The pyramids of Egypt!
The last surviving of the seven wonders of the world.
The latest expedition, by famous archaeologist Sir John Willard,
may soon reveal more of this ancient world's mysteries,
with the discovery of the tomb of the Egyptian king, Men-her-Ra.
No doubt, there will be rivalry between Dr. Fosswell, of the British Museum,
and Dr. Schneider, of the Metropolitan Museum of New York.
But, keep it friendly, eh chaps?
The local workers fear of a death curse
laid down on a tomb over three thousand years ago,
doesn't scare off expedition financier, Felix Bleibner.
He's being joined for the opening by his nephew Rupert,
and secretary Nigel Harper, photographing the occasion.
Smile, Men-her-Ra.
It's gonna take us some time to get the seal off intact, Sir John.
No no no, break the seal.
It will only take five minutes, John!
For God's sake, Mr. Bleibner!
That seal hasn't been broken for over three thousand years.
Then it's time it was.
Gentlemen, the burial chamber of king Men-her-Ra.
Dr. Ames, quickly! He's ill.
Tragedy strikes in the Valley of the Kings.
Just minutes after breaking into the ancient tomb
of Egyptian Pharaoh Men-her-Ra,
eminent archaeologist Sir John Willard
is struck down by a fatal heart attack.
Local rumours of an ancient curse on all those who enter the tomb,
are being dismissed as preposterous.
Any messages, Miss Lemon?
No, Mr. Poirot, no.
Oh, yes, one!
Lady Willard telephoned.
She wants to consult you.
I know, isn't it awful?
Does seem almost as if something were avenging itself for desecrating the tomb.
Bonjour, mademoiselle, I am expected.
Do come in.
Thank you.
My son has always been against my calling on your assistance, M. Poirot.
He thinks I'm listening to all this silly talk about the curse.
But my husband's death came as a very great shock to me.
Yes, of course.
And now, my son wishes to go out to Egypt,
to continue his father's work.
I cannot tell you why, M. Poirot.
This whole enterprise has filled me with foreboding.
All those Americans,
all those young men from Yale.
Seems they've been trying to take over the dig right from the start.
Mother, really!
Mr. Bleibner put up the money for the entire show,
and without him there wouldn't be any dig.
Well, I never trusted Felix Bleibner,
he's just a wealthy dabbler.
I see he's got his nephew out there now, too.
Rupert's only there to visit his uncle.
Excuse me, Lady Willard,
how may I be of service to you?
I imagine that there is no doubt
that the death of your husband was from the causes quite natural.
Well, I...
No doubt at all.
I'm so sorry.
It appears we've wasted your time, Mr. Poirot.
I gave him a thorough examination before we came out here.
His heart was sound as a bell.
It is weird, though isn't it?
I mean, just the very instant the burial chamber was opened...
I don't care about any rotten curse.
I'm off to New York on Thursday.
When is the happy day?
Fourteenth of next month.
Unless Bob saves my life again.
He really did save my life once, you know?
No kidding?
I can save you from poor seamanship Rupert,
but I'm no good on impending marriages.
You three were together at Yale, right?
God, does that seem an age ago!
Who's going to take over the excavation, do you think?
Well, that, uh, kindda depends on your uncle.
He is the money.
Do I get the impression that Dr. Fosswell would not be first?
Sure, the British Museum has gotta be in the running.
What about the Metropolitan?
Oh! Modesty forbids.
Isn't it time you people were in bed?
Won't you join us, uncle?
No, no. I just can't sleep.
Could you have a look at this thumb in the morning?
I'll have a look at it right now if you like, Mr. Bleibner.
Before I go to bed.
It's, uh, a cut I got the other day.
Okay.
Good night, gentlemen.
Miss Lemon, if you please, would you come through for a moment,
with your notepad and pencil.
I want you to send a telegram to the Assistant Commissioner Bergman,
in the Police Department of New York.
"Please supply all available biographical material,
on M. Rupert Bleibner,
nephew to the wealthy M. Felix Bleibner.
Best wishes, Hercule Poirot".
I could say "biog".
Comment?
Instead of "biographical", I could say "biog".
Is that a word, Miss Lemon?
It sounds efficient.
I heard someone say it in a picture.
"Gimme the biog on Dutch Schultz, Miss Longfellow".
Biographical material will do very nicely, thank you, Miss Lemon.
What is it, Miss Lemon?
There's no need for you to cable Assistant Commissioner Bergman.
Why is that, Miss Lemon?
You can cable Captain Hastings instead.
But Captain Hastings, he is in California, Miss Lemon.
No, he is on his way back.
He is staying in New York until Friday.
Who is it?
Oh! It's Arthur Hastings, actually.
Who?
Arthur Hastings.
I'm a friend of your uncle's.
Well, more of an acquaintance, really.
He said I should look you up.
Uncle Felix?
Yes. You went out to Egypt to visit him recently, I gather?
How do you know him?
How?
Oh err...
Well just as one does, you know, err...
Just socially.
How did you find it out there?
Egypt, I mean.
Hot.
Look err..., Mr. Hastings...
I guess I'm not feeling all that sociable today.
No, no, no. I quite understand.
Goodbye.
Nice to meet you.
Look in again, sometime.
Yes, I'll have tea and porridge and bacon and eggs, please.
Eggs over easy?
Ah no, er, the other.
Two eggs, sunny side up.
Canadian bacon?
Oh er, yes. Thank you.
Good Lord!
Felix Bleibner is dead!
He died three days ago.
I'm sorry. I thought you already knew.
It was horrible, most horrible death.
He was blind, at the end.
Where's the doctor? Dr. Ames?
I'll take you to him.
Mind the legs.
Mind the legs!!
Wouldn't it be better to wrap it?
No.
No, no I don't think so.
It is better they're able to see what they're moving.
Oh er, Dr. Ames. Can I trouble you for a moment?
This is Sir Guy Willard, Sir John's son.
- Dr. Ames, how do you do? - Hello.
And this Mr. Harper.
- How do you do? - And Dr. Schneider.
- Dr. Schneider. - Hi.
Sir Guy has come to take charge of the excavation.
Dr. Ames, I am devastated by the news of Mr. Bleibner.
It was septicemia.
Yes, but how did it start?
A scratch on his thumb.
Nothing we could do seemed to stop it.
Dr. Ames amputated his left arm last week, but...
Amputated?
Why was I not informed?
Well, I..., we weren't aware you were involved.
Well, I am involved.
The British Museum agreed that I should take over the excavation.
But surely Mr. Bleibner's death changes the situation.
Well indeed it does, Dr. Schneider.
I suggest we carry on as we are, until the wishes of Mr. Bleibner's estate are known.
In the meantime,
perhaps you'd be good enough to show me to my quarters, Dr. Fosswell.
Gentlemen.
Mr. Bleibner?
Switchboard.
- Give me the police. - Yes, sir.
It came as a big surprise to everyone?
Absolutely.
No one can understand it.
There just seem no earthly reason why he should've killed himself.
He was only thirty.
His health, it was good?
Fit as a flea, it appears.
Something of a sportsman too, as a matter of fact.
Played football at school, held some sort of local record for the hundred yards.
Good golfer, plays off scratch.
You playing the good golf is no reason not to commit suicide, Hastings.
You just don't understand golf, Poirot.
What was his livelihood?
Well, up until about six months ago
he'd been in Hawaii, learning the hotel business.
Did he have any problems emotionable?
Oh girls, you mean? Good Lord, no.
He was all set to marry this absolute corker Melany Wise.
Then he goes and shoots himself.
Mind you, the first time I saw him, he did seem very, well... abstracted.
I mean, it was half way through the afternoon,
he was still in his pajamas.
Looked as if he hadn't washed for a week too.
Oh, and uh, he was wearing white gloves.
White gloves?
Yes, you know, white cotton gloves.
Did he have any problems over money?
None at all, as far as I could tell.
Even less, when old Bleibner died.
The Bleibner millions came to him.
I say, that's a point.
I wonder who'll get the money now?
Oh! He left a note, you know?
No, Hastings. I did not know.
I made a copy of it.
"There is no point in going on.
I am a leper, an outcast.
It's better that I should end my life now,
than bring misery to the people I love. Rupert Bleibner".
I didn't think you looked too well at breakfast, Schneider.
Does it hurt here?
A little.
If I move your arm like this, does that hurt?
No, er..., there's a sort of dull ache, though,
around my shoulders and neck, all the time.
Do you have any trouble swallowing?
Well, as a matter of fact, I do.
Started a few days ago.
How do you know that?
Hassan!
Oh, Dr. Ames! Yes?
I'm going to drive to Cairo, to the British Hospital.
I've got to persuade them to give me antitoxic serum.
When will you be back, sir?
By Friday, I hope, if I drive day and night.
Be careful, sir.
Oh, and Hassan...
try and get to Cairo, by telephone.
Let them know I'm on my way.
Thank you.
It goes on, M. Poirot.
First, my husband, then, Mr. Bleibner.
Then his nephew.
Try to continue, Lady Willard.
Suppose there is some truth in all this talk about a curse?
Tell me what has happened.
Mr. Schneider,
of the Metropolitan Museum of New York,
is very ill, with tetanus.
My son just sent me this telegram.
I'm sorry, you must think it very silly and superstitious.
Non, non non. Not at all, Lady Willard.
I also believe in the force of superstition.
It is one of the greatest forces that the world has ever known.
And you wish that Poirot should protect your son against these forces?
Is it possible?
But first, I must allow to do their work, the little grey cells.
You're not pushing it, are you?
Of course I'm not pushing it.
What is it writing?
I can't see.
I can't make it out.
It seems to have stopped.
Let's see what it's written.
I can't make it out.
Yes, there's a C! That's an L!
It's not very clear.
It's definitely trying to say something, though.
Perhaps it's not writing in English.
Looks like Arabic, or something.
- I say! - What?
Suppose it's king Men-her-Ra trying to get through?
Miss Lem...
Hastings, what means this with the planchette?
Oh, we're just fooling around.
It's interesting, though.
We think this could be from king Men-her-Ra.
Hastings, please. Pull yourself together.
We have business to which we must attend.
Tomorrow we fly to Cairo.
Cairo?
- In Egypt, Hastings. - I know.
And thence, to the Valley of the Kings.
His jaw is broken.
Broken?
The muscles contract so violently, it breaks the bones.
God.
Is there anything we can do?
He's not responding to the serum.
Ah! Mon dieu!
You must be M. Poirot.
What is left of him, yes.
I'm Leonard Fosswell, British Museum.
Ah, Monsieur Fosswell.
We got Lady Willard's cable.
I'm sorry, this isn't a good time.
Come let me show you to your tent.
Won't mind sharing, would you?
No, not at all.
I'm Arthur Hastings, by the way.
Oh yes. Lady Willard said you'd be coming.
Hassan will assign one of the fellaheen to look after you,
get you hot water and so on.
Oh, this looks fine!
Tell me, Dr. Fosswell.
Why is this not a good time?
It's Dr. Schneider.
He has the malady, yes?
He is...
I can't stand much more of this.
He's not responding?
No.
He... seems to be getting worse.
Oh, God.
Who is it?
- The detective my mother sent. - Sir Guy...
He's dead.
And you are quite sure, are you not, Dr. Ames,
that the death of M. Schneider was caused by tetanus?
Sure.
It could not have been, for instance, a case of the strychnine poisoning?
Strychnine?!
No, M. Poirot. There's been no suggestion of anything like that.
This was a clear case of tetanus.
- Did you inject anti serum? - Of course we did.
Every conceivable thing that could be done, was done.
But Monsieur Bleibner now,
he died of something completely different.
Mr. Bleibner had a scratch on his thumb.
It became poisoned and septicemia set in.
It sounds pretty much the same, to a layman, I imagine,
but the two things are entirely different.
You must ask the same questions you need to, M. Poirot.
We're all dumfounded by this series of disasters.
But it isn't a...
It can't be anything but coincidence.
I see.
And you are determined, Sir Guy, to continue with these escavations?
M. Poirot, no matter what happens, my father's work is going on.
I see.
Alors, évidemment, we must find out exactly what is the position here.
Now that's the perfume box,
height seven and half inches, depth five and a quarter inches.
Sniff.
- Jasmine! - Three thousand year old jasmine.
How long have you been interested in egyptology, Monsieur Harper?
Oh! Ever since I started working as Mr. Bleibner's secretary.
Ever since college, almost.
You were in Yale, with Rupert Bleibner?
Yes, I was there on the Hendrickson exchange scholarship.
Ames was there with us too.
Only in Yale's is the same, class of twenty seven.
That is most interesting.
There are four people involved in this expedition
who have known each other for some considerable time.
Dr. Ames, Rupert Bleibner, yourself, all together at the college.
And, of course, the uncle of Rupert Bleibner.
That's right.
Two of them are now dead.
Are you trying to give me the creeps?
Tell me about M. Rupert.
I really don't understand him, doing what he did.
When he first arrived here,
he was in good health?
Hor, yes!
Yes, I think he hasn't had a day's real illness in his entire life.
A little hypochondriac, though.
Always got a lots of little aches and pains he was always worrying about.
But when you last saw him, he was not suffering?
No, I can't remember anything in particular.
Oh, well, yes! He had a little eczema on his hands.
He was making great todo about.
Master, I must speak with you.
Oh. Right. Good evening.
I served my lord Sir John and now I serve his son.
Yes, quite.
You are a wise one, they say.
Oh! You know...
They are now are dealing with evil spirits.
I beg of you, let the young master depart from here.
There is evil in the air around us.
Well uh, it's not really up to me. You see...
We have had four deaths, all totally dissimilar.
One heart failure, one poisoning, one tetanus
and one suicide.
Exactly.
Is there nothing which might link together these four?
Something they have in common? No.
Sorry, Mr. Poirot, I don't quite understand it.
Then, M. Harper, let me make myself perfectly clear.
Was there any act committed by these men, or these victims,
which might seem to denote some disrespect to the spirit of Men-her-Ra?
Good grief, man! That is all rot, as well you know.
You are talking through your hat.
You do not believe that such a thing is possible?
No. I do not.
We're man of science and I believe what science teaches.
Indeed?
Was there no science then in ancient Egypt?
Oh, no, no, no. Please, do not answer.
But tell me this,
the native workmen, what do they think?
What if the white folk lose their heads,
then the natives aren't going to be far behind.
Yes, I'll admit they're getting scared, but they've got no cause to be.
Excuse me, I'm...
Ames, are you all right?
- Better get him to his tent. - Would a brandy help?
No, I don't think so. We'll..., we'll get him to bed.
Good Lord, poor fellow.
Tell me when you want another photograph.
Not yet.
Did you know, M. Poirot,
the wreath of flowers from the funeral ceremony
was still lying on the antechamber floor when my father opened the tomb?
- It is amazing, is it not, Hastings? - Absolutely.
How is Dr. Ames today?
He is still unwell.
He got up today.
To tell the truth, I'm rather worried about him.
I think we're ready.
Lift away, then.
Tie off.
Good God!
He has laid here in perfect silence,
since a thousand years before Troy was besieged.
Rome rose and fell.
Wars and catastrophes changed the face of the earth.
And still this king, he waited,
forgotten by all those people a few feet above.
- Dr. Fosswell? - Come!
What a moment, Dr. Fosswell!
What?
Why, to have had the privilege of merely standing by,
as the lid of the sarcophagus, it was opened!
Oh yes!
Yes, I'm just writing it up.
You write the reports for the expedition, n'est-ce-pas?
For the expedition? No, no, no, no, no, by no means.
A daily report, for the eyes of Sir Andrew Cairns only.
May I?
- Please. - Thank you.
Sir Andrew Cairns?
He is the Keeper of Antiquities at the British Museum, n'est-ce-pas?
Quite.
The others can do their own reports, though frankly...
Well, no matter.
And M. Schneider, when he was alive,
he would have made the reports for the Metropolitan Museum?
I suppose so, yes.
I mean..., I don't want to speak ill of the dead,
but it does just show the quality of their scholarship, doesn't it?
When the Metropolitan have to send there somebody like Schneider...
Poor fellow.
The B. M. would never have send anyone but their most senior archaeologist.
And the future Keeper of the Antiquities, perhaps?
What? Oh well..., I don't know about that.
Of course, Sir Andrew is due for retirement in two years.
And if I make a fair feast of this.
Well...
"The Magic of the Egyptians and Chaldeans"
Oh, you're in bed!
This is a work most interesting, Hastings.
Listen to this.
"May your knives not get hold of me,
May my hands not touch the poison,
May I not fall into your slaughterhouse,
for I know your names
and my heart is with Osiris".
Look here, Poirot, are you feeling alright?
Perfectly, Hastings.
I mean, you've had a lot of sun these last few days.
You're not used to it, like I am.
I am perfectly well, thank you, Hastings.
Hastings, what is the matter with Miss Lemon?
Miss Lemon? Nothing, as far as I know.
Come, Hastings. Do not do the shilly-shally with me.
You yourself played with her on the planchette.
Well, I think it's her cat.
You know, the one she used to call Catherine the Great,
because it liked sleeping in the fireplace.
That cat, it died, did it not?
Well, exactly. She is fearfully cut up about it.
I think she's trying to get in touch with it.
- I mean, I think its... - Hastings, look!
Good God!
"Deliver me from the God whose face is that of a hound,
but whose skin is that of a man.
Who liveth upon the damned,
digesting human hearts and voiding filth".
One seeth him not"
Hastings! What are you doing?
Well, I'm having my siesta.
No, no, no, no, no, Hastings.
Get up, we have work to do.
Come!
Whose tent is this, Hastings?
Uh... Dr. Ames.
You must remain here on guard, my friend, while I make the search.
Search?! Oh, no!
Poirot!
Well, well, well!
I beg your pardon?
Feeling a bit better, are you, Dr. Ames?
- Are you waiting for me? - No, no! No, no.
I was er..., I was waiting for Poirot, actually.
You haven't seen him at all, have you?
I don't know where he's got to.
Poirot!
- I..., can I come past? - What?
- I want to go to my tent. - Oh er, this is your tent, is it?
I didn't realize that. They're very good, these tents, aren't they?
Please, Captain Hastings!
Poirot, you really are the limit!
Regarde Hastings, the sand, it gets everywhere.
Ames must think I'm a complete idiot.
Plenty of sand in Belgium, isn't there?
Not in Brussels, Hastings.
Hello Miss Lemon, can you hear me?
Yes. I found Mr. Bleibner's solicitor.
I spoke to him...
One moment, if you please, Miss Lemon.
Hello?
Now you said he read to you the will?
Bon, what did it say?
Yes...
Yes, cigarette case, Miss Lemon?
I think it was just a joke, Mr. Poirot.
I see. Go on, if you please.
Thank you, Miss Lemon. Au revoir.
What, what? Do you want some coins?
Alright, but only if you're good.
I've half a mind to volunteer to stay, Poirot.
What for, Hastings?
Take up this archaeology.
Can't you feel the fascination?
Desert life.
Probing into the heart of vanished civilization.
Ah my tisane. Thank you, Hassan.
On the table next to my bed, if you please.
Thank you.
Wish we were getting somewhere with this case, though.
Sometimes I think it's not a case at all.
Just three natural deaths and one suicide.
What do you think, Poirot?
You don't seem to have any theories, at all.
Do you?
My God, Poirot!
Dr. Ames!
It's Poirot, quick!
Hastings, what is it?
It's Poirot. He's ill, dead. I dunno.
Its the camomile tea.
Don't let Hassan leave the camp.
There's still a pulse.
What's going on?
It's Poirot, he's collapsed.
Do you smell anything?
- Almonds. - Cyanide.
Which, fortunately, I did not drink.
Thank you, Hastings.
When my good friend Captain Hastings was calling for help,
I took the opportunity of pouring the contents from that glass...
... into this little bottle.
And this little bottle will go to the analytical chemist.
The first death need not come in our calculations,
except for one thing.
The quite natural death of your father, Sir Guy,
was what gave to our murderer his idea.
The more deaths that occurred,
the more everyone will talk about the curse of Men-her-Ra,
and the less everyone would ask the proper questions.
I'm afraid we thought you were just as superstitious as the rest.
But that was my intention.
You see, I wanted to lull the murderer into a false sense of security,
until I was ready.
And in that I was successful.
The murderer thought that one more little nudge
would send Hastings and myself scurrying off back to England.
Good God!
He thought that the cheap trick might do it, mais non.
I had to make him act.
And I have now done something that so alarmed him,
that he feels he must now add me to his role of victims.
What is it that I have done,
that so alarmed our murderer
flushed him out
and made him try to poison me?
Let us go back to the first murder.
That of M. Felix Bleibner.
Isn't it time you people were in bed?
Won't you join us, uncle?
I asked myself who would want to murder M. Felix Bleibner?
Alors, he was a man who was very rich.
Therefore my first assumption would be
his heir and nephew,
M. Rupert Bleibner.
Mais non.
M. Rupert Bleibner committed the suicide even before he heard of the death of his uncle.
And so my next question was
why should M. Rupert Bleibner wish to take his own life?
Alors, he was a man who was young, happy, successful.
He had no thought of death, he had not even made a proper will.
I could never understand him doing it.
And yet, Dr. Fosswell,
he told to us the reasons quite plainly and precisely, in the note that he left.
So plainly, indeed, that we thought he was speaking metaphorically.
He wrote, did he not,
"I am a leper and an outcast.
It's better that I should end my life now, than bring misery to the people I love".
On the threshold of marriage...
and the life that was happy and successful.
M. Rupert Bleiner believed that he was doomed.
He believed he had leprosy.
During his last days he even took to wearing the white gloves
to hide the first unsightly signs of the disease.
But why should he think he had leprosy?
Because, Hastings, it was told to him that he had.
And he had every good reason to believe it.
For some time he had been living in Hawaii, where the disease, it is endemic.
And while in Hawaii...
... he would have come across
...chaumugra oil.
Now he may not have heard of the more modern drugs that have now superceded it,
but he would definitely have come across chaumugra oil.
What is this chaumugra oil?
Chaumugra oil, Hastings, was once the only treatment for leprosy.
But in this case,
it was used merely as the window dressing
to convince Rupert Bleibner of his condition.
But how do you know that?
I know that, Hastings,
because I have stolen some chaumugra oil from the murderer.
Hercule Poirot has discovered his secret.
What secret? What is all this?
M. Rupert Bleibner went to Dr. Ames,
with a mild case of eczema.
And Dr. Ames diagnosed leprosy.
And pauvre M. Rupert Bleibner saw no way out but death.
This is nonsense!
I mean, why would I want Rupert to kill himself? He was my friend.
We were in college together.
In the possession of the lawyers of M. Rupert Bleibner is a sheet of paper.
It is old, it is creased.
Probably written on while in college, during some fit of the drunken merriment.
But the handwriting is that of M. Rupert Bleibner.
It reads as follows.
"This is the last will and testament of Rupert Bleibner.
I leave my cigarette case, which he admires so much,
and all of which I die possessed,
to my good friend Robert Ames,
who once saved my life from drowning".
You see, Dr. Ames,
you knew that on the death of M. Felix Bleibner,
his fortune in entirety, would go to his heir and nephew, M. Rupert Bleibner.
But were M. Rupert Bleibner to die...
All right.
Keep get back, all of you!
Get off!
Let me go!
You have already three deaths on your head, Dr. Ames.
Is that not enough?
But Dr. Ames did not kill my husband.
No, Lady Willard.
The death of your husband, Sir John, was from the causes quite natural.
You see, the only deaths that interested Dr. Ames
were those of M. Felix Bleibner,
who perished from septicemia introduced into his cut hand by Dr. Ames himself,
and M. Rupert Bleibner,
who Dr. Ames drove to suicide by convincing him that he suffers from the leprosy.
- And Dr. Schneider? - Indeed.
Dr. Ames injected poor Henry Schneider with "tetanus bacillus",
merely to lend strength to the curse of Men-her-Ra.
I think you've been wonderfully clever.
- Goodbye, Sir. - Sir Guy.
I return to the Valley of the Kings tomorrow.
This time, with my blessing.
- Bonne chance. - Yes, mother.
Au revoir.
Miss Lemon, would you come through for a moment?
Miss Lemon, in addition to solving this case that has been most difficult,
Hastings and I,
we have brought you back a little gift from the very tomb of king Men-her-Ra.
From the tomb?!
Oui.
Voilà!
It is the very likeness of the favorite cat of king Men-her-Ra,
buried with him in his tomb,
to keep him company
on his long journey.
Oh, he is beautiful!
Go to bed this evening with him in your hand
and Catherine the Great, will visit you during the night.
Oh! Mr. Poirot, thank you.
I dunno how you can tell her such guff, Poirot.
Non, non, non, non, non Hastings, it is not a guff.
It is as I said at the beginning of this case to Lady Willard
the power of superstition
it is a power that is very great indeed.
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