Barton, please.
Don't try to stop me, Pauline. I have to do it.
I'm afraid.
Don't be.
Two years, almost to the day.
You will rest, Iris. I swear it.
Good morning, Poirot.
Bonjour, Hastings.
Is that all you're having?
What more is there to have?
Decent English breakfast.
And what is that, Hastings?
Well, porridge,
two eggs, sausage, bacon, tomato,
toast and marmalade and a pot of tea.
That's what I had, anyway.
After such a meal, Hastings, I think I would return to my bed.
Non, non, non. This will suffice for Poirot.
Is there anything in the English cuisine that you like, Poirot?
The English, they do not have a cuisine, my friend,
they have only the food.
Well, that's a bit harsh.
Like the meat, overcooked. The vegetables, too soft.
The cheese, inedible.
And the day the English create their own wines
is the day I return home to Belgium.
Oh, this new restaurant should be right up your street, then.
"Le Jardin des Cygnes".
Its opening this week, in Jermyn Street.
They say it will serve the best French food in London.
All flown in specially.
Le Jardin des Cygnes.
The name, it is familiar to me.
The er... garden of...
... sins?
Swans Hastings, swans.
Oh! Well, perhaps they have it on the menu.
All looks very exotic.
What do you say, Poirot? Dinner for two?
I say, Hastings, it is time for work.
Thank you.
And there is Miss Lemon.
Juste à l'heure.
Good morning, Mr. Poirot.
Bonjour, Miss Lemon.
What is it that you have there?
I found it with the post.
I suppose someone must have left it for you.
An admirer, perhaps?
The yellow iris.
First, Le Jardin des Cygnes.
And now this.
- It is a conspiracy? - Poirot?
Hastings, why do you now mention this restaurant to me?
And you, Miss Lemon?
- I didn't mean to upset... - The yellow iris.
It returns to provoke.
I say, old chap, are you feeling alright?
Can I get you anything, Mr. Poirot?
No, thank you, Miss Lemon. Please, do sit.
There is something I must get out of my chest.
The yellow iris?
Yes, Hastings, the yellow iris.
It reminds me of a case that I was not able to solve.
I don't believe it!
Through no fault of my own, Miss Lemon.
You will recall, Hastings, that you once asked me to visit you,
when you were living in the Argentine?
Oh that was two years ago.
You were going to come, but you cancelled at the last minute.
That is true, I said as much. But it was not quite like that.
I was looking forward to I visit you, Hastings.
It was to be my first time in the Argentine.
I broke my journey in Buenos Aires,
and was due to travel to your ranch in Las Pampas.
However, because a general strike had disrupted the transport services,
I was forced to book into a hotel.
You are a liar and a cheat, and I don't ever want to see you again.
Pauline...
All those things you said to me.
All those promises you made.
You're not interested in me at all!
That's not true.
You're just using me to get your rotten interview with Barton.
I meant what I said.
I'm in love with you.
It's true, I do want the interview, but...
Well, the answer is no.
I won't help you. You can't come to the dinner.
And I don't want to see you again.
The path of true love?
Its all going so smoothly, until...
Wait a minute. I know you!
I've seen your picture.
You're Hercule Poirot.
The rumours are that President Yrigoyen can't last much longer.
He is old?
Seventy nine. But that's not the point.
He's out of touch.
He's got the military on one side, and the catholics on the other.
It's just a matter of time before one of them pushes him out.
It is for this reason that you are here?
No, I'm following Barton Russell.
And his partner, Stephen Carter.
In fact, that's Carter over there, with the drink in his hand.
There's been a huge oil strike down in the South,
and they're after the concession.
They set up a company together, Sovereign Oil.
Su bebida, señor.
Thank you.
Santé.
Cheers.
So, tell me...
... what of your young lady?
Pauline Weatherby.
You must have heard about the beautiful Weatherby girls.
Pauline and Iris. Daughters of Lord Weatherby.
Non.
He was a Labor Peer.
He made his fortune in textiles.
When he died, Iris got it all.
And Iris Weatherby, she is also here?
Of course. She is Barton Russell's wife.
She'll be there tonight, in Le Jardin des Cygnes.
Barton's having a big dinner,
and I was trying to get Pauline to invite me.
You see, I think Barton Russell is up to something,
and I want to be the first person to find out what.
So, General? Do we have a deal?
You have been most persuasive, Señor Russell.
Government bonds?
It seemed appropriate.
Let us consider it sound and sealed.
There was, Hastings, in the hotel, an atmosphere.
It was not just the heat, but the uncertainty.
I could also feel a growing sense of unease, and indeed of fear.
I'm sorry, señor. Happens everyday, now.
It's complete confusion.
Have this one.
Thank you. Room two one seven, if you please.
Two one seven.
Thank you.
Mr. Poirot, isn't it?
Yes.
I saw you talking to that writer.
You're in..., you're not here on business, are you?
Non, non, non, monsieur. I am on route to Las Pampas.
Then I should get a move on, if I were you.
Pretty dangerous, around here.
Buenos Aires really isn't a place to be.
You're most kind, monsieur. Thank you.
Hello, Iris.
What's happened to the electricity?
Don't tell me it's another power cut?
May I have my key, please.
- Iris, I need to speak to you. - Now?
- May I take this? - Yes, of course.
- Where is Barton? - I don't know. I haven't seen him.
- Who's that man you're talking to? - Nobody.
Only a tourist.
I didn't think there were any tourists in Buenos Aires.
It's hardly the time.
That's what I'd been trying to tell him.
Iris...
... I beg you.
You don't know what you're doing.
I know exactly what I'm doing and I'm going to stop it.
- It's too late. - For you, maybe.
Iris, please.
You'll destroy me!
You should have thought of that before you got involved in an affair like this.
What does it matter? Nobody knows about it.
I know.
And I can't live with it, Stephen.
I just can't live with it.
Never will I forget the words of Iris Weatherby.
For it was then, that I resolved that I, too,
will take dinner that night
at the restaurant called "Le Jardin des Cygnes".
Barton, cariño, too sweet of you to invite me.
Lola...
You look wonderful.
Let me introduce you.
You know my wife, Iris.
Of course.
- Pauline, her sister. - Enchanted.
And this is my new partner, Stephen Carter.
- How do you do? - How do you do?
Lola Valdez.
Her dancing is the talk of the Argentine.
You will forgive me, Barton.
I bring with me a young English friend.
- Good evening, sir. - Good evening.
He is a periodista, a journalist.
And he will write a grand piece on me.
To tell the whole of England about me.
He's doing us all a favor.
Please, Mr. Chapell, join us.
Could you just move over to get some room?
Well, you certainly got a nerve, Mr. Chapell.
- I had to get in somehow. - To get your story?
Hell with the story, I came to see you.
The food here is said to be excellent.
You did not see my new revue, Mrs. Russell?
No, I'm not fond of dancing.
You missed a wonderful performance, darling.
I like to dance before I eat.
Barton...?
Do you mind?
No. Enjoy yourself.
The city, it was about to ignite, Hastings.
The military, it was everywhere,
and many of the streets, they were closed.
This was the background against which
the dinner of Barton Russell was to take place.
Allow me to introduce myself.
I am Luigi de Monico, le patron.
Welcome to Le Jardin des Cygnes.
You are too kind, Señor Luigi.
But you must excuse my lateness,
I was delayed, there is some disturbances in the town.
In this town, there is always some disturbances. Please.
The best table for my distinguished guest.
Thank you.
Thank you, Barton, thank you.
That was fun.
It's that detective!
What's he doing here?
It's a free country.
At least it was, when we came in.
Which reminds me, I have to telephone my stockbroker in London,
before he gets to bed.
Please excuse me.
♪ I've forgotten you ♪
♪ I never think of you ♪
♪ The way you walked ♪
♪ The way you talked ♪
♪ The things you used to say... ♪
Merci.
I see you favor the red rose of England.
If it disturbs you, señor, I'll have it removed.
Non, non, non.
Pas du toût.
It is the symmetry only.
On all of the tables, the red rose,
except on that one table, the yellow iris.
It is a command, Monsieur. A special order.
They are the favorite flowers of la bella Signora.
Madame lris Russell?
Her husband insisted. A true romantico.
Please. Enjoy you meal.
Merci.
♪ My love was blind. ♪
♪ Now I've forgotten you ♪
♪ I'm through ♪ ♪ thinking of you. ♪
♪ Although I lie ♪
♪ I shall think of you ♪
♪ Think of you ♪
♪ 'Til I die ♪.
I like her very much.
Ladies, gentlemen.
I want to make a toast.
A man is never happier to have his friends around him
than when he's in a foreign city far from home.
So, my toast is to you,
and especially to my dear wife, Iris.
What I can say?
Well, in the words of the song...
I shall think of you until I die.
Iris.
Thank you.
Iris!
Excuse me. Excuse me.
- I'm sorry. - No!
Potassium cyanide.
It's not possible.
Voilâ.
What are you saying?
Iris didn't kill herself! She'd never kill herself!
- No! - My God...
I suggest you touch nothing until the Police arrive.
My worst fears had been realised.
And yet, even as I prepared to investigate the death of Iris Russell,
events were taking over.
When I came down to breakfast, the next day,
the hotel, it was deserted.
The guests and the staff, it seemed, had fled.
Mr. Poirot! Have you heard the news?
It's incredible! There's been a coup d'etat.
President Yrigoyen.
The rumors are he's been shot.
In any event, the military are in control.
Well then it appears you will have your story, after all.
What with everything today. And Iris...
I'm sorry.
Once again, Mademoiselle, you have my condolences.
I just can't believe it, Mr. Poirot.
Iris would never have killed herself.
You are "Hercules" Poirot?
- Yes, I am. - You're under arrest.
- Wait a minute... - Be silent!
Come now.
Don't worry, M. Poirot.
I'll call the French Embassy.
Non, non, non! The Belgian Embassy!
We know all about you, Señor Poirot.
You are here to engage in espionage.
Imbécile! You have my passport?
A forgery.
You appreciate that I could have you taken outside now and shot?
I wish to see the consul.
You will see no one.
There is a ship leaving Enseñada in one hour.
You will be on it.
- But... - No argument.
Take him!
And that was the end of it.
I was taken to a ship
and deported on the same day.
In a cabin of the third class!
So that's why you never came.
But why on earth didn't you tell me?
Hercule Poirot
arrested and deported like a common criminal?!
That's something I prefer not to describe.
So, who did kill Iris Russell?
It was never discovered, Miss Lemon.
The official verdict, it was suicide.
Et c'est possible.
The body, it was sent back to England.
The case, it was closed.
- Until now. - Yes.
The yellow iris.
Do you think it could have been sent to you as a warning?
A new "Jardin des Cygnes" opens in London, uh?
And on the day it is announced,
a yellow iris arrives through the post.
Non.
Hastings, I think it comes rather as a call for help.
But from whom?
It is that that we must now find out.
Who owned the restaurant, Poirot?
His name, Hastings, was Luigi. An Italian.
An Italian with a French restaurant in a South American city.
Now he's opened up here in London.
Signor Poirot!
- Aah, I'm so glad you are here. - Señor Luigi.
It happens all over again.
A disaster.
Signor Russell, he telephoned to make a reservation.
Six people, he says. Just like last time.
Once again he demands the yellow iris.
This time, la povvera Signora Russell, she is not here.
They come on Friday?
Si. My opening night.
Exactly two years later since the last occasion.
Good Lord!
And you say six places?
M. Barton Russell and other five others?
A reunion?
Hastings, I need a guide to the London theaters.
Let's take it from the top, please.
One, two, three and...
♪
Okay, that's it for tonight.
Thank you very much. Thank you.
Mademoiselle,
I was wondering whether you remember that fatal night,
in "Le Jardin des Cygnes".
When we were in Buenos Aires.
Of course I remember.
That terrible night! The police, such brutes.
They asked so many questions!
And why? It was obvious!
You believe that Madame Iris Russell, she committed a suicide?
Of course she committed suicide.
But for what reason?
Because she knew Barton no longer loved her.
How well did you know her?
I didn't know her.
She never talked to me. To a dancer?
Have you seen, since that time, M. Barton Russell?
Yes. He's a good friend to me.
And I need the friends.
I have lost everything.
Did you have to leave the Argentine?
The new regime!
I had too many friends in the old government.
And now I am in exile.
It is the loss of the Argentine.
Aw! You are kind.
But, tell me, Señor Poirot, what is the purpose of your visit?
We came, Hastings and I, to welcome you personally to this country,
and to inform you that we will be attending your perfomance on Friday night.
Then I'm afraid I must disappoint you.
There is no perfomance.
I have an arrangement for dinner.
It is, in fact, amusing.
You know there is now a new "Jardin des Cygnes" in London?
Well, I go there.
How could you write this?
I just don't understand you.
- Pauline, I'm a journalist. - Anthony, you're a fink!
Pauline. Come back, Pauline.
Mr. Poirot!
Very nice to see you again, Mr. Chapell. My associate, Captain Hastings.
Come in.
Talk about history repeating itself.
Another row with Pauline, and suddenly you show up again.
And there's this dinner on Friday.
- Oh! So, you're invited too? - Yes. And Pauline.
We're engaged to be married.
At least we were.
After this little conflict now, who knows?
It is for this reason we are here.
You have spoken with M. Barton Russell?
No. He's lying low.
If you want to know the honest truth,
it's Stephen Carter I feel sorry for.
For what reason?
He was never in Barton's league.
He was basically a subcontractor for the British Government.
They were backing him to find oil somewhere up in the north of England,
Derbyshire, or somewhere.
So why on earth did Barton want to work with him?
That's a good question.
Anyway, Carter wanted the big time.
The oil concessions're worth millions.
This oil business, it is always full of risks, n'est-ce pas?
Yes. But they had the concession, in their hands.
They won it from a chap called Pereira.
Pereira?
Wasn't he the one who arrested you?
General Pereira. Yes.
After the coup he became Minister of Oil.
But in your article, you say that he is no longer in power.
Exactly.
It seems he's been found with his hands in the till once too often,
even for the Argentine government.
It looks like he's for the chop.
And if he goes, Sovereign Oil will go with him.
No. That's Hercule Poirot.
Yes, Mr. Poirot, I'm getting out.
Going back to what I'm best at.
And what is that, M. Carter?
I had my own business, you know, before Sovereign Oil.
Before Barton Russell.
And you now return to this business?
Yes, if I can untangle it from this mess.
But I understand that much of your finance came from the government?
Yes.
We were excavating for them in Derbyshire and up in Scotland.
Interesting work.
Although of course, they were only small returns.
I suppose that's what attracted you to Sovereign?
Yes.
It was an adventure.
That strike in Santa Cruz.
And if we'd held on to it.
But you have lost the concession, M. Carter.
Yes. Just two more weeks, and we would've had that oil flowing.
We won that contract fair and square, Mr. Poirot.
And now, we've got nothing.
And I'm out.
Thank you, M. Carter.
One last question, if I may, M Carter.
Are you to see again M. Barton Russell?
As a matter of fact...
...I'm, uh, I'm dining with him this week.
At "Le the Jardin des Cygnes"?
Yes! I had a feeling thats why you'd come here.
Two years to the day.
I don't really see what business it is of yours, M. Poirot,
if I choose to have a private meal with friends.
You say friends, and yet,
one of them, he is a journalist
who has just written something about you that is most unflattering.
And the other is a businessman
who has decided that he will do with you no further business.
- I see you've been busy. - Oui, bien sûr.
And there is one thing that I still do not understand.
What is that?
Anthony Chapell, Stephen Carter, Lola Valdez,
Mademoiselle Pauline and your good self.
That is five persons, huh?
And yet the table, it is for six.
As I said Mr. Poirot, it's none of your business.
The sixth place is for Iris.
- Comment? - It's a commemorative dinner.
The second anniversary of her death.
And we've all got to be there.
Pauline...
Well, I think it's a horrible idea.
I don't want to go.
You will come, Pauline.
Yes.
But you can't boss me around forever, Barton.
Just one more month.
Excuse me. I'm going to go home.
Mademoiselle.
I'm sorry.
Please.
Thank you.
Anyway, now you know.
M. Russell, if you'd be so kind as to tell me.
This dinner, why do you have it, huh?
Why do you wish to recreate the night of the death of your wife?
All right, I'll tell you.
It's very simple, Mr. Poirot.
I know...
I have always known.
Iris did not commit suicide.
She was killed by one of the people sitting at that table.
And tomorrow night, I intend to find out which.
Hastings, I must reserve for myself immediately, for tomorrow night,
a table at "Le Jardin des Cygnes".
You wanna be in on the kill, eh?
It is exactly that, Hastings. Twice it is arranged.
The dinner. The restaurant. The guests.
And tomorrow night, I must be there.
To prevent a second death.
I don't like you going to this restaurant, Mr. Poirot. It could be dangerous.
Ah but when Poirot himself is involved, he too, is dangerous, Miss Lemon.
I still wish Captain Hastings were going with you.
Ah, yes!
The good Captain Hastings.
By now, he should be in Norfolk, in the village of Reepham.
Why did you send him there, Mr. Poirot?
What do you want him to find?
A motive for murder.
Two years.
Two years to the day.
I hope you don't mind my coming here, Mr. Grove.
I'm very glad you did, Captain Hastings.
You see, I was her father's solicitor.
Lord Weatherby, you know, a wonderful man.
Shared him with Ramsay Macdonald.
And Iris Russell inherited his fortune.
And his ideals.
She was such a beautiful girl.
It was a tragedy.
You were telling me about Iris' will.
Oh, there is no secret about it.
You see, her husband, Barton Russell, was a wealthy man, in his own right.
So, her money was passed across to her sister, Pauline,
to be held in trust until her twenty first birthday.
I suppose you were the trust's administrator?
Oh no, Mr. Russell is the administrator.
His wife made him Pauline's guardian.
So er... if Pauline were to die,
does that mean that Barton would inherit the trust?
No.
You see, Pauline has made a will of her own.
Although...
Well I mustn't speculate about Pauline's intentions, and yet...
... sometimes, I feel afraid for her.
Captain Hastings, what I can tell you is this.
When she signed the will,
she was accompanied by a young man.
I assumed him to be her fiancé.
Make of that what you will.
Madam, welcome to "Le Jardin des Cygnes".
Sir.
After you.
Thank you.
♪
So...
here we all are.
Signor Poirot.
Señor Luigi. Bonsoir.
- They are all here? - Si.
And I have a message for you.
Merci.
Ah! From Captain Hastings. C'est bien.
Signor Luigi, that table you have for me,
I have for it, no further need.
I know it seems a little odd,
celebrating the second anniversary of a death in this way, but...
... I have a reason.
And I think it's time I explain.
Two years ago,
my wife died at a table like this,
in a room like this.
The same five people surrounded her.
The Police, the Argentine Police
recorded a verdict of suicide.
But I have known.
I have always known.
And tonight you wish to establish the truth, Monsieur Russell.
Mr. Poirot! I wasn't expecting you.
But I was there on the first night, was I not?
That's true.
And I also have a desire to establish the truth.
You permit?
Let him stay, Barton.
You're right, Mr. Poirot, you should be here.
You're welcome to join us.
Thank you.
What's going on?
What were you going to say, Barton?
M. Russell was about to say that he believes that his wife was murdered
by someone seated around this table.
- Wait a minute... - Who would have harmed her?
- It's crazy. - Of course it is.
Iris committed suicide.
Everybody knows that.
I do not believe that she committed suicide.
And I can prove it.
I have to speak to the band.
I have a surprise for you.
Mr. Poirot, can't you stop him?
Do not worry yourself, M. Carter.
Mr. Poirot...
... I'm afraid.
There is no need, Mademoiselle.
♪ I've forgotten you ♪
♪ I never think of you ♪
♪ The way you walked ♪
♪ The way you talked ♪
♪ The things you used to say... ♪ - My God!
It's the same song.
What the hell is he playing at?
♪ I couldn't say for sure today ♪
♪ Whether your eyes were blue or grey ♪
♪ I've forgotten you ♪
♪ I never think of you ♪
♪ Your smile, your touch ♪
♪ Which meant so much ♪
♪ Somewhere along the way ♪
♪ I've forgotten you ♪
♪ I never think of you ♪
♪ I've changed my mind ♪
♪ My love was blind ♪
♪ Now I've forgotten you ♪
♪ I'm through thinking of you ♪
♪ For what I lie ♪
♪ I shall think of you ♪
♪ Think of you ♪
♪ Till I die ♪
It takes you back, doesn't it?
Come on Carter, raise your glass.
What was our toast, two years ago?
To Iris.
Absolumment.
To Iris.
Damn you, then.
To Iris.
- To Iris. - To Iris.
So what now, Barton?
What other things are you going...?
My goodness!
What on earth?!
Good gracious!
No!
No! That's not meant to happen.
Pauline!
She is dead.
La pauvre petite.
And I, who thought I could protect her.
Protect her?
You helped kill her.
I am cold.
I have sent for some coffee, Mademoiselle.
I'd prefer something stronger.
It's my fault.
I should have known.
Pauline always said...
she knew something about Iris.
That was why she was killed.
Non, M. Russell.
That was not the reason why Mlle. Pauline had to die.
Then why?
Non, non, non, non, non, non! That is not the question we must ask.
We have here two murders.
And in order to solve the second we must return two years,
to the first.
Why did Madam Iris Russell have to die?
So you agree, she was killed.
Oui, c'est évident.
There were perhaps...
... several reasons.
For example,
she stood in-between you and M. Russell.
Between us?
Ridiculous!
She also stood between her younger sister and a great fortune.
Pauline never cared about the money.
But you cared for Mademoiselle Pauline.
You would not have been happy, perhaps, to marry an heiress?
What?
So, I kill Iris so Pauline can inherit?
And finally, she stood in the way of you, monsieur.
- Me? - Yes, you, Monsieur Carter.
You and the biggest gamble of your career.
In the hotel in Buenos Aires,
I overheard...
Iris, you'll destroy me!
You should have thought of that before you got involved in an affair like this.
What does it matter? Nobody knows about it.
I know.
And I can't live with it, Stephen.
What was the affair which Madame Iris Russell spoke of?
There was no affair.
Not love affair, perhaps, but a business affair?
M. Carter,
I can see with the eyes of my mind, and I will speak.
Please show us what you have in your breast pocket.
What?
What are you saying?
Do what he says!
It's not...
You put it there!
Potassium cyanide.
The case, it is complete.
Carter.
I always knew it was you.
Why?
Why do you not tell us what really happened in Buenos Aires, M. Carter?
- I can't. - The shadow of a noose hangs over you.
- No! - Very well, then I will tell it.
Your coffee, sir.
Bring it in.
The oil concessions
that were acquired by yourself and Monsieur Russell,
they were not acquired from the legitimate government of President Yrigoyen.
You're right.
It was Barton's idea.
So, General? Do we have a deal?
He could tell there was going to be a coup.
Government Bonds, hmm?
So he went straight to the rebels, to General Pereira.
And the money that was paid?
The money that would assist the rebels to gain power? From where had it come?
- It was mine. - No, M. Carter.
It was money entrusted to you by the government of Britain
for excavations in this country.
My God!
And that is what Madame Iris Russell had discovered,
and that is why she had to be silenced.
The daughter of a Labor peer,
could she stand by and watch his Government funds
were used to support a military jumper?
- Of course not. - And you killed her, Carter!
No. Wait.
Everything you say is true. But I didn't kill her.
It was him.
He had as much to lose as me.
But M. Carter, you forget
that M. Russell, he was not even at the table when the champagne was being served.
Exactly.
And tonight also, Barton was not there.
Wait a minute.
If Carter put the poison in Pauline's glass, I would seen him. I was next to her.
Exactement!
So you mean he didn't kill her.
It was not I who said that he did.
Merci.
Well if it wasn't Carter, who was it?
Who indeed?
In Buenos Aires,
who could approach the table with impunity,
invisible in the crowd,
poison a drink,
and at the same time,
provide the evidence of a suicide?
And tonight also,
who circled around the table holding a bottle of champagne,
only this time, it was Mademoiselle Pauline who was to be the victim,
and M. Carter who was to take the blame.
In the dark,
when the attention of everyone is elsewhere,
seen by everyone, and yet unseen,
the murderer can plant the evidence and then vanish again,
if he is disguised as a waiter.
Can he not, M. Russell?
What are you saying?
Why should I have wanted to kill Pauline?
This evening I learned that you were the guardian of Mademoiselle Pauline,
and that you hold her money in trust until she is twenty one.
- What of it? - That time is to be very soon.
I understand that you have also suffered huge losses in The Argentine.
I think it would be discovered
that the money of Mademoiselle Pauline, it is gone,
and that you have spent it.
This is ridiculous.
I mean, this waiter business,
are you really telling me nobody would have noticed?
Did you notice the waitress who served you with coffee,
just a few moments ago?
What?
Pauline!
I don't understand.
How it is possible?
Pauline!
I thought I'd lost you.
Mr. Poirot told me, when he sat next to me.
He said not to touch the champagne.
I was just to pretend to drink it,
and then pretend to be dead.
And you played the part par tout perfection, mademoiselle.
But tell me, Mademoiselle Pauline,
it was you, was it not, who sent to me the yellow iris?
I was very frightened.
I didn't want to believe it.
But I knew...
I've always known.
And so you called for Poirot,
and Poirot, he was there.
Poirot!
Hastings,
Mon ami!
How did it go?
Well the case, it is solved,
and your message, Hastings, it was most useful.
Oh, good!
- There is just one thing. - What's that?
With all this affair, I have not been able to eat.
Oh, I say. That's a bit rough.
Not going to be easy finding somewhere at this time of night.
Well, that is true.
I do know one place, though.
English cuisine!
There is nothing like it in the world.
You must agree, Poirot.
Et bien, Hastings. When it is cold and dark,
and there is nothing else to eat, it is...
... "passable".