British pies are famous the world over.
And, last year, Farley's Foods produced five million of them.
Everything from steak and kidney, to Cornish pastries.
But, that's not enough for old man Farley.
He wants to double the score.
Work's been pushing ahead on the new extension to his factory.
And this week, the great day dawned.
My friends!
I hope I may call you my friends.
After all, I pay your wages!
In 1935,
we sold more pies than at anytime, in our history.
Yet, there are those among you,
politically motivated,
who still try to say
that you are not doing well.
Don't listen to them!
And now, let us move on to happier things.
Once more, I stand before you here
to open yet another new wing
of our great enterprise.
Joanna!
Why didn't you call me yesterday?
You mustn't come here!
I've got to see you!
It's no good, Joanna.
What isn't? What do you mean?
I've been given two weeks notice.
By my father?
Not directly, but yes.
Why?
Because he's found out about us, of course.
I've got to go!
Oh, God!
I like to think that there's been a partnership.
A partnership between the Farley family
and we, humble mortals in the municipality.
There are other jobs, Herbert.
Not with your father's bad opinion following me wherever I go.
I could kill him! I could really kill him!
Talking like that doesn't do any good.
And now, it gives me great pleasure
to declare this new wing well and truly open.
What?
"This is your chance to invest in a pair of HomePhit real leather shoes."
Oh, that's clever!
Fit spelt with a "Ph".
"Just return this card and our representatives will call on you."
Made to measure shoes, apparently.
Seem awfully reasonable.
Don't suppose they have any made to measure typewriters in there, have they?
Sorry?
Ever since last Easter, I've been asking Mr. Poirot for a new typewriter.
Mr. Poirot isn't mean, but he is careful.
We found this typewriter in the flat when we moved in.
Someone had left it.
Jolly useful.
- Who's Benedict Farley? - I have no idea.
Oh, isn't he Farley's pies?
Pies?
Why?
"Dear sir, Mr. Benedict Farley would like to have the benefit of your advice."
"If convenient to yourself, he would be glad
if you would call upon him at the above address
at 9.30 tomorrow, Thursday evening."
"Yours truly, Hugo Cornworthy, secretary."
"P.S. Please, bring this letter with you."
Repeat that, if you please, Hastings!
"Dear Sir..."
Non, non, non. Just the postscript.
"P.S. Please bring this letter with you."
Why?
Why, Hastings?
An interesting letter.
Is it?
I thought it was rather dull.
Miss Lemon says he makes pies.
Makes pies?
Hastings, to say that Benedict Farley makes pies is like saying that
Wagner wrote semiquavers.
They're good pies, are they?
No, horrible!
But there are great many of them.
The forms and origin of Benedict Farley's wealth, I surmise, huh.
And that, Hastings, is where he makes his sausages, his pies, his hams.
Useful, eh? Living above the shop.
I suppose from here, Farley likes to keep an eye on his employees.
No doubt!
But it is a pity that such diligence
does not improve the quality of his so-called
delectables.
Good evening!
Good evening, sir!
Mr. Poirot and Captain Hastings to see Mr. Farley.
I'm sorry, sir. I was instructed to admit only one.
Oh, come now!
I was instructed most positively, sir.
I'm sorry.
You know, this is most inconvenient.
You'll excuse me, sir. I was told to ask for a letter.
Pardon? Oh, yes.
Thank you, sir.
Yeah?
The gentleman you are expecting, sir.
You're Hercule Poirot, eh?
- Monsieur. - Sit down!
Sit down!
Merci..., monsieur.
What is it that you wish to consult me about, Mr. Farley?
I have the same dream...
... night after night.
I am sitting in my room, next to this.
Sitting at my desk, writing.
There's a clock in there.
I look up at it, I see the time.
It is exactly twenty eight minutes past twelve.
Always the same time, you understand?
When I see the time, Poirot,
I know I've got to do it.
At twenty eight minutes past twelve,
I open the second drawer down of the right of my desk,
I take out the revolver, I load it.
Then I go over to the window.
And then?
I shoot myself.
I just lift the gun to my head
and shoot myself.
What do you make of that?
I've already consulted a specialist,
in Harley Street.
And what does this specialist tell you?
He was preposterous!
He has said if my life is so unbearable to me
I deliberately want to end it.
He is a fool!
Why should I want to kill myself?
One of the richest men in the country.
I have everything I could possibly want.
I am a happy man.
So, where do I come in, Monsieur Farley?
Supposing someone wants to kill me...
... could they do it this way?
Hypnotism, you mean?
You see what I'm getting at?
Who is it that you suspect of wanting to kill you, monsieur?
Nobody. Nobody at all.
You have no one specific in mind?
Certainly not.
I should like to see the scene of this drama.
The desk, the clock, the revolver...
No. I've told you all there is to tell.
There's nothing to see next door.
Nevertheless, I should like to see for myself.
There is no need!
I just want your opinion!
But I can hardly have an opinion on such skimpy evidence.
That's the end of it, then.
I've told you the facts.
You can't make anything of it.
That closes the matter.
You can send me in your bill for the consultation fee.
I shall not fail to do so.
Wait!
That letter. I want it!
- The letter from your secretary? - Yes!
Thank you.
A thousand pardons, Monsieur!
- What? - I have committed a folly.
The letter I handed to you just now, it was a letter from my landlord.
This is your letter.
Why the devil can't you watch what you're doing?
Au revoir, Monsieur.
How did you get on in there?
Not well, I'm afraid.
There is something wrong in that house, Hastings.
Badly wrong.
And I haven't the faintest idea what it is.
Get off, boy! I want these documents at Leadenhall street by one o'clock.
Go on, then! Run!
Excuse me, sir.
Mr. Cornworthy said you might spare us a moment.
Uh?
What's going on? Twelve o'clock, he said!
All right, all right.
He's a very busy man.
Now, let's just seat down!
Relax!
Mr. Cornworthy...
Mr. Tremlett, you still here?
We've been here an hour, nearly.
Over an hour!
Well, I'll go and see what he's up to.
He's got to sign these, anyway.
Bloody nerve!
That's our dinner hour gone, I know that.
He'll see us now.
Good God!
For God's sake someone, send for the police!
I can't go on like this, Mr. Poirot!
That machine is more than flesh and blood can stand.
But you have never complained before.
I've done nothing but complain for the last six months!
- No. - It has been mentioned, Poirot.
Kindly do not band together against Poirot.
I wasn't.
Do I not do my best to keep us all happy?
I don't want to be happy. I just want to be...
Poirot.
Ah, Inspector Japp, my old friend.
I am at Northway house, Poirot. Benedict Farley's place.
I'd like you to come over here, if you'd be so kind.
Mr. Farley has shot himself.
The most peculiar story I've ever heard.
I've never heard such poppycock!
Father had no use for dreams and such rubbish.
Nevertheless, that is what he told me.
Yes he, he mentioned it to me.
It upset him very much.
I told him it was indigestion, I'm afraid.
I suggested his in calling Dr. Stillingfleet.
He never did.
From Mr. Poirot's story I gather he went to Harley Street.
Yes, he told me he consulted a specialist.
But is it known who this specialist was?
None of us had any idea that he'd consulted anyone.
And he never spoke to you about the dream?
No.
And you, Mr. Cornworthy?
Never. He said nothing about it at all.
I took down the letter to you at his dictation.
But I have no idea why he wanted to consult you.
I thought it might have something to do with some business irregularity.
Hmm, I see.
Inspector Japp...
Can you tell me the events
leading up to the death of Mr. Benedict Farley?
Well, Mr. Farley had agreed to see two representatives from the works.
It was a proposal for forming a union.
- Some hopes... - Yes, quite so.
A little before one o'clock,
Mr. Cornworthy here came out of his room and went into Mr. Farley.
He couldn't see him at first, and thought the room was empty.
Then he caught sight of a boot sticking out from behind the desk.
And what happened then?
I ran out of the room.
And I told the butler to call Dr. Stillingfleet and...
... he did.
The body was found down there.
Thank you!
At what time did he die, doctor?
I examined the body at thirty two minutes past one.
Mr. Farley had been dead at least one hour.
So, he could have died at least twelve twenty eight, he told you about?
Precisely.
Were there any fingerprints on the revolver?
Only his own.
And, please, tell me about the revolver itself!
Well, it was the one he kept in the drawer of his desk,
again, just as he told you.
Mrs. Farley has identified it positively.
I see.
What's more, that's the only entrance to the room.
Well, apart from the windows, I suppose.
I can not see how anybody could climb up there.
It's a funny room for a rich man to choose as his study, isn't it?
That great ugly blank wall right outside.
I think it is important, that wall.
You mean psychologically?
Perhaps.
"At twenty eight minutes past twelve,"
"I opened the second drawer down the right of my desk."
"I take out the revolver,"
"load it."
"I go over to the window,"
"and then..."
"... and then, I shoot myself."
"I just lift the gun to my head"
"and shoot myself."
I should not have thought that there is any reason for you
to doubt the accuracy of the dream's prediction, Inspector.
In fact, there is every reason to suggest that Benedict Farley comitted suicide.
Well, there would have been no doubt about it at all,
but for one point.
And what was that?
The letter written to you.
Ah, I see!
So, where Hercule Poirot is concerned,
there arises immediately the suspicion of murder.
Precisely.
Touché!
Hello, Mr. Poirot!
Fancy your chances?
Non, non, non. Thank you very much, Mademoiselle.
But essentially Hercule Poirot is er..., a man of peace.
But, perhaps, though, I could ask you a few questions?
Ask away.
Did you know that your father kept a revolver in his desk?
No.
Where were you and your mother...
Pardon! That is to say, your stepmother.
That is correct?
Yes. Louise is my father's second wife.
She is only eight years older than I am.
So, where were you and she
Thursday night of last week?
Thursday...
We went to the theater to see "Thumb's Up!".
Your father did not suggest accompanying you?
He never went out to theaters.
He was not a very sociable man?
My father had a singularly unpleasant personality.
That is a very candid statement, mademoiselle.
I am saving you time, Mr. Poirot.
I realize quite well what you're getting at.
I live here because I have no money to live elsewhere.
There is a man that I wish to marry.
A poor man.
My father saw to it that he lost his job.
He wanted me, you see, to marry well,
an easy match, since I was his heiress.
So, your father's fortune passes to you?
Yes.
Well, that is to say, he left Louise, my stepmother,
a quarter of a million, free of tax.
And there are other few small legacies.
But the residue of it goes to me.
So you see, Monsieur Poirot,
I had every reason to desire my father's death.
I see also, mademoiselle,
that you have inherited your father's intelligence.
My father was clever.
But did it all turn sour.
There was no humanity left.
Is there anything more?
Yes.
How poor was your father's eyesight?
He could scarcely see at all, well, not without his glasses.
His sight had always been bad, from a boy.
But with his glasses?
Oh! He could see alright then, of course.
Thank you.
All right, Constable. Tell Sergeant Bull this is going to take longer than expected.
Right, sir.
Ah, Mrs. Farley!
Something I'd like to ask you.
Yes?
Had your husband ever been hypnotized?
Never, to my knowledge.
Was he interested in that sort of thing? Hypnotism?
No.
Oh! That horrible dream! It's uncanny!
To dream that same awful dream, night after night.
It's as though he were hounded to his death.
Had it ever occurred to you that your husband might be tempted to do away with himself?
No.
Well, sometimes he was rather queer.
Poppycock! Father was far too fond of himself, for ever to commit suicide!
You don't know everything, Joanna!
I know that much!
Pardon, Madame Farley...
How many pairs of glasses did your husband own?
Glasses?
Oh, well... spectacles.
I've no idea. Three? Four?
Ah!... Thank you!
Come in!
Ah! Mon Dieu!
How different this room looks in daylight!
Can I do something for you?
I see, monsieur, that you share the same inspiring view as your late employer.
Yes.
On the other side of that wall are the fools...
... who made Mr. Farley's wealth for him.
I think that's why he chose to have his study this side of the house.
I see.
You know, for sure if that wall could talk, it could tell us something, uh?
Mr. Cornworthy, when I arrived last Thursday evening,
I was not shown into Mr. Farley own room.
No!
I was told to tell Holmes to show you in here.
Why was that, you think?
I never questioned any of Mr. Farley's orders.
Non, non, non.
Did he usually receive the visitors in here?
Quite often.
Particularly people who hadn't come to the house before.
I see.
Thank you, Mr. Cornworthy.
Inspector, this dream of Benedict Farley is very important.
He dreamed, he said, of committing suicide.
And, later on, he did commit suicide.
When I say suicide, he was alone in his room
and was found with the gun in his hand.
And no one entered or left the room at the time he was shot.
So, what does this mean, Chief-Inspector?
Well, there is no other possibility. Then, it must be suicide.
Au contraire,
it means a very unusual and very cleverly planned murder.
Planned how? Planned by who?
Well, it is no good, is it, Chief-Inspector, if I just give you the answer.
Well...
No! We must give the little grey cells time to do the work.
And give Poirot time to work out who did it and how.
This is not like you, Poirot.
This is not like the grey cells, Hastings!
I've given them every chance!
They have been concentrated.
I have slept to allow them to do their work!
I have eaten fish for breakfast.
Result? Nothing!
It will come, Poirot.
Little grey cells never let you down, yet.
But this is not an indication, perhaps, of what is in store.
A sign that they are weakened by old age and the fast living.
Fast living, Poirot?
I wouldn't call your life exactly fast.
Well, not now, perhaps, Hastings, but...
...in my youth.
Really?
You see, one pays, Hastings.
Eventually one is called to settle one's account.
I say!
I shall have another tisane.
Bugger!
Mr. Poirot, I...
What is it, Mr. Poirot?
Another tisane, if you please, Miss Lemon!
Oh, dear!
You had your nine o'clock one.
Serious measures are called for, Miss Lemon.
Diable!
Do you have the time, please, Miss Lemon?
Of course, Mr. Poirot.
What are you doing, Miss Lemon?
It's five to ten, Mr. Poirot.
But what were you doing out there?
If I lean right out, I can just see the church clock.
Would it not be simpler to wear the watch?
I can't, Mr. Poirot. My magnetism upsets them.
I say!
All my life I've been looking for a watch that won't go wild as soon as I put it on.
But I've never found one.
Whatever is the matter, Mr. Poirot?
Miss Lemon! You are beautiful!
Now, would you please be so kind as to telephone the Chief-Inspector Japp.
And ask him to assemble the whole Farley household at noon.
In the hall, eh?
Come, Hastings. We have work to do.
All has become clear.
Then, they're brought in here from the pastry room and loaded into the ovens.
The ovens have got to be sealed and closed by twelve fifteen,
because we start to bake it at twelve thirty sharp.
If we hadn't done that, Mr. Farley was on the telephone
quicker than you can say "three little piggies".
Did he come regularly to the factory?
No. No, he hadn't done that for... hmm, six or seven years.
Not regularly.
But he seemed to know if we hadn't start the bake on time.
In the office, we used to say
"he had second sight as far as the poor pie was concerned".
It's just by way of a joke.
Then, after the bake, which takes about an hour and a half,
we take them out of the ovens, and then, they go round the corner...
Now, remember what I told you!
Yes. Is it loaded?
Oh, yes.
Here he comes.
Bonjour!
I wonder, what is the most extraordinary thing
about this case. Uh?
Well! The dream, I'd say.
If we hadn't got your word for it, Poirot...
Exactement! The telling of the dream was vital.
But, mes amis, there is more to it than that.
Where did this telling of the dream take place?
Monsieur Benedict Farley received me here, in his secretary's room,
and refused, point blank,
to let me see into his own room, just a few feet away.
Why did he do that, uh?
Because there was something in that room he could not afford to have me see.
- What? - We will come to that.
When Mr. Benedict Farley asked me to return his letter to him,
by inadvertence, I handed to him the correspondence from my landlord.
One glance should have told him it was the wrong letter.
Didn't he have his glasses on?
Oh yes, he had on his glasses.
So, why did Monsieur Benedict Farley not realize the difference
between two totally disimilar letters, huh?
Because, mes amis,
I was in the company of a man with normal eyesight
wearing powerful glasses.
And such powerful glasses would render a man of normal eyesight
practically blind.
Is that not so, doctor?
Yes, they were very powerful spectacles, yes.
Eh bien!
So, why was I not allowed to go into Benedict Farley's room that night?
What was in Mr. Benedict Farley's room that I was not allowed to see?
Mesdames et Messieurs, shall I enlighten you?
I wish you would, Poirot.
Very well.
Poirot shall enlighten you.
What was in Mr. Benedict Farley's own room
that Monsieur Benedict Farley did not allow me to see, was...
Monsieur Benedict Farley!
Good God!
Yesterday afternoon...
... there are three witnesses to swear that no one
comes in or out of Mr. Benedict Farley's room.
Mr. Cornworthy is in his room next door
and, as twelve twenty eight approaches, he readies himself.
You see, Monsieur Cornworthy knows something...
... that very few other people know.
He knows that Monsieur Benedict Farley, everyday,
after all these years, still interested in the day-to-day running of his factory,
checks up on his employees.
Let's see how he does this!
How can this king of pies observe his workers without ever leaving this house, huh?
Simple.
You see, the uninviting delicacy is first steamed for one hour
before it is baked.
And the release valves on the vast ovens which are situated behind that wall,
are briefly tested as soon as the ovens are loaded.
If one leans out of these windows,
one can rapidly confirm this fact.
Now, if you please, I want you all to come to these two windows,
lean out and look to your right.
Mr. Cornworthy, why don't you lead the way?
This is nonsense!
Perhaps. But humor me.
Merci. Alors, viens viens viens! Madame Farley!
Oh, very well.
Now one can readily easily see that spurt of steam issuing
from that chimney of pipe on the eastern end of the building, voila?
All the same. I don't see where that gets us.
Monsieur Farley comes to the window.
Yes.
He leans out to make sure that bake is starting on time.
All right.
And, then...
Monsieur Cornworthy shoots him and Farley falls to the floor.
Remember, there is a blank wall opposite,
so there can be no witnesses.
Lies! Ridiculous lies!
All has the appearance of being above the board, yes?
Monsieur Tremlett and the other men
see Mr. Cornworthy go into Mr. Farley's room
but rush out again with the announcement of Mr. Farley's suicide.
What they do not, of course, see,
is Mr. Cornworthy press the gun into Mr. Farley's hand.
Slanderous rubbish!
It was Mr. Cornworthy who wrote to me the letter.
Mr. Cornworthy who gave instructions to the butler.
It was he who went up to his bedroom,
applied the make-up,
and played the part of Benedict Farley.
But there were two people who carried though this fraud.
Mr. Cornworthy was one, and the other...
Madame Farley.
How dare you?
In due course, the happy ending would have been achieved.
A quarter of a million pounds and two hearts that beat as one.
Hastings, stop him!
Stop him, Herbert! Stop him!
What?
Oh, right!
Well done, sir.
That's Herbert!
I've come to elope. It's still on, is it?
It's not, strictly speaking, necessary anymore.
Well we could do it anyway, though.
If you like.
Yes!
What shall I do with him?
I'll deal with him, sir. Thank you very much!
Au revoir, Madame Farley.
You foreigner!
Good afternoon, sir.
Good afternoon!
- Can I assist you in any way, sir? - Thank you.
Thank you.
Want me to give a grip on that?
Non, non. Thank you, Hastings.
I'm sure I can manage the last five paces.
Here, Monsieur Poirot, let me help you!
Non, non, non, Miss Lemon.
This is for you.
Oh Mr. Poirot, you shouldn't have!
Non, non, non! Miss Lemon.
Hastings, if you please, the knife!
Merci.
And maintenant? Voilà!
Well, what do you think, eh, Miss Lemon?
- It's... - Wonderful, huh?
It's...
And now we shall have
no more leaning dangerously out of the window to tell the time, yes?
It's just what I wanted.
Hastings,
there are two reasons
why I should never become the millionaire.
What are they, Poirot?
The first.
That I shall never make the detestable pork pies.
And the second.
I am too understanding towards my employees.
Quite.
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