I don't know about this, Poirot.
But I assure you, Chief Inspector, it is of the quality most fine.
- Well, I'm sure, but... - Yes, sir?
Have you got a nice bit of scrag end?
Scrag end, sir?
Non, non, non. Chief Inspector...
the scrag end, it is an animal native to Isleworth.
It does not, I think, habitate elsewhere.
Non, non, non. Might I suggest un morceau de filet mignon,
cooked a point, avec la sauce Béarnaise?
All right, then.
Thank you, sir.
And the good Madame Japp, she is away for how long?
Another week. Should have been my holiday too, you know, Poirot.
So, the - how do you call it? - the leaving, it has been cancelled?
All leave cancelled, yes. It's these men from Jarrow.
We've got 200 heading for London, and the government's reading the riot act.
But even so, Chief Inspector,
it gives you the chance to enjoy the life of the single man, n'est ce pas?.
- I'm not sure about "enjoy". - Sir?
That will be six shillings.
I beg your pardon?
Six shillings for a piece of meat? That's three days' housekeeping, Poirot.
Jarrow marchers. Spare some money, sir?
Hold on a minute, Poirot.
Spare sixpence, sir, for the Jarrow marchers?
Not any more, I can't.
Spare some change for the marchers, sir?
- Ah, you are reading of Sir Arthur Stanley. - Yes.
He is the champion, is he not, of the men marching down to London?
That's right. I met him once.
About ten years ago.
You are an admirer of his?
I wouldn't say that.
Well, I'd best be getting back, Poirot.
I've got the dusting to do.
Ah, but, Chief Inspector...
Now is the time to consider your dessert.
That's all right, Poirot. I think I'll forget about the dessert.
- American? - That's right. Sally Finch.
- On holiday? - No, I'm studying.
English literature. I've just had a week's vacation in Amsterdam.
It is me. Leonard Bateson.
Thank you.
I should have warned you, Sally. They don't like young people,
students or foreigners.
- Are you two travelling together? - Yes.
Well, let's have a look inside there.
68 per cent, Nigel. That's the number of jobless in Jarrow.
Where is Jarrow?
Oh! But that's just the point.
That's why they're marching here.
Ah! Welcome back, the weary travellers.
How was Amsterdam, Sally?
Oh, it was wonderful.
It was just the journey back. It was hell!
You know, they nearly arrested me for smuggling.
- Smuggling what? - A hundred cigarettes.
Maybe that's why the police are coming here, then.
The police?
- They're not coming here, are they? - Guilty conscience, Celia?
What do they want?
I don't know. Ma Hubbard told me just now.
They're investigating something.
Maybe it's something to do with all these thefts. It's about time.
They wouldn't call the police for that... would they?
I don't know.
Anyway, I have to make a call. I'll see you.
You seem to have rattled our American friend, Patricia.
Maybe she's the one with a guilty conscience.
They're sending a constable this evening.
It's about some poor man shot in Soho.
The police think he was a foreigner. Maybe a student.
And that's why they're checking here?
Yes. They're visiting all the student hostels.
As if we don't have problems enough!
It's still happening, then?
Yes...
I mean, a stethoscope, cigarette lighter, bracelet, box of boracic powder...
The list goes on and on.
You know, I could have a word with Mr Poirot.
Oh... no. Don't be silly, Felicity, dear.
No, it's our problem. We'll deal with it.
Ah, there you are.
Good afternoon, Mrs Nicoletis. I don't believe you've met my sister...
Sister? No. It's you I must speak with, Mrs Hubbard. These bills!
I was just about to leave.
Please, Mrs Nicoletis. Can't this wait?
Oh, all right. You can stay.
We can talk tomorrow, or the day after. But soon,
before I ruined!
That was Mrs Nicoletis.
She owns the hostel.
Nicoletis. That's a Greek name, isn't it?
Yes.
I suppose that explains it.
Quick! Quick!
Give it to me.
I go - now.
Ah, good evening, Officer. Go in.
Go in.
Ah, good evening, Officer. Do come through.
The students are waiting for you, if you'd care to come this way.
These are good.
The best yet.
Christina, what's the matter?
I frightened, Giorgios. I have enough.
You're afraid? What, of the police?
No. Not the police!
I losing control.
Non, non, non, non, non.
Non, c'est impossible.
Miss Lemon!
Miss Lemon...
there are three mistakes in this letter.
Oh, Mr Poirot!
It has never happened before, not once.
And now the three errors of typing on the one page?
Mr Poirot, I don't know what to say.
You are perhaps unwell?
No.
Yes.
I suppose, in a way, I am.
I've been very worried, Mr Poirot.
It's my sister Florence.
One moment, if you please, Miss Lemon.
You have a sister?
Yes.
She lived in Singapore, but then her husband died,
and now she's the housekeeper at a hostel,
a student hostel in Hickory Road.
And it is this sister of yours who has a problem?
Yes.
Things have been disappearing.
Odd things, and in a most unusual way.
She's worried, Mr Poirot,
and I suppose... that's what's worrying me.
I see.
How would it be, Miss Lemon,
if you and I were to have tea with your sister this afternoon?
Could you, Mr Poirot?
Would you?
Stethoscope, cigarette lighter, box of boracic powder,
electric light bulbs,
evening shoe...
- Only the one shoe? - Yes.
Please to continue, Madame Hubbard.
Silk scarf, rucksack.
We found that cut up, in the boiler room outside in the back yard.
And one of the girls, Patricia, lost a diamond ring...
although we got that back, too.
And how did you get that back, madame?
Well, it was the most extraordinary thing. It turned up in the soup.
Doesn't make any sense at all, does it, Mr Poirot?
No, it is indeed most unusual, Miss Lemon.
Merci.
I must congratulate you, Madame Hubbard.
I'm sorry?
I must congratulate you on having a problem so unique and beautiful.
Oh...
Madame Hubbard, are you able to describe for me this shoe?
- Oh, certainly. It was most distinctive. - Distinctive?
But what are you going to do about it, Mr Poirot?
To begin, I must make the acquaintance of the students at 26 Hickory Road,
but in a manner that will not, how you say, wake up the suspicion?
Mrs Hubbard, who is this man, Hercule Poo-air-it?
Mr Poirot, Mrs Nicoletis.
He's a famous private detective.
A private detective? Here, in my hostel?
Well, the students will be very interested.
You don't have any objection, do you?
No. Why should I object to Mr Poo-airo?
You'll be able to come, won't you, Patricia?
Oh, yes. I'll be here.
No, no, no, no. You don't understand, Celia.
Look, I could murder someone if I wanted to,
but only if there was no motive.
How can I understand when you don't explain it to me, Colin?
But I have explained it.
Have you heard about this great detective coming to see us?
Yes, Val. I saw Ma Hubbard just now.
Certainly got Colin going... I'm afraid.
Look, murderers get caught because they have a motive.
Take away the motive, and they are invisible.
That's a horrible thought.
Is there any milk left, or has that been stolen, as well?
I finished it.
If you ask me, that's what we need here - a detective.
- Oh, come on, Patricia. - No, I hate it here.
Always wondering what'll vanish next.
Maybe this Mr Poirot will be able to sort it out.
- Miss Lemon. - Thank you.
Merci.
I'm Celia Austin, Mr Poirot. I'm on a part-time course in Chemistry.
Colin McNabb. Psychology.
I'm Patricia Lane. I'm studying Politics.
I'm Sally Finch. I'm here on a Fulbright Scholarship,
studying English Lit.
Valerie Hobhouse. Studying Fashion, and creating it.
Leonard Bateson. Soon to be Dr Leonard Bateson.
Studying Medicine.
I'm Nigel Chapman, studying Mediaeval History and Archaeology.
Well, if that's the introductions over,
let's have the soup, Ma. I'm starving.
Are you going to talk to us about crime, Mr Poirot?
After the supper, oui.
That is indeed my intention.
You know, Colin thinks he'd make a good detective.
- Or a good criminal. - Well, why not?
If you understood the psychology of a crime the way I do,
then you could disguise it, and that way, you would never be caught.
What a frightening thought!
Yes, indeed. But it is wrong.
Why?
Because the little grey cells, they see everything.
It is the clues, always the little mistakes that the criminal ignores,
that opens the door to the psychology, and so to the crime.
I still think Colin's right.
You enjoy your dinner, Mr Poirot. We'll have time for making speeches later.
Retsina, Mr Pierrot.
It come from my home town.
You see, always the prevention is better than the cure...
and so we try to prevent the murders before they are committed.
Thank you.
Now, has anyone got any questions?
Yes. I have one.
What I'd like to know is...
what's your real motive in coming here tonight?
- Really, Len! - Oh, come on, Ma.
You arranged this dinner at short notice,
and with Mr Poirot, of all people.
Come to investigate us, haven't you?
Hasn't been a murder here, has there?
No. It's about all the thefts, isn't it? That's why he's here.
Oui.
That is indeed why I am here, mademoiselle.
Well, I'll be.
Well, it's either Mr Poirot or the police. We have to do something.
Yes, but what can you do? Move in and spy on us?
Non, non, non, non. But I can begin with the return of something to its owner.
S'il vous plaît, Miss Lemon.
That's my shoe!
My lost shoe.
How the hell did you do that?
Have you got my lighter?
- And my stethoscope? - Where did you find it, Mr Poirot?
Ah, Mademoiselle Patricia. It was you, was it not, who had lost her diamond ring?
- Yes, but I found it again. - In my soup.
And the soup was served in the same manner as tonight?
- Yes. - Ah.
To hell with the ring. Tell us about the shoe.
Miss Lemon...
Acting on Mr Poirot's instructions...
I picked it up this afternoon at the London Transport Lost Property Office.
How did you know to look there?
A simple process of deduction, mademoiselle.
One shoe - it cannot be worn, and it is not possible to sell.
- Alors, the simplest way... - Is to leave it on a bus, or a train.
Oui, c'est ça. That was my guess, and...
of course I was right.
The shoe, it was discovered on a bus with the number 42.
Now, that bus, I believe, passes close by?
That bus goes to the hospital.
Ah, well, that narrows the field a bit.
I'm studying Medicine. I take that bus every day.
Come on, Len. You're not the only one.
I go on that bus, too. I have an afternoon job in the pharmacy.
Any one of us could have got on that bus. It proves nothing.
I am of your opinion, Monsieur Chapman.
Any one of you could be the thief.
So, what do you advise us to do?
There is something here at Hickory Road that I do not like...
that causes me to fear.
The rucksack that is cut to pieces - that is not nice.
You ask my advice? It is this.
Go to the police. Go now, madame.
No time can be lost.
No more diamonds.
Not for a long time.
This man, Poirot...
He's dangerous!
He's nothing to do with us. We can go on as usual.
No, Giorgios! This is my business. I make the rules.
Then who's working for you? Who are you afraid of?
No. Is better you not know.
Better for you.
Mr Poirot, Celia Austin and Colin McNabb
are here to see you, from Hickory Road.
Please do show them in, Miss Lemon.
Mr Poirot, I had to see you, after what you said last night.
Mademoiselle Celia, Monsieur McNabb.
Asseyez-vous, s'il vous plaît.
Mr Poirot... I'm the thief.
I took those things.
No, you're not a thief, Celia. It's not the right word.
I feel terrible.
Look, she couldn't help it. It's a medical condition.
It's not a case for the police.
So, you believe that you suffer from the medical condition kleptomania?
Yes... yes. I never meant to take anything, but I couldn't help it.
Celia's going to return everything.
I can't return the bracelet or the cigarette lighter.
I put them down a gutter.
But I'll buy new ones.
And what about the stethoscope, mademoiselle? Where did you put that?
I didn't take the stethoscope. I'd never take anything as expensive as that.
But you stole the diamond ring belonging to Patricia Lane, did you not?
Yes. But it was a mistake.
When I realised it was valuable, I returned it.
Celia told me everything after you went last night.
I think she's being very brave.
Mademoiselle...
for which of these thefts were you not responsible?
Tell me the truth.
Not Len's rucksack. I didn't take that, and I didn't cut it up.
Not the light bulbs, and not the boracic powder...
Come on.
I hope you're satisfied, Mr Poirot.
I'm writing to Mrs Hubbard to apologise, and I'm going to tell everyone.
Listen. Don't worry. From now on, I'm going to look after you.
Mademoiselle, what you have done...
it is good.
No more talk of the police, then?
As far as you are concerned, mademoiselle... non.
Thank you, Mr Poirot. Just talking to you,
I feel better already.
Mademoiselle, Monsieur McNabb, au revoir.
Come on, Celia.
You know, Mr Poirot, I think we've just been watching a modern love scene!
Eh bien, Miss Lemon. Nowadays it is the maladjusted lives and the complexes...
that bring together the young people.
Well, Florence will be glad it's all over.
All over, Miss Lemon?
Non.
It is now that I fear that it may begin.
So, you went to see the great Monsieur Poirot.
Yes. He was very kind to me.
You've all been kind. I don't deserve it.
Oh, come on, Cee. Colin's explained.
It wasn't your fault, and you didn't do any real harm.
Oh, what about my rucksack? That wasn't cheap, you know.
That wasn't me, Len. And I didn't take your stethoscope, either. I told you.
Then who was it?
It's not up to me to tell you.
But I know who it was, and I've spoken to them,
and they've promised to come forward.
- Here you are, Celia. - Thank you.
- Anyone else for coffee? - No, thanks, Colin.
I've got some work to do.
Where is everyone tonight?
Hello, Pat. Where are you sneaking in from?
I wasn't sneaking. I was at the cinema.
This is the National programme of the BBC. Here is the news.
The Jarrow marchers arrived last night in Bedford.
They received a warm welcome from the Mayor,
on behalf of his town,
and in a special church service
prayers were said for their cause.
The marchers are expected in London
in three days'time for a rally in Hyde Park.
They will also present a petition,
with 12,000 signatures, to the Prime Minister.
Japp here.
We'd like your assistance at Hickory Road, sir.
Right. I'm on my way.
- What, you here, Poirot? - Ah, yes, Chief Inspector.
I came as soon as I heard.
Have you been unwell, Chief Inspector?
What?
No, I'm all right, thank you very much.
Let's go in.
Who called the police without consulting me?
The police, here in my respectable hostel! Is outrage!
Please, Mrs Nicoletis...
I'm afraid this is a police matter, Mrs Nicoletis.
"Porrot"t! You! It is your fault!
You come here to my hostel,
you frighten my students with your accusations,
and now see the result!
Come on, now, Mrs Nicoletis. Let me take you upstairs.
No, I not go.
Now, come along, my dear.
Why did that detective come here in my hostel?
This paper - it is of a type used for the sleeping draught, is it not?
And yet...
- Morphine? - Indeed so.
So, Celia Austin was a kleptomaniac. She admits it to you, and now this.
Yes.
Could it have been suicide?
The sleeping draught exchanged for the poison? No letter of regret?
Non, I think not, Chief Inspector.
But who would want to kill her? And why?
Poirot?
See here, Chief Inspector. There is a fire escape.
It connects also, I see, with the room next door.
And who has that?
It belongs, I think, to the American girl, Mademoiselle Sally Finch.
Mademoiselle Celia had, as they say, a room with a view.
I do not believe that Mademoiselle Celia Austin was a kleptomaniac.
What was she, then?
I give it to you as my opinion that her pilfering...
of the petty objects was done with a purpose.
What purpose?
Well, let us suppose that Mademoiselle Celia had feelings,
the strong feelings for a man whose passion was for the psychology,
but that this man ignored her.
Ah, you're talking about, what was his name? Colin McNabb.
Oui.
Well, let's go and see what he has to say.
So, you're telling me that Celia did what she did just to attract me?
She just wasn't bright enough to think up an idea like that.
But you yourself were attracted to her, were you not, monsieur Colin?
She was a fascinating case. Was it suicide?
No, Mr McNabb. It would seem that she's been poisoned.
- Poisoned? - With morphine.
Morphine?
That's not possible.
Why not?
I mean... nobody would want to kill her. Not Celia.
Do you speak, then, of a murder without a motive?
Well... I don't know.
Monsieur Colin...
you were with Mademoiselle Celia on the evening of her death?
Yes.
Did she say anything then which you might
now recall in view of what has occurred?
Well, there was one thing.
It has to do with the... the thefts.
She said she knew who had taken Len's rucksack.
I don't suppose she gave you a name?
No. She said she'd spoken to someone, but...
Oh, come on, for heaven's sake!
Colin... My God, so it's true! I only just heard.
- Who are you? - Nigel Chapman. I live here.
- You're a student? - Yes.
How did it happen?
They're saying she was poisoned, Nigel, with morphine.
Poisoned?
I don't think it's worked out quite as you expected, has it, Mr P?
Do you have any idea who'd want to kill Miss Austin?
No. Are you sure it wasn't suicide?
Monsieur Nigel, who was here at the hostel last night?
Oh, we all were, I think. Except Patricia. She must have come in late.
They think someone got into her room and put it in a sleeping draught.
In her room?
Last night?
There is something you wish to tell us, monsieur Nigel?
Well, yes.
Look, I don't want to be a snitch.
This is a murder investigation, Mr Chapman.
Yes.
Well, my roommate, Len Bateson, I saw him go into Cee's room.
At what time?
It was about an hour after dinner. I was just having a bath.
But look, Len would never hurt anyone.
I'm sure there's a perfectly simple explanation.
I may be wrong, Poirot,
but it seemed to me the mention of morphine meant something to those two.
Chief Inspector, the morphine, from where do you think it had come?
- You tell me. - Miss Lemon?
This girl Celia Austin...
didn't she say she worked in the pharmacy at the hospital?
Exactement.
You're quite right.
I don't understand it. We are missing a bottle of morphine tartrate.
When might it been taken?
It's impossible to say. It's not a drug we use very often.
It could have been taken any time in the last three months,
since our last stocktaking.
But entry to the pharmacy, it is, of course, restricted?
Absolutely.
There was Celia, two other women dispensers, and myself, of course.
And the doctors?
Some doctors use the pharmacy as a short cut. But I know them.
Could Celia have taken the morphine herself?
I suppose so. But Celia was very scrupulous.
It would have been very unlike her.
How about friends? Did anyone visit her?
There was one chap who used to come and see her, as a matter of fact.
But he was no outsider. He was a medical student, working here.
And what was his name, sir?
Bateson. Leonard Bateson.
Monsieur Leonard,
you and Mademoiselle Celia were on the terms amicable?
We were friends, yes.
And sometimes you visited her in the pharmacy?
What, and stole the poison while I was there?
Come on Mr. Poirot. What do you take me for?
What were you doing in her room last night?
Who said I was?
You'd be well advised to answer my questions civilly, Mr Bateson.
You can't intimidate me, Chief Inspector.
Yes, I did go into her room. I was looking for my stethoscope.
But Celia didn't take the stethoscope.
Yeah, that's what she said,
but it cost me a packet, and I wanted to be sure.
- You searched her room? - I had a quick look round.
- It wasn't there. - Monsieur Leonard,
you have not yet asked what poison was stolen.
- You tell me. - Morphine tartrate.
Well, it wasn't me.
Oh, to hell with you! I didn't take anything.
Oh, here he is now!
Stand back, please, and give us a chance.
«Have you examined Sir Arthur yet,Dr?» - Not yet.
«How long will he be staying here, Dr?» - I've no idea.
Will he be well enough to meet the Jarrow marchers?
Really, Mr Poirot! These young people - they've no respect for anyone.
It is a symptom of the modern age, Miss Lemon.
My God!
Ah, the girl. It is Mademoiselle Patricia Lane.
No, not her. The man she's speaking to.
I know him.
- Mr Poirot! - Mademoiselle.
Miss Lane, that man you were just speaking to...
He's a friend of Sir Arthur Stanley's.
You must have heard - he's been admitted here.
You know Sir Arthur?
No, but I'm studying Politics.
Sir Arthur Stanley has always been... something of a hero of mine.
He's changed British politics.
Why do you ask?
No reason.
Mademoiselle, you have heard of the death of Celia Austin?
Yes. I've just come from Hickory Road.
Mrs Hubbard told me.
It's ghastly.
Tell me, mademoiselle. You were not present at the hostel last night?
No, I'd been out. I came back late.
So, you didn't see anything that might help us?
Well, there was one thing.
I don't know what it means, but as I got back,
I noticed somebody coming out of the window onto the fire escape.
The fire escape?
- I don't want to get anyone into trouble. - Miss Lane!
I know.
It was Sally.
Sally Finch.
I've often thought there was something strange about her.
And it was her. I'm sure.
Do you know where we could find her?
You were seen, Miss Finch.
Well, I don't know who told you that, but it's complete nonsense.
I was in my room all night.
But your room does open onto the fire escape.
What of it? I didn't go anywhere.
Mademoiselle...
Mademoiselle Sally, you are on the terms amicable with the other students?
Some of them. I've just had a vacation with Len Bateson.
A week in Amsterdam.
This was before the rucksack was stolen?
It was taken the same day we got back.
- That was the day the police came. - The police?
Sure. There'd been a murder in Soho, and they were checking the hostels.
That would have been routine.
All the same, it is strange, is it not,
that the rucksack was taken on the same day of this visit?
And the light bulbs. They went at the same time, too.
Mademoiselle Sally, you are here, I understand, on a Fulbright Scholarship?
That's right.
And...
you are studying, I see...
John Keats?
Yes. He's my speciality.
Let me see.
"And like a dying lady, lean and pale...
Who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil"...
You know your Keats!
It is interesting, that Mademoiselle Sally.
- She lied about the fire escape. - And there is more.
She professes to be the expert on John Keats,
and yet the lines that I quoted to her...
They were from Shelley!
Poor Celia. She wasn't that bright or anything, but I liked her.
You were close?
We were friends. But we're all friends at Hickory Road.
Tell me, Mademoiselle Valerie. What is it you do in the fashion house?
At Sabrina Fair? I'm working with them for a year...
as part of my course, Fashion and Design.
Ah, well, then you assist in, how do you say,
the displays of fashion?
Yes, and they take me abroad, to Paris, Milan.
I'm having a wonderful time!
I'm sure!
And well, this particular dress - it is of your own design?
Yes.
Ah, Miss Lemon, regarde!
How beautiful!
Did you make it yourself?
Yes.
What unusual stitch work!
One final question, if I may, mademoiselle.
What's that?
Would it be of significance if I were to tell you...
that the cause of death of Mademoiselle Celia Austin
was poisoning by morphine?
No.
Not at all.
Au revoir.
Right. Well, I'd best be getting home.
Non, non, non, non! Chief Inspector...
Tell me the good Madame Japp, she has still not returned?
- No. - I thought as much.
I also.
Eh bien. I have la bonne idée.
How would it be, Chief Inspector,
if you and I would have dinner together this evening?
Well, I have to say, Poirot, I could do with a good, square meal.
Mind you, it's a bit of a step back, all the way to Isleworth, Mr Poirot.
I have the idea. Alors,
the simplest way is to have the Chief Inspector stay with me...
until the good Madame Japp, she returns.
What? Stay with you?
- Yes. - I can make up the spare bed.
Well, that's very decent of you, Poirot.
You accept?
Yes. With pleasure.
- You are settled in Chief Inspector? - Yes, thank you, Poirot.
I put him in the back room, Mr Poirot.
Something smells good.
Merci. It is mon assiette aux saveurs.
It was a speciality of my mother when I myself was a student.
S'il vous plaît, Miss Lemon.
That's very kind of you, Mr Poirot.
Chief Inspector.
What's that thing in the bathroom, Poirot?
- Comment? - Like a foot bath.
- Er... the bidet. - Oh, bidet?
It's got a sort of fountain thing in the middle. What's that for?
Er... it is of no significance.
Nearly got a squirt in the eye when I turned it on.
It is best not to tamper with it, Chief Inspector. It is broken.
I will get the food.
I'm looking forward to this, Miss Lemon.
You look like a man in need of his dinner, Chief Inspector.
That thing in the bathroom, though...
It is best not to bother Miss Lemon...
with the deficiencies of our plumbing, Chief Inspector.
Et maintenant, mon assiette aux saveurs.
Voila!
- Oh, you didn't tell them? - Of course not!
- Nor me. - You know I didn't. You were there.
I don't think we can keep quiet about it.
Why not?
We can't! We're going to have to tell Mr Poirot.
Ah... you here?
Yes, I also.
I have one small drink. Is for my heart.
- Good night, Mrs Nicoletis. - I know.
I know what happen. Is wrong!
That's right.
I go to the police.
I tell the truth, before...
No more death!
- What's she on about? - She's loaded, as usual.
Colin!
All right. I had the morphine. But you all saw what I did.
Then you've nothing to worry about, have you?
Well, I'm not going to tell them.
Well, if you don't... maybe one of us should.
I hate to say it, Colin, but I think Nigel's right. We have to tell Poirot.
Why, for heaven's sake?
Well, in case it happens again.
Oh. Is you.
Come in.
Everything is going wrong! Why are you doing these things?
Is not part of the plan! Why you do these things?
That girl Celia - you finish. I will tell!
Stabbed through the heart.
With a precision that is medical, you might say, Chief Inspector.
Now, there's a thought!
Leonard Bateson's training to be a doctor, isn't he?
Yes, indeed.
What's going on, Poirot?
First Celia Austin pilfers a whole lot of useless things...
It wasn't Celia who stole the light bulbs or the rucksack.
No, but someone kills her.
And now Mrs Nicoletis, who owns the hostel
and has got nothing to do with anything.
There is something here at Hickory Road,
something behind these two deaths that we do not see.
It's the middle of the night. The hostel's locked from the inside.
Mrs Nicoletis opens her door to whoever knocks.
Then you believe it was one of the students?
It had to be.
Yes... but which one?
- You've heard? - Yes, of course. Do the others know?
No. Most of them had left before she was found.
Look, I can't do this any more. I've had enough.
Sally, we can't stop now. Not now, of all times.
Someone's going to find out...
Don't worry. Nobody knows.
What about this detective? Poirot.
Don't worry about Poirot. I'll deal with him.
You'd better.
I promise.
I will.
I never thought that it would come to this.
First Celia, and then...
Oh, it's like a world gone mad, Mr Poirot!
Come on, Florence. Mr Poirot will sort it out. You'll see.
What can you tell us about your employer, Mrs Hubbard?
Not a great deal. She was a very solitary person. I rather think...
Well, I know it's a wicked thing to say,
but I think she may have been a secret drinker.
After all the bottles we found in her room, there's no secret about it.
And you told to me, I think, that she had other interests.
Yes, one or two student clubs, and a shop just across the road.
Which shop is that?
It sells luggage. A lot of our students buy rucksacks there.
Rucksacks? Oh, yes, of course.
The rucksack belonging to Monsieur Leonard Bateson.
- The one that was cut up. - Yes.
On the day that the police came to Hickory Road.
Sir...
Excuse me.
Two of the students have come back. They'd like to see you.
I feel like a rat, coming to you.
We all agreed.
S'il vous plaît, Monsieur Leonard.
Proceed, Monsieur Nigel.
Well, it's like this.
About six weeks ago, we were talking about crime and murder.
- Who were? - I'm sorry. We all were.
Len, Pat, Celia, me. The whole hostel.
Colin had come up with this theory about how anyone could get away with murder.
And now this has happened.
Yes. He spoke also of this to me. At the dinner. You remember?
Yes. Well, we were ragging him about it.
And then somebody asked him how he would kill someone.
Colin said poison.
- Poison? - Yes.
I said it would be impossible to get hold of a lethal poison,
but Colin disagreed.
And then we made the bet.
What bet?
Colin said he could produce enough poison...
to kill someone, and he could do it in a week.
You mean he stole some poison?
It was morphine tartrate. He produced it a week later.
None of us believed him. It was just white powder.
I had a look at it. It was what he said it was.
And this poison, what happened to it after the bet, it was won?
Colin kept it for a few days,
but we were so nervous, he flushed it down the toilet.
- Did you actually see him do this? - Yes.
He did it in front of us.
Now, let me get this straight.
Colin McNabb stole a phial of morphine tartrate just to prove a point?
Yes.
I'm sure it's not as bad as it seems.
Personally, I don't see how it could be worse.
I was just proving a point - that's all.
Tell me, monsieur Colin. The poison - from where did it come?
Isn't it obvious? From the pharmacy. At the hospital.
- Celia Austin gave it to you? - No. I took it myself.
It was easy.
I'd been to the hospital, and I'd seen how busy it was,
and I knew I just had to wait for the right moment.
All it took was a white coat and a stethoscope.
That's human psychology for you.
To anyone who looked, I was just another doctor passing through.
And the stethoscope - from where had that come?
I pinched it, if you must know. It was Len Bateson's.
Ah. So, that also was not the work of Mademoiselle Celia Austin.
- No, as she told you. - What happened to the stethoscope?
I left it in the hospital. I will get him a new one eventually.
What's all the fuss about? I didn't do anything wrong.
It was theft, at the very least.
I mean, I threw the poison out. Ask Nigel, or Len.
They were both there.
But you kept it, did you not, for at least one week?
Yes.
And everyone in the hostel knew that it was in your possession?
Yes, but...
Oh, wait a minute.
You think somebody took it and swapped it with something else?
Oui. With a boracic powder, which was harmless.
That was one of the items that was also stolen.
Then I threw away boracic powder?
Who had access to your room?
Anyone. I don't keep it locked.
Look, I was just proving a point, Chief Inspector.
I didn't mean any harm.
You return now to Hickory Road, Chief Inspector?
I'll search that hostel from top to bottom.
I should have done it from the start.
What is it you expect to find, Chief Inspector?
The remains of the poison.
It only took a small amount to kill Celia Austin.
I'll wager the killer's hung on to the rest.
That interview with Monsieur Colin McNabb,
it explains at last why the boracic powder...
and the stethoscope, they were both stolen.
Yes?
And all that remains is the rucksack belonging to Monsieur Leonard Betson.
And that's more important than the poison that killed Celia Austin?
Non, but I believe it was the reason why she was killed.
Hickory Road.
Taxi!
Hickory Road.
If you please, to wait for me.
- Good morning, sir. - Bonjour.
If you please, I would like to purchase a rucksack.
- A rucksack, sir? - Oui.
- Would it be for yourself? - Oh, non, non, non, non, non!
It is for my nephew.
This is the de luxe model. The Imperial, sir.
- It's very sturdy, but light. - C'est vrai.
And this model of rucksack, it is your most popular?
No, sir.
Our most popular model would have to be this one.
It's good and stout, and it'll stand a lot of wear,
and it's half the price of the Imperial.
Eh bien. This is the one I will choose.
I'll just get my assistant to wrap it for you.
Mr Casterman!
You can't do this!
If you'd told me about that stolen poison earlier,
Miss Hobhouse, I wouldn't have had to.
I do have rights, Chief Inspector.
So did Celia Austin, and Mrs Nicoletis, for that matter.
Perhaps you should think of them.
Val! What's going on?
It's the police. They're searching the whole place.
They can't!
They've just finished in my room. Now they're in yours.
Chief Inspector!
Ah, Mr McNabb. Just the man I wanted to see.
What? Why?
That poison of yours, the morphine tartrate. You said you threw it away.
I did.
Then how do you explain this?
What is it?
I think you know what it is, Mr McNabb.
No! No!
Whitehaven Mansions, if you please.
Bonjour, Chief Inspector.
How did you sleep?
I didn't.
But with Monsieur McNabb arrested for the crimes,
you should have slept to perfection.
Actually, Poirot, it's the central heating.
But it was on to the full extent, mon ami.
Exactly.
You have seen the headlines?
Ah, the Jarrow marchers, yeah.
It says that Sir Arthur Stanley is too ill to meet with them.
You told to me once that you met Sir Arthur Stanley.
Yes.
It was on a matter for the police?
Yes.
Sir Arthur Stanley may be the people's hero, the champion of the jobless...
but ten years ago he murdered his wife.
Comment?
Yes. And it was rather similar to this Celia Austin business.
I'll tell you how it happened.
Sir Arthur Stanley was already famous. He'd just become an MP.
Anyway, his wife was found dead from an overdose of her sleeping powder,
and although I was only an Inspector then, I was called in to investigate.
They had a big place over in Richmond,
and the two of them had lived there with their son and a couple of maids.
It could have been an accident. That's what everyone thought.
But there was something about Sir Arthur that...
I don't know... got my wind up.
Who was in the house with your wife last night Sir Arthur?
Oh, look, I've already answered all these questions!
Please, sir.
Just myself, the maid, my son.
I will have to speak to them, sir.
Well, the maid's here, but I've sent my son away.
He's only 16, for heaven's sake! He's upset.
We're all upset.
And who actually gave your wife her sleeping powder, Sir Arthur?
No-one gave it her. She took it herself.
She measured the dose?
No, I did.
But it was the correct dose. I'm sure of it.
Then how do you explain what happened, sir?
Well, it's simple. She er...
She took the first dose, but she took it too early.
Then she forgot she'd taken it, and she took another one.
So...
it was an accident.
I'd never heard such a feeble story in all my life.
He was hiding something - that was for sure.
But I wasn't going to be given the chance to find out what.
Just what do you think you're doing, Japp?
This is Sir Arthur Stanley we're talking about.
You don't investigate a man like that unless you've got a damn good reason,
and as far as I can see, you haven't got any reason at all!
Sir Arthur Stanley had some pretty powerful friends...
high up in the Labour Party, and in the police.
I was pulled off the case.
It was an accident, and that was to be the end of it.
But I knew I was right, so I went back to the house one last time.
I still don't know what I expected to find, but I'll tell you this, Poirot:
I struck gold.
He was talking with his solicitor, a man called Endicott.
«I had to do it.
I had no choice.
Yes, Sir Arthur.
But can you live with it?
God help me, I don't know.
I don't know!
Endicott...
promise me... you'll never tell.»
I saw it with my own eyes. The two of them in it, together.
It was monsieur Endicott that you saw at the hospital yesterday?
Yes. That's one face I'll never forget.
What do you think was in the letter that passed between them?
I don't know. Some means of protecting himself, maybe.
But sure as eggs is eggs, Sir Arthur killed his wife.
But what would have been the motive for Sir Arthur to have committed this murder?
Money. Lady Stanley was a rich woman in her own right, and he got everything.
Endicott knew that, of course.
And what did you do?
There was nothing I could do. I wasn't meant to be there.
I couldn't prove what I'd seen and heard. I was off the case.
You realise I could get the push for this?
Len, it's important to me.
Oh, yes, I know. You and Sir Arthur Stanley.
Anyone would think you were related.
I've read everything he's ever written. His whole life's work.
I have to meet him - just once.
I can give you five minutes, Pat. That's all.
Thanks, Len.
- He's going to die, isn't he? - He's very sick.
- Who are you? - Please, sir, don't be afraid.
I suppose I'm an admirer of yours, Sir Arthur.
I just wanted to see how you were.
You've done so much for this country.
With the Labour Movement.
Your stand against Mussolini.
Your support of the Jarrow marchers.
Baldwin won't see them, you know.
Won't see them. Too scared.
They don't need Baldwin!
They need you. You're their voice.
No. Not now.
You'll get better, sir. You're needed.
I was.
Yes.
Great days.
Behind me now.
All...
just...
Mr Poirot?
Mr Poirot!
Pardon, Miss Lemon. Good afternoon.
Are you all right, Mr Poirot?
Yes, thank you, Miss Lemon.
I am just discovering... that to cut up a rucksack...
requires much of the strength.
Voila.
What is it?
The stitch work, Miss Lemon.
You've cut right through it.
And between the base and the inner lining,
what is it that you see?
I don't see anything at all.
Aha. Précisément.
That is exactly the point. Merci.
I thought I might make dinner for you
and the Chief Inspector this evening, Mr Poirot.
Merci beaucoup.
The Chief Inspector has an appetite that is most healthy, n'est-ce pas?
That's what I thought, Mr Poirot.
- Merci. - Half-past seven, as usual?
I shall return within the hour.
- Mr Poirot? - Oui.
Get in.
- Comment? - Just get in.
What are you doing? What are you doing?
What is this? What?
Come in, Mr Poirot.
Hi, Mr Poirot.
Sit down.
My name is John Casterman.
Sorry for the way you were brought here.
By assaulting me in the open street?
You were about to ruin six months' undercover investigation...
besides putting the life of one of my agents at risk.
Mademoiselle Sally.
Yes.
There was no danger of that, monsieur.
I was aware that Mademoiselle Sally was not what she claimed to be.
How?
You should have studied more your Keats.
Keats?
Tell me, monsieur Casterman.
Your work involves investigating smuggling, n'est-ce pas?
Er... yes. Diamonds.
From Amsterdam and Paris.
We know who's buying them, but we don't know who's bringing them in,
and that's our first priority.
And for this reason you were working...
in the shop with the rucksacks in Hickory Road?
Yes. To keep an eye on the students intending to travel.
We think it's the students who are bringing them in.
Trouble is, we don't know who they are.
I would suggest that is something of which they themselves are not aware.
I don't understand.
There is something strange about the rucksacks in Hickory Road.
One: They are too cheap.
Also, I myself cut to pieces one of these rucksacks,
and I will tell you exactly what I found.
What?
There is hidden beneath the lining a compartment which is secret,
into which diamonds may be placed...
without the owner having any knowledge of the fact.
They're smuggled by people who have no idea they're doing it?
C'est ça.
Leonard Bateson had one of those same rucksacks, Mr Poirot.
It was stolen and cut up.
Oui, and I believe that it was this one event...
that led to both of the catastrophes which followed.
The deaths of Celia Austin and Mrs Nicoletis.
Oui.
Mr Poirot, there is something you should know about Mrs Nicoletis.
Ah. You suspect that she was the leader of the smuggling ring?
We don't suspect. We know.
It was her cousin, Giorgios Nicoletis, who was buying the stuff.
C'est parfait.
Madame Nicoletis, she owns the shop with the rucksacks,
and with the clubs and the hostel for the students,
she would have had access to many young people.
But why did she have to die?
Parce que, évidemment, she knew the identity of the killer of mademoiselle Celia Austin.
And to murder, it was not in her plans.
And she panicked and threatened to tell the police?
But who was it? Which one of them is the killer?
The killer? Ah.
The killer...
was the person who felt compelled to steal the light bulbs.
Typical Customs & Excise!
They always have to do everything cloak-and-dagger.
But Monsieur Colin McNabb, he is still under arrest?
Well, he stole the poison and kept it.
And he had this bee in his bonnet about the motiveless murder.
So, you believe that Monsieur Colin McNabb...
murdered Mademoiselle Celia Austin by way of the experiment?
Well, these psychologists... Most of them are barmy themselves.
Your health, Chief Inspector.
I don't suppose you've got a nice glass of beer, have you, Poirot?
Non, non, non. Besides, the syrup of the banana, it is better for the appetite.
Santé.
Cheers.
Are you hungry, Chief Inspector?
You can say that again, Miss Lemon.
I've been looking forward to a healthy meal all day.
And I've taken you at your word.
What's this?
Fillet of sole, poached in milk, with boiled vegetables.
You can't get much healthier than that.
Sole, Miss Lemon?
Lemon sole!
Who can that be at this time of night?
If you please, Miss Lemon.
Asseyez-vous, Chief Inspector.
You know, it's very kind of you to put me up like this, Poirot, but I was thinking...
Not at all, Chief Inspector. The pleasure, it is mine.
And I insist that you stay here with me,
until the good Madame Japp, she is returned.
Oh. Right.
- Mr Poirot. Chief Inspector. - Monsieur Nigel!
Forgive me for calling so late, but I had to see you.
Not at all.
Oh... Miss Lemon...
Please to sit, Monsieur Nigel.
Mr Poirot, you've arrested the wrong man.
Ah. It was not I who arrested Monsieur Colin McNabb.
What makes you say that, Mr Chapman?
It's not me. I've been talking to Pat. Patricia Lane.
And she knows who put the poison back into Colin's room.
She's saying he's been framed?
Yes, and she knows who by.
Well, who?
She wouldn't say. Says I'd never believe her.
- Why didn't she come here herself? - She's frightened.
Very frightened. She didn't want me to come, but I said...
- Miss Lemon. - What now?
I told Pat she had to tell you what she knew, if only for Colin's sake,
but she still wouldn't budge, so I came myself.
It's Patricia Lane, for you.
Maybe she's changed her mind.
- Hello, Pat. - Why are you doing this, Nigel?
I told you I'd come here, Pat.
If there's something you know, you've got to tell them what you see.
You could be in danger yourself.
The Chief Inspector's here. Why don't you talk to him, Pat?
All right.
Chief Inspector...
- Miss Lane? - Is that Chief Inspector Japp?
Yes, this is Japp.
Chief Inspector, I know who killed Celia.
You see, I saw them with the poison.
And who was that?
I was going past Colin's room, and... It's impossible, Chief Inspector.
Just tell me what you saw, Miss Lane.
Miss Lane?
Why didn't she come with me?
I told her it wasn't safe staying here if she knew something.
This is my fault. I should have persuaded her.
There's no point blaming yourself, Mr Chapman.
She wouldn't tell Nigel Chapman what she knew,
but maybe she told somebody else.
Sir!
The murder weapon.
Yes.
A paperweight in a sock.
Simple but effective.
Yes, indeed.
Regardez, Chief Inspector. Mais faites attention. There is on it some blood.
That's Sir Arthur Stanley.
With his wife and with his son.
Yes, but what's it doing here?
And there is something else.
There is trapped in the fingernail...
a hair.
A red hair.
Leonard Bateson.
Yes, I was here. No, I didn't hear anything.
- Who else was in the hostel, Mr Bateson? - I don't know.
Ma Hubbard was upstairs, I think, and Valerie was somewhere around.
Tell me, Monsieur Leonard.
When was the last time you saw Mademoiselle Patricia?
Funnily enough, it was this morning. She was at the hospital.
Do you know why?
Yes, she was trying to see Sir Arthur Stanley.
Stanley?
Were you able to assist her?
Yes. I sneaked her in for five minutes.
She'd always admired him.
She just wanted to see him. That's all.
Chief Inspector...
Without doubt it was from Sir Arthur Stanley that came the photography.
Wait a minute, Poirot. You're not saying all this
has got something to do with Stanley, right?
But it was you who said the same thing.
The death of Lady Stanley, the murder of Mademoiselle Celia Austin,
there are similarities, no?
Don't tell me, then. Is he on your list of suspects?
Sir Arthur Stanley? He can't be!
Oh, of course.
There's no way you would have heard.
Sir Arthur Stanley...
He passed away this afternoon.
So, that's what it's for.
Bonjour, Chief Inspector. Vous avez bien dormi?
- Mmm? - Oh, pardon. You have slept well?
Barely a wink, Poirot, if you want the truth,
until I cooled myself down in that contraption of yours.
The bidet?
Mind if I join you? I'm starving.
No, no, no. You hunger, I think, for the truth, Chief Inspector.
But concern yourself not. The little grey cells, they also did not sleep.
The case, it is solved.
- Is it? - Oui.
You must release at once Monsieur McNabb.
He's the only one who couldn't have killed Patricia. He was in prison.
Well, what about Nigel Chapman? He was with us.
You will forgive me, Chief Inspector, but your tie, it has on it a spot of grease.
Well, it's the only one I've got.
I could lend you one of Mr Poirot's.
- Er... Miss... - Er... no, no, I can manage.
Bon.
Haven't got any bacon and eggs, have you Poirot?
Non. At this hour of the morning? Non.
There is no time for the egg and the bacon.
It is time now to close in the net.
There is no mystery as to who was stealing...
most of the objects from number 26 Hickory Road,
or why.
Mademoiselle Celia Austin confessed to me in the presence of Monsieur Colin McNabb.
She pretended to be the kleptomaniac,
but in fact it was only to attract the attentions of Monsieur Colin McNabb
that she embarked on this exercise.
- I still think that's nonsense. - It's true.
Cee would never have thought up an idea like that on her own.
Non. And I believe that the idea, it was suggested to her.
Suggested to her? Who by?
By the very same person who arranged for the safe return of the diamond ring...
belonging to Mademoiselle Patricia Lane.
But the ring turned up in Val's soup. Anyone could have put it there.
Non, non, non, non, non.
For I will tell you what I observed when I came here to the dinner.
Madame Hubbard prepared and brought to the table the soup,
and I saw then that for the ring to be found in the soup of Mademoiselle Valerie,
only two people could possibly have placed it there.
Madame Hubbard, or Mademoiselle Valerie herself.
And if it was me?
Then you must have received the diamond ring from Mademoiselle Celia.
- You're right. - What?
Oh, Colin! Celia was mooning after you like a little ghost,
but you never even looked at her.
So, I said to her,
"Become a case, something he can study.
Then maybe you'll have more luck".
It certainly worked.
Oui. But was it not the idea to steal items only of the little worth?
Yes. But then she went and pinched that ring from Pat's room.
I could see at once how much it was worth, and...
thought the police might be called in.
Ah. And so Mademoiselle Celia gave you the ring...
to return to Mademoiselle Patricia Lane?
That's right.
That business about the soup was my idea.
This is all very well, Mr Poirot, but will it tell us who killed Cee?
And Mrs Nic and Pat.
Have patience, Monsieur Chapman, je vous en prie.
When she came to visit me,
Mademoiselle Celia claimed responsibility...
for only some of the thefts from 26 Hickory Road.
S'il vous plaît, Miss Lemon.
She admitted taking the shoe, the bracelet...
the silk scarf...
the cigarette lighter, the cookery book,
and the ring.
And we can also eliminate the stethoscope,
which was removed by Monsieur Colin.
What?
Len, I can explain. I was going to pay you back.
He used it most ingeniously, when he took from the pharmacy also the poison.
That just leaves three.
Oui. The last three.
And at this point I would like to introduce you to a Monsieur Casterman,
who for many months has been investigating this hostel.
Investigating us? But why?
I've been in charge of an investigation into a smuggling ring, ma'am,
and I had a strong belief that the late Mrs Nicoletis was a part of it.
- Mrs Nic? - Oh...
you must be making a mistake.
I don't think so.
- It's true, Ma. - Sally?
I work for Mr Casterman.
Sally!
I'm sorry.
Mademoiselle Sally was seen leaving the hostel by the fire escape,
and she used this means to report on the smuggling to Monsieur Casterman.
- What was being smuggled? - Diamonds.
The smuggling operation involved the use of a certain type of rucksack.
This rucksack had in it a compartment that was secret,
and was unknown even to the person who might be wearing it.
And it was this rucksack which set off the events...
which led to the death of Mademoiselle Celia Austin.
For on this day, a new assignment of diamonds had arrived from Amsterdam,
in a rucksack belonging to Leonard Bateson.
Perhaps the policeman is coming to Hickory road to investigate,
using the death in Soho as an excuse to make a visit.
The diamonds, they are quickly retrieved, and the rucksack disposed of.
But our smuggler had also a fear.
It is essential not to be seen.
So, instead - simplicity.
Light bulbs are removed from certain points in the hostel.
Ah, good evening, Officer.
So, our smuggler is passed by unnoticed by the policeman.
...waiting for you, if you'd care to come this way.
But for all this care, our perpetrator had been seen.
Celia Austin had a room which overlooked the boiler room,
in which the rucksack was found.
She had seen everything.
And I assume that she believed that the person she saw...
was also responsible for the other thefts.
That's right. The night she died, she told us.
She said she was sure they'd come forward.
And so, you see, mesdames et messieurs,
that Mademoiselle Celia Austin was killed because she had to be silenced.
And the easiest way to ensure that silence...
was for the killer to take advantage of the morphine...
that had been stolen from the hospital by Monsieur Colin McNabb.
It was a simple task for the killer to enter her room,
and to exchange her sleeping draught for a dose of morphine that would be fatal.
God, it's all my fault. I should never have taken it.
No, but you threw it away. We all saw it.
Non.
It was the harmless boracic powder which was thrown away.
For the morphine, that had already been taken away from Monsieur Colin McNabb...
by someone who believed they might have reason to use it one day.
But you found the poison in Colin's room.
Ah, yes, but after the death of Mademoiselle Celia Austin.
You see, the poison was returned to his room in an attempt to incriminate him.
I'm sorry, Mr Poirot, but I can't bear this any longer.
Who is the killer?
We have here two crimes -
the smuggling and the murder.
And it is with the smuggling we must begin.
When I purchased a rucksack from the shop owned by Madame Nicoletis,
I found in it a secret compartment,
which was used to conceal the diamonds.
What is it?
- The stitch work, Miss Lemon. - You've cut right through it!
The stitch work was very distinctive.
And it was the good Miss Lemon who had previously drawn it to my attention.
What unusual stitch work!
I saw at once that the stitch work on the rucksack was the work of the same hand.
Your hand...
Mademoiselle Valerie.
Your work in the fashion house...
allows you to travel abroad most frequently, n'est-ce pas?
You also displayed a knowledge of diamonds which I found most revealing.
For example, you knew at once...
the value of the diamond ring belonging to Mademoiselle Patricia Lane.
No, you've got it all wrong.
- Why don't you leave her alone? - I didn't kill anyone!
Non. Not on your own, non.
And I do not believe you have the nature to kill.
But you were not acting alone, were you madamoiselle?
- She had an accomplice? - Oh, yes, Chief Inspector.
Madame Nicoletis led the smuggling ring,
as was suspected by Monsieur Casterman,
but she had more than one young person engaged in the business.
So, who else was there?
There was a little clue left, Chief Inspector, with the third killing.
The hair trapped in the fingernail of the dead girl.
What was the colour of that hair?
It was red.
You think it was me?
I never went near her!
It is of no matter.
Mademoiselle Patricia Lane was struck from behind,
so it would not have been possible physically for her...
to even reach the hair of her attacker.
So, what are you saying?
I have said it to you once before, Monsieur Colin:
That it is the little mistakes that the criminal ignores...
that opens the door to the psychology and so to the crime, and so it is here.
The hair that was found in the hand of the dead girl...
it was an act of a killer who is too clever, too daring.
And this killer has spent most of his life...
hiding a secret he will do anything to conceal.
And this secret drives him to acts even more daring, even more dangerous.
But he cannot stop, non.
Not even at murder.
Yes, but who, Poirot? Who are you talking about?
I am talking... about the young man in this photograph, Chief Inspector.
What photograph?
The photograph that I took from the body of Mademoiselle Patricia Lane yesterday.
And the reason why she had to die.
Mademoiselle Patricia Lane was a fanatical admirer of Sir Arthur Stanley,
and it was when she visited him in the hospital...
that she found the family album from which she removed the photograph.
But why did she remove this photograph?
Because she saw to her amazement the son of Sir Arthur Stanley,
who was living at 26 Hickory Road under a name that was assumed.
What name?
Who is he?
Eh bien. Now that I have removed the blood stain from the photograph...
which obscured the identity of his son...
it is plain for all to see.
For it is you...
Monsieur Chapman.
Do you deny that your true name is Nigel Stanley?
Come on Mr. Poirot. It's not a crime to change your name, you know.
No, monsieur Stanley, that was not your crime.
You've got it all wrong. I was with you when Pat was killed.
Non. When you were with me,
Mademoiselle Patricia Lane, she was already dead.
You come to us with a story that to me is a concoction of the most obvious.
You mentioned the name Patricia three times...
to convince us that it is her with whom you speak.
- Hello, Pat? - Why are you doing this, Nigel?
I told you I'd come here, Pat.
The Chief Inspector's here. Why don't you talk to him, Pat?
- All right. - Chief Inspector.
But it is not with Mademoiselle Patricia Lane,
for la pauvre mademoiselle lies dead upon the floor in her room.
Yes, this is Japp.
Chief Inspector, I think I know who killed Celia.
But it is easy, is it not, to imitate a voice?
You see I saw them, with the poison.
So who is it at the other end of the line?
I was going past Colin's room and... It's impossible, Chief Inspector.
It is your accomplice. Mademoiselle Valerie Hobhouse.
I never wanted any part in it.
Not the killing. That was him.
Shut up, you little fool!
I'm sorry, Nigel, but I can't go on any more!
He's got nothing. Can't you see? It's all just talk. He's got nothing.
No.
I want to tell you everything, Mr Poirot.
I want to make a statement.
A mouse!
After him!
Don't let him get away!
All right, fan out, lads.
Don't let him double back!
Oi!
All right, son, you've got nowhere to go!
No!
Non!
We gather together on this sad day...
to bury a man whose tragic death...
has foreshortened a life that promised...
so much to those who believed in him.
But in their long quest for justice, I know Sir Arthur lives on.
Will you all please rise?
- Ah, Monsieur Endicott. - Mr Poirot.
You have reflected on what I've said?
Yes.
And I have no objection to your having this, Chief Inspector.
- What is it? - It is a confession, is it not?
That's right.
The confession of that man, Nigel Stanley,
to the murder of his mother Lady Stanley, by poison.
Merci, monsieur.
He killed his mother?
Don't look so shocked, Ma.
But why?
I stole money from her.
Not once. Quite a few times.
Eventually, she threatened to call the police, and when she caught me again,
well, I had to stop her.
She really was going to turn me in.
And your father knew it was you?
He made me write a confession.
That if my name ever appeared in connection with any crime,
no matter how trivial,
that confession would be delivered to the police.
And that was why it was so important to keep your identity unknown.
I think you'd better go and pay your respects.
It was very nice of you to bring me, Chief Inspector,
but I've really no respects to pay.
It is most kind of you to invite me here, Chief Inspector.
After staying with you for a whole week, Poirot,
the least I could do was offer you a spot of lunch.
Wean you away from that...
Well, let you taste some proper English cooking.
The good Madame Japp, it is today that she returns?
Yes. About three o'clock.
There! Now, this is what I call food.
That's your mashed potato,
this is your peas, mushy peas, we call them.
You'll love 'em.
And this, the piece de résistance, faggots.
Faggot?
Faggots.
And there's spotted dick for afters.
Dick?
Yes. It's called that because...
- This is tragic, Chief Inspector. - No, no, it's fine.
I can eat none of this wonderful food.
What? Why?
Because... I have an allergy of the faggot.
- An allergy? - Oui.
I do not know how you say it in English, but in Belgian it is known as...
la phobie de faggot.
I never heard of that.
I am so sorry. I should have warned you.
This is a blessed upset, I must say.
Still, you can have some spotted dick.
You haven't got a phobie de dick, have you?
Non.
Some cheese?
I'll have a look.
Just some Camembert, a little Brie, perhaps?
Bon.
Nothing like a nice bit of mousetrap.