, uh, well, Egg has convinced me to come forward with some other things.
Oh, I think Mademoiselle Egg is quite right.
But why should I think that you are the killer?
Because of the way he turned up at El Castillo.
But the truth is Dr. Strange asked him to do just that.
Yes, he wrote that I should fake the accident and then, come up to El Castillo.
He said he couldn't put the reasons in writing, but that he would explain to me later.
And of course, he did not explain to you later?
- Oh, he never had a chance. - He never had a chance.
Have you got a copy of that letter?
Nope.
- He wrote that I should destroy it. - Oh, he wrote that you should...
There's more. Go, go on, Ricardo.
- Well, right after I was questioned by Colonel Mateo and that was around 10 o'clock,... - Yes.
... I went to pick up my coat. Miss Crisp was there, she was looking for a shawl or something like that.
- Yes. - Anyway, I was putting on my jacket when something fell out of it.
Well, what fell out of it?
I didn't actually see it fall, you understand?
What was it?
She picked it up and handed it back to me.
It was a newspaper cutting about Benzotine and what a deadly poison it is.
She must have planted that clipping on Ricardo.
Don't you remember what Freddie Dayton said?
How he caught her sneaking around the house that night?
I'll bet she's the murderer!
But what motive would she have for killing the Reverend Babbington?
She didn't even know him before the party. She didn't know Dr. Strange either.
- No. - Maybe she's psychotic. A man-hater.
- And I've heard people are often crazy, aren't they? - Oh, dear Egg. Well, if you will excuse me.
Poirot.
Uh, not, not quite so fast, Hastings.
What?
Oh, la, la.
Yes, no. An old man... Yeah, I see.
I understand. Yes, I understand.
I'll see you later. Thank you very much, Hastings. Good-bye.
Mrs. Rushbridger has been killed.
- No? - Yes.
How?
Early this morning, she received with the mail, a box of chocolates, liqueur-filled... Benzotine.
Did she have a chance to say anything?
No, I think it is probably because she said nothing that she was murdered.
What do you mean? I don't understand.
Neither do I. What about the telegram?
Oh, the telegram was delivered, according to Hastings, by a small boy...
... who received it from an old groundsman at the sanitorium,...
... who saw it drop from a window, enclosed in a 500 peso note.
And the small boy was apparently allowed to keep the change on condition he delivered the telegram.
I'm afraid I still don't understand. What's wrong with that?
Yes.
Do you often play Happy Families while you're trying to solve a case, Mr. Poirot?
Oh, the... You know, it's a hangover from my childhood.
When I was very young, I started doing this in order to teach myself concentration.
And I've never stopped the habit.
What does Mr. Mug have to say about it?
Mr. Mug, the milkman! Ding, ding! Now, I remember.
Charles, Edward W. Muggins, that was his real name before he became an actor.
Charles' real name was Muggins? Really?
Probably looked like this too.
- So, does he have any ideas? - Not that I know of anyway.
Where does that leave us, Poirot?
I, I, I,... Do you mind? I'm sorry to be so anti-social, but I really must concentrate as rarely before.
Do you think it'll be safe to go to the play tomorrow night?
- What? - "Two-Way Traffic". We've all been invited to the dress rehearsal.
Where have you been invited?
- The dress rehearsal. - The dress rehearsal.
What's wrong?
Have I been blind?
The dress rehearsal.
Gracias.
Ah, Miss Milray. Good afternoon.
I'm sorry, Charles... Mr. Cartwright isn't here.
I know, but they will be along presently.
- They? - Yes, all of them. Including the police.
Mrs. Rushbridger has been murdered this afternoon.
I've just heard from Charles and from Hastings.
How... How was she killed?
She was poisoned, mademoiselle, with Benzotine.
I wonder if you could make a large pot of tea.
I have a feeling these proceedings may last little time.
Yes, sir.
You may not do that, mademoiselle.
But what you are seeking to destroy is evidence.
To reconstruct a crime, to make sense of it for the layman,
the judiciary and even under certain circumstances, believe it or not, for the criminal himself is the solemn duty of the detective.
Therefore, he must construct his case like a house of cards,...
... making absolutely sure that it will resist every attempt to knock it down.
So, my friends, mes amis, let us begin from the beginning, with the murder of Reverend Babbington.
You were right, Mademoiselle Egg. And I was wrong for once.
Both you and Charles Cartwright believed that the Reverend Babbington had been murdered.
I did not think it was possible to impose on a victim, a glass,
a particular glass on a tray full of identical glasses.
Isn't all this rather obvious, Monsieur Poirot?
Well, it may be to you, sir, uh, madame, not to me.
The second crime was announced to me by Charles Cartwright himself in Los Angeles.
And I immediately assumed that it was two parts of the same crime.
But who could possibly, in light of this, have been there to murder the Reverend Babbington?
Well, there was Miss Milray. The other was Charles Cartwright.
But neither of these two were at the second murder.
At the second murder, the main suspect was Carlos Morales.
The butler who seems to have disappeared into thin air.
Although there was one guest who attracted more than usual attention to himself, Señor Montoya.
When we were presented to one another by Miss Egg, she referred to you as a communist.
She said this, laughing.
I smiled when I heard it until I noticed a look of over-hostility between you and the Reverend Babbington.
We had our ups-and-downs, Monsieur Poirot. It was mainly about Central America.
Nothing serious though, only arguments.
In any case, I'm not actually a communist.
My regard for personal liberty as such that I don't care what you are.
So long as it doesn't culminate a murder, of course.
However, your performance at the second party... was most unusual too.
You arrived in a disheveled condition, saying you'd had an accident nearby.
And then, you revealed that this whole scenario was the idea of none other than Dr. Strange...
...in written instructions to you when asked to produce them, you said they were destroyed.
And you did not convince either that the newspaper clipping which fell from your pocket.
The subject of which was, of course, Benzotine.
Somebody must have planted it on him. We already told you that.
Yes, very well, Mademoiselle Egg. But by whom?
Perhaps Miss Crisp can cast some light on this or is it all too obvious? Yes.
Actually, I rather agree with you, Mademoiselle Egg.
Everything that Montoya has said and done has been too convenient to be convincing.
I think that the more extreme and far-fetched his story is, the more I tend to believe him.
You see, a really clever criminal would realize that only someone who was present at both murders would be suspect.
And now, who was not present at the second murder?
Well, there was, of course, Miss Milray, there was Mrs. Babbington, there was Charles, and there was last but not least, myself.
Could anybody have given the impression that they were not there while being there?
This is where the mysterious butler, Mr. Morales comes in.
He behaved in a very strange way, arriving only minutes before the meal began in order to serve it.
The room was dimly lit by candle light.
The butler walked with a pronounced stupe probably due to some arthritic conditions.
And if Rosa, the parlor maid, was intrigued by the butler,...
... she was even more so when he answered the phone and brought a message to Dr. Strange.
There was nothing at all amusing about this message.
It came from the nurse who was attending Mrs. Rushbridger in the sanatorium.
Nothing amusing and yet, Dr. Strange chuckled...
... and kidded with the butler: "You're a steady fellow." he said, "and a first-class butler."
It was almost as though they shared a private joke.
There was, in fact, a private joke between them. The nature of that private joke?
Well, when the time came for the butler to disappear, it was not terribly difficult for one reason.
He did not exist.
And that was the nature of the surprise, which Dr. Strange had promised Mademoiselle Egg.
At a given moment, the butler was to straighten his back, take off his disguise, and there, in all his glory was to stand...
Charles Cartwright?
The man of a thousand faces.
Well, thank you very much, Poirot, but you're wrong.
I don't do that kind of work anymore, I'm retired.
I couldn't fool anybody.
You think you're fooling me now?
I don't know and I don't care, Poirot.
How can you pretend to know everything that's happened when you weren't even there?
Even a reputable critic has been known to leave after the first act.
It's never prevented him from writing a review.
But there is a small difference, I returned for the third act to see if my review was water-tight.
- May I shoot some holes in it? - Yes.
Well,... what would have happened had Carlos Morales' disguise been discovered earlier?
Oh, well, then, you would have had your usual round of applause,
you're quite used to that, and general laughter, and you would've been invited to join the dinner party as a guest.
Charles, your pride in your work is enough to prevent you, allowing that disguise to be penetrated.
Dr. Strange knew this and he chuckled in advance as he imagined the general gasp of surprise.
Unfortunately, his gasp of surprise came first when he took a lethal dose of Benzotine.
After that, everything was as easy as it had been during the death of the Reverend Babbington.
You switched the glasses in the manner that I demonstrated during my cocktail party.
Then, you were interviewed briefly by Colonel Mateo, you packed your bags, and you disappeared forever through the secret passage in the library.
And Dr. Strange's letter to Ricardo?
Yeah, what about that, Poirot? Did Carlos Morales write that note too?
I'm extremely very clever, as you know, but I'm not a clairvoyant.
I have no idea how you addressed when you wrote that.
Nor indeed when you planted that newspaper article in the pocket of Señor Montoya.
Oh, which was discovered, of course, by Miss Crisp.
A woman of insatiable curiosity with a particular fondness for murderer.
Rosa Sanchez, the parlor maid, was leaving the servants' quarters when she heard a noise and was forced to hide.
This noise turned out to be Miss Crisp poking about in the library.
Both Mr. Dayton and Señor Montoya claimed that she was behaving in a suspicious manner.
Obedient, no doubt, to the Mongoose instinct for finding out.
But let us not be too hard on Miss Crisp.
She was the only one, Charles, out of all of us to really alarm you...
... because she was the only one to really notice that butler.
There was something about him which was strangely familiar.
The voice? She didn't know what it was,...
but things really came too ahead a little later when you visited Angela Stafford's apartment.
You were not there to help in solving the murders. That would be too much to ask.
You were merely trying to find out if any suspicions had been aroused about yourself.
Then, something happened, which in itself, was insignificant but it became crucial.
You offered our friend, Miss Crisp, a cup of coffee.
At that moment, she noticed on your wrist a scar.
Which was the same scar she had already noticed on the wrist of Carlos Morales.
You see, Charles, there are no disguises which are completely impenetrable.
She confided this in me after your magnificent performance during my cocktail party, she was terrified that she might be the next victim.
I want my day in court.
As defense attorney?
I never played a defense attorney. May I?
May the prosecution have one more moment of your time.
You see, Charles, there were three murders, not two.
Three?
- They all can't be me. - Mrs. Rushbridger?
Charles played yet another one of his galaxy of wonderful characters.
An old groundskeeper at the sanatorium, he even tipped a small boy to take a message to the telegraph office.
You see, with that instinct which made of him a great actor, he felt curiously that this net was closing around him.
He even sent Mrs. Rushbridger a gift of liquor-filled chocolates.
The liquor, in question, being of course, Benzotine.
The idea was that Mrs. Rushbridger had been killed because she knew too much.
In point of fact, the poor darling, she knew nothing at all,...
... was incapable of knowing anything.
- Do you rest your case? - My case rests.
Thank you.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, your Honor, I'd like Monsieur Hercule Poirot to take the stand.
Is that your famous limp?
What do you know about my limp, huh?
Everybody knows about your limp, it's... it's world-famous.
Monsieur Poirot, what is the motive for the crimes in question?
Oh, yes.
You had to kill Dr. Strange because he'd been looking after you for a very long time.
The official reason given for your premature retirement from the entertainment business...
... was a certain nervous fragility when overworked.
This is very far from the truth.
The truth is that there were paranoid and psychotic elements in your maker,...
... which could, at any moment, lead you to unreasonable or even violent behavior.
Dr. Strange knew this. He also knew the secret about the scar on your wrist.
It was due to an attempted suicide.
"I'm worried about "M"", he wrote, "I don't like it."
No, no, "M", Margaret? Mateo? Montoya? Milray?
Do I have to remind you that my name is Charles Cartwright?
A name given to you by a film studio who deemed that Edward W. Muggins was inconsistent with a romantic lead.
And we must be consistent in everything, mustn't we?
I'm famous for being consistent.
What is the reason for Babbington's death, to be consistent in logic?
That is a good question.
It is not consistent in the everyday sense of the word.
But in the sense of the theater, it would be called, I think, a dress rehearsal.
In fact, Babbington happened to die, but it could have been anyone.
There was no motive, you understand, apart from a purely technical one.
You wanted to see if the poison worked, if it was possible to change the glasses.
It was possible.
Therefore, it was a wonderful dress rehearsal for the real premiere,
which was the necessary death of Dr. Strange.
I say necessary because, Charles, he was the only person that could put you away.
This is monstrous!
We will see how monstrous it is. I will ask Miss Milray. Excuse me.
Now, you see, Charles,... Miss Milray, when she found that orchid spray in the gardener's hut,...
she suspected that you were the murderer.
And when you gave that wonderful performance at my party, Charles,...
... there's one face I wanted to see at the very moment of your death.
It was that of Miss Milray.
For a moment, she was profoundly shocked and then gave away to the deepest despair.
She was torn, you see, between her love for you and her horror of what you had done.
I followed her to the garden shed, she tried to destroy the evidence.
I'm afraid, Charles, she did not succeed.
That evidence is now with the police as well as your passport,
which is clearly marked the time you returned here in order to kill Dr. Strange.
And you returned to Los Angeles by the very next plane in order to break the news to me in a voice of anguish.
Who... who are these people? What are you doing in my house?!
Get out of here!
Why do you let these people arrive here?! Why are you all staring at me?!
Charles, Charles, Charles!
It's a wrong performance. This is the moment to show dignity.
It's a moment to show us what you are made of.
You mean like Sydney Carton in "The Only Way", smiling his way to the scaffold.
Yes, if you wish except in here, there's no scaffold. There's just peace of mind, Charles.
And Charles, an infinity of roles to play.
It's a pity you didn't see me as the groundskeeper.
I had the audience and one small boy.
I used my limp.
Wherever... wherever they take me, I'll be out in a year.
I'm gonna give the greatest performance of my life in that sanatorium.
Level-headed, rational, and above all, consistent, huh?
Good.
Do you think I'm going to struggle? Well, you're wrong.
You can put away your straitjackets, you can put away your hypodermic needles.
You're not going to need any of them.
I'm going to tell you one thing, señors.
I may be charming, debonair, and handsome. I may even, at times, be dangerous.
But I am not, I repeat, NOT... crazy.
I've been a fool, haven't I?
No, mademoiselle, merely young.
And youth is often mesmerized by age, as age is mesmerized by youth.
Don't you think so, comrade Montoya?
Please, Monsieur Poirot, I'm not even socialist, really.
Who cares what you are?
- I'm really sorry about all of this, Ricardo. - So am I.
I must congratulate you, Monsieur Poirot.
That was a brilliant summation in there. Quite a display.
I should think it would make a wonderful conclusion to your book.
My book? Oh, I had forgotten all about my book.
- Why not our book? - I beg your pardon?
You know, modern crime is so busy, there's a body falling out of a cupboard one minute,...
... another rising from the lake. You never know where you are.
I have no time.
Now, if I had a collaborator, someone with a Mongoose instinct.
What do you think of that?
I think... it's a grand idea.
- Are you serious? - I'm absolutely serious.
Good Lord, Poirot!
What is the matter now?
- It's just occurred to me. - What?
- When that poisoned cocktail was handed around... - Yes?
Well, it could've been me.
I thought of it even worse thought.
What's that?
It could've been me.