- Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! - Doctor.
Five! Four! Three! Two! One!
To 1926!
- Happy New Year! - Happy New Year.
Now listen everyone.
Please! Please, please.
I've been a very fortunate man,
especially to have friends like all of you.
Not many people went to Australia and bought a farm
over a copper seam!
I have, at long last, persuaded Andrew to make a will,
with my wife, Sarah's help.
In it, there are several minor bequeaths to some of us
and a small trust fund for Violet's education.
The main part of the estate, seventy-five per cent,
- goes to the Elinfort Medical Foundation... - Oh, how splendid.
... Dr. Pritchard, of which you are Chairman.
It will be used wisely, Andrew.
If you ever die, that is...
A lump sum of two thousand pounds,
held in trust until their eighteenth birthdays,
will be shared between Peter Baker and Robert Siddaway.
Oh, that's so kind of you, Andrew!
I think you know how fond I am of your sons.
And they will be men, soon,
with all the responsibility that entails.
I like them to have a secure future.
What about Violet?
Well, she is your ward, Andrew.
You dote on her but you left her nothing.
Sarah!
Yes. She'll marry.
Someone like Robert or Peter.
She's a woman, for heaven's sake!
My God, Andrew.
You have to stop yourself saying "only a woman"!
Skirt of the road!
Gentlemen!
Quiet, quiet!
The motion before us is
"This house believes that women can never be accorded equal status with men".
I call upon Mr. Andrew Marsh, a former president of the Union,
to propose the motion.
Mr. President, gentlemen.
Few people, if any, here today,
would deny their fellow human beings,
regardless of color, creed or gender,
the fundamental right of respect.
Monsieur Poirot, it's lovely to see you again,
but we did say seven o'clock.
My dear Mademoiselle Violet, you must forgive me.
You must blame the two-inch nail who punctured us at Baldock.
I'd like you to meet my associate Captain Hastings.
How do you do?
Captain Hastings, this is Mademoiselle Violet Wilson,
Andrew's ward.
Thank you.
But society, like the family,
is not merely a collection of individuals haphazzardly thrown together.
In order to function
industrially, politicically, socially,
both must be structured.
Divided into those who make decisions, those who put them into practice.
Those who lead, those who follow.
This is Miss Campion, the Principal of my College.
- Madame. - We really should hurry.
Debate's underway, and Andrew's already speaking.
Such designations are "status"
and are determined by a woman.
Her name is Mother Nature.
Gentlemen,
I now call upon Mr. Robert Siddaway
to oppose the motion.
Mr. President.
The debate so far,
has ignored some rather unpleasant developments
taking place in the real world.
A few months ago,
two leaders of immense "status",
but with very little respect for anything,
Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini,
overran neighboring countries.
Now all people of good sense, regardless of gender,
can see that war, right across Europe, is imminent.
And when it comes,
will we expect women to merely keep the home fires burning, Mr. President?
Or will we accord them equal status
as we ask them to go onto the land and farm it?
Into the factories and make munition?
Join the armed forces and fight?
Into the Valley of Death
rode the 500 members of the Women lnstitute.
If you let us work and die for our country,
why would you let us join the Union?
Or God forbid, let us speak in a debate?!
Silence! Silence!
I will not allow interruptions from the gallery!
Have them clear!.
Perhaps you're frightened we'll start talking sense.
Don't mind the outcome, Bobby.
You spoke well.
So did Andrew.
Once we ignore what he actually said!
Congratulations, sir. A worthy victory.
Pity the press won't cover the debate, Robert.
I can see tomorrow's headlines now.
"New Woman echoes heckless at Cambridge Union".
Poirot!
How are you?
Andrew, my dear friend!
I missed your speech. Please, forgive me.
Oh, but you've heard just that many times before.
Starting back as far as the Cavendish Clinic.
Oh, mon dieu.
In such adversity, are born the lasting friendships, n'est-ce pas?
We were there, Hastings, for the mutual pulling of the wisdom teeth.
It was not a pretty sight.
Damned doctor of mine, never offers me anything for this wheezing.
Perhaps because you tell him it does not bother you.
Blasted man can see it now, surely!
Uncle Andrew has a bronchial asthma for years.
It leaves him short of breath, though not of voice.
This room is a place most industrious.
- Do you not agree, Hastings? - Certainly, yes.
I run a magazine, monsieur, called "New Prospects".
I'm hoping to expand it, once I graduate.
Merci.
Do you have any money?
Violet!
If you won't invest, uncle Andrew, I understand that, but somebody will.
Have you tried one of the banks, Mademoiselle Violet?
Were I a man, they would give me a loan tomorrow.
I told you the reason for that.
Women in business are just begging to be taken advantage of.
Right, Hastings?
Ah, can't say I really know any women.
Oh, in business, that is!
Point proved. Motion carried.
Three against one, eh, Poirot?
Non, mon ami.
Two against two.
Look, I know you've booked into a hotel, Poirot,
but why don't you join us for a few days, at Crabtree?
Come over tomorrow for lunch.
We should be delighted.
- You will permit me, Mademoiselle Campion. - Thank you.
You like for your students to have the views of the very strong, n'est-ce pas?
I positively encourage it, Mr. Poirot.
John, before I forget,
our meeting tomorrow, can we make it a little later?
Why don't we meet for lunch?
My office at twelve thirty.
Affects you, Martin.
I'm afraid, I'm changing my will.
It's your money, Andrew.
Is Violet to be mentioned in your new will, sir?
Setting aside your impertinence, Robert,
I could have sworn the debate was over.
Perhaps you feel I didn't win it convincingly?
I'm sure he meant no harm, Andrew.
You don't merely encourage the young, Phyllida,
you over indulge them.
I apologise, sir.
- Robert? - I'll talk to him, Mrs. Siddaway.
- Robert! - Sarah, will you please not fuss?
Robert!
Robert wait!
I'm sorry, Violet, but just because he won a supid debate,
it doesn't make his attitude's right.
Look, he is what he is, Bobby.
And we'll never change him.
And I'm not sure that I want to.
Will you tell your dad I leave a sack of seed potatoes up of your front drive, right?
Yeah. Thanks for the lift.
Andrew, it's been marvellous, but I've quite an afternoon ahead of me.
Look I'm sorry I was rough on Bobby,
I'll straighten things up with him later.
Before I go, Andrew, I'd like to give you the once over.
Oh good God, man! Fuss, fuss, fuss!
You've had a couple of strenuous days.
Now, jacket off and sleeves up.
Mrs. Siddaway, could you be so kind as to bring my stethoscope through to the library?
My bag's in the hall.
Afternoon, Mrs. Siddaway.
Peter, what are you doing home?
Fortnight's leave, and we're off to Palestine.
Er, there no one at the cottage and dad's on duty.
- I don't suppose mom... - Yes. Your mother's in the kitchen.
Why don't you go and find her?
- Mother! - Peter!
Entrez.
Mon ami!
The good doctor, he tells you to get some rest and you ignore his advice, huh.
You do not change.
I've change alright, Poirot.
You'll think me an old hypocrite, I'm afraid.
Saying one thing, doing another.
I should not dream of such a thing, mon ami.
Please, do seat.
Even though, after all the things I've said about my health over the years,
never taking anyone's advice.
Well...
Eh, my specialist tells me I...
... oh damn it, I am not afraid of them, just afraid of upsetting others.
He tells you that your life draws to its close?
Diable!
You know, ten years ago, I made a will.
"I have at long last, persuaded Andrew to make a will."
In it, I left several small bequests.
Two hundred and fifty pounds to my lawyer, John Siddaway, and his wife, Sarah.
Phyllida Campion received five hundred pounds,
which she immediately pledged to her college for improvements.
My housekeeper, Margaret Baker and her husband Walter, the local police sergeant,
were already provided for by an earlier endowment.
Their son, Peter Baker, and young Robert Siddaway,
were left a thousand pounds each, to give them a start in life.
But I left the bulk of my fortune to Dr. Pritchard,
as chairman of the Elinfort Medical Foundation.
"If you ever die, that is!"
There was some consternation that night that I had excluded Violet from my will.
But tomorrow I'm going to put that right.
I intend to write a new will, leaving everything to Violet.
The truth is, I've been so proud
of her achievements in Cambridge over the past few years, she deserves it.
I'd like you to be executor of that will, Poirot.
See to it for me.
But of course. Why this urgency?
Who the hell is that, at this time of night?
- We'll er..., we'll talk more tomorrow. - Bien sûr.
Good night.
Bonne nuit, cher ami.
Hello?
What? Now?
Couldn't this have waited?
- Good morning, Poirot. - Good morning, Hastings.
- Bonjour, Mademoiselle. - What you think of Samson?
I think that he is large and you should take care, Hastings.
We'll join you for breakfast, Monsieur Poirot.
What a charming folly.
Andrew restored it about fifteen years ago.
Comes here to think.
Race you back!
Wait a minute, Violet.
Andrew?
Violet, go back to the house.
Get sergeant Baker and Poirot too.
Sergeant Baker, you permit that I make a search?
My men have done that, sir.
Found nothing.
Perhaps a post-mortem will tell us more.
There's no call for a post-mortem.
I've examined the body.
Andrew died about eight hours ago.
I'll give you the death certificate.
"Heart failure"
Heart failure?
What's wrong with that?
It says nothing.
I've yet to see a corpse whose heart still beats.
Poirot, the leading heart specialist in London would tell you that Andrew...
His illness and I were well acquainted, M. le Docteur!
It's a bit odd to be walking around here in the middle of the night though,
don't you think?
He often had a late stroll, Captain.
Helped him to sleep.
Here you are, Walter.
Last night, Andrew tells me he was to make a new will.
Half past midnight he gets a telephone call, this morning he is dead.
Non, this is no coincidence, Hastings.
We must make the search.
And Hastings, leave not a rock unturned.
As you know, Monsieur Poirot,
it's not usual to read the will before the funeral.
But in this case I've made an exception,
hoping to dispel your fears concerning Andrew's death.
Thank you.
Ladies and gentlemen, perhaps we should be seated.
Thank you.
It wasn't a complicated will, Mr. Poirot.
We were all present at the witnessing, ten years ago now.
The will, Monsieur Siddaway?
It doesn't appear to be here.
Don't be absurd dear, it must be.
Bound to be there somewhere, sir.
Just a matter of finding it.
Mesdames et Messieurs,
Andrew Marsh was a good friend to all of us here in this room.
And yet it seems that you wish his death to pass unquestioned.
Not all of us, Mr. Poirot.
And now we have a disappearing will and, and still, you do nothing, Sergeant?
With respect, Poirot, I think you're reading too much into it.
Indeed?
The new will that Andrew Marsh intended to write
would have left everything to Mademoiselle Violet.
With Poirot as executor.
Very well, I will execute.
But beware mes amis, for in so doing, with or without your help,
I will unravel the mystery of his death.
This is intolerable, Hastings.
We are dealing with a closed knit community
where the business of each is known to all.
Except to Poirot! Yet!
Just a second, Poirot.
That missing will could be a godsend!
It would mean Andrew died intestate.
Thank you for that note of optimism, Hastings.
But all we have to do is tell the probate call
that Andrew wanted Violet to have everything.
And you think that they would accept that?
The wishes of Andrew Marsh told to me in confidence,
without any witnesses?
I see.
Poirot, I wonder if I might have a word?
Santé!
Er.. good health!
I want you to know that I am the major beneficiary of Andrew's missing will,
as Chairman of the Elinfort Foundation.
In case you get "the wrong end of the stick".
I have no stick by either end, Monsieur le Docteur.
Yes, but you might reasonably think that seventy five percent of the Marsh's estate is worth killing for.
And Andrew was going to make a new will, you said.
But you would not have stolen the old will, since it favored you.
Andrew told you he wanted Violet to have everything, you said?
Did he mention nobody else?
Non! Why is it that you ask?
Because for a long time now,
I believed that Andrew had a son.
Belief, Monsieur le Docteur, is good but,
it is not good enough.
Andrew, John and myself,
we met at Crabtree one night,
must have been two years ago, now.
Sarah was away and Robert had just been accepted to Cambridge.
His father was "full of it", bursting with pride.
- To Robert! - To Robert!
- Robert!
Thank you!
Very happy for you, John!
Oh... forgive me, both of you,
I have rattled on as if you fellows had sons to be proud of, as well.
What makes you think I don't understand your pride perfectly?
You may be my solicitor, John,
but you don't know everything about me,
does he, Maggie?
Andrew Marsh was always very fond of Margaret Baker.
Maybe Peter is Andrew's son.
I see.
Doctor, I thank you.
I have been stumbling around in a darken room,
but now you have switched on the light.
You see how things go, Hastings?
I believed that he was killed for his fortune,
but the question still remains.
Who would lay claim it once he died?
Well, there's that son that Pritchard talks about,
but then we only have his word that he exists.
We find the son, mon ami, we also find the murderer.
Soon we may have the word of Madame Margaret Baker.
You can't ask a woman a question like that, Poirot!
Not only can I, Hastings, I must!
Met him in Australia, sir.
Hired me as nanny to Violet, his business partner's child.
When he came to England, he gave me the chance to come too.
Which is where you met your husband, the bobby of the village.
Madame Baker, I truly wish to cause you no offence, but...
Monsieur Andrew Marsh,
he admired you greatly, n'est-ce pas?
Well, yes!
And you were also very fond of him.
Yes.
And perhaps it would be true to say that you did not work for him
as the nanny to Mademoisellle Violet, so much as to share in his life.
Dad! Dad, I want to hear this.
You're saying I might have a claim to this fortune, aren't you, Mr. Poirot?
Be quiet!
Dad, you always said Andrew had an eye for the ladies.
Yes. Well, in my case, he admired from afar.
After we came back from Australia,
Mr. Andrew was send to fight in France.
You were conceived while he was away.
By the time Andrew got leave,
Peter was three months old.
So you worked as the nanny to Mademoiselle Violet
while Monsieur Andrew, he was absent.
Yes.
His other friends pulled their weight, of course,
but Miss Campion is not much good with small children,
nor Mrs. Siddaway, come to that, in spite of being a children's nurse.
Ah!
Thank you, madame.
You got some gall to go casting aspersions like that, Poirot.
I have the gall, Sergeant Baker, because a man has been murdered,
and you refused to investigate.
Very well.
The time has now come for me to go above your head.
Thank you for coming, Chief-Inspector.
You've met Sergeant Baker, I see.
Yes I must say, Poirot, that in spite of your comments,
he seemed like a reliable chap to me.
This way, Chief-Inspector.
Monsieur Marsh was discovered here, Chief-Inspector.
No marks on the body?
Nothing out of the ordinary found?
Rien!
What is this then, if it isn't out of the ordinary?
C'est incroyable!
Looks like a medicine bottle to me.
I myself, searched this area, but meticulously.
Must have missed it, Poirot!
Any of the local quacks reported one of this missing?
No, Sir. Sorry, Sir.
I'll get on to it right away, I'll ask Dr. Pritchard.
Pritchard?
He's the Chairman of the Elinfort Medical Foundation.
Dr. Martin Pritchard.
Listen Poirot, don't tell people I'm in the neighbourhood yet.
I shall need to see the coroner's officer.
I want a post-mortem, I wanna know what was in this.
Miss Campion, could you spare us a few moments?
I am rather pressed for time, Robert.
Please, Phyllida.
It's about my mother, Miss Campion.
About me. About my father too, I suppose.
Two years at Kings and you still don't make any sense, my dear boy.
Like so many before you.
You won't laugh when you know the reason, Phyllida.
Robert needs your advice.
I think Andrew Marsh was my father, Miss Campion.
And you're asking me what you should do about it?
Why don't ask Mr. Poirot?
But Robert, why didn't you mention this before today?
My mother only told me about it last night.
Took some guts on her part.
It doesn't seem to have upset you unduly, Robert.
Well after some thought, what difference does it make?
Et bien, Monsieur Robert, I will tell you the difference.
In the will that is missing, you inherit a small fortune.
If you can prove you are his son, you will inherit a vast one.
And now a son by Sarah Siddaway.
We find the son, we find the murderer, you said.
Yes indeed, Hastings.
But it would be unseemly to unmask him
the day before the funeral of Andrew Marsh.
Man had a lot of friends, Poirot.
What good are many friends, mon ami,
when you have one bad enemy?
Dr. Pritchard.
You look to be in the readiest of health, Chief-Inspector.
You have met before?
Would you care to fill these gentlemen in sir, or shall I?
Very well then.
We met in London, 15 years ago.
Dr. Pritchard here, was running a so-called humanitarian group
Helping the terminally ill, to kill themselves!
To end their suffering, you mean.
We investigated his organization, but couldn't prove anything.
At a rough guess, I'd say he's up to his old tricks again.
No!
Yours Doctor, according to the manufacturer!
They sent them out with batches of insulin,
all numbered, so they can keep tabs on them.
Because as well as working miracles, insulin can also be lethal.
I don't understand!
The post-mortem found needle marks in Mr. Marsh's upper arm.
Martin Arthur Pritchard,
I'm arresting you for the murder of Andrew Marsh.
You're not obliged to say anything,
but anything you do say will be taken down and used in evidence.
"All things come to he who waits", Poirot!
I knew I'd get him sooner or later.
Just because the solution to a crime is simple, Poirot,
doesn't mean to say it's wrong.
Pritchard killed Andrew Marsh, end of story.
But why would he steal a will that favored him?
No, Chief-Inspector, still it has not been found
nor I believe will it ever be.
Did you question other suspects? Did Sergeant Baker?
Of course we didn't, because there weren't any!
Robert Siddaway and Violet Wilson.
Monsieur Poirot is expecting us.
What about that telephone call, Chief-Inspector?
The one that Andrew receive around midnight?
Pritchard, of course!
Honestly, you two when you're backed into a cor--...
Miss Wilson and Mr. Siddaway.
Monsieur Poirot, we thought you should be the first to know.
We're going to America.
Robert is going to forgo his last year at Kings
and there's a berth on the Queen Mary, leaving on Tuesday.
Mademoiselle Violet, Monsieur Robert.
Please, do sit!
Et bien, Mademoiselle, what of the end of term?
What of the graduation ceremony of Mademoiselle Campion?
Why the sudden rush, Miss Wilson?
What is there to stay for?
Women are treated as equals in America.
I can forge myself a decent career.
And a man I've known all my life
is charged quite insanely with my guardian's murder.
Mademoiselle Violet, your late guardian would not have wanted you
to miss the graduation ceremony.
I beg of you,
before you finally make up your mind,
to give Poirot a little more time,
please!
It's all very well you saying probate is a legacy business, John.
But Robert and Violet are planning to leave the country.
- Do you want that? - No, of course I don't!
It is that difficult to prove you're someone's heir?
I mean, what does it involve?
Surprisingly little!
Swear an oath that you are who you say you are.
Don't you need a birth certificate or something?
No.
Would you apologise to Sarah for me?
She invited me to dinner on Saturday, but I'm going to London!
I'll tell Sarah!
Theater? Concert?
No!
To see Hercule Poirot, as a matter of fact.
I need his advice on something.
I beg your pardon.
Whoever pushed Mademoiselle Campion down the moving stairs
was not Dr. Pritchard.
He is in your custody!
Yes, well we don't know that anyone pushed her yet.
But he is not the murderer, Chief-Inspector!
The murderer is still at large!
Well, we obviously got her here pretty quickly,
at least we know she survived.
- Thank you, nurse. - Police.
I shall need to speak to Miss Campion as soon as possible!
Well, you can't, she concussed.
Very nasty fall, gentlemen.
Leg's broken in two places.
She will recover soon?
I think you'll find Mrs. Campion is made of pretty strong stuff.
She is a Miss, Doctor! Miss Campion!
You called her "Mrs".
You know her well?
Well...
No, but we know she's not married!
Tell me, Doctor,
did you call her "Mrs" out of habit or a slip of the tongue?
Look, sorry I didn't mean to speak out of turn, but..
If there's something you know Doctor, it's your duty to tell us.
Miss Campion has had a baby some time in her life.
By Caesarian-section, no less.
Miss Lemon, I have a task for you.
Ladies ... and gentlemen!
The end of the academic year
is something I would never miss,
although this time it was a close rum thing!
As you know, this is always an informal occasion.
Because while the University here at Cambridge
acknowledges the hard work of its male students,
it doesn't yet see fit to hold a degree ceremony for women.
So I hold my own.
Bravo!
And as you take your places in society,
I hope that three years here
will have proved you more than worthy of them.
Thank you, Hastings.
A smile of triumph, Miss Lemon?
Of course!
Mesdames et Messieurs,
to begin, I think it is fitting that we should make a toast
to our dear late friend,
Monsieur Andrew Marsh.
Andrew Marsh!
Today would have given him much pleasure, n'est-ce pas?
And how proud he would have been of you,
Mademoiselle Violet.
However, there is someone in this room
who denied to him this pleasure.
You mean this murderer is here?
One of us?
On the night that he died,
Monsieur Andrew Marsh asked me to be the executor
of a new will that he would make.
I believe that he was killed for that fortune.
And that the old will was stolen and destroyed
so that he would die intestate.
So my duty, you see, it has been twofold.
First, to find the murderer.
And then, before this ruthless murderer could lay claim to it,
to deliver his estate to Mademoiselle Violet, according to his wishes.
However, this murderer,
he was at work even as my dear friend Andrew told to me his news most tragic.
My specialist tells me I...
Damn it! I am not afraid of it,
I'm just afraid of upsetting others!
Who is that at this time of night?
Hello?
What? Now?
And thus, the murderer lured him from the house.
Couldn't this have waited?
To a rendezvous at the folly.
And here, our murderer administered a massive and fatal dose of insulin
in a cowardly attack upon a man who was sick and weakened.
Voilà!
But then, along comes Poirot,
who says that this death
is not a death that is natural.
Oh no! It is a murder!
So, fearing for their own safety,
the murderer pointed the finger to Dr. Martin Pritchard,
by placing at the scene of the crime the vial containing the insulin.
Chief-Inspector Japp arrives to help me with the investigation,
he examines the folly, and he finds it there.
Why was that vial not found the day of the murder by Sergeant Baker, huh?
Because it was not there!
Non!
Poirot himself searched the area, and Poirot never misses.
So my good friend, the Chief- Inspector Japp,
promptly arrests Dr. Martin Pritchard.
And with a man who is innocent charged for the murder,
the real killer could now lay claim to the Marsh fortune.
So it was thought.
Without suspicion.
But Dr. Martin Pritchard had already told to my associate, Captain Hastings, and myself,
that Andrew had a son.
Peter, perhaps.
That doesn't mean to say I killed him for it!
Or you, Robert!
Now your claim had to it more substance, n'est-ce pas?
Because you believed that Andrew Marsh and your mother were lovers!
Robert was with me at the night of Andrew's death, Monsieur Poirot.
Violet, don't!
Was the arm that pushed Mademoiselle Campion down the moving stairs yours, Peter?
Yours, Robert?
Were you afraid of what she might say to me?
Theater? Concert?
No.
To see Hercule Poirot, as a matter of fact.
And of course, the killer certainly knew of the visit to London of the Mademoiselle Campion
to see Poirot.
Because Mademoiselle Campion
had discovered in a conversation with the lawyer John Siddaway,
that for a child to claim the estate of the father,
the real identity of the mother need not to be revealed.
But events took such a turn,
that they revealed a secret that she herself had kept for more than...
what, 20 years?
What Mr. Poirot means
is that the doctor who treated me
saw that I'd had a baby...
... when I was a student here.
It was but a short step for my secretary, Miss Lemon,
to discover the name of that baby.
Please to read it, Miss Lemon.
Born on the 17th of July 1913, to Miss Phyllida Campion,
a daughter who's name was Violet.
What's going on?
What on earth is happening?
Was it necessary to pry into Phyllida's past, Poirot?
It's Andrew we're interested in!
Yes indeed.
But you, in all this time, not once did we asked ourselves this question.
Is this son that we seek...
... perhaps a daughter.
So, Violet is Andrew Marsh's daughter?
Yes.
So, Monsieur Robert,
why did you kill the father to Mademoiselle Violet?
- I did... - I say you did, Monsieur!
Why?
You know that she loves you.
You know that she wants you to go to America with her. Why, then?
He's just told you he didn't!
No, madame.
Perhaps Robert, he is not the murderer.
Because, just as we thought the heir of Andrew had to be a man,
so too, did we think of the murderer.
This killer was someone who stole a syringe
from the bag belonging to Dr. Pritchard,
who knew the power of insulin.
And you, I was told, had been a children's nurse,
Madame Siddaway.
It was you who convinced Robert that he was a son of Andrew.
It was Robert who told you of the visit of Mademoiselle Campion to London
where you followed her,
where you pushed her down the moving stairs.
Because you are afraid, that at last, she would reveal
Mademoiselle Violet as the rightful heir.
No!
John, help me!
There's nothing I can do, Sarah!
How did you know about Violet?
I had a friend who worked in the clinic.
I met her years later.
There was so little we had to give Robert!
But he was mentioned in the will, madame!
Why did you steal and destroy it?
Because I wanted him to have everything!
Why should it all go to Violet?
Because Andrew Marsh wished it,
as proof that she was his daughter!
And his equal!
I think you better come along with me, Mrs. Siddaway.
Mademoiselle Campion, Mademoiselle Violet,
your magazine could not have a name that is better huh?
The New Prospects.
For these are very exciting for you both, are they not?
They certainly are,
and I'm going to use the inheritance to start my own publishing company.
And you, Monsieur Poirot, shall be my first subscriber.
Thank you, Mademoiselle!
You know, the companies they have a chairman,
but in this instance, why not a chairwoman?
You already have the chair, I see.
Not too much longer.
Plaster comes off a week today.
And what of Robert?
I think I can persuade him to finish his degree.
That is good.
Alors, au revoir, mesdemoiselles.
Et bonne chance!
Thank you, Monsieur Poirot!
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