Are you feeling better, Hastings?
Yes. Yes I am, as a matter of fact.
Takes the pressure off the pancreas, you see.
Nah. The pancreas is nothing.
Of the digestive organs, the liver is the key.
Look after the liver and life will take care of itself.
Your tisane, Mr. Poirot.
Thank you, Miss Lemon.
This is what you need, Hastings.
No fear, I've tasted it.
- Mr. Poirot. - Yes, Miss Lemon.
There's a lady outside.
A client?
I don't know.
When I say outside, I mean outside in the street.
I've been watching her from my window.
She keeps on backwards and forwards,
then stops and looks up at the building.
I'm sure she wants to come in.
Go and intercept her, Miss Lemon.
Inform her that Hercule Poirot is not devouring the strange ladies this season.
Mr. Poirot!
To leave the pancreas alone, Hastings,
is the best advice I can give you.
And look to your diet.
What did you eat last night, uh?
Ah! Do not tell me!
You went to that Indian restaurant
you keep on telling me about, n'est-ce pas?
The Orient has much to teach us, Poirot.
Hm, hm!
You have been warned, Hastings.
Do you know what is the most heavily taxed import in Belgium?
Rice.
The government of my country is determined to stamp it out.
I was brought up on rice!
- Rice pudding... - And how are you feeling, Hastings?
Well...
Yes, Hastings, but we live in a cold country.
The Indian philosopher, Rabindranath Tagor,
specifically recommends rice as a cure for all known illness.
She won't come in, Mr. Poirot.
She denied wanting to see you at all, at first.
Then she said she'd meet you.
Where?
Don't be nervous, madame.
You are among friends.
I may wickedly wronging poor Edward, though.
It's a terrible thought for a wife to have.
- I got this dreadful idea... - You suspect your husband of ...
Oh Monsieur Poirot, I'm dreadfully afraid.
I'm being poisoned.
I see.
What makes you think so, Madame?
I'm sick after nearly every meal.
And I get this burning pain all down here.
The doctor says it's gastritis.
But it's very odd.
Whenever Edward's away for the weekend, I'm quite all right again.
- Even Freda noticed that. - Freda?
My niece.
And then, there's that tin of weedkiller.
The gardener says he's never used it, but it's half empty.
You and your husband reside where, Madame?
Polgarwith. It's in Cornwall.
Do you have any children?
No.
But a niece, I think you said, yes?
Yes. Freda Stanton.
My husband's only sister's child.
She's lived with us for the last eight years, that is, until a week ago.
Ah-ha! And what happened a week ago?
I don't know.
One day, last week, she just flared up and walked out.
She's taken rooms of her own in the town.
Leave her to come to her senses, so Mr. Radnor says.
Monsieur Radnor?
Oh! He's just a friend.
A very pleasant young fellow.
Anything er... you know, between him and your niece?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Madame.
We must be brutal.
Do you know of any reason why your husband
should wish you out of the way?
Yes, I do.
There's a yellow head hussy that works for him.
My husband's a dentist, Mr. Poirot, and nothing would do.
But he needs a smart girl, as he put it, to make his appointments
who makes his fillings for him.
Go on, Madame.
Well, there's talk around the town.
I mean, her with her bobbed hair and her white overall!
Of course he swears it's all right.
But then he would, wouldn't he?
It makes me cold, talking like this.
Alor, let's us then be practical.
You return to Polgarwith today, yes?
Yes, there's a train at five.
Eh bien. Tomorrow, Captain Hastings and I will follow you there.
- I don't want there to be any talk. - Courage, madame.
We will be discretion itself.
You see, he was one of Wiltshire Hastings on his father side.
So, it was Herbert who moved the family to Cornwall.
Yes, Herbert was my father.
Who was your mother, then?
Maude Hastings.
At least she wasn't Hastings till she got married.
She was Maude Willoughby.
What are you doing, Hastings?
I'm trying to get these relationships sorted out.
I'm going to pretend I'm the son of Mrs. Pengelley's second cousin.
What do you think of this case, Hastings?
Nasty business, I say.
Unless Mrs. Pengelley is making the whole thing up.
Madame Pengelley doesn't strike me as being a hysterical woman, Hastings.
No, if I mistake not,
we have here a very poignant human drama.
Polgarwith!
Station Polgarwith!
You see, it's very simple, Hastings.
Ordinarily, a woman will accuse anyone in the word except the husband.
She will stick to her belief in him, through thick and thin.
This other woman complicates mattters.
You mean affection may turn to hate,
under the stimulus of jealousy?
Exactly.
Why then, come to me?
To have her suspicions proved wrong?
Or to have them proved right?
In a town like this, Hastings,
woe betide any husband who buys a tin of weedkiller.
Probably only one place to buy something like that.
But then if his wife suffers from gastritis
and is inclined to be imaginative,
the fat is in the flames, I think.
If Mr. Pengelley chooses a dalliance his receptionist, Hastings,
he chooses unwisely.
It's a little too close to home.
Domestic quarters on one side and surgery on the other.
What is that, Poirot? Sounds like someone crying?
In here, Hastings.
Yes?
We wish to see Mrs. Pengelley.
You can't.
She's dead.
Dead?
Not an hour ago.
Upstairs. Cold.
Of what did she die?
- Are you foreign? - Belgian.
He almost gone mad today!
What happened?
It's not my place to say anything and I am not going to,
but everybody knows.
Indeed?
Didn't I see the master with me all nice
and he just sneak the shelf with the weedkiller this very evening?
And didn't he jump when he turned round and saw me watching of him?
And the missus' gruel there, on the table, ready.
No a bite passes my lips while I'm at this house!
Not if I dies for it!
Jessie?
- Jessie? - Oh my God, its him!
- You'll have to go! - Jessie?
Where does the doctor who attended your mistress live?
Dr. Adams.
At the other end of the High Street.
Who is it, Jessie?
It's nobody, sir.
It's just some men.
I'm very sorry to hear of your tragic loss, Monsieur Pengelley.
Thank you.
- We will return perhaps some other time. - Yes.
Thank you, mademoiselle.
We should have come with her yesterday, Hastings!
An imbecile! A criminal imbecile, that's what I have been!
How I boast about my little grey cells and now, I have lost a human life!
A life that came to me to be saved!
Damn nonsense!
Damn nonsense every word of it!
Was I or was I not in attendance in this case?
Indeed.
- I... - Did I or did I not say,
the first day I went to see Mrs. Pengelley, gastritis?
Yes?
Did I ever waver from that diagnosis? No, I did not.
- This is undoubtedly... - This town is a hot bed of gossip.
Scandal among old women get together
and invent God knows what!
But the fact remains...
They read these scandalous rags of newspapers
and nothing will suit them better
but that someone from their town should be poisoned too.
- But Madame Pengelley... - Why should anyone want to poison her?
Dr. Adams! Will you please, listen to me!
Why? I'm telling you.
It was yesterday, that Madame Pengelley came to London in order to consult me.
- She believed she was being poisoned. - Never.
Ah! Hastings, do you hear that? Now I am a liar!
Dr. Adams, please, allow me.
Madame Pengelley believed that the husband was the poisoner.
Rubbish!
I know Edward Pengelley.
Wouldn't poison his grandmother's dog.
But it is not the dog of Madame Pengelley's grandmother that has been poisoned!
Madame Pengelley believed
that the husband had fallen in love
with his receptionist.
- Fallen in love? - Yes.
Edward Pengelley isn't the sort of man to fall in love!
We play golf together!
Never been in love in his life!
Damn fine dentist too.
I'll be blunt with you, Mr. Poirot.
We in Polgarwith, don't need you outsiders coming in and spreading your tittle tattle.
All I am trying to tell you, Mr. le Docteur, is what Madame Pengelley thought.
Well, if she thought that, she must have gone mad.
She should have come to see me.
I'd have told her.
And had all her fears ridiculed?
Ridiculed? Certainly not.
I have an open mind, I hope.
"Fall in love?"
"Edward Pengelley is not the sort of man to fall in love!"
He is as obstinate as a pig, that one.
He says it is gastritis, therefore it is gastritis.
"Did I waver from that diagnosis? Never!"
A doctor who lacks doubt, is not a doctor,
he's an executioner.
Poor Madame Pengelley. Surrounded by such closed minds.
We owe it to her, Hastings.
To unmask her murderer.
Well, let's meet the "yellow head hussy", hey?
What is this hussy, Hastings?
Means the sort of girl who's...
sort of...
... no better than she ought to be,
kind of thing.
- No better than ...? - That's it.
- I say! - Oh, I'm sorry.
Yes, sir?
Oh! Right!
Look here...
I'm the second cousin of er...
No.
Good morning.
Look here, I've got a toothache, ow!
There's been a bereavement.
Mr. Pengelley isn't in the surgery today.
Ah! Right.
Well, I better come back some other time, shall I?
It is all right.
I will look after him.
Come along, Hastings.
What? Oh! Right.
I'll come back next week, then.
What a stunner, Poirot!
You must not excite yourself, Hastings!
Good morning.
And what do you think of our little town?
It is charming, madame.
I hope you find it interesting enough.
Indeed I do.
Miss Stanton, dear! Gentlemen to see you!
Who are you?
Hercule Poirot, and you?
Jacob Radnor.
Oh! Poor auntie!
Of course it was all nonsense,
her thinking Uncle Edward was poisoning her.
It's terribly sad.
I've been wishing all morning I'd been kinder and more patient.
These regrets are too common, mademoiselle.
But.. one must move on.
I know, but I've got a sharp temper.
After all, it was only silliness on auntie's part.
You stood a great deal, Freda.
What was the actual cause of your disagreement, mademoiselle?
Look, I'll be running along.
I'll see you this evening, eh?
Bye, gentlemen.
Thank you.
You are affianced to Mr. Radnor, is that not so?
As a matter of fact, yes.
How did you know?
Well, one does not have to be the greatest detective in the world to notice it.
Oh, I see.
That was the whole trouble actually, with auntie.
She did not approve of the match for you?
It wasn't that, so much.
But, you see...
Yes?
It seems a rather horrid thing to say about her now.
Now she's dead.
But you'll never understand, unless I tell you.
Well...
Auntie was...
... she was absolutely infatuated with Jacob.
Jacob? Jacob Radnor, you mean?
Yes. Yes, I know.
She was over fifty and he's not thirty yet.
But there it was.
She was silly about him.
I can see how it would make things dash difficult.
Well, I just had to tell her in the end.
I had to say, it was me Jacob was after.
She carried on most dreadfully.
She wouldn't believe a word of it,
and was so rude and insulting,
I lost my temper, I'm afraid.
I wish I hadn't.
- And so you left? - Yes.
So I should jolly well think!
Why thank you very much, Miss Stanton.
You've been most helpful.
I hope I've put your mind at rest, that's all.
Indeed.
Mind at rest, Hastings!
But it all seemed quite, you know.
You know?
Well I'm not surprised she had gastritis.
Comment?
Well, she going to run around after a chap half her age...
Mr. Poirot?
Ah! Hello there, Monsieur Radnor!
I wonder if I might have a word with you?
I can pretty well guess what Freda has been telling you.
Indeed?
It was all really unfortunate.
At first I was quite pleased.
I imagined the old woman was helping things along with Freda.
Then it turned out...
Well, the whole thing was absurd
and extremely unpleasant.
This is my little place.
Oh, is this your shop?
It's not bad, is it?
After you, gentlemen.
Thank you.
Good morning, gentlemen.
Good morning.
Oh! Good morning, Mr. Radnor.
It's alright, Mr. Newsome, these gentlemen are with me.
You can go and have your dinner, if you like.
Thank you, sir.
But this is most impressive, Mr. Radnor.
We try to liven Polgarwith up a bit.
New fashions. Better quality.
When are you and Mademoiselle Stanton going to get married?
Soon, I hope.
Look Mr. Poirot, can I speak freely?
Of course.
I'm going to be candid with you.
Excéllent.
I know a bit more than Freda does, you see.
Indeed?
She believes her uncle to be innocent.
You don't?
I'm not so sure as all that.
I can tell you one thing, though.
I'm going to keep my mouth shut about what I do know.
"Let sleeping dogs lie".
I don't want my wife's uncle tried and hanged for murder.
Why do you tell me this, monsieur?
Because I've heard of you.
And I know you're a clever man.
It's quite possible you might carry out a case against him.
But I put it to you.
What good is that?
The poor woman is past help, isn't she?
And she'd be the last person to want a scandal.
You are probably right.
So, you want me to hush it up?
Well, I admit I'm being selfish about it.
I'm building up a good little business here.
You don't know what these small towns are like.
Most of us are selfish, Mr. Radnor.
Not all of us admit it so freely.
Yes, I will do what you ask,
but I tell you frankly, you will not succeed in hushing it up.
Why not?
Vox Populi, Monsieur Radnor. That is why.
The voice of the people.
"Earth to earth",
"ashes to ashes",
"dust to dust",
"ensure uncertain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life",
"to Our Lord Jesus Christ",
"who shall change our vile body and it will be like His glorious body",
"according to the mighty word ..."
I suppose we can accept this rather extraordinary story
about Radnor and Mrs. Pengelley?
But yes!
Must have been dashed embarrassing for him.
Perhaps.
- Or perhaps he found it a little flattering, huh? - Flattering?
She was old enough to be his mother!
Well, almost.
... "and we forgive them that trespassed against us"
"and lead us not into temptation",
"but protect us from Evil."
Amen.
Madame Pengelley was an estimable and charming lady.
Thank you, Mr. Poirot.
If only I'd listened to her.
I assumed it was some minor digestive disorder.
- Terrible business. - A sandwich, Captain Hastings?
Thank you. Terrible business.
Gastritis. Gastritis, pure and simple.
If you don't mind, Mr. Pengelley, I'd like to read the will.
I have to get back to the office before midday.
Yes, yes. By all means.
There are no secrets.
It's quite straightforward, really.
After the usual preamble,
Mrs. Pengelley leaves two thousand pounds in trust for her niece,
Miss Freda Stanton, til she's forty.
The residue of her estate,
which amounts to some 20,000 pounds in government bonds,
she leaves to her husband, Edward Pengelley.
That's all.
If you'll excuse us.
Thank you.
I think I should take her home.
It is all very interesting, is it not, Hastings?
Interesting?
Seems to me rather sordid and unpleasant.
Hardly seems any mystery about it.
I agree. There is no mystery whatever.
Pengelley had three motives for murder.
Money.
He was in love with his assistant.
Mrs. Pengelley was apparently in love with Radnor.
Well I must say I find that pretty hard to believe.
Ah, Hastings, you admire les femmes, huh!
You prostrate yourself before all who are good looking.
Look how you were struck out by the yellow head hussy.
Quite untrue!
But psychologically, you know nothing whatever about them.
Well there you are, you say that just to show us!
Women are always saying I understand them rather too well.
Really, Hastings. I should like to hear them saying so myself.
Non, non mon ami. You listen to Poirot and you shall learn.
In the autumn of a woman's life, Hastings,
there comes always one mad moment
when she longs for romance,
for adventure, before it is too late.
Even if she is the wife of a respectable dentist in a country town.
- And you think ...? - A clever man
might take advantage of such a moment.
I'd hardly call Pengelley so clever.
He seems to got the whole town talking.
You know, Hastings, what I find curious
is that the only two men who know anything about the case,
they both want to hush it up.
What? Radnor and the doctor, you mean?
I don't see what that's got to do with it.
Well, before your bank holiday in August, Hastings,
we shall see Monsieur Pengelley in the dock.
Good thing too!
And it will be our job to save him from the gallows.
All right lad. Pick him up.
One, two, three, heave!
Two heads and a tail.
Two yins and a yang. Right.
It's number 15.
I don't understand this.
You sure you were thinking about Poirot?
His hexagram come out as qi-an.
What's that mean?
Modesty.
"Superior man carries things through without vanity".
Doesn't sound like Mr. Poirot.
What are you doing, Hastings?
- Nothing. - The "I Ching", actually.
- The I... ? - "I Ching".
It's an ancient Chinese oracle.
- We were foretelling your future. - Most amusing.
Your hexagram comes out as Modesty!
Oh?!
That is most apt. Well, well.
Yes, but it's the lines that are important.
You see, your second line says,
"Ten pairs of tortoises cannot oppose him."
"The man in the scarlett knee bands is coming".
Tortoises? Knee bands?
Well you see, the tortoise was considered a magic animal.
It means you are going to be so successfull
that not even the magic can stop you.
Hastings, I have had enough of this nonsense.
I can foretell the future better than any Chinese oracle,
as you will see if you look in this newspaper.
- Herr Hitler's speech, full text? - Further down the page.
The Cornish Mystery!
"Mrs. Pengelley exhumed"!
How long did I say, Hastings?
Say?
I said, did I not that we should see Monsieur Pengelley in the dock?
Before August bank holiday!
And when is the August bank holiday, Hastings?
Two weeks on Monday.
Précisément.
- He's done nothing! - Now, now!
You're wrong!
People tell lies! They tell terrible lies!
He's innocent, I tell you!
He's innocent!
"Gossip in Polgarwith became intense",
"when Edward Pengelley announced his engagement to his 25 year-old receptionist"
"Miss Edwina Marks, three weeks ago".
What did I tell you, Hastings? The voice of the people.
Hastings?
Have you finished your meditation?
Hastings?
And what was the reason for your visit?
No particular reason.
I often dropped in to see them. We were friends.
Did you see Mrs. Pengelley on this occasion?
No. She was in bed, I was told.
She had her... digestive trouble again.
She had this "digestive trouble" quite regularly?
Not regularly, no.
But she had been suffering for some time with it.
You saw the accused?
Yes.
What was he doing?
He was in the kitchen, preparing some gruel to take up to his wife.
Now, what I want you to tell to the court is exactly what met your eyes,
when you went through that door into the kitchen.
Well, I saw Mr. Pengelley.
He had his back to me.
He was putting a tin up on a shelf.
There was a tray with a bowl of gruel on it, on the kitchen table.
One moment, Mr. Radnor.
This tin that Mr. Pengelley was replacing.
Can tell us what was in it?
No.
Can you describe it to us?
It was a bit bigger than a cocoa tin.
It was yellow with black printing on it.
Or perhaps dark blue.
Could we see exhibit D, please?
This tin, Mr. Radnor?
Yes.
Oh, no!
Can I have just one little murder case to myself?
Bonjour, Chief-Inspector.
We were on this case long before you were.
- Hmm! Good ham! - Hm! I am glad.
Mme. Pengelley came to me, because she thought she was being poisoned.
She was right.
Poirot said Pengelley would be in the dock before August bank holiday.
So, what are you here for?
To rescue him.
Oh, no!
He had the means to do it, the weedkiller.
He had the opportunity to do it.
He lived in the same house and prepared some of her meals.
He had the motive to do it.
The yellow head hussy, who has to no be better than she was, huh?
And yet, Inspector, he did not do it.
I can name six people who had the motive to kill Madame Pengelley.
What about Mademoiselle Stanton, for instance?
She inherits on her aunt's will.
Don't spoil it, Poirot.
This is a little holiday for me.
It's an open and shut case.
Everyone knows Pengelley did it.
Everyone does not use the grey cells, I think.
Do you think I should talk to the niece again?
Certainly.
The symptoms of gastritis are identical to the symptoms of arsenic poisoning.
That is not what the pathologist from Her MIN. said, Dr Adams.
No, no, no. I'm telling you.
The symptoms of gastritis are identical to the symptoms of arsenic poisoning.
That's why I made the diagnosis that I did.
I don't see what's going to save him.
Poirot will save him.
With the help of the vox populi, of course.
Oh the vox populi seems quite certain Pengelley did it, if you ask me.
Precisément. You have now grasped the nub of the matter.
Mr. Poirot?
- Ah, Mr. Radnor! - Hello!
Captain Hastings.
- This is a sad business. - The trial? Yes. I just think it is.
Do you see any chance of him getting off?
Well, he has reserved his defense and he...
... may have something up his sleeve, as you English say.
Monsieur Radnor, would you care to join Captain Hastings and me
for a drink at the hotel?
Well, thank you.
Then, please to join us, huh?
We can go to my room, Monsieur Radnor,
where we can discuss the intricacies of this case, non?
Splendid!
- Ah! Please sit down, Mr. Radnor. - Thank you.
Hastings, be so kind as to offer our friend something to drink?
- Sherry? - Please.
Business is good, Mr. Radnor?
Excellent, thank you. Yes.
I've taken over the shop next door to add to mine.
Et bien.
It is Jacob, n'est-ce pas?
I'm sorry?
- Jacob Radnor? - Yes.
"Jacob..."
"... Radnor..."
... of 21 Fore Street, ... ", yes?
What're you doing?
Captain Hastings and I are very experienced, Mr. Radnor,
in matters of this kind,
and we both feel that our friend, Monsieur Pengelley,
has one loophole of escape.
Loophole? What loophole has he got?
That you should sign
this little piece of paper.
What is it?
The confession that you murdered Madame Pengelley.
You must be mad!
Non, non my friend, I am not mad.
Madame Pengelley was a lady very well to do,
but the small allowance she made to her niece
was not sufficient for your ambitious schemes.
You must get rid of both her
and her husband,
and then all the money will go to Mademoiselle Stanton, non?
You, yourself decide to murder Madame Pengelley
and let the husband hang for the crime.
- I'm not going to stay here and listen to this... - Hastings!
You've got no right to keep me here!
Nevertheless, you will stay.
You set about your task very cleverly, Mr. Radnor.
You made love to that plain, middle aged woman.
You implanted into her mind doubts about the fidelity of her husband.
You introduced arsenic into her food,
being very careful never to do so while her husband was away.
You were in the house when the husband was preparing the gruel for his wife,
and you introduced the fatal dose.
The rest is easy.
Very interesting. Very ingenious.
But why do you tell me this?
Because, Mr. Radnor, I represent...
... non, not the law.
I represent...
... Madame Pengelley.
And it is for her sake that I am going to give you the chance...
... to escape. - Now, look!
You sign that piece of paper,
and I will give you 24 hours start, Mr. Radnor.
24 hours
before I place this matter into the hands of the police.
You can't get away, Radnor.
Look out of that window.
Those two men have orders not to lose sight of you.
Damn you!
You only got one chance, Radnor.
What guarantee have I got?
None.
But you'll surely hang,
if you do not sign.
All right.
Damn you!
Should I give them them the signal, Poirot, to let him pass?
Certaînement.
You have 24 hours, Mr. Radnor.
I'll get back at you, Poirot.
One day.
I think not, my friend.
In two days, you will be in a prison cell.
I'm not sure we should have let him go, you know, Poirot.
You letting a dangerous criminal escape out of sheer sentiment.
No, Hastings.
That was not sentiment.
That was realism.
We have no shadow of proof against him.
The only chance...
...was to frighten him into confession.
Hastings? Those two men of yours...
Who are they?
I haven't the foggiest idea.
I just noticed them standing there when we came in.
But that is sheer brilliance!
Oh!! Well...
Your peculiar oriental practices, which I tease you about,
are obviously are working wonders on your grey cells.
Maybe it's the rice.
I hope not, Hastings.
Where are we going?
To place this into the hands of the proper authorities.
But that's not for 24 hours.
Hastings, did you really believe that I would let
a cold-blooded murderer get off scottish free?
- Oh, no, but... - Hastings, I do not understand you.
You object if I let him off, you object if I do not let him off.
That very day I see it, sir.
I see his hand hovering over the missus' gruel, sir.
- Whose hand? - Oh his, sir!
The master's, sir.
And, was there something in that hand, Miss Dawlish?
Yes, sir. There was, sir.
Weedkiller, sir!
When you say weedkiller, Miss Dawlish...
This is most extraordinary!
Have you notified the police?
No. We thought it would come better from you.
Good. Meanwhile, I'll ask the trial is, at least, adjourned.
There's just one thing.
We did promise Mr. Radnor that we'd him give a 24 hours start.
Don't get many of that in Peckham.
If Edward Pengelley had really murdered his wife, Hastings,
guilt would make him sensitive to what people would say
if he announced his engagement to Mademoiselle Marks.
No, no, Hastings. The guilty person would have waited,
and quietly slip out of Cornwall forever,
before doing such a thing.
There is Japp.
I don't know what you're gonna tell him.
Nothing at all, Hastings.
I hate to be the bearer of bad news.
He will learn soon enough, that his open and shut case
has the broken hinges.
Ah, Poirot! Come and try one of these!
- My dear Japp! - Poirot. Hastings.
Surely half miss these when I get back to London.
You still fussing about in my murder?
Ah! Non, non, non, Chief-Inspector.
The Captain Hastings and I are retiring from the field.
Oh?! Why?
Well, sometimes, it is braver to admit defeat
then to battle on with no hope of success
against the superior forces.
Oh, yes?
So, Pengelley is going to swing in spite of all your efforts?
Well...
If we are to catch the next train, we must tear ourselves away.
Captain Hastings is going to treat me to dinner
at the most excellent restaurant he has discovered
which serves the Indian food.
It is to this food that Captain Hastings attributes the improvement to his grey cells.
Indian?
- What? These hot curries and things? - Yes.
Rather you than me, Poirot.
Well, au revoir, Inspector.
Make haste, my friend.
I do not wish to be visible
when Inspector Japp discovers he has to chase after Mr. Radnor.
Too late.
The inspector said can you come please, sir.
- The trial has been adjourned. - Adjourned? But what for?
- Mr. Radnor confessed, sir. - Confessed?
To the murder.
He confessed to that French gent. In writing.
Poirot!
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