- 1925, and the Prince of Wales embarks on his tour
of the Indian subcontinent,
the welcoming cheers that greet the heir to the imperial throne
proof positive that India remains
just as steadfastly loyal to the Crown
as it was in the days of his great-grandmother
Queen Victoria.
- Wait there a minute.
- Sir.
- Which is the lady that I must seize upon?
- This same is she, and I do give you her.
- Why, then she's mine.
Sweet, let me see your face.
I am your husband, if you like of me.
Give me your hand before this holy friar.
- Soft and fair, friar.
Which is Beatrice?
- I answer to that name.
What is your will?
- Do not you love me?
- Why, no, no more than reason.
Do not you love me?
- Troth, no, no more than reason.
- Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula are much deceived,
for they did swear you did.
Oh, what a totally ghastly audience.
I didn't think they were too bad.
- And now for another transformation scene.
How to make myself look respectable
for Government House.
- Oh, I'm so excited!
- Me too.
- Is Mr. Blunt waiting?
- He better be.
- You're quite serious about him, aren't you?
- I know you don't approve.
- Oh, it's not my place to approve.
- Oh, don't be so mamby-pamby, Mabelle.
You think he's not good enough for me.
- I just don't understand you.
I mean, you're so ambitious,
and with your background, you could--
Who is it?
- Come in.
- Well, come on, girls.
The prince is waiting.
- The young prince immerses himself wholeheartedly
in the exhausting schedule of duties entailed
in such a great enterprise.
In the stifling heat of an Indian midsummer,
the grandest reception of all
is held at Government House, Calcutta.
- There she is.
Why aren't you dancing, Mabelle?
- Oh, it's so hot in there.
Did you meet the Prince of Wales, Mr. Blunt?
- No, never got closer than five yards.
- We've got something to tell you.
- Oh, no, Gerda, please. You promised--
- Alistair wants it kept secret from his stuffy family,
but we're going to be married!
- Oh.
Oh, that's wonderful.
Congratulations, Mr. Blunt.
When will this be?
- Quite soon, actually.
Alistair's bank want him back in London next month.
Oh, come on, Alistair.
I want to dance!
- Excuse us, please, Miss Sainsbury Seale.
- And so at last, time to say good-bye.
As he leaves India, the jewel of Britain's vast empire,
the prince can look back with pride
at a job well done.
We'd like to join with the people of India
in saying thank you and God bless the Prince of Wales.
- Sit yourself down, Mr. Poirot.
Quite comfortable?
We'll start the preparatory work today, Mr. Poirot.
- I'm so sorry to have kept you.
- Oh, that's all right.
Mr. Morley asked me to make another appointment.
- Ah.
What about...
the 6th of August at 11:45, Miss Sainsbury Seale?
- Uh, yes, that looks perfect.
- Should I get out here and take a cab, Uncle Alistair?
- No, no, it's all right.
I'll walk back to the office.
Keep the car. Finish your shopping.
As long as I have it back by half past 5:00.
- Excuse me.
It's Alistair Blunt, isn't it?
- Yes?
- You don't remember me.
Mabelle. Mabelle Sainsbury Seale.
I was your wife's friend.
- Yes.
Yes, of course I remember you.
Um, I'll see you at home later, then, Jane.
- It was in India, if you remember.
Gerda and I were on tour together.
I've only just come back after all these years.
Oh, I've been doing work for the zenana missions, you know.
- Well, it's wonderful to see you again,
Miss Sainsbury Seale, it really is, but I--
- I'd love to see Gerda again.
- Miss Seale.
- Sainsbury Seale. Yes?
Why, Mr. Amberiotis.
Oh, I'm sorry.
I didn't recognize you for a moment.
How nice.
- I came to return...this.
- My hot water bottle.
Oh!
What must you think.
This gentleman and I were on the boat
coming back from India together.
I lent him my hot water bottle when he had a toothache.
Have you been to a dentist yet
about that tooth, Mr. Amberiotis?
- Not yet, no.
It doesn't hurt so much.
- That's very naughty of you.
You must go and see my man, Mr. Morley in Harley Street.
As a matter of fact, it's rather a coincidence.
I saw him only this morning, and as I was coming out,
I ran into another old friend from India--
but from much longer ago, of course.
His wife and I were together
in the touring company I told you about.
- Oh, yes, yes.
When you were an actress.
- Quite.
And he's done awfully well, I believe, since then.
Mr. Alistair Blunt.
- Mr. Alistair Blunt the banker?
- I believe so.
He certainly used to work in a bank when he met Gerda.
- Gerda?
- His wife.
Oh, we were such pals.
Of course, she was a better actress than I.
I always said she'd get on in the profession,
but she left it to marry Alistair,
and I left it to stay in India.
- Thank you, sir.
- Hold tight, please.
- Oh.
- Yes, ma'am.
- My name's Sainsbury Seale.
I want to see Mrs. Blunt.
She's staying with Mrs. Chapman.
- Mrs. Chapman, right.
This way, ma'am.
Number 45, ma'am, just there.
- Thank you so much.
Gerda!
After all these years.
- Where are you going with those?
- Miss Sainsbury Seale telephoned, miss.
She's moving to the Carlisle Hotel
in South Kensington, wants her bags sent on.
- Oh, yes. Go on, then.
- That damn boy's late again.
And smoking on the front doorstep.
Young people nowadays--
unreliable, self-centered.
The girls are as bad.
Gladys isn't coming in today.
Her aunt's had a stroke, and she's had to go up to Yorkshire.
- That's hardly the girl's fault.
- She's been different lately.
It's that Frank Carter fellow.
- Girls do fall in love, Henry.
- Love?
She's a cut above him, I should hope.
You know he's in with that Blackshirt mob.
Anyway, she shouldn't let it affect her efficiency
as my secretary.
Let her fall in love in her own time.
- Good morning, Mr. Amberiotis.
Is everything all right, sir?
- What?
No.
Yes, it's just a...toothache.
Take it away.
- Thank you.
- Mr. Por-oat?
- Till the end of the financial year.
- Thank you, Charles.
Any other business?
- There's the question of the debenture issue.
- That was covered on the agenda.
- Yes, but we left the date open.
- Quite.
That's all, I think.
Meeting closed.
Thank you, gentlemen.
- All right, Alistair?
- All right? Yes, I'm fine.
- Can I give you a lift?
- No, my car's waiting. I'm going to the dentist.
- I see. That's why you were in such a bad mood.
- We'll get your treatment finished today, Mr. Poirot.
Now, as I was saying,
the important people, they're always on time.
Now, I've got a most important man coming this morning.
- Mr. Alistair Blunt.
Alistair Blunt?
- Oh, yes.
Always on time.
Nice, unassuming fellow.
Often sends his Rolls away and walks back to the office
just like you and me.
You would never dream he could buy up half Europe.
Well, good-bye, Mr. Poirot.
Wasn't too bad this time, was it?
- No.
- Shall I ring for the lift for you?
- No, no, no, thank you. I shall walk down.
- I'll see you in six months.
- Mr. Blunt.
- Excuse me.
- Ooh!
- Oh!
- So kind.
- Not at all, madame.
- Ooh!
- Oh, dear.
- Thank you.
- You're welcome, madame.
- Thank you so much.
- I have an appointment with Mr. Morley.
- Name?
- Miss Sainsbury Seale.
- Well?
I have now been waiting for 45 minutes.
My appointment was for half past 12:00.
- Well, I know--
- I shall now go back to Worthing!
You may tell Mr. Morley that I am most displeased.
- "I am most displeased."
Oh, my god.
- Revolver grasped in lifeless fingers.
Doesn't seem to be much doubt about it, does there?
It has to be suicide.
- C'est incroyable.
- All right, you can move him now.
- So tell me, Chief Inspector Japp.
- Lived upstairs with his sister.
Hasn't been moody or depressed.
I wondered if you'd noticed anything
when you saw him this morning.
- Nothing at all.
He was, what shall I say, normality itself.
When did it occur, this tragedy?
- Can't say exactly.
Nobody seems to have heard the shot.
It was discovered about 1:30 by the pageboy, Alfred Biggs.
- At what time did Monsieur Morley
last press the buzzer for a new patient?
- 5 past 12:00, and the boy showed up
the patient who was waiting, a Mr. Amberiotis,
staying at the Astoria Hotel,
according to the appointment book.
- And at what time did he leave, this Monsieur Amberiotis?
- Well, the boy didn't show him out,
so he doesn't know.
But I rang up the Astoria, and Mr. Amberiotis says
he looked at his watch as he closed the front door
and it was exactly 25 past 12:00.
- So at 25 minutes past 12:00,
our dentist, he is the normal dentist, eh--
cheerful, competent, urbane.
And the very next moment, despair, misery, what you will,
and he shoots himself?
No.
- It's quite incredible to me
that my brother should have committed suicide.
- He'd been quite his usual self, had he, madam?
Not upset in any way?
- He was annoyed.
He had a busy day in front of him,
and his assistant had received a telegram
to say her aunt had had a stroke.
She left for Yorkshire by an early train.
- And your brother, he was annoyed at this?
- Well, the fact is...
His assistant's got engaged
to a rather unsuitable young man,
and it occurred to Henry that this young man
had persuaded her to take the day off.
- What does he do, this young man?
- Frank Carter is--or was-- an insurance clerk.
He lost his job a few weeks ago and seems unable to get another.
- Did your brother try and persuade her
to break off her engagement?
- Oh, yes, he did, as a matter of fact.
- So this Frank Carter would quite possibly have a grudge
against your brother.
- It's that Miss Neville.
She's back in a rare taking, she is.
- The whole thing was a wicked practical joke.
There wasn't anything wrong with Auntie at all.
She couldn't understand it when I suddenly turned up.
- Are you quite sure
it wasn't your friend Mr. Carter who sent this telegram?
- Frank? Whatever for?
Oh, I see what you mean.
A put-up job between us.
We wouldn't do a thing like that.
- Tell me, mademoiselle,
what patients had Mr. Morley this morning?
- They're all in here.
Um, at 10:00, Mrs. Soames about her new plate.
10:30, Lady Gregson. She's an elderly lady.
11:00, Mr. Hercule Poirot.
Oh, that's you, isn't it?
11:30, Mr. Alistair Blunt-- you know, the banker.
Then Miss Sainsbury Seale.
She's just back from India.
12:00, Mr. Amberiotis.
He was a new patient,
made his appointment from the Astoria Hotel.
And 12:30, Mrs. Pinner. She comes up from Worthing.
- If you please, Alfred, tell me,
is it possible for anyone to enter the house
without you having to let them in?
- Nah.
No, not a chance.
Well, not unless they got a key, anyway.
- But it is quite easy for them to leave the house.
- Oh, yeah.
Yeah, most of them come down the stairs
while I'm taking the new party up in the lift, see.
- Did you see Mr. Amberiotis leave?
- Nah.
No, he must have let himself out.
- But you are quite sure that nobody else came
to the house this morning, only the patients.
- That Mrs. Neville's young man came round.
In a bit of a paddy, he was, not to find her here.
- We haven't heard about this before.
- Well, when I told him
Miss Neville was out for the day,
he got quite shirty,
said he'd wait and see Mr. Morley.
Well, then he went into the waiting room.
You must have seen him there, sir.
- Ah, yes.
The troubled young man who would not sit down.
- Yeah, must have got tired of waiting, I suppose.
He wasn't there later.
- Why, Chief Inspector Japp, an officer of your eminence,
is he usually called in to a case of apparent suicide?
- Alistair Blunt was here.
Mr. Blunt is the kind of person we take care of in this country.
- You mean that there are certain people
who would like him out of the way?
- You bet there are.
The Reds, to begin with.
And our Blackshirted friends.
This Blunt and his group have a standing
behind the present government.
- That is more or less as I guessed.
Tell me something about Monsieur Blunt, Chief Inspector.
- Alistair Blunt?
He controls all the Arnholt interests in Europe
as well as the merchant banks.
He married into the family.
We oughtn't spend too long with him.
I want to get on to the Astoria.
As it stands at the moment, this Mr. Amberiotis
was the last person to see Mr. Morley alive.
- This is the second occasion this year
that my allowance has not been paid on time, Alistair.
- You must talk to the bank, Julia, or to the trustees.
- If only my poor dear sister were still alive.
- If she were alive, Mother,
you couldn't benefit from her will.
- That is a wicked thing to say, Jane.
- It's not wicked; it's true.
- The truth is often wicked.
- I'm sorry, Julie; this is not my business.
When I die, the capital will come to you,
to do with exactly as you wish.
Until then--
- Until then, I am expected to exist--I won't say "live"--
on the pittance from the trust.
- $25,000 a year can scarcely be called a pittance.
- Do you think Rebecca intended me
to live on your charity?
- It is not charity.
Yes, Miss Montressor.
- A Chief Inspector Japp and a Mr. Poirot to see you, sir.
- Really? Would you show them in, please?
Chief Inspector Japp.
- How do you do, sir?
This is Mr. Hercule Poirot.
- I know your name, of course, Monsieur Poirot,
but surely somewhere quite recently--
- This morning, Monsieur Blunt.
In the waiting room of the dentist,
the pauvre Monsieur Morley.
- Yes, of course. I knew I'd seen you somewhere.
"Pauvre"?
- Mr. Morley was found dead, sir, shortly after you left,
an apparent suicide.
- Morley?
Suicide?
- What an extraordinary thing.
- Uh...
Forgive me. I'm sorry.
This is my niece, Miss Olivera,
and her mother, Mrs. Olivera.
- Mademoiselle, madame.
- I've never heard of a dentist committing suicide before.
Wouldn't happen in the States; you can be sure of that.
They're too damn rich to kill themselves.
- He seemed in good health and spirits this morning, Mr. Blunt?
- Well, I think so, yes.
- Have you seen him often?
- This is my third or fourth visit.
- Monsieur Blunt, who was it
that recommended to you Monsieur Morley originally?
- Arnholt, one of my directors. Lionel Arnholt.
- We're just wondering, you see, sir,
whether it wasn't suicide but murder
and the real target was yourself.
- But that doesn't make any sense at all.
- Well, none of it does at the moment, sir.
That's the problem.
- Good evening.
- We'd like to see Mr. Amberiotis.
- I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid you can't.
- Oh, yes, I can, my lad.
Police.
- You don't understand, sir.
Mr. Amberiotis died half an hour ago.
- Interesting.
- Interesting, Dr. Bennett?
- Mr. Amberiotis died of heart failure.
- Heart failure?
- Brought about by an overdose of adrenaline and novocaine.
- How large an overdose?
- Oh, I can't say yet.
These quantitative analyses take time.
I'll be able to tell you tomorrow.
- Novocaine's the stuff dentists give you, isn't it?
- That's right, Chief Inspector.
The subject had been to the dentist, I believe.
- What a washout.
- What do you mean, Chief Inspector?
- Morley makes a mistake and injects an overdose.
Then when Amberiotis is gone, he realizes what he's done,
can't face the music, and shoots himself.
- With a pistol he is not known to possess?
- Relations don't know everything.
- No, that is true, of course.
- Well, there we are, then.
- All the same, Chief Inspector, it does not quite satisfy me.
- Ah, cheer up, Poirot.
We can't have a nice juicy murder every time.
- Committed suicide? Mr. Morley?
Poor man.
I suppose he had something on his mind.
Such worrying times we live in.
- Did he seem worried to you, Miss Sainsbury Seale?
- Well, I--I can't really say, you know, that he did.
- Can you tell us who else was in the waiting room
while you were there?
- Let me see.
There was just one young man there when I went in.
I think he was in pain,
because he was muttering to himself
and looking quite wild.
And then suddenly he jumped up and went out.
- And he was the only other patient that you noticed?
- A gentleman came down the stairs and went out
just as I went up to Mr. Morley.
Oh, and I remember a very peculiar foreigner
came out of the house just as I arrived.
- That was I, madame.
- Oh.
Oh, dear.
Oh, do forgive me.
Oh. Oh.
The light in here is so dim.
- Please calm yourself, madame.
- Well, I think that's about all,
Miss Sainsbury Seale.
We may require you to give evidence
at the inquest, of course.
- Oh, no!
I would be so nervous.
- Well, no need to be nervous, madam.
Just stand up and speak clearly.
- Oh!
That's very amusing, Chief Inspector.
- Is it?
- I used to be an actress.
Just small parts, you know.
Then I went on a world tour--
- Yes, well...
- Well, if my name should be in the papers--
as a witness at the inquest, I mean--
you will be sure that it's spelled right, won't you?
Miss Mabelle Sainsbury Seale.
Mabelle spelled M-a-b-e-I-I-e.
- Blimey.
- I can only give you a few moments,
I'm afraid, Mr. Poirot.
I'm going to see Traviata at Covent Garden.
- Ah. Thank you, Monsieur Arnholt.
- What's this all about?
- It is about the death of the dentist Monsieur Henry Morley.
It was you, was it not,
who recommended him to Monsieur Blunt?
- Yes, I've been going to him for years.
You don't think I killed him, do you?
- Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Quelle idée. No.
It is just that I'm given to wonder
whether Monsieur Blunt was not perhaps the intended victim.
- I don't quite see how that works.
- No.
At this moment, Monsieur Arnholt, neither do I.
One grips at the straws.
But tell me, Madame Olivera,
the sister-in-law to Monsieur Blunt,
she is une dame formidable, n'est-ce pas?
- Oh, indeed.
- How did Madame Olivera take
to Monsieur Blunt marrying her sister?
I mean, after all,
he was a mere employee of the family business.
- I don't know about "mere."
Alistair was head of our overseas investments department.
- Ah.
- But I don't think Aunt Julia looked at it like that anyway.
They were so obviously crazy about each other.
Nobody, of course, knew, but she was already suffering
from the disease that killed her four years later.
- A tragedy.
- Yes.
- Pardon.
I must detain you no longer from your Monsieur Verdi.
Monsieur Arnholt, I thank you very much for your patience,
and I hope that you enjoy the opera.
- Thank you.
- I formed the opinion
that Mr. Amberiotis died of heart failure
caused by a large overdose
of a novocaine and adrenaline mixture.
- The dentist who treated Mr. Amberiotis earlier
on the day of his death
is now himself dead, I understand.
- So I understand, sir.
- Thank you, Dr. Bennett.
- Thank you.
- Well, there doesn't seem much doubt, gentlemen,
that this is a case of accidental death,
a very unfortunate case.
Did Mr. Morley accidentally give his patient
too large a dose of the anesthetic?
Or did Mr. Amberiotis have an unusual reaction to it?
Since Mr. Morley is now himself dead,
we shall never have the answer to this.
Nevertheless, it is your duty, of course,
gentlemen of the jury, to consider all possibilities
before you arrive at your verdict.
But I must remind you that before...
- Nobody's seen hide nor hair of Miss Sainsbury Seale
since Tuesday.
Such a nice type of woman, and she seemed so happy here.
- I wouldn't have bothered you with this, sir,
but I remember she'd been a witness in that other case.
- No, quite right, Beddoes.
Why should she disappear?
- It is curious, you admit?
- There was nothing funny about her, you know?
A cable to Calcutta.
Got the reply back last night.
She went out there as an actress and then took to good works.
Got hand in glove with the missionaries, apparently.
What I call a terrible woman
but definitely not the type to get mixed up in a murder.
You got anything?
- Stockings.
Ten-inch, cheap silk.
Price: probably 2 shillings and 11 pence.
- You're not valuing for probate, Poirot.
- Mr. Poirot.
- Mademoiselle Neville.
What a pleasant surprise.
- I'm so sorry to worry you like this,
but I had to see you.
I was very upset by the inquest this morning.
It couldn't happen the way they said it did--
giving a patient an overdose, I mean.
The dentists get into the habit
of giving the regulation amount automatically.
- But you did not say this in the coroner's court.
- I was afraid of making things worse.
People might think he did it deliberately.
- I see.
Shall we discuss this further?
Come.
I should like to know a little bit more
about the telegram you received calling you away on that day.
Do you yourself have any ideas on the subject?
- Not really.
Frank, my friend,
accused me of wanting to go off for the day with somebody else.
- Oh!
- He's been very moody and suspicious lately.
Just losing his job
and not being able to get another one, I suppose.
- And he was upset, was he not, to discover
that you had gone away on that day?
- Yes.
You see, he'd come round to tell me
how he'd got this marvelous new job,
£10 a week.
- Ooh.
- He wanted me to know right away.
- And what is it, this new job?
- Oh, well, I don't know all the details.
Some government department.
I have to write to his London address,
and the letters get forwarded.
- Oh, la.
Does that not seem to you to be a little strange?
- Well, I thought so,
but Frank says it's often done nowadays.
- I should like to meet this friend of yours, mademoiselle.
- His only free day is Sunday.
He's away in the country all week.
- Eh bien, tomorrow is Sunday.
- I'm fed up with 'earing about Morley's death,
to be quite honest.
There wasn't anything so wonderful about him
that I could see.
- Tell me, Monsieur Carter,
why were you in Harley Street that day?
I saw you there in the waiting room.
- All right.
I was gonna tell Morley
that this business of putting Gladys against me
had gone on long enough, that I'd landed a good job,
and that it was about time she handed in her notice
a thought about a trousseau.
- But you did not actually tell him these things?
- I got fed up with waiting in that dingy mausoleum,
so I left.
- At what time did you leave?
- I can't remember.
I've got to get going; the march will be starting soon.
- It has been a great pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Carter.
And, yes, I am delighted to hear about your new job.
The work, it is interesting, n'est-ce pas?
- Oh, yeah.
You know.
I'll see you next week, Gladys.
- Bye, Frank.
- Au revoir, Monsieur Carter.
Are you receiving visitors, mon ami?
- Good heavens. Poirot.
- Chief Inspector.
- What on Earth brings you to Isleworth
on a Sunday afternoon?
- Business. What else?
- Well, you better come inside and have a cup of tea.
- Thank you.
- Madame Japp, she is not at home?
- No, no.
Some blessed meeting.
Women's institute, parish counsel, or something.
I don't know.
Do you take sugar, Poirot?
- Do you have perhaps a tisane?
- Come off it, Poirot.
This is Isleworth, you know, not Juan-les-Pins.
What's the business, anyway?
- I wondered if you'd been able to trace the telegram
that was sent to Mademoiselle Gladys Neville.
- Yes, we did, as a matter of fact.
Rather clever.
The aunt lives in Richmond in Yorkshire.
The telegram was handed in in Richmond, Surrey,
just down the road here.
- Do you know what I think, Chief Inspector?
- What's that?
- I think that there are signs of brains in this business.
- Well, the assistant commissioner is satisfied
that Morley killed himself.
- Is he satisfied with the disappearing lady?
- Ah, the case of the disappearing Seale.
No.
I'm still working on that.
She's got to be somewhere.
Mm. Garibaldi?
- And I really think my feelings ought to be considered
in the matter, Alistair.
- But your feelings have been considered, Mother.
- Yes, Julia, that is true.
- Mr. Poirot to see you, Mr. Blunt.
- Thank you, Helen.
Monsieur Poirot, it's very good of you to come.
- Monsieur Blunt.
- Well!
If you are going to talk horrors,
I shall leave.
- Allow me.
- I'll see you at home, Jane.
- Madame.
- You've met Miss Olivera, I think.
- Oh, yes, indeed. Mademoiselle.
- Please. - Thank you.
- I hope I haven't asked you here
on a wild goose chase, Mr. Poirot.
It's about this missing woman that the papers are full of,
Miss Sainsbury Seale.
- Yes. - Jane?
I'm sure this is utterly unimportant.
And why we are wasting Mr. Poirot's time,
I really don't know.
- If you please, Mr. Blunt, allow Poirot to decide.
- Well, Sainsbury Seale is such a pompous name.
That's why I remembered.
It was the last time
Uncle Alistair went to the dentist.
Well, I don't mean the other day;
I mean about a week ago.
I was with him, and we stopped in Harley Street,
and just as he got out, a woman came out of the dentist,
a middle-aged woman with fussy hair
and rather dowdy clothes.
"Oh, Mr. Blunt, you don't remember me, I'm sure."
- People are always saying that,
and I never do.
- "I was a great friend of your wife's, you know."
- They usually say that too.
It always ends the same way:
a subscription to some charity or other.
£5 to a zenana mission this time.
- And had she really known your wife, Monsieur Blunt?
- Well...
the mention of the zenana mission
made me think she may have done.
We were in India about four years ago,
just before my wife's death.
Perhaps we met once at a reception.
- I think it's queer
the way she tried to scrape an acquaintance with you.
- And she did not try to, um, how do you say,
follow it up in any way?
- Why, no.
I'd forgotten her name, even,
until Jane spotted it in the paper.
- Well, I just thought you ought to be told,
Monsieur Poirot.
- Here.
Here, Alison?
- What?
- There's a thing here about a woman who came here,
Miss Sainsbury Seale.
It says here she's missing.
- You don't have a passkey?
- No, I've never had one.
- We can't just break in.
- Well, suppose something's happened to her.
- Yes, and suppose she's gone off on holidays.
- Oh, no. Oh, no.
- Go on, Sergeant.
Right.
- Mrs. Chapman!
- Leave it to us.
Mrs. Chapman!
- Sergeant.
Hello?
Anybody there?
Mrs. Chapman?
Hello?
Anybody here?
- This is the boxroom.
- What's that?
- Well, I don't know.
- Shall I open it, Sarge?
- Go on, then.
It's not particularly pleasant.
- That's the porter being sick, sir.
I had to get him to have another look at the body
to identify it.
- There's some brandy in the other room.
- It was not pretty, that.
Tell me all about it, Chief Inspector.
- The flat belongs to a Mrs. Albert Chapman.
Can't tell you much about her, really.
Pays her bills.
Fond of a game of bridge.
Keeps herself to herself more or less.
The neighbors say they've hardly ever seen her, in fact.
Mr. Chapman's a commercial traveler, apparently,
so he spends most of his time away from home.
- And Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale?
- She came here on the evening of our interview with her,
about 7:15.
The porter's wife was cleaning up here
and saw her arrive.
She'd been here once before, the porter says.
Now, one thing's for certain:
Sylvia Chapman or Sylvia's friends
murdered the lady, put her in the box, and made off.
- But why was the face so battered?
- Sheer vindictiveness, maybe.
Or it may have been with the idea
of concealing the woman's identity.
I don't know.
No fingerprints anywhere, as far as we can see.
- You mean every fingerprint in the apartment
was removed after the murder?
- That's about the size of it.
Something worrying you, Poirot?
Yes.
Yes, I'm very seriously worried.
There is here, you see, an insoluble problem.
- One patent leather shoe, complete with buckle.
What's wrong with that?
- Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
All the same, I do not understand.
Some bearers belonging to Madame Chapman.
Ah.
Some old theater programs.
A leaflet about the zenana missions.
- We can guess who brought that here.
- Nothing much of interest in the address book either, sir.
- No, so I see.
Hairdressers.
Dressmakers.
A dentist.
Morley, 168 Harley Street.
- Not so strange
if she was a friend of the Sainsbury Seale woman.
Pardon.
- Mr. Poirot?
What brings you here?
- Tell me, if you please,
did your brother ever mention to you in particular
a Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale or a Madame Chapman?
- No.
No, I don't think so.
- I managed to make this
before they took everything, Miss Morley.
- Oh, thank you, Agnes.
Would you like a cup, sir?
- Not for me, Agnes. Thank you very much.
- Agnes is coming with me to the country.
She's becoming quite a good little cook,
so she'll be able to do everything for me.
- Excuse me, sir... - Yes.
- For asking. - Yes.
- But does anyone know anything more
about the master's death, sir?
- Nothing fresh has come to light, Agnes.
- They're still quite sure he shot himself
because he'd made a mistake with that drug.
- Yes.
Why do you ask?
- I only-- - Agnes?
- I just want to be sure, sir.
- Agnes!
- Ah, Chief Inspector. - No time, Poirot.
We found Mr. and Mrs. Albert Chapman.
- Where?
- They booked into the Montague Hotel this morning.
- The Montague Hotel, Bloomsbury?
- That's right.
- It is odd, is it not,
being on the run after murdering Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale,
that they have not run further?
- You never can tell with the criminal mind, Poirot.
- Open up!
- Who is it?
- Police.
- Police?
- Just open the door, Mr. Chapman.
- Here!
- All right, there's no need for anyone to get hurt.
You are Mr. Albert Chapman?
- Yes.
- And this is Mrs. Chapman?
- Yes.
What's the meaning of this?
- I'll ask the questions, sir.
Do you live at number 45 Lichfield Court
in Battersea in the--
- No.
- What do you mean, "no"?
- Well, we don't.
Do we, Beryl?
- Beryl?
- What's wrong with "Beryl"?
We happen to know that your name is Sylvia, Mrs. Chapman.
- What are you talking about?
- We live in Budleigh Salterton,
not this...Lichfield place.
- You have proof of that, I suppose.
- Well, no, I haven't--
Yes, I have.
- Watch him, Beddoes.
What's this?
- Our wedding lines, if you must know.
- We were married this morning.
- I swear by almighty God
that the evidence I shall give
shall be the truth, the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth.
- You are Mr. John Leatheran?
- Yes, sir.
- And you are a dentist.
- Yes, sir.
I've taken over the dental practice
of the late Mr. Henry Morley at 168 Harley Street.
- I see.
You were recently called
to examine the body of the deceased
for purposes of identification.
Were you not?
- I was, sir.
The police believed the body
to be that of Miss Mabelle Sainsbury Seale,
who was a patient of Mr. Morley's.
- I see.
You've inherited, as it were, the late Mr. Morley's patients.
- That's right, sir.
- And, of course, their dental records.
- Quite.
- And could you identify the body from these records?
- I could, sir.
It was not Miss Sainsbury Seale.
It was Mrs. Sylvia Chapman, another patient of Mr. Morley's.
- The fair Mabelle put one over on us
good and proper.
I wouldn't have thought she was capable of murder,
but that's what it looks like now.
Sylvia didn't murder Mabelle; Mabelle murdered Sylvia.
- Perhaps.
- It crossed my mind that Morley might have been killed
so he couldn't identify the body.
- But, as you have just heard, Chief Inspector,
the records would still have existed.
- That's right.
Anyway, I'm going back to work.
- Oh, Chief Inspector.
This morning, I received a letter from Monsieur Blunt.
He has invited me to his house in the country.
He may have a commission for me.
- Well, you always did move in exalted circles, Poirot.
- Helen isn't dining with us tonight?
- I suggested that it would be far better for her to rest
than to go to all the bother of dressing herself up
and coming down.
She saw my point.
- Oh?
I thought it might make a pleasant change for her.
- I really don't see why you need a secretary
during the weekend anyway.
- She's new to the job.
There's a lot she needs to learn.
Monsieur Poirot?
There is a great deal about which
I am not entirely satisfied.
- What do you want of me, Monsieur Blunt?
- I want you to find this woman Sainsbury Seale.
- Alive or dead?
- You think she may be dead.
- I think...
She might be dead, yes.
- Why do you think so?
- Because of a pair of new silk stockings I discovered.
You're an odd man, Monsieur Poirot.
- Oh, yes, I am.
Very odd.
That is to say, I am methodical, orderly, and logical,
and I do not like to distort facts
to support a theory.
Good morning.
- Good morning, Monsieur Poirot.
Did you sleep well?
- Excellently. Thank you, Monsieur Blunt.
Good morning, mademoiselle.
- Good morning, Mr. Poirot.
I would prefer not to accept any invitations, Mr. Blunt,
while your American relations are with you.
- Good morning.
Julia.
I'm afraid you rather hurt Helen's feelings.
- Oh, for heaven's sake, Alistair.
She's only a secretary.
- I notice that you have a gardener
who you must have employed recently.
- Yes, we took one on a couple of weeks ago.
- Do you know from where he came?
- I'm afraid not.
MacAlister, the head gardener, engaged him.
- Oh. What is his name?
- Well, I don't know.
Dunning, Sunbury, something of the sort.
- Seems like lots of people
are out for your blood, Uncle Alistair.
- Oh, really? What are you reading?
Oh, the debate in the House.
That's only Archerton.
If we'd let him have his way,
England would be bankrupt within a week.
- Did you know there are over 2 million unemployed
in this country?
- One can't make an omelet without breaking eggs, Jane.
- I think we do pretty well, all things considered.
Industrial production was up 3% last year.
- Take no notice of what Jane says.
You know what girls are.
They go to these parties in studios,
and then they come home and talk a lot of nonsense.
- Mother.
- I'm afraid I'm one of the last of the old guard,
Monsieur Poirot.
- And if the old guard should be removed,
what would happen?
- Removed?
I'll tell you.
A lot of damn fools
would try a lot of very costly experiments.
It would be the end of stability,
of common sense, and of solvency.
- Ah.
Of course, we've always taken great pride
in our herbaceous borders here.
They're a lot of work, mind,
but well worth the effort, I've always thought.
- Ah, now, these flowers here, they are beautiful.
- Yes, they're particularly good this year.
And look at these here.
Good god!
- Drop that gun!
- It wasn't me, I tell you.
- Oh, no? Just shooting at the birds, I suppose.
Oh, Mr. Blunt!
I caught him right at it.
- I was just weeding the beds.
I heard a shot, the gun fell right at my feet,
I picked it up, and this stupid cow jumped on me.
- Now, then, Dunning, Dunbury--
what is your name?
- His name is Frank Carter.
- You.
You've had it in for me all along.
I never fired that shot!
- In that case, who did?
As you can see, there is no one else here
but ourselves.
You really must not agitate yourself, Mademoiselle Neville.
- First they tried to pretend
that Frank attempted to murder Mr. Blunt,
and now they've accused him of murdering poor Mr. Morley.
- Sugar?
- No, thank you.
- I was down there, you know, at Exsham,
when the shot was fired at Monsieur Blunt.
- It's these Blackshirts.
They march around waving their banners.
They have this ridiculous salute.
And they work up these poor men like Frank until they think
they're doing something wonderful and patriotic.
- And that is the defense of Monsieur Carter?
- No! I haven't seen him, of course.
They wouldn't let me.
- Buh-buh-buh-buh-buh-buh.
- He has a solicitor working for him,
and he told me what Frank had said.
He met a man in a public house
who said he was in the secret service,
and he offered Frank this wonderful job.
He was to take up the post of gardener
and listen to all the other gardeners' conversations
and sound them out as to their Red tendencies.
He had to pretend to be a bit of a Red himself.
- And this solicitor, he is of the opinion
that his client would do better
to think of a story that is more plausible?
- Lawyers.
You wouldn't believe how difficult they are.
- Mademoiselle Neville.
What did you think of the housemaid, Agnes?
- I didn't think at all about her.
Mr. Morley's sister kept a strict eye on the maids.
- Ah.
- Why are you asking?
- She wrote to me a letter, and...
As yet, I do not know why.
Thank you.
- Your tea, madam.
- Thank you.
I hope you didn't mind me writing you that letter, sir,
only I didn't want for you to come to the house.
I mean, if I was to say anything in front of Miss Morley,
she might say as how I ought to have said something before.
Me and the cook, we'd read in the papers
how the master had made a mistake with that drug
and had shot himself.
So it did seem quite clear, didn't it, sir?
- When did you begin to feel differently, Agnes?
- Seeing in the paper, sir, about that Frank Carter
shooting at that gentleman.
I mean, up till then,
neither of us thought he'd done anything to Mr. Morley.
We just thought it was a bit queer.
- What was queer, Agnes?
- It was that morning, sir.
The morning Mr. Morley shot himself.
I was wondering if I dared run down and get the post,
so I went out on the landing,
and I looked down over the stairs.
And it was then that I saw him,
Frank Carter, down on the stairs below.
He was just standing there, like, waiting.
Then he seemed to make up his mind,
and he sort of went very quickly down the stairs
towards the master's surgery.
And I thought to myself, "The master won't like that."
- Agnes!
- But just then, Cook called me,
and I went back into the kitchen.
And afterwards, I heard the master had shot himself,
and it was so awful, it just drove everything out of my head.
- Tell me, Agnes.
Did you actually see Frank Carter
enter the room of Monsieur Morley?
- He must have done, sir.
- At what time was this?
- It must have been about half past 12:00, sir.
- I want to see Frank Carter.
- What's the big idea?
- You are unwilling?
- What do you want to see Carter for?
Ask him if he really murdered Morley?
- Yes.
- I suppose you think he'll tell you if he did.
- He might tell me, yes.
- That can only mean that you've got hold of something
that proves more or less conclusively
that he didn't.
You ought to play fair with us, Poirot.
- I am playing fair with you, Chief Inspector.
Believe me.
- It's a damned lie!
You paid her to say that.
- Anger and abuse will not help you, Monsieur Carter.
Agnes is going to tell her story,
and it is going to be believed.
You were on the stairs, Agnes did see you,
and you did go into the room of Monsieur Morley.
What happened then?
- It's a lie!
- No.
It is not a lie.
If you did not kill Monsieur Morley,
your only hope is to tell me the exact truth
of what happened that morning.
- God curse you if you let me down now.
I did go in.
I went up the stairs and waited above Morley's landing
till I could be sure of getting him alone.
Then a bearded gent came out and went down the stairs.
I was just making up my mind to go
when another gent came out and went down the stairs too.
I knew I had to be quick.
I went along and nicked into his room without knocking.
I was all set to have it out with him.
But he was lying there dead,
and I could see the bullet hole in his head
where a black crust of blood ran.
He was cold.
I knew I was in a jam then.
They were going to say I'd done it.
I hadn't touched anything
except his hand and the doorknob.
I wiped that with my handkerchief,
both sides, as I went out.
There was nobody in the hall, and I let myself out
and licked it as fast as I could.
That's the truth. He was dead already.
You've got to believe me.
- By telling me the truth,
you have just saved yourself from being hanged.
- I don't see it.
They're going to say--
- Monsieur Carter.
Your story has confirmed what I knew to be the truth.
You can leave it now to me.
- Japp.
Ah, Poirot.
Yes?
What?
No, Poirot, I--
Well, I have to get clearance on this, you know.
Go on.
Yeah.
All right, I'll do what I can.
- Thank you, Chief Inspector.
- Mr. Hercule Poirot, sir.
- Thank you.
- This is about Miss Sainsbury Seale, is it?
Have you found her?
- I hope you do not object, Monsieur Blunt,
but I have invited a few other people to join us.
- I'm not walking through the streets in handcuffs.
- You'll walk through the streets
in anything I tell you, my lad.
- I hope this is a matter of importance, Alistair.
That Belgian detective sent a most insolent message to us.
- Mother.
- Miss Neville to see you, sir.
- Mademoiselle Neville.
- Are there many more, Monsieur Poirot?
If so, we may be more comfortable in the boardroom.
Is the boardroom free, Miss Montressor?
- Yes, Mr. Blunt.
- Frank!
- All right, all right.
You're still in His Majesty's custody, you know.
Show a bit of respect. Come on.
- Mesdames et messieurs,
good afternoon.
Since the beginning of this case,
three people have died:
pauvre Monsieur Morley, pauvre Monsieur Amberiotis,
and pauvre Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale.
- I thought she was still missing.
- No, no, no, no, mademoiselle.
In fact, Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale was dead
even before the investigations of this case began.
The porter at Lichfield Court told us
that Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale
had been to visit Madame Chapman.
He saw her go to the apartment and be let in.
She never came out again, no?
Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale was never, ever seen again
until the police, they broke in to the boxroom
of Madame Chapman.
- You mean it was Mabelle Sainsbury Seale's body
in that flat after all?
- Indeed it was, my dear Mademoiselle Neville.
You see, it was a very clever double bluff.
The disfigured face was meant to raise the question
of the identity of the woman.
But for me, the case, it began with a shoe.
As I left the dentist's after my séance,
a taxi stopped, a door opened,
and a foot of a woman prepared to descend.
It was a foot that was well shaped,
with a good ankle and an expensive stocking.
The shoe was new, shining patent leather
with a large, ornate buckle.
And when the rest of the lady came into sight,
to be frank, it was quite a disappointment.
As Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale descended from the taxi,
she caught her shoe buckle, and it was wrenched off.
I picked it up and returned it to her.
Not at all, madame.
- Ooh. - Oh, dear.
You are welcome, madame.
- Thank you so much.
- That was all.
The incident, it was closed.
- Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Blunt, to interrupt.
I've finished the post.
Is it all right if I leave now?
- Oh, no, no, no, no.
Please, Mademoiselle Montressor.
Please come and join the party.
- Monsieur Poirot is expounding
some extremely entertaining theories.
- Please.
- Go on, Poirot.
- Thank you.
When Chief Inspector Japp summoned me to Lichfield Court
because a body had been discovered,
the first thing that I noticed was a shabby buckled shoe.
- Well?
- Ah, you have failed to appreciate the point,
Monsieur Blunt.
It was a shabby shoe.
It was a well-worn shoe.
But, you see, Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale
visited the apartment on the evening of the same day
of the murder of Monsieur Morley.
So in the morning, they were the new shoes.
In the evening, they were the old shoes?
- I can't see why that's important.
- Eh bien, mademoiselle.
Poirot does not like things he cannot explain.
Madame Chapman took a size five in shoes.
I knew that Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale
wore a ten-inch stocking.
That is to say, she took at least a size six in shoes.
So I went back to reexamine the body.
My idea was that the face had been disfigured
to hide the fact
that it really was the body of Madame Chapman
dressed in the clothes of Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale.
No, the shoe on the body was size six,
so it looked as if it was the body
of Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale after all.
But then why was the face so disfigured?
By coincidence, the dentist of Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale
was also the dentist of Madame Chapman:
Monsieur Morley.
But he was dead.
However, the records, they would have still existed, huh?
So the successor to Monsieur Morley
would have been able to positively identify the body
as that of Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale.
- And could you identify the body from these records?
- I could, sir.
It was not Miss Sainsbury Seale.
It was Mrs. Sylvia Chapman, another patient of Mr. Morley's.
- But if it was the body of Madame Chapman,
why was she dressed in the clothes
of Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale?
An interesting problem, n'est-ce pas?
So I cast my mind back
to the Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale whom I had met,
whom the Chief Inspector Japp had met.
- I used to be an actress.
Just small parts, you know.
Then I went on a world tour, and--
- And although everything about her
and everything she said
was in perfect accord with her given character,
I am now convinced that the Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale
whom we have met
and the Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale
who accosted you, Monsieur Blunt...
- You don't remember me. Mabelle.
Gerda and I were on tour together.
- They were not the same woman.
- You mean Miss Sainsbury Seale was murdered
and someone else took over her identity?
- Précisément.
Again, that is very dangerous, n'est-ce pas?
But the rewards, they were very high.
- Rewards?
What rewards?
- In just one moment, if you please, Madame Olivera.
- Perhaps Mr. Morley was murdered
because he would have been able to identify
Miss Sainsbury Seale's body by her teeth.
- Perhaps.
However...
Now we must face the facts.
In the beginning, we believed that the body of Monsieur Morley
was first discovered by the pageboy, Alfred,
at about 1:30.
But the fact is, I now know that the body was first discovered
by Monsieur Frank Carter about one hour earlier,
at about 12:30.
Two things occurred
between the death of Monsieur Morley
and the discovery of his body by Monsieur Carter.
The lady whose shoe buckle I retrieved
was shown into the surgery of Monsieur Morley.
While her accomplice dragged the body
into the office of the secretary,
the second Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale
changes the labels on the files of Monsieur Morley
to ensure that the body would be identified
as that of Madame Chapman.
She then leaves.
Alfred shows in the next patient
to the surgery of Monsieur Morley.
Now, Monsieur Amberiotis had never before met the dentist,
Monsieur Morley.
- It's been troubling me since the journey from India.
- So our murderer, he was able to assume his identity.
This dentist tells to Monsieur Amberiotis
that it would be best to freeze the gum.
He then administers an injection
which contains a dose of novocaine and adrenaline
which is sufficient to kill him six hours later.
- But why?
Why would anyone want to kill this man?
- Because Monsieur Amberiotis had learned something
from Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale.
He had learned a secret...
And a secret that could make him a very rich man.
- I wish to speak to Mr. Alistair Blunt.
- And Monsieur Amberiotis, he was a blackmailer.
- Are you seriously suggesting Amberiotis was blackmailing me?
- How could he blackmail Alistair?
Alistair has no secrets.
- With the greatest respect, Madame Olivera,
there I must disagree with you.
Monsieur Blunt has a very big secret,
a secret that must be kept at all costs.
And there is only one method that is totally effective
in dealing with a blackmailer, and that is to silence him...
Forever.
No, Monsieur Amberiotis, he had to go.
And Monsieur Blunt had seen the name of Monsieur Amberiotis
in the appointment book belonging to Monsieur Morley.
His blackmailer used the same dentist.
- That'll do for today, I think.
One more rinse, please.
- And so, Monsieur Blunt, you devise a clever plan,
a very clever plan indeed.
You wait until your treatment has been completed
by Monsieur Morley.
Then you shoot him.
While the dental records are being falsified,
you drag the body into the office of the secretary.
As I have said, Monsieur Amberiotis
had never before met Monsieur Morley,
so there was no reason for him to suspect anything.
You administer to him the fatal injection.
And when he has left, you drag the body of Monsieur Morley
back into the surgery...
And arrange it to look like suicide.
- I know, Monsieur Poirot, you have a great reputation.
But I'm afraid in this case,
you are wrong to a lunatic degree.
- Send him about his business, Alistair.
Mr. Blunt's family stands foursquare behind him.
- I am very pleased to hear it, Madame Olivera.
But, you see,
when Monsieur Blunt married your sister,
Mademoiselle Rebecca Arnholt,
he was not entirely honest with her, no,
nor with her family,
because, as Monsieur Amberiotis learned
from the real Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale,
Monsieur Blunt was already married.
- Look, there's no need for the rest of you
to listen to any more of this.
If you-- - No, no, no, Monsieur Blunt.
You were dazzled by the Arnholt family,
by the vista not so much of wealth but of power.
And so dazzled were you that you deliberately committed a bigamy
and your real wife acquiesced in the situation.
- Oh, what rot!
- What a fine portrait is this, Monsieur Blunt!
Such a portrait would be to any boardroom an ornament!
Monsieur Blunt standing beside his beloved wife,
the former Mademoiselle Rebecca Arnholt!
However, mesdames et messieurs,
I have here in my pocket
a certificate of marriage
between Martin Alistair Blunt
and an actress by the name of
Mademoiselle Gerda Alexandra Grant
dated April the 25th, 1925.
And Mademoiselle Gerda Grant is still very much alive.
Yes.
Indeed, she is in this very room.
- And when I lived, I was your other wife.
And when you loved, you were my other husband.
Husband.
- Which is Beatrice?
- I answer to that name.
What is your will?
- Do not you love me?
- Why, no, no more than reason.
Don't be so mamby-pamby, Mabelle.
You think he's not good enough for me.
Come on, Alistair. I want to dance!
Dance, dance, dance.
- Gerda got such a kick out of it all.
Didn't you, old girl?
- It was your skills as an actress,
Mademoiselle Montressor,
that were the key to the deception.
You connived at the bigamy of your husband.
While he set about marrying into the Arnholt family,
you assumed the identity of Madame Sylvia Chapman.
- After all these years!
- Hello, Mabelle.
Come in.
- I've brought you some flowers.
- When the real Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale
met again your husband,
you murder your old friend in cold blood.
- Go into the sitting room straight through there.
- But your skills as an actress are put to the test once again
as the second Mademoiselle Sainsbury Seale.
- Ooh!
So kind.
- Not at all, madame.
- Ooh!
- Unfortunately for you, it was Hercule Poirot
who retrieved your shoe buckle that day.
But having safely deceived
the Chief Inspector Japp and myself,
or so you thought,
you took the opportunity to be as close as possible
to your husband.
You assumed the name of Helen Montressor
and joined him as his new, efficient secretary.
- We'll never make these people understand, will we, my darling?
Such ordinary, unimaginative people.
I wish I could make you understand, Monsieur Poirot,
about my meeting with Rebecca and my marriage.
Gerda understood, didn't you, old girl?
We could have married again after Rebecca's death,
but, do you know, we'd come to rather enjoy all the secrecy.
She's an actress through and through.
She would have found it very dull
being just one character.
Well...
I've killed three people,
so presumably I ought to hang.
But haven't I done something for England?
I have held it firm.
I have kept it solvent.
I have kept it free from dictators.
I am necessary
to the continuing peace and well-being of this nation.
- Is he saying what I think he's saying?
- What about me?
He was gonna let me hang.
- Précisément.
Monsieur Blunt, with his usual efficiency,
had provided for himself a second line of defense.
If things went wrong, you, Monsieur Carter,
you were to be the scapegoat.
You see, by now, Monsieur Blunt knows
of Monsieur Morley's opinion regarding you,
and so he arranges for you to be engaged
in a most mysterious fashion as a gardener.
Ah, now, these flowers here, they are beautiful.
And how easy for Helen Montressor
to fire a shot vaguely in your direction,
drop the pistol at your feet,
where you are bound to pick it up?
- Drop that gun! Help!
Oh, Mr. Blunt!
- You are caught red-handed,
and of course nobody is going to believe your story,
your ridiculous story
about being employed by the secret service.
No.
As far as Monsieur Blunt is concerned,
you can end your short life on the gallows.
- I don't waste pity on people like him.
- Eh bien, Monsieur Blunt.
That is where you and I, we do not see alike,
for to me, the lives of those three people
are just as important as your own life.
Monsieur Blunt,
you talk of the continued peace of this nation, huh?
Oh, yes, that is very good.
But Poirot is not concerned with nations.
Poirot is concerned with private individuals,
who have the right not to have taken from them their lives.
- Martin Alistair Blunt and Gerda Alexandra Blunt,
I arrest you on charges of murder.
- Please.
Oh, my--my poor dear sister.
I don't know why I'm crying.
- Come on, Mother.
- I never liked him anyway.
- Why don't we go back home?
To New York.
- That could have been me, you know.
- I think I'm going to keep a close eye on you in future,
Frank Carter.
You're not safe out on your own.
Secret service.
- Look at it, Poirot,
the trappings of wealth and power.
And yet underneath it all...
- Yes, Chief Inspector?
- Well, I mean, it just shows you, doesn't it?
They're no better than we are when it comes down to it.
It's the little chaps
that keep things on an even keel,
chaps like you and me.
- Ah.
But there are no little chaps, Chief Inspector,
particularly not Poirot.