News, please.
Sorry about this, Poirot.
I thought, as she was here visiting with her sister,
it'd be a simple matter for her to meet us at the station.
Hold tight, please.
The trouble with Mrs. Japp is,
once she gets nattering over a cup of tea,
she loses all track of time.
Perhaps you two better run along and we'll see you there.
Oh, no, we wouldn't dream ...
Yes, Chief Inspector, that is a suggestion most sensible.
Come, Hastings. We look for a taxi.
Ah, you know what he's like
when he hasn't had a case for a few weeks.
I thought a nice afternoon at a garden fete
might cheer him up a bit.
Taxi!
Mm.
About the only thing that's gonna cheer him up today
is the discovery of a body in the lucky dip.
Ha!
Stomach still giving you gyp?
That crab mayonnaise sandwich I had for lunch, like as not.
Taxi!
Be a fine way to spend my afternoon off
if I end up contracting food poisoning.
Hastings!
You go on, Captain Hastings, and we'll see you both later.
Marble Hill Park, if you please, driver.
- I say. Isn't that ... - Hastings.
That fashion model?
The girl driving the car.
I'm sure I've seen her before somewhere.
On a magazine cover.
- Anyone at home? - Darling!
Mmm! Careful. You'll mess up my clothes.
What do you think?
I think I'm a very, very lucky chap.
Come on, let's get inside.
Before we're stung to death.
You know, there are wasps all over the place.
Oh, who was that man?
Man?
Rather odd-looking.
He was just leaving as I arrived.
Drove off in a rather wonderful black car.
Sorry. No one called 'round that I'm aware of.
Only you.
How's your car, by the way?
Remind me to check those brakes of yours.
You said they were feeling very spongy.
Boys and girls, this cactus
has not had a flower for 200 years.
200 years without a flower. What can I do?
-Keep watering! -Keep watering!
Of course! Keep watering!
Ooh!
Ah, Chief Inspector.
Mme. Japp, she's still not with you?
Her sister's got flu,
and she doesn't want to spread the germs.
Ah, the old fortune teller.
You gonna have a tenner's worth?
I think not, mon ami.
Although it is a subject most intriguing for the study.
There she is again. It is her.
Molly, um... What's her name?
Deane!
The fashion model.
I wish I'd brought the 150 with me now.
The new toy.
I give it two, perhaps three weeks.
Oh.
I missed her.
She's gone.
How much are these?
What?
What are you playing at?
Molly.
Claude, will you get away ...
Oh, darling.
Why, I thought you'd got lost.
Look who I just ran into.
Is that you under there, Claude?
Didn't tell me you were going into politics.
You know, you're just the man I wanted to see.
You know that nest of wasps which you cleared out for me last summer?
They're back again, with a vengeance this time.
Thousands of the blighters.
Driving me absolutely potty in that garden.
Oh, right you are. I'll see what I can do.
All right if I pop 'round Friday morning?
Fine.
Better get back to your next show.
I think the audience is getting restless.
Now, who wants to go to a dentist?!
Let's have some tea, shall we?
- Thank you. - Yes. Bye.
He hasn't been bothering you, has he?
Claude Langton?
Of course not.
- Two teas, please. - Certainly.
All he wants now is for the two of us to be happy.
Honestly.
What's past is past.
Thank you very much.
Enjoy your tea.
Well, I'll be jiggered.
What is it?
I'd know that egghead anywhere.
I see also arising
the problems where the matters of health are concerned.
You're right.
I've had these pains in my stomach all day long.
- Been absolute murder. - Did someone say "murder"?
M. Poirot, how are you? As well as ever, I hope.
Mon Dieu! C'est M. John Harrison!
What an unexpected pleasure.
It seems an absolute age since we last met.
I suppose it must have been at Father's funeral.
Ah.
Forgive me. This is my fiancée, Molly.
Molly, may I introduce M. Hercule Poirot,
the famous detective?
- Oh! - How do you do?
Enchanté, mademoiselle.
Ah, Hastings, the father of M. Harrison
was my first and dearest friend in this country.
And M. Harrison is himself the writer of some repute, n'est-ce pas?
No, no, no, no, no.
You've had published now, combien, three books?
Oh, really? What were they called?
I might have read one.
Well, let's see.
The first was "Dualism and Determinism ...
an Exploration of Classical Platonic Philosophy."
Then there was "Aristotelian Ethics ... A Short Guide
to the Metaphysical Works of Aristotle."
M. Poirot, you read tea leaves.
How exciting!
- But you must read mine, please. - Oh, bien sûr!
Allow me.
Merci. Please to sit.
Ah.
Voilà.
Excuse the lipstick.
Ah.
Merci.
Mademoiselle, only you have drunk from this cup?
Yes.
What is it? What do you see?
Of course, I may be quite wrong.
I hope that I am.
But I see looming the dark clouds.
Ah, the troubled waters.
Mademoiselle,
I see the times ahead most dangerous for you both.
Aaaah!
I think...
Better call a doctor.
Shall we do it again?!
Yeah!
You're in the safe hands now, mon ami.
What time is the operation?
They said about 6:00.
About 6:00.
Well, I hope it's not too much of an ordeal, old chap.
When I had mine out, it was absolute hell.
For a week afterwards,
I got this stabbing pain all down my right-hand side.
Hastings, Hastings.
I think the chief inspector would like now the little rest, huh?
Oh.
So the prediction of Poirot, it becomes true, n'est-ce pas?
Oh, come on.
All that fortune-telling stuff's baloney, and you know it.
You think so, Hastings?
You did see something in Molly Deane's cup, though, didn't you?
It wasn't tea leaves.
Hastings, I wonder if you can recall what was the color of lipstick
Mlle. Deane was wearing this afternoon.
Rather pale pink, I think. It matched her scarf.
D'accord.
But when I examined closely the teacup,
I see not only the traces of the pink lipstick,
but that also of another color.
The deep, bright red.
Have a nice lunch with M. Poirot, won't you?
And do give him my apologies.
No luck with the petrol, I'm afraid.
They're hardy little devils.
I'll have to try them with something stronger.
Maybe I'll pop back and give it another go.
Wednesday evening?
Uh, Wednesday. Yes, fine.
Just off, Molly. You couldn't be an angel and drop ...
Uh, no, Claude.
I'm not going that way today.
Sorry.
See you tonight, darling.
For goodness' sake, drive carefully.
So it's all right
if I take an early lunch, then, Mr. Poirot?
We're working on toning up the calf and thigh muscles today.
Oh, yes, Miss Lemon!
Under no circumstances must you be late for your keep-fit lesson!
Sacré!
You know, it wouldn't do you any harm
to try one or two exercises, Mr. Poirot.
Oh, thanks, Poirot.
"Use your vigor to keep your figure"?
Absurd!
There's nothing wrong with the body of Poirot.
It is in the peak of condition.
Now, have I got everything?
Developer, fixer,
glazing solution, stopwatch.
Right.
You're not planning to use the bathroom
for the next half-hour or so, are you, Poirot?
Well, just let me check with my diary, Hastings.
No, it would seem not!
Good. If you need me, you know where I am.
- Cup of tea, Margaret? - Oh, that would be lovely.
I'll see you on Wednesday, then.
Right.
Taxi!
Whitehaven Mansions, please, driver.
- Oh! - Oh, I'm sorry. Did I just...
No, no. It's all right.
Did I hear you say Whitehaven Mansions?
That's correct.
- Well, shall we share, then? - Yes, yes. By all means.
My name's John Harrison.
I got some interesting tonal variations there
by using a low-contrast paper.
This is not good, Hastings.
No, this is not good at all.
Bit overexposed, do you think?
Maybe I should have stopped down to f/16.
No, no, no, no, no. Poirot.
Always you put the interpretations most sinister
on matters which may be quite innocent.
Sorry?
Mr. Poirot, what do you think?
We found ourselves running for the same taxi.
- M. Harrison, bonjour. - Bonjour.
Mlle. Deane, she is not with you.
I know. She's frightfully sorry.
This job interview came up at the last minute.
Some out-of-the-way hotel up North.
She had to dash straight there.
Ah, no, no, no, no.
I invite you. This is my treat.
In that case, you must come and have tea.
Both of you. Next week.
This time of year, it's an absolute ...
Mr. Harrison. Telephone call for you.
I think there's been an accident.
It's all right, darling. I'm fine.
Well, I'm still a bit shaky, but...
No, I...
I don't know what happened.
The brakes just suddenly ...
I know.
Look, they say it's going to take till Monday
to get the car back on the road, so, uh...
Well, I suppose I'll just have to stay here till then.
Yes.
Yes, of course.
Yes, that's fine, darling.
Bye.
Mlle. Deane, she is all right?
Yes, thank God.
Yes, she's fine.
Bit of a bind, being stuck up there in that hotel all weekend.
Still, you weren't hurt. That's the main thing.
Just a few scratches under my right knee.
Good thing hemlines are low this year.
Yes, quite.
Come on. Let's have some tea.
Mind how you go down the bottom there, Poirot.
That's wasp country.
Nasty great nests of them just by that old tree.
I've already been stung three times.
What did you say, mon ami?
- I said mind how you ... - Argh!
Oh, no, no, no, no, no!
Oh! Oh, mon Dieu!
Oh! Oh!
I say, Poirot, are you all right?
- Let's have a look. - Aah!
The open air, it should be closed during the summer.
Captain Hastings, he wonders why I have a hatred
for these crawling, buzzing things.
And the reason is, they're always trying to kill me.
I had old Claude 'round here last week.
Tried to take it out for me, but no dice.
He's coming back to have another go Wednesday evening.
- Claude? - Langton.
Sorry, I thought you met him at the fete.
- No. - Chap in the clown outfit.
Ah.
Sculptor. He has a studio not far from here.
He and Molly were engaged to be married.
About a year ago now.
But then, well, one of those things.
They drifted apart. We drifted closer together.
Great thing is, there's absolutely no hard feelings.
Makes you realize how lucky you are, I suppose.
Well, then. Teaspoons.
Here we are.
Thank you.
It's tomorrow evening. 7:30 for eight at the Porchester.
Do come along. I'm sure you'll have a ball.
Oh, yes. Rather.
I've never been to a fashion show before.
- Sounds like great fun. - Yes, indeed.
And thank you both for an afternoon that has been most enjoyable.
You know, you really should pop into a chemist's for that wasp sting.
Yes, you should.
Mrs. Henderson. It just down the towpath near the pub.
She'll have some cream or something.
Ease the soreness a bit.
Ah, oui. The chemist.
Mais certainement.
We will call in on our way. Au revoir.
- Bye-bye. - Bye-bye.
You know, I wish that I could stop worrying.
But the questions, they keep buzzing around my head
like the wasps around the nest.
- Questions? - Ask yourself, Hastings.
The brakes of Mlle. Deane.
Why do they suddenly fail her
only a few hours after they had been examined by M. John Harrison?
And M. Claude Langton.
Why was he unable to destroy the nest of the wasps
in the garden of M. Harrison?
And of most significance, Hastings,
who put the petrol in the water butt and why?
Petrol in the water butt?
Sorry, Poirot, I'm afraid I fail to get the drift of all this.
No, Hastings?
Why do you suppose M. Claude Langton,
he forces his attentions upon the Mlle. Deane
with so much passion at the garden fete?
How on earth do you work that out?
The kiss, Hastings.
The bright-red makeup of the clown face
that was still upon her lips?
Oh, I see. The cup.
Yes, I'd forgotten about that.
I say! Poor girl.
- So you think ... - Hastings.
The chemist's.
Oh.
Good afternoon.
We were told to ask for Mme. Henderson.
I'm Mrs. Henderson.
Ah. And I am Hercule Poirot.
I know.
What can I do for you?
I have the misfortune to be stung by the wasp
in the garden of M. John Harrison.
It is on my neck, and I am afraid it is becoming quite sore.
I'll get you some colorless iodine to put on it.
Thank you.
If you wouldn't mind waiting a second.
Pas du tout.
Go through and talk to her.
- Hastings. - Hmm?
Talk to her.
- What about? - Anything.
You, uh, run this place all on your own, do you?
Since my husband died.
A couple of years ago.
Not much to run, really.
Nice, uh... N-Nice chap, John Harrison.
- Do you know him at all? - Yes.
He gave me a copy of one of his books.
"Aristotelian Ethics."
I found it very perceptive.
Have you read that one?
Ah, not yet, no.
Getting married to that...
...fashion model Molly Deane, I gather.
Funny match.
It's like Albert Einstein and Ginger Rogers.
- That's love, I suppose. - Yes.
Well, they, um...
Did you want something else?
Uh...
Oh, sorry. No. Forgive me.
Here we are, then.
It's very good, but use it sparingly.
Oui.
That's ninepence, please.
En passant, madame,
you would not know perhaps
where we might find a M. Claude Langton?
Oh, yes.
He's one of the more avant-garde artists who live around here.
You'll find him in the new house 'round the corner.
The one with the zigzags on the front door.
Can't miss it.
Merci beaucoup, madame. You have been most helpful.
Au revoir. Hastings.
Private detectives, you say?
So, what you doing 'round here?
Investigating a crime of some sort?
Well, perhaps.
Serious crime?
A crime of the most serious there is, monsieur.
- You mean... - Murder.
But I haven't heard anything about a murder.
No. You would not have heard of it.
Because, as yet, it has not taken place.
You see, if one can investigate a murder before it happens,
then one might even ...
well, a little idea ...
prevent it?
I don't quite see what this has to do with me.
Mm.
Mlle. Molly Deane.
You and she were once engaged to be married, n'est-ce pas?
Look, that was over a year ago. Water under the bridge.
We're nothing more than good friends now.
Indeed, M. Langton?
Absolutely stunning outfit.
So I still keep some of her old photos about the place.
That doesn't mean I still...
All right.
What do you want me to say?
I still love her, all right?
Desperately.
But I'm nothing to her anymore.
That's just something I'm going to have to live with.
It won't be easy, it'll be damned hard.
But murder?
Oh, no, Mr. Poirot.
I'm afraid you've got it all wrong this time.
You see, Johnny's the best friend I've got in the world.
I couldn't harm him.
I just couldn't.
If you ask me, all this fortune telling is going to his head.
He's talking about investigating a murder now that hasn't even happened yet.
Making a mountain out of a molehill, if you ask me.
Ah! Sapristi!
I cannot enter even my own bathroom
without walking into the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
Oh, sorry. They're probably dry by now.
And I am not making the hills out of the mole mounts.
No, no, Hastings.
No, this time, the evidence, it is too strong.
What evidence?
On the top shelf in the studio of M. Claude Langton ...
You did not see it, but I knew it would be there.
I knew it would be there because I saw the record of its purchase at the chemist's shop.
- Excuse me. - Knew what would be there?
The poison, Hastings.
The cyanide of the potassium.
A little stronger than the petrol for the killing of the wasps, huh?
All in a single stroke, a thousand deaths.
And then perhaps, so easily,
a thousand and one.
Combining enormous charm and distinction,
in fabric as well as in line ...
the Merry Widow.
A delightful design
beautifully molded in black crepe
with clever white beading on the sleeves.
The cape of self-frilled black chiffon
simply floats around you as you walk.
Softly feminine with a touch of elegance.
An irresistible choice for those late-summer evenings ...
La Bohème,
an outfit in shot-pink-and-gold sari silk.
And Prelude ...
skillfully contoured in gold sequined lace
over ivory silk.
A revelation this season ...
Mermaid,
a breathtaking bias-cut dress
divinely sculpted from green-and-silver velvet lamé
with a deep-back décolletage that is utterly sublime.
The pale-aquamarine satin cowl
is attached to the shoulders in floating panels
and the shoulders held by diamante clips.
A creation that is already conquering the United States
from New York to Hollywood.
So discreet yet so grand
is Gloriana,
fusing the classical grace of a gold satin sheath dress...
Hastings, we must go backstage.
- Sorry? - Immediatement.
Notice the sheer perfection of line
and the rhythm of movement.
Weekend teams a radiant gown of pearl-white crepe...
Excuse me.
Pardon.
S'il vous plaît.
We look for Mlle. Molly Deane.
Oh, she's finished.
I think she went off with some gentleman.
Merci beau...
Mademoiselle, that dress.
Sorry. Can't stop.
Come, Hastings.
Quick, Hastings! Your camera!
Oh!
How is it now?
Head still pounding?
Delayed effect from that crash maybe.
Well, I'll ... I'll be downstairs if you need me.
Nope.
Can't say he means a thing to me.
No one from our rogues' gallery, or I'd recognize him.
What's this all about anyway?
Something going on I ought to know about?
No, nothing that you should be concerning yourself with, Chief Inspector.
Especially in your present condition.
You are feeling better now, yes?
No. I feel worse.
Talk about going to hell and back.
I don't reckon they put me to sleep properly.
I swear I felt every incision that surgeon made
when he was cutting into my ...
Hastings, I really think we ought to be going now.
Mme. Japp, she's coming to collect you later on this morning, yes?
Half past eleven.
Bon. Well, we look forward to seeing you up and about again
very soon.
Au revoir.
Thanks for the chocolates!
It is no use, Hastings.
It will not go away.
Everything has happened, and yet
nothing has happened.
Certainement, this is the most difficult moment of my career.
To solve the crime that does not exist.
Right. I'm just off again, then.
Sure you won't come along, Mr. Poirot?
Might ease a bit of that tension.
No.
If you change your mind,
it's 35 Devonshire Street.
They have three classes daily.
Fully comprehensive physical-fitness program
exercising the whole body.
Not just the thumbs.
I'm terribly sorry.
Are you all right?
And you are quite certain
that this is the same man, Chief Inspector?
Yes. Brilliant.
Thank you very much for telephoning.
Right. Au revoir.
The hospital.
Devonshire Street.
Ah!
The pieces, they begin to connect.
Enfin!
Where are you off to now?
To find out if I am right or wrong, Hastings.
Oh, I suppose that leaves me with nothing to do, then.
Unfortunately, oui.
Oh, no, no, Hastings.
You can buy for me some washing soda.
Washing soda?
Poirot.
What a pleasant surprise.
Bonjour, M. Harrison.
Mlle. Molly Deane, she is not with you this afternoon?
Molly? She's inside.
- Got a migraine or something. - Ah.
Seems to have come on after the show last night.
I expect she'll be fine.
And ...
...monsieur Claude Langton?
At what time is he due to arrive to destroy your nest of wasps?
7:30, he said.
I imagine he'll be on time.
On time?
The man whose dearest love you stole away with?
He comes here tonight to the home of his rival
armed with a deadly poison.
Just what are you suggesting?
That Claude Langton might try ...
Good God, this is England.
Jealous suitors don't go around murdering people.
Besides, Claude Langton wouldn't hurt a fly.
No?
Yet even now he prepares to take the lives of several thousand wasps.
There by the root of the tree.
The wasps returning home,
placid at the end of the day.
In one hour and a half
there will be the total destruction, and they know it not.
For the wasps,
there is no Hercule Poirot to warn them.
Eh bien. The sun, it is still warm.
The evening, it is most pleasant for taking a stroll by the river.
You would not object if I come back later
to watch this destruction of the wasps?
Well, no. Of course. Be my guest.
I return at 7:30.
Mlle. Deane and M. Claude Langton, they are both gone, yes?
Yes.
Yes, they've both gone.
And how are you feeling now, monsieur?
Me?
Fine.
Why shouldn't I be? What are you driving at?
No, no, no. Non.
I see you have had some tea, n'est-ce pas?
You remember the garden fete
when I look into the future?
You will permit if we do the same?
Please?
Turn it around.
No, no, no, no! No.
Because this time, it is different, eh?
This time
we look backwards, yes?
Into the past.
Because the past, it is clear as crystal, n'est-ce pas?
As clear as the crystals of cyanide poison
that are in this cup.
Oh, no, no, no, no, monsieur. This does not shock you.
For it is you who put them there.
It is no use, mon ami. I know everything.
I know, just as you knew, that a love affair
between Mlle. Deane and M. Claude Langton
is far from being over, as they claimed.
During the past few weeks,
your fiancée, she has been drifting back to her old love.
Is that not so?
In public, she pretends to reject him.
Molly.
But in private,
the old flames, they are being rekindled.
Of course, there is nothing wrong with the brakes of her car.
You have already checked them.
No.
Quite deliberately, Mlle. Deane, she drives the car into the tree.
In order to spend two days away from you.
Two days which she will spend in the company of M. Claude Langton.
Because she knows it will break your heart,
she cannot bring herself to reveal to you her secret affair.
But the signs are there for those who will see.
In the house of M. Claude Langton,
there is a photograph of his former sweetheart.
He tells to me that this photograph, it is an old one,
and that she now no longer cares for him.
But he lies.
It has to be recently taken.
Because in the photograph she is wearing the fashion moderne,
which a few months ago would not even have been designed.
The camera, it never lies, yes?
And when I see your face in a moment unguarded,
I see in it a deep, deep hatred.
I have seen that look before, my friend.
I know to what lengths it can drive a man.
This evening, you tell me that M. Claude Langton,
he is due to arrive at 7:30.
But that is not true.
No.
He was coming earlier than that.
At 7:00.
Right, let's have another go at this, shall we?
If this doesn't do the trick, nothing will.
He arrived on time.
Set about his work straightaway.
While he wasn't looking, it was... as you said.
I slipped some cyanide into the cup.
Oh, God, what have I done?
Mon ami, I have told you that I know everything.
I also know that you are a sick man.
And that you have been visiting a doctor in Devonshire Street.
The surgeon Mr. Belvedere.
You have just come from his surgery on Friday morning
when you meet my secretary, Miss Lemon, just down the road.
This afternoon I also made a visit to the same doctor.
Well, he is not difficult to find.
I have in my pocket his photograph.
He tells to me that you have the two months to live.
Is that not so?
He said by October it could all...
Of course, he's breaking the confidentiality of his client.
But he thought it would be in your own interests
if he was to meet with Mlle. Deane at the fashion show
and break to her the tragic news.
That's...
...why she was in such a state when she came here.
But it was only when Claude arrived
that she told me
and that she knew.
Claude!
Oh, God!
Molly, what is it?
I'm sorry, John.
You see, I know.
Dr. Belvedere, last night he told me everything.
I see.
John, I'm so, so sorry.
You're not sorry.
You're not sorry at all. Either of you.
Get out.
Out of here and out of my life.
What's left of it.
Go on, Langton, take her.
It's what you've always wanted.
What you always planned.
Well, take her and get out!
I watched them leave the garden...
...waited till I was sure that they were gone.
And then...
You swallowed the poison.
When did you first suspect that...
I was...
When I saw the petrol in the water butt.
Because that was the first stage in your plan, was it not?
When M. Claude Langton, he comes around
to destroy the nest of wasps with a syringe of petrol,
he fails.
Why?
That is simple.
Because you have emptied most of the contents of the can into the water butt
and then filled the can with the plain tap water.
You know that when M. Langton comes back,
it will be with the cyanide.
The cyanide that you will use for murder.
Not murder.
Suicide.
Murder!
The death that you planned for yourself was to be quick and easy.
But the death that you planned for M. Claude Langton
was the worst death that any man can die.
He bought the poison.
His name is there in the book.
After he has left your house,
you are found dead, the cyanide in your cup,
and M. Claude Langton, he hangs.
That was your plan, was it not, monsieur?
A few minutes from now,
it will all be over.
I do not think so, my friend.
It is most unusual for a man to die
from swallowing the washing soda.
What?
Well, the substitution was not difficult.
M. Claude Langton, he really ought to purchase
a stronger lock for his back door.
Poirot, I...
I don't know what to say.
Mon ami, you are a man who is dying.
You have lost the girl you love.
But there is one thing that you are not.
You are not a murderer deep down within your heart.
I don't even want to kill the wasps anymore.
Fact is,
I've become quite used to them.
Stop by again, won't you, before...
Before very long, mon ami.
And Poirot, I...
Thank God you came.