Honestly sir, it's such a kick to meet the famous Hercule Poirot.
Uncle Arthur's told me masses about you, of course.
Have you been working on a case in Baghdad?
- Non. - It's quite interesting actually.
Poirot got a telegram from an old flame of his
saying she was in a spot of bother
and could he meet her in Baghdad.
Good looking woman. Said she was a Russian countess.
Countess Vera Rossakoff.
Really?
Thank you, Hastings, for explaining that to Monsieur Coleman.
We've had a bit of excitement at Tell Yarimjah, too.
While you've been away, Uncle Arthur.
Well, I've only been away a day.
Well, this morning we had a dead Arab at the site.
Been strangled, apparently.
- Good Lord! - I say, that's Sheila Maitland!
Her father's a superintendent in the Baghdad police.
He must be up at the dig.
He doesn't approve of Sheila coming out here alone.
What ho, Sheila.
Will you take that machine away, Coleman.
Fancy a race?
It may have escaped your notice that you're in a car and I'm on a horse.
Always good for a laugh, old Sheila.
Thank you, Hastings.
I say, Poirot, was that tactless of me, mentioning the countess?
Could you ever be tactless, Hastings?
- Any news of her yet? - Non.
It's odd though, isn't it? I mean...
...she books into the hotel
sends you this telegram,
then when you arrive, she's gone off on her trail.
- Oui. - Hello.
- Hello. Eric Leidner. - Ah!
You must be Hercule Poirot, Captain Hastings' famous friend.
It is an honour to meet an archaeologist so distinguished, Dr. Leidner.
The honour is entirely mutual.
Do be careful, that's Mr Poirot's luggage.
Good afternoon, Superintendent.
I say.
Ah, there you are, Dr. Leidner.
We've had a bit of luck...
I don't think you know Mr Poirot.
Mr. Poirot, this is Superintendent Maitland of the Baghdad Police.
- How do you do? - Superintendent.
Right.
Now look here, this fellow who got himself strangled is on our records.
Name of Izzat Baqui. Small time crook.
Dealing in stolen goods, stealing antiquities,
selling drugs, prostitution.
So I want to question all your Arab workmen.
I still favour the idea he was buying stolen antiquities from one of them.
Very well, whatever you think necessary.
I'm sorry for that.
This is where you'll be staying.
I only hope you'll be happy in our rather primitive accommodation.
Non, non, non, not at all, Dr. Leidner.
I am a man of the taste most simple.
Nasty business, this fellow being killed.
Yes. We've had one or two suspicious characters hanging around Tell Yarimjah,
since we started finding gold artefacts.
You looking for me, Annie?
Oh, Dr. Leidner, yes.
I was just showing our distinguished guest his room.
Mr. Poirot, Miss Johnson, my right hand, you might say.
Oh, Dr. Leidner...
I'm delighted to meet you, Mademoiselle Johnson.
How do you do?
Um, I wonder if you could come and cast your eye
over the beads I found this morning?
Sure.
Dinner's at eight, Mr. Poirot.
Where is the mosquito net, Hastings?
Oh, we don't bother with them here.
There's no body of water for miles
so we only get the odd mosquito passing through, as it were.
Couple of little bites won't do you any harm.
I'm extremely sensitive even to a couple of little bites, Hastings.
Of course, everyone's getting frightfully excited
about the stuff that we're finding here.
Ah Bill, I was just coming to look for you.
Father Lavigny, this is Mr. Hercule Poirot.
He's come to stay with us.
Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Poirot.
Mon Père.
I have heard much about your exploits.
According to the log, there was a cylinder seal
found by Mr. Mercado yesterday
which he gave to you to bring to the antika.
That's right, yes.
Do you know where it is?
I put it on that shelf there.
- Well, it's not there now. - Well...
Everybody on the roof, please.
Old Leidner always insists upon a group photograph
whenever we have a distinguished visitor.
If the back row could move slightly to the... to the left.
You're not quite symmetrical.
Captain Hastings, move those querns if there's not enough room.
Madame Leidner, what is a quern?
A millstone.
They seem to find more of those than almost anything else.
Where is Mr. Mercado?
Joseph doesn't like having his photograph taken.
Mr. Carey's not here.
He's still out at the dig.
Now. Relax, please.
And look towards the camera.
Quite still.
I'm afraid you'll find us a gloomy crowd tonight, Monsieur Poirot.
We're very distressed about the poor Arab who was killed.
Oui.
It is a circumstance most unfortunate, Madame Leidner.
Was he one of your workmen?
It's hard to say, we have so many casual workers.
Oh God.
It's alright, Joseph.
- What's wrong, Mr. Mercado? - It's alright.
Sorry.
I was reading in my guide book last night
why this bit of Iraq used to be called Mesopotamia.
Apparently it's Greek for "between two rivers".
I mean, you know hippopotamuses.
Well, "hippo" means river and "potamus" means horse.
River-horse, you see.
No, er... it's the other way around, isn't it?
"Hippo" means horse and "potamus" means river,
otherwise it would be "between two horses".
So, as "meso" apparently means "between",
Mesopotamia means "between two rivers".
Er, the two rivers being the Tigris and, um, that other one.
- The Euphrates. - Yes! Between two rivers.
I should have thought you would have known by now,
that dinner is at eight o'clock, Mr Carey.
I'm sorry, Mrs. Leidner.
I thought that the work was what was important here.
Not at the expense of everyone else's convenience.
We've finished our soup, I'm afraid.
It's quite alright.
I er... had to finish plotting those walls.
Yes. Yes, of course.
It's been lovely weather again today, hasn't it?
Out of the sun, of course.
Ah! The fish.
The fish from one of those very rivers of yours, eh Captain Hastings?
Isn't that a sturgeon?
They call it a hybiarria out here.
It's absolutely delicious.
Arabs do not understand fish.
That Father Lavigny is a strange cove, isn't he?
There is certainly something odd about him.
Mais, c'est curieux, hm?
He is a philosopher, an archaeologist, world renowned,
and from his books, I had the impression of a man of great enthusiasm, of eloquence,
and yet he seems not to have to rub together even the two words.
Hastings, perhaps tomorrow afternoon I shall return to Baghdad
with the post car.
Poirot, look, I've been married a few years now,
and I don't mind telling you I've learned a thing or two about the fair sex.
Countess Rossakoff isn't coming back, you know.
That is as may be, Hastings.
But it has less to do with my decision than the fact that in Baghdad,
the rooms there are lit by electricity
and the sand, it is not so prevalent as to get inside the undervest.
I do know how you've borne it for two weeks.
Well, family, you know.
I told young Bill I'd make it a decent visit.
You are a man of great courage, eh?
Good night, Hastings.
Good night Poirot. Sleep well.
No! No!
Nurse! Nurse! Nurse!
I saw the face again.
And there's someone in the room next to mine,
I heard a scratching on the wall!
It's alright, don't be afraid.
- Get Eric! - Yes.
- Get him! - Yes.
Dr. Leidner, Dr. Leidner!
What is it?
I saw the face again, at the window!
And I heard him,
I heard him scratching on the wall.
What's the matter?
Mrs Leidner saw a face at her window
and someone was moving about in the antika room.
- Right. - Nurse!
It's alright.
Just breathe deeply. That's right.
What are you doing, Father Lavigny?
I saw a light, I thought someone was in here.
I'm just checking to see nothing's been touched.
What do you think?
Well, it certainly looks like wax.
Right here, by the handle.
Mm. I noticed it when I took his photograph.
Could it be candle grease?
From 6,000 years ago? I don't think so.
Wasn't there some disturbance in here last night?
No candles, though.
Father Lavigny had a flashlight.
What was he doing in here?
He heard a noise.
How's his latest translation?
Don't be unfair to Father Lavigny, Richard.
We've only found four tablets and seals as yet
and one of those has disappeared.
I apologise, sir.
But everybody says he's a famous epigraphist,
I just look forward to seeing his first bit of work.
It occurs to me, Dr Leidner,
that your work and the work that I do have much in common.
Really?
All I've ever wanted to do is dig in the earth,
find out the secrets that time has buried there.
Exactement! The digging into the past.
The sifting of a mass of dross for the clues
and the people most important that you deal with are those who are dead.
Bet you don't have as much paperwork.
Ah!
For the world, it is drowning in paper.
People will be thinking I'm insane.
Good heavens, no.
Noises in the night, faces at the window.
No, there's something going on here.
I shouldn't be surprised if somebody weren't trying
to frighten the expedition off.
Do you really think so? You...
Who's that? What's he doing?
Captain Hastings!
You see the state I'm in?
What're you doing here?! Why aren't you...
Then move!
You know, I'm very ashamed.
None of the men on the work can understand me.
I was trying my Arabic on that man.
He's a townsman and I wanted to see if I got on any better, but no.
Dr Leidner says my Arabic is too pure.
He can go. Next one.
Name.
Poor little beggar.
About... six years old, I'd say.
Sent into the next world
with nothing but a little pot and a couple of bead necklaces.
Perhaps that is all any of us need, Mademoiselle Johnson.
I know it's hard to believe, Mr Poirot but,
I can't tell you what fun we used to have,
Dr Leidner, Richard Carey and I,
the first years we worked out here.
We were such a happy party.
But...
But what, Mademoiselle Johnson?
Oh...
To be frank, since Dr. Leidner got married...
Of course, she's a very charming woman
and I can quite understand why Dr. Leidner fell for her.
But if she's so nervous about coming to out-of-the-way places
that she needs a nurse to hold her hand,
she should've stayed in America.
And now the famous detective.
Oh, non, non, non, non, Mademoiselle Johnson, you are mistaken.
I assure you that my visit here, it is purely coincidental.
Oh.
There she is now.
I say! Isn't that splendid?
And it's almost undamaged. Look.
I find their pottery crude compared to the Egyptians.
Oh, no, Mr Mercado, unsophisticated, perhaps...
Oh God!
Sergeant! Sergeant!
Are you alright, Captain Hastings?
Yes, I'm okay.
What was all that about, Mr. Mercado?
Why do you ask me?
The man is mad, obviously.
He said he was going to avenge his brother.
What brother? I do not know any brother.
What kind of a place have I come to?
For years I've lived in fear of being murdered.
You can't mean it.
I assure you, Captain Hastings, that I do.
Murdered by whom, Madame Leidner?
When I was a girl of twenty,
I married a young man in our State Department
Frederick Bosner.
I hardly knew him, I suppose.
It was one of those foolish wartime marriages.
We'd only been married a few days and he went away.
I never saw him again.
Frederick was killed in the war
but he was killed in America.
He was shot as a spy. It was... terrible.
Terrible.
Then, about three months later,
an amazing thing happened.
"I am waiting for you.
If you ever marry another man, I will kill you."
Signed "Frederick".
But this purports to come from your husband who is dead.
Exactly.
I thought I was mad or dreaming.
Eventually I went to my father.
He worked in the State Department too.
He admitted the truth.
My husband hadn't been shot at all, he'd escaped.
The State Department had covered it all up anyway
and he was trying to protect me.
But then Frederick had been killed in a train wreck
a few weeks after his escape
and he saw no reason to burden me with the knowledge.
I shouldn't have told you this.
I just thought you were someone I could talk to,
a comparative stranger just here for a few days.
And you say now that you have received more of these letters?
Some years ago, when I got engaged to be married
a whole flurry of letters started.
I couldn't bear it.
I broke off the engagement.
It seemed that every time I became even friendly with another man
I was warned off.
And then there was silence for years.
I met Eric and we got engaged.
Nothing.
We married. Nothing.
And then three weeks ago
I got this.
"I have arrived."
But if this isn't your former husband, who is it?
I don't know.
Frederick had a much younger brother
named William.
He was an unstable child but he adored Frederick.
Perhaps he feels that any involvement I have with another man
is somehow betraying his brother's memory.
And this William Bosner,
you think that for this he might still be seeking the vengeance?
The same night I received that
I saw the face at that window.
For the first time,
a dead face.
I really don't understand why you're leaving, Poirot.
After all Mrs Leidner told us this morning,
I mean to say, there's a damsel in distress if you like.
We're all in bally distress this year.
You wouldn't believe what a difference there is.
There's Carey.
Even he was quite cheerful last year.
Believe it or not.
He's worked with Leidner for years, of course.
So has Annie Johnson.
She blames Mrs. Leidner,
thinks her presence spoils everything.
Is that your opinion, Monsieur Coleman?
No. She's just jealous.
She used to run round after old Leidner,
darning his socks and making him tea, in the old days.
I suppose she feels a bit inhibited with Mrs. Leidner around.
Whoops!
That was a good one.
We don't have to get there in five minutes, you know.
Oh, that's half the fun of this run.
You're getting old, Uncle Arthur.
Speaking for myself, Monsieur Coleman,
I have aged ten years since I entered this automobile.
It's none of your damn business how I behave.
Of course it's my business.
Now, you listen to me, Mr. Richard Carey...
Oh, there you are, Louise.
I thought Miss Johnson might be up here.
She's just going out to the dig.
Oh good. I'll try and catch her.
How you doing there, Richard?
I'll give you a hand.
- I'll post those letters now. - Thank you.
Oh, tell me, Monsieur Coleman,
do you recognise this handwriting?
It's the lovely Louise's.
Madame Leidner?
Yes. Why?
Non, nothing.
It just reminded me of the handwriting that I saw recently of someone else.
Good Lord.
Why would she write threatening letters to herself?
I think that would be an assumption too great to make, Hastings,
on the grounds of the similarity of the handwritings.
But if it was so, it would not be an occurrence unheard.
Pretty ruddy silly, if you ask me.
Ah well, if only people would ask you, Hastings,
they would refrain from the ruddy silliness, huh?
- Goodnight, Hastings. - Goodnight, Poirot.
Monsieur,
the key to my room, if you please.
Certainly, Monsieur Poirot.
The Countess Rossakoff, she is returned yet to the hotel?
- Not yet, Monsieur Poirot. - Oh. Merci.
Hello, Richard.
Hello, Sheila.
You're a long way from home.
If Mohammed won't go to the mountain...
Why you never come into Baghdad?
There's nothing in Baghdad that interests me particularly.
Really?
- I'm sure we could... - Sheila.
Don't say another word.
I am very nearly old enough to be your father.
I wasn't saying anything.
I don't know what you're talking about.
It must be the sun or something, seems to have gone to your head.
Abdullah!
Father Lavigny, do you happen to know where my nephew is?
I was hoping he could run me into Baghdad again.
He's gone already, I think.
It's Friday and the workmen are paid today.
He has to collect the money from the bank.
Oh blast.
It's a bit clearer up there now.
Louise has been complaining lately there's not enough room to walk about.
I'm just going to tell her the good news.
At what time does Bill Coleman usually get back from Baghdad?
Oh, I do not know. It is variable.
Oh my God!
Louise. Oh, Louise!
She's dead.
Good God.
No alcoves, no wardrobes,
and no curtains behind which anyone could hide.
No. The body was on this rug.
Leidner said he lifted her head when he found her,
but he didn't actually change her position.
It all seems so straightforward, huh?
Madame Leidner, she is lying on the bed half asleep.
Someone opens the door, she looks up, rises to her feet and...
...and was struck down.
Oui. Blood?
Very little. The blood would have escaped internally into the brain.
And the weapon?
- Was there no sign of that? - No.
Something heavy.
Without any corners or edges.
Welded, perhaps, by the strong arm of a man.
- Wielded. - Thank you, Hastings.
It all seems so straightforward.
Except for one thing.
If the person who entered the room was a stranger
why then did Madame Leidner not cry out for help immediately?
Miss Johnson said she thought she heard a cry.
She was in the living room, that's next door but one to this.
Perhaps it wasn't a stranger.
Yes, Hastings,
she may have been surprised to see the person
but she was not afraid.
I doubt that anyone would hear a cry anyway.
The window was closed.
It was always closed in the afternoon to keep out the flies.
Tell me, Superintendent,
what is your opinion? Is that not blood?
It looks like it.
I'll find out.
Good.
It is a puzzle, eh?
The walls, they are the most solid.
The windows, they are closed and barred.
So the only way into this room is through that door
and the only way to that door is through the courtyard
and the only way into the courtyard is through the archway
and beyond the archway there are five persons
and they all tell the same story.
That no stranger entered the courtyard today.
And I do not think that they are lying.
The room of Madame Leidner, it is there.
And you were working here.
So the door to her room,
it is in your vision all the time, or when you look up from your work?
That's right. Nobody could have gone in there.
And you were here all of the time?
Except when I went up on the roof for a few minutes to see Dr Leidner
but Abdullah was here then.
Ah yes, yes, Abdullah.
And you saw no other person enter this courtyard?
After Mrs Leidner had gone into her room, no.
Captain Hastings came in through the gate.
Wait! There were a couple of minutes.
After I had been on the roof and I came down
Abdullah was not here.
He'd crept off to see his Arab friends in the guard tent.
And Abdullah,
how long had he been absent do you think?
Not more than three or four minutes.
Come on, Marie.
She feels things too deeply.
It's so terrible.
I was so fond of Louise.
Madame Mercado,
could you please tell me what you were doing
at the time of her death?
I was washing my hair.
It seems so awful, I was quite happy and busy.
So, you did not leave this room?
Not until I came out and heard what had happened.
It was awful.
Did it surprise you?
What do you mean?
Oh no, it's just that she might have confided to you something?
Oh no. No, dear Louise never told me anything.
Anything definite, that is.
Of course, there were the faces at windows and so forth.
So there's nothing you can think of that would help us in any way?
No. No, there isn't.
Monsieur Mercado,
could you tell me what you were doing at that time?
I? Hmm...
You were in your laboratory, Joseph.
Yes, I was. My usual tasks.
And at what time did you go there?
At ten minutes to one.
That's right.
Did you come out into the courtyard at all?
No.
It's horrible.
I, I, I can't.
It's so horrible.
Mustn't give way, Joseph.
Well, no way in from here obviously.
The window was shut anyway.
Why do you think Mercado was so upset?
He's a rum cove, I must say.
It is probably as his wife says, Hastings.
He is still shaken by the attack on him the other day by the workman.
Tell me, Dr Leidner,
your love for your wife was your ruling passion.
- That is true, is it not? - Yes.
Then I must demand from you the whole truth.
I assure you, Mr Poirot, I've kept nothing back.
Non, non, non! Non.
For example, you have not told to me
why you invited to join the expedition
Nurse Leatheran.
I've explained that.
My wife's nervousness, her fears.
Non, non, non, doctor.
Your wife, she is in danger, yes.
She is threatened with death, yes.
And you send not for the police,
not even for a private detective but for a nurse?
I thought...
I...
You see, doctor, it all rings, except for that one thing.
Why a nurse?
Well, there is an answer.
In fact, there can only be one answer.
That you did not truly believe that your wife, she was in danger.
God help me, I didn't!
Doctor, did you suspect that your wife wrote those letters herself?
I thought that maybe worrying and brooding over the past
might have possibly affected her mind.
I thought that she might have
somehow written those letters to herself without
being conscious of having done so.
That is possible, isn't it?
There are, as I see it, three possibilities.
- Three? - Oui.
Solution number one, and the simplest,
William Bosner, the young, unstable brother of the first husband of Madame Leidner
still seeks the vengeance.
First he threatens her, then he carries out his threats.
But if we accept this solution
then we have the problem of how he entered and departed without being observed.
And the second?
Solution number two.
That for reasons of her own,
Madame Leidner writes to herself those letters that are most threatening.
I thought that was the idea you favoured.
But if this was true,
then the letters, they have nothing to do with the murder.
Now we come to solution number three.
And to my mind, the most interesting.
I suggest the letters, they are genuine.
That they are written by William Bosner,
the young brother-in-law of Madame Leidner
and that actually he is one of the staff of the expedition.
Excuse me.
I joined the expedition only about a month ago,
from the order of the Pères Blancs de Carthage.
And before your arrival here, Mon Père,
did you at any time make the acquaintance with Madame Leidner?
No, I'd never seen the lady until I met her here.
The other day, Captain Hastings saw you talk to a man outside,
and yet previously this very same man
had been seen trying to peer in at one of the windows.
It looked to me as if he was hanging around the place deliberately.
That's what I thought.
I asked him what he was doing and told him to go away.
Bon.
Father Lavigny is out of the question, he's a well known man.
Anyway, he only joined the expedition last month.
I happened to take the telegram from Dr Leidner
asking him to join into Baghdad and sent it myself.
Dr Byrd had been taken ill, had to go back to Boston.
But you do not appreciate the point of importance, Superintendent.
If it is William Bosner who has done this thing,
where has he been all these years?
He must have taken a different name,
he must have built up for himself a career.
Merci.
The Countess Rossakoff?
I'm afraid not, Monsieur Poirot.
Good night.
I didn't even know Mrs Leidner had been married before.
Oh yes. American.
Went to the bad during the war.
I just wonder what's going to happen to the expedition now.
It's very much Leidner's show.
- If he... - Sorry to interrupt.
Have either of you seen Miss Johnson?
She wasn't at dinner, she's not in her room either.
You don't think she's made off with the family silver, do you?
No, of course not. I just...
Well, you know, with a murderer about.
What's all this?
You mustn't sit here crying, all by yourself.
Don't, Miss Johnson, don't.
Take a hold of yourself.
What's upset you, Miss Johnson?
It's just...
It's all so awful.
Now, you mustn't start thinking about it again.
What's happened has happened and can't be mended.
It's no use fretting, you know.
No. You're right, nurse.
I'm making a fool of myself.
It all came over me suddenly.
Yes. Yes, I know.
A good night's sleep is what you need.
Yes.
Thank you, nurse.
You're a nice, kind, sensible woman.
It's not often I make such a fool of myself.
She was never a nice woman.
Give that to me!
Any sign of the Countess yet, Poirot?
Non, non.
And to tell you the truth, Hastings, I begin to fear for her safety.
First, there was the telegram stressing her need of help most urgently.
Then her absence from the hotel at my arrival.
And now the continuing lack of any sort of communication from her.
Yes, I see what you mean.
Bonjour, Mademoiselle Maitland.
Bonjour, distinguished Belgian 'tec.
You see Hastings?
People begin to remember that I am not French.
It is good of you to come, ma soeur.
It is most interesting and important this news of Mademoiselle Johnson.
Asseyez-vous s'il vous plaît.
Mademoiselle?
She must have murdered Mrs Leidner.
Why else would she burn that paper?
The writing was exactly like the rest of the anonymous letters.
Yes, yes, Nurse Leatheran, but order and method, eh?
There is first a great deal that you have to tell me.
Now, I could not ask you at Tell Yarimjah,
but the good Doctor Leidner, he worshipped his wife.
And he is sure that everybody else felt exactly the same towards her.
But in my opinion, that would not be human nature.
Non, non, non.
It is necessary for us to discuss Madam Leidner with
how do you say, the gloves removed, eh?
So...
who was there on the expedition who did not like Madam Leidner?
Oh.
- Well, it's only my opinion. - Naturellement.
Well... in my opinion, little Mrs Mercado really hated her!
Ah. And, er... ..Monsieur Mercado?
Well, he was a bit soft on her if anything.
Mrs Leidner had a nice, kind way of being interested in people.
Probably went to Mr Mercado's head, I fancy.
Mrs Mercado wouldn't have been too pleased about that.
I've seen her look at Mrs Leidner as though she'd like to kill her.
Oh!
I didn't mean to say...
..I mean, she...
Non, non, non, I understand.
What about Monsieur Carey?
Well, he was always very stiff with her.
And her with him.
Perhaps he was jealous like Miss Johnson,
him being an old friend of her husband's too.
What-o, Sheila?
Look here. I've bought two tickets for the tennis club dance.
That's not until the end of next month.
I know. I wanted to get in before anyone else.
Will you come?
Oh, alright. Yes, I'd love to.
What is your opinion of the younger man, Hastings?
William Coleman, for instance?
I say, steady on, Poirot, he's my nephew.
No, he's your nephew by adoption, Hastings.
Yes, but all the same.
How old was he when he was adopted by your sister and her husband?
Oh, er, eight or nine.
His parents died shortly after the war.
They were some sort of distant cousins of Harry Coleman.
- And where was that, Hastings? - In America, actually.
Bill had the most peculiar American accent when...
..I say!
No!
You know well we must consider every possibility, Hastings.
Good Lord.
How are you getting along with our local mystery?
I've learned a great deal, Mademoiselle, about our victim.
And very often the victim, it is the clue to the mystery.
That's rather clever of you, Mr Poirot.
Merci, Mademoiselle.
It's certainly true that if ever a woman deserved to be murdered,
Mrs Leidner was that woman.
Miss Maitland!
Nurse Leatheran, I'm afraid, was quite taken in by her,
as many other people were.
What's Sheila telling you, Monsieur Poirot,
take it with a pinch of salt.
She and Louise Leidner didn't exactly hit it off.
We didn't hit it off because Louise knew that I saw through her.
In fact, I wouldn't have much objected
to putting her out of the way myself.
Then for the time of death of Madam Leidner, mademoiselle,
I hope you have a good alibi.
Alibi?
I was playing tennis at the club.
You can ask anybody.
I was always taught you don't speak ill of the dead.
Oh, that's stupid!
The truth's always the truth.
Louise Leidner was the sort of woman who wanted to break things up
just for fun, for the sense of power.
And she was the kind of woman
who had to get a hold of every male creature within reach.
Have you told them about Richard Carey?
About Mr Carey?
Well, I've mentioned they didn't hit it off very well.
Didn't hit it off very well? You idiot!
He's head over heels in love with her.
Tell me, Hastings,
Monsieur Mercado, is he right handed or left handed?
Um, right handed, I think. Yes.
Ah... bonjour... Monsieur Mercado.
Good morning. Not many people visit me out here.
You dig too deep, monsieur.
It is very difficult on the legs, you understand?
These people must have been jolly fit.
The lower you get, the more interesting it becomes.
Follow me, gentlemen.
One interesting thing
is that the pottery found above this level,
it shows a marked difference.
Here, I will show you.
If you look at this piece...
Argh!
Something stung me.
A scorpion, perhaps?
Vite!
There, voilà!
I knew I felt something.
But it is not a scorpion, though, or it would be already swollen.
But one cannot be too careful, eh, Monsieur Mercado?
That was neat eh, Hastings?
What was that, Poirot?
Did you do that?
Oui. I was the stinging insect, and very neatly I did it too.
Regarde.
You did not see me, eh, Hastings?
But what for?
I wished to observe his forearm, Hastings. The left one.
Did you not notice anything?
Oh yes, I did, as a matter of fact.
A lot of marks on the skin.
Oui, I suspected, but I had to be sure.
Monsieur Mercado, he is addicted to drugs, Hastings.
I see.
So, where does that lead us?
For the moment I cannot say.
But facts, Hastings, facts.
Those are the cobbles that make up the road along which we travel.
Poirot wants to see if Miss Johnson could really have heard
Mrs Leidner call out when she was murdered, you see.
So, if you could go in Mrs Leidner's room
just give a little cry,
I'll go in the living room and see if I hear anything.
Alright.
Oh, not a big scream,
I mean, not madly terrified,
just a little cry, as if you stubbed your toe or something.
Yes, I see.
Bonjour Monsieur Carey.
Ready when you are.
Well, I've done it.
Oh. I didn't hear anything.
Perhaps you should try it again a bit louder.
Hardly the right person to help you.
Mrs Leidner and I didn't get on particularly well.
I suppose I was a bit resentful of her influence over Leidner.
Well, we were polite to each other but not intimate.
Explained most admirably, Monsieur Carey.
But there are stories going about and one listens to these stories and perhaps...
What stories?
Well, the usual sort of story.
About you and Madame Leidner.
- What foul minds people have. - Vraîment.
They're dogs, huh?
However deep one buries an unpleasantness,
a dog, he will always root it out again.
As for myself, I'm always ready to be convinced of the truth.
You?
I doubt if you'd know the truth if you heard it.
Try me and see.
Alright.
I hated Louise Leidner.
That's the truth for you.
That's the truth.
We tried it several times, getting louder and louder.
Even when Nurse Leatheran screamed quite loudly
you couldn't hear it in the living room.
These mud brick walls are damned thick, you know.
Good, Hastings. Good.
The only way we heard it
was when we tried it with the window open.
The window to the room of Madame Leidner?
Yes.
Well, that is very interesting, Hastings.
Even illuminating.
Madame Mercado, Mademoiselle Johnson, bonjour.
- Good day. - How are you getting on, Mr Poirot?
Oh, it marches slowly, this affair, Mademoiselle.
But this morning I was in Baghdad with Superintendent Maitland.
His daughter is a young lady most charming, n'est-ce pas?
Sheila Maitland? Oh, she's alright.
Of course, she's the only young creature in the place
so she gets a bit spoilt by all the young men dancing attendance on her.
Not that she doesn't encourage them.
She was out here yesterday afternoon
looking around for one or other of them.
- What's that you're doing? - This?
Oh, we found another cylinder seal at last.
You know, this is only the fourth one we've found on this site.
Apart from the one that's got lost, of course.
And Père Lavigny, he translates them, n'est-ce pas?
Well, there's not usually much to translate.
They're, they're more pictorial.
Although that might varies from age to age.
This one's just got a short inscription, just by the picture.
It's probably the name of the owner.
- How old is it? - Oh, about 5,000 years.
Oh, it is of great beauty.
I'm just doing the mould in the plasticine.
And then we make a plaster cast...
...and he works from that.
That's most ingenious.
Have you got a lot of plasticine?
I could do with a bit.
Hastings, you're at too great an age to play with plasticine.
Oh no. There's a hole in the door of my room,
and the mosquitoes just seem to stream through it at night.
Oh, help yourself, there's some in the stationery cupboard.
I think it's where there used to be a lock.
They've taken the lock away and left the...
...I say!
What's this?
Poirot.
It's some sort of mask.
How extraordinary.
How did that get in there?
Joseph!
Joseph!!
- Where's Joseph? - Joseph?
He got up before I was awake and I can't find him anywhere.
I'm sorry, I haven't seen him.
- He's not out at the dig? - No.
It will just be for the one night.
Very good sir.
Thank you.
Monsieur, I would like to send these telegrams.
This to Tunisia, and these three to the United States of America.
Keep them back.
Excusez moi. Excusez moi. Excusez moi, s'il vous plaît.
Now that this foul drug has led me...
...to murder.
I can no longer live with myself.
Marie would be better off without me.
Ah, Captain Hastings.
Is there any news of the man who was hanging around outside?
- The man I spoke to? - I don't think so.
I've been wondering since
whether the man could have been an Iraqi dressed up to look like a European.
Seems clear to me he had some overwhelming interest in Mrs Leidner.
Your friend Monsieur Poirot is coming out to visit us today?
Ah no, he's a bit busy today. Sending telegrams.
Telegrams. Where to?
All over the world, he said,
but that was probably a bit of foreign exaggeration.
I think perhaps he also exaggerated the length of time
it would take him, Captain Hastings.
Good Lord. Poirot!
I didn't think you were coming out here today.
Monsieur Mercado has committed suicide, Hastings.
Not a word. Bonjour, Père Lavigny.
Bonjour, Monsieur Poirot.
Father Lavigny was asking me about that fellow
I saw peering in through the window.
Huh! Mademoiselle.
Hello, Abdullah.
Nurse? You'd better come with me.
So, in answer to your question, Mon Père, non.
The man is probably of no significance anyway.
Ah, so beautiful cup!
Oh, so beautiful.
And so ancient, Hastings.
- No wax on it today either. - Wax?
Yes. Richard Carey was quite upset.
There were little bits of wax around the handle.
Ah, yes. Candle grease, no doubt.
Oh, no! No!
Do you need me to go with you?
It's alright.
Does that mean Mercado killed the Arab?
Oui.
But the Arab was well known to the police, Hastings, as a dealer in drugs.
Do you think he killed Mrs Leidner too?
She may have known of the addiction of Monsieur Mercado.
And perhaps it would have suited the temperament of Madame Leidner
to feel that she knew a secret which she could reveal at any minute,
with the effects most disastrous, huh?
So, for Monsieur Mercado, certainement, he would have had a motive.
Is something the matter, Mademoiselle Johnson?
- No... - Is it to do with Monsieur Mercado?
You must tell me, Mademoiselle.
I've... I've just seen something.
And what is it that you have seen?
It is important that you tell me, Mademoiselle.
I've seen how someone could come in from outside...
..and no one would ever guess.
How?
You must explain to us, Mademoiselle!
I've got to think it out first.
Is she alright?
Hastings, I think I shall rest here for the night.
Good man! Why run after her?
Show your independence!
As an old married man, I don't mind telling you, Poirot...
Hasting, is it not true that your wife requested that you should leave?
Well, that's true, but...
And that she requested that you should leave not only your home,
but the continent in which it is situated?
Yes, but just for a holiday.
She felt she needed a bit of a break.
Then perhaps you will kindly not to presume to lecture me
as an expert on the psychology of women.
I would never have thought it of Joe Mercado.
I never suspected a thing.
Eh bien, Dr Leidner,
an addict is always adept to the extreme, in concealing his addiction.
So, where does this put your investigation now, Mr Poirot?
I do not know that it adds to it, nor that it takes away from it, Monsieur Coleman,
but this investigation, it marches more slowly than I had expected,
but it marches.
Only I hope that it holds for us no more surprises.
Amen to that.
Entrez.
I brought you a pair of pyjamas, Poirot, and a razor.
Oh, that is so good of you, mon ami.
Thank you very much.
Are you sure you're going to be alright in here, Poirot?
Yes, of course I should be alright, Hastings.
I wouldn't want to sleep in here, I don't mind telling you.
Hastings, what is done is done.
The room, it is entirely neutral.
There are no resonances that are ghostly at the death of Madame Leidner.
And perhaps, there is something that I may learn.
Yes. All the same.
Good night, Hastings.
What?! Oh uh! Well, er, good night, Poirot.
Miss Johnson.
Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle Johnson!
Let me.
Oh! She's drunk something corrosive.
It's alright, Miss Johnson, we'll soon have you better.
Hydrochloric acid.
What's happened?
Get my bag from beside my bed,
and send someone to Baghdad for a doctor.
What, Mademoiselle? What?
What is it, Mademoiselle? Please, try to tell me.
- The win-dow? - What is that, Mademoiselle?
- Wh...? - Win-dow?
Window!
That Belgian detective poking his nose in.
Much good may it do him.
We can be across the border by dawn.
Who can have done this foul thing, Mr Poirot?
Captain Hastings, how is Miss Johnson?
She's dead.
Oh, God.
If somebody substituted hydrochloric acid for the water
that she placed habitually beside her bed,
half awake, she would have swallowed sufficient of it before she realised.
Oh... God!
Poor Annie.
Nothing to show whether she took it from the laboratory herself, or not.
There is someone missing, sir.
Missing?
The French priest.
Know anything about this?
I was at the post office, and a telegram came for you.
Merci, Mademoiselle.
- What are you doing out here, Sheila? - Oh, Daddy.
It's in French.
It tells me that Pere Lavigny
has not left his monastery in Carthage for the last six months.
I don't understand.
Doctor Leidner,
I regret to have to inform you that the cup of gold in the antika room,
and the ornaments made of the hair of gold,
and several other artefacts, are electrotypes most clever.
Forgeries? That's impossible.
Did you know Père Lavigny by sight before he arrived?
Not by sight, no.
Good God!
But on the illness most sudden of Dr Byrd,
you sent a telegram to Carthage, did you not?
Asking Père Lavigny to replace him?
And to intercept a telegram, what could be easier?
Superintendent Maitland, I conjecture that it would be wise
to alert the border posts to watch out for him travelling with another.
Got that, Sergeant Zibari?
- Get on the radio to Baghdad! - Yes, sir.
Why did they have to kill Miss Johnson?
What does she got to do with them?
Nothing at all, Superintendent.
She was trying to say something before she died, wasn't she, Mr Poirot?
Oui.
I thought she was trying to say the word "window".
Was the window open?
Yes. She always kept it open.
I wondered if someone had changed the drinking water that way.
Nurse Leatheran,
if she had observed the mysterious hand
entering through the window and exchange the jug,
scarcely would she have swallowed the contents of the glass
without the hesitation considerable.
Why was she talking about the window?
- Are we sure that's... - Superintendent Maitland, sir!
Open it.
Look!
If that isn't blood, I don't know what it is.
I blame myself, Hastings.
I should have made her tell us.
What? When she said she realised how someone
could get in from outside without anyone knowing?
Oui. La pauvre femme!
But how could you have made her tell us?
Sacré nom d'un chien... va! But what did she see?
Well, she said she wanted to think it out.
Yes, and that is what signed her death warrant, Hastings.
If only she had told us.
What is that, Mademoiselle?
Th-the win-dow.
Oh, Hastings!
What a fool that I have been.
When the truth, it is so clear.
So simple.
I have said several times in the course of this investigation
that this case revolved around the personality of Madame Leidner.
Now it became quite clear to me
that Madame Leidner was a woman endowed by nature not only with beauty,
but with a kind of magic that was calamitous...
...that can sometimes accompany beauty.
Such women can often bring disaster.
Sometimes on others and sometimes...
...on themselves.
Madame Leidner was very young
when she first married a Monsieur Frederick Bosner.
But she was widowed most tragically very soon after the wedding.
It was at this time
that she began to receive letters that were anonymous and most threatening.
But which she suspected as coming from William Bosner,
the young brother of her late husband.
Over the years,
every time she becomes involved romantically with a man,
a letter most threatening and anonymous, it would arrive and the affair,
it comes to nothing.
But then there appears on the scene
Dr Leidner.
And no such letter arrives.
They fall in love, they become engaged, and still no letter.
Suddenly, nothing stands in the way of Madame Bosner becoming...
...Madame Leidner.
Why?
And why then did such a letter arrive after the wedding with Dr Leidner,
when she arrived here?
This is history, Poirot.
Oui, d'accord, mon ami, but history of the importance extreme.
But now, Superintendent, I will come to the present
and a consideration most particular
of the entourage of Madame Leidner.
On the face of it, any one of them may have committed a murder.
Look here, that's absolute rot.
Non, non, non, Monsieur Coleman, it is not the rot.
Now, the first person to consider was Père Lavigny.
Who now, of course, has fled
but revealed himself to be a thief and a forger
of the antiquities archaeological, huh,
but not, I think, a murderer.
Also there are three persons who have the alibis that are watertight.
Dr Leidner, who never left the roof,
Monsieur Richard Carey, who was working at the dig,
and Monsieur Coleman, who was in Baghdad.
But even these alibis, mes amis, are not as good as they seem, hm?
No...
Oh, except that of Dr Leidner.
There is no doubt that Dr Leidner was on the roof all of the time
and only descended long after the murder, it had happened.
But now it is necessary for us to pause for a moment...
...to consider Mademoiselle Maitland.
Mademoiselle Maitland was very open with me concerning her feelings
for Madame Leidner.
We didn't hit it off because Louise knew that I saw through her.
In fact, I wouldn't have much objected to putting her out of the way myself.
Then for the time of death of Madame Leidner, Mademoiselle,
I hope you have a good alibi.
Alibi? I was playing tennis at the club.
You can ask anybody.
But was that true?
Of course she's the only young creature in the place
so she gets a bit spoilt by all the young men dancing attendance on her.
Not that she doesn't encourage them.
She was out here yesterday afternoon
looking around for one or other of them.
I heard something very different in a conversation most casual
that I had with Mademoiselle Johnson.
Alright, I rode out to the dig after lunch.
Then why did you not say so, Mademoiselle, when I asked you?
I couldn't.
Daddy doesn't like me coming out here by myself.
It's so boring in Baghdad, you don't know what it's like.
But you do admit that you did not like Madame Leidner.
We don't like a lot of people, but I don't go around murdering them.
I just rode out here because I wanted someone to talk to.
I wasn't far from the expedition house
when I saw the expedition car drawn up in a wadi.
I thought it was rather queer,
then I saw Mr Coleman.
Did you speak with Monsieur Coleman?
- No. - Why not?
He was looking very furtive.
It gave me an unpleasant feeling.
I know it looks a bit fishy,
but I've got a perfectly good explanation.
Mr Mercado had given me a jolly fine cylinder seal
to take back to the antika.
I put it in my jacket pocket,
went for a walk, forgot all about it.
The next day, I discovered it had gone.
I must have dropped it when I took my jacket off
as I was walking along that wadi.
I rushed all my business in Baghdad and spent an hour searching for it.
And so,
the behaviour of Monsieur William Coleman on the day of the murder
was indeed certainly suspicious.
But I do not think that Monsieur Coleman,
as Monsieur Coleman,
has the temperament of a murderer.
No.
But there is nothing here to veto the idea
that his personality, which is most cheery,
might conceal the hidden one of Monsieur William Bosner.
Why all of you listen to this chap beats me.
Mademoiselle Maitland,
when you arrived at the dig, did you see anyone?
None of the expedition members, no.
There seemed to be no one there but the Arab foreman.
- Shufta Mr. Carey? - Shufta inak. Inak.
You did not even see Monsieur Carey?
Alright. Yes, I did.
For a few moments.
Near the dig.
- I'm sure we could... - Sheila.
Don't say another word.
I am very nearly old enough to be your father.
And you, Monsieur Carey,
did you leave the dig after Mademoiselle Maitland,
she had departed from you?
- Did you return towards the house? - No.
You see, according to some,
Monsieur Carey and Madame Leidner, they did not like one another.
Now, another person, Mademoiselle Maitland,
propounded a theory that was totally different
to account for their attitude of la politesse frigide,
and Monsieur Carey himself told me something different again.
Alright! I hated Louise Leidner.
That's the truth for you!
That's the truth!
I believe that he did hate Madame Leidner.
But why did he hate her?
He was, to begin with,
devoted to his friend and employer, Dr Leidner
and quite indifferent to his wife.
But that did not suit the temperament of Madame Leidner.
No. So she set herself out to trap him.
And then there occurred something I believe that was totally unforeseen.
She fell in love with him.
And he was not able to resist her.
I suspected something of the sort very early on.
And there we have the truth
of the state most terrible of nervous tension that he has been enduring.
Oh, he loved Louise Leidner, yes,
but also he hated her
for undermining his loyalty to his friend.
Are you accusing me of murder, Monsieur Poirot?
You think I'd kill Louise? Fool!
Non.
Merely I am taking you all
on a journey towards the truth.
And I have established one fact...
that every single member of the expedition could have committed the murder,
including Nurse Leatheran.
I was a stranger!
I'd only been here a few weeks!
Eh bien, ma soeur, was not that just what Madame Leidner was afraid of?
A stranger from the outside?
And, as a hospital nurse,
you could easily have killed Madame Leidner
- and Mademoiselle Johnson. - But...
But I do not think that you are William Bosner.
Non.
Of course, there are many men who can impersonate women most successfully,
but no, it is my belief that
Nurse Leatheran is exactly what she says she is,
a hospital nurse of the most competent.
Oh, thank you for nothing.
All along it had been in the back of my mind
that one of the members of the expedition
might have some knowledge that they had kept back,
knowledge that would incriminate the murderer.
If so, this person would be in danger.
And in this I was proved correct most tragically by the death
of Mademoiselle Johnson.
Two nights ago
when Nurse Leatheran discovered Mademoiselle Johnson in tears...
Give that to me!
...the scrap of paper that was discovered by Nurse Leatheran
was burnt by Mademoiselle Johnson.
It is my belief...
that before Nurse Leatheran entered the room,
Mademoiselle Johnson had been tidying up some papers.
She must have come across a draft that was unfinished
of one of those letters that were anonymous.
And the handwriting, it is constructed most carefully
to resemble that of Madame Leidner,
and the killer has been careless to leave it.
But now the identity of this killer
is known to Mademoiselle Johnson.
She cannot understand it, it upsets her badly.
Then on the evening of her death,
Captain Hastings and myself discovered Mademoiselle Johnson on the roof
in a state of horror most incredulous.
I've seen how someone could come in from outside
and no one would ever guess.
I realised
that Mademoiselle Johnson deliberately looked in the opposite direction
and in order to throw us off the scent
said the very first thing that came into her mind.
But the murderer had been observing her closely,
and realises that she knows the truth.
So now she has to die.
And that night she does so,
but not before she tried to help me.
- What is it Mademoiselle? - Win ..
Window.
However the only words she could manage to articulate
were "the window, the window".
Mademoiselle Johnson was trying to tell me
what she had realised on the roof that day.
How the murder of Madame Leidner
it had been committed.
Et bien, first of all you must all realise one thing,
that the window to the room of Madame Leidner
was on the side facing away from the courtyard.
So...
Madame Leidner is lying on her bed, half asleep.
The mask which has been used already to frighten her in the night-time
begins to tap on the window.
But now she recognises it for what it is...
a thing of plaster and ink hanging on a string.
She is not frightened, no.
She opens the window
and turns her face upwards to see who is playing on her the trick.
Before the quern of stone smashes down on her head
does Madame Leidner see, I wonder, the face of her murderer?
The scream,
it is heard by Mademoiselle Johnson, who is reading in the living room,
but heard only because at this moment
the window to the room of Madame Leidner is open,
as was proved by the experiment most successful of Captain Hastings.
The deed accomplished,
the murderer pulls up again the quern by the rope
that he's attached to it.
Have I not said all along that this was a crime passionel?
Alors, Monsieur Frederick Bosner,
the first husband of Louise Leidner, loved her with a passion
that only a woman of her kind could evoke.
But I had dismissed already from my mind
that Monsieur Frederick Bosner could be a suspect in this case
because Monsieur Frederick Bosner, he was dead.
Had been dead for nearly 20 years.
Or had he?
Oh, certainly he is sentenced to death.
But he escapes.
But then, of course, there is the railway accident.
Non? Now surely he is dead, eh?
But suppose he was still not dead?
Suppose he manages to emerge from the wreck with a new identity.
The identity
of a young man who was so disfigured in this railway accident
that he is buried as Monsieur Frederick Bosner.
And Monsieur Frederick Bosner will be forgotten, n'est-ce pas?
Take my hand!
He will be free to build a new life.
Using a new name.
So...
...is Monsieur Frederick Bosner here amongst us today?
This Frederick Bosner is a man of ability, eh?
He finds himself a profession that is congenial to him.
He also keeps himself informed of the movements of his wife.
She shall belong to no other man.
And whenever he judges it necessary, he dispatches a letter.
And he copies most carefully
some of the peculiarities of her handwriting
just in case Madame Leidner decides to take to the police, his letters.
But these letters that are anonymous and threatening
they do not arrive when she meets, falls in love with,
and becomes engaged to Dr Leidner.
It is a puzzle.
And perhaps Madame Leidner realised the answer to these puzzlements
in the moment before she died.
Ah, certainly that is what Mademoiselle Johnson had realised!
How the murder, it had been committed from the roof.
But what Mademoiselle Johnson could not have realised as Madame Leidner had done
...was that not only was the murderer Dr Leidner, whom she adored...
...but that Dr Leidner was indeed Monsieur Frederick Bosner.
He has to wait 15 years
before the ravages of time to his face
and to the memory of Madame Leidner
obliterates the old Frederick Bosner.
They meet and all goes well.
They marry...
...and all goes well.
Until into the life of Madame Leidner
there appears Monsieur Richard Carey
and that seals her fate.
It's a bit clearer up there now.
Louise has been complaining lately there's not enough room to walk about.
I'm just going to tell her the good news.
He hurries to the window.
Closes it and fastens it.
He picks up and transports the body of his wife
to a point between the bed and the door.
He then notices a slight stain on the rug by the window
so he places this rug in front of the washstand
and the rug in front of the washstand by the window.
If this stain, it is noticed,
it will be connected with the washstand.
There must be no suggestion
that the window played any part in the murder.
Oh, God. Louise!
Oh, Louise!
A murder most cruel and hideous, Dr Leidner.
And not content with that...
...you tried to incriminate Mademoiselle Johnson
who was good and loyal to you,
who was in love with you...
...by planting in her room...
...the very quern with which you had killed your wife.
I am so tired.
I'm sorry about Anne Johnson.
That was bad, senseless.
It wasn't me.
It was fear on my part.
You'd have made a good archaeologist, Mr Poirot.
You have the gift of recreating the past.
I loved Louise
and I killed her.
But you shan't have her, Carey!
You betrayed me.
You betrayed both of us.
Oh, if you'd known Louise...
...you'd have understood.
No.
I think you understand anyway.
What are you doing here, Hastings?
I'm enjoying my last few moments in Baghdad.
And in 43 minutes,
the last train for one week, it leaves for Istanbul.
Oh, it's only ten minutes to the station
and the cab's round the corner with my luggage in it.
Have a tisane.
Take my luggage to the car
that is around the corner waiting for Captain Hastings.
I didn't know you spoke Arabic, Poirot.
Just a few words that I have picked up, Hastings.
One should never squander the opportunity
that travel affords.
A tisane, please.
Monsieur Poirot! I have found you!
What is it, Monsieur?
The telephone, Monsieur. From the Countess Rossakoff.
Merci.
No, no, no, Monsieur! She has gone!
Gone?
Yes, Monsieur. The line, the reception was very, very bad and...
...she was speaking from Budapest.
Budapest?
- She left a message. - Go on.
She said she had been called to Shanghai
and would you kindly settle her bill for her?
Her bill?
Yes, Monsieur.
She said she would settle up the next time she saw you.
Monsieur.
Do not speak, Hastings.