Based on Agatha Christie's novel DEATH ON THE NILE
- I'm sorry. - It's alright, my darling.
I just can't believe that they'd do this.
I know, I know...
- Everything I touch... - You mustn't think like that.
We have each other, and our whole lives to look forward to.
I'm broke, Jackie. What sort of a future is that?
Well, I have some put aside. That'll save us for a little while.
I'll think of something, I promise.
I promise you, my darling.
We love each other and that's all that matters, yes?
She's had the most terrible luck.
When we were students together, in Paris,
her father ran off with some woman
and her mother lost all her money in the stock market crash.
And Jackie was left absolute penniless.
I don't know how she's managed these past few years.
- Oh, she wants something, I bet. - I've offered to help, but she won't hear of it.
Isn't it awful when one's friends fall on hard times?
One's simply got to drop them.
She sounded very excited,
but then she always does. It's the Latine in her.
The boys' are back from their ramble. England's manhood...!
You and Tim seem awfully close. Is there something I don't know about?
Heavens, no! The only woman in Tim Allerton's life is his mummy.
It's all far too "Sophoclean" for my taste.
And what about the good Lord? Still panting for you, is he?
He's not the panting type.
According to the gossip columnists, you're halfway up the aisle.
No! Not yet! Not ever. Not with him, anyway.
But, darling, he's absolutely rolling.
So am I.
Ah, so divine! I bet these cost more than the house.
Looks and money. I can't believe I like you.
- Joanna, darling, you don't like anyone. - Don't I? Oh, well...
Yes?
Mademoiselle de Bellefort will be here for supper.
Thank you, Louise.
What on earth's wrong with her?
Look, that ghastly boyfriend is in trouble with the law
and can you believe she's asked me to send bail for him? I said, ''On no account
Allow me.
God, I wonder what Jackie wants?
The fact is, darling, I'm engaged...
So, that's it! Who is he?
His name's Simon Doyle. And he's big, and boyish and deliciously uncomplicated.
He worked in the City,
but they, well, are cutting down, and he's out of his job.
Linnet, I'll die, if I can't marry him, I shall simply die!
- Dear, you've got it bad! - When I heard you had bought this place
I realized you'd be needing a land agent, and then I thought ''Simon!''
Oh, darling, he'd be just perfect.
He loves the country and knows all about estates
and if he doesn't do it right, well, you can always sack him.
Say oui, Linnet! Please!
Oh, I knew you wouldn't let me down!
We want to go to Egypt for our honeymoon. Can you imagine?
Walking down an avenue of Sphynxes with the man you love?
Could anything be more romantic?
Bring him along and I'll take a look.
- Well, actually he's here. - What?
Just in case you said yes. You'll adore him.
Simon!
This is Simon Doyle. Simon, this is Linnet Ridgeway,
the most wonderful friend a girl can have.
Well, now, isn't this simply lovely.
Isn't that Hercule Poirot?
Do you mean that dwarfish looking creature mincing down the stairs?
That's not very nice of you.
What on earth is he doing here?
I'd love someone would dance with me.
But who on this planet would dance with you?
- Perhaps someone would want me, if... - And pigs might fly.
Remember, my dear, why you're here...
- To be handy, cousin Marie. - Precisely.
After you prepared my "coucher", you may attend to my eggnog.
You're not getting grumpy, are you, my darling?
- If there were more young people around... - Whatever for?
- You'd like it if Joanna were here. - No, no I wouldn't.
In fact, I wouldn't care if I wouldn't see Joanna ever again.
I don't need Joanna when I have you...
Oh! Darling...
- My God, did you see that? - Keep your voice down.
- She could be his mother. - She is his mother.
I need some air.
Merci.
Monsieur Poirot.
- Madame. - Salome Otterbourne.
- Enchanté. - That French charme.
- You French are all the same. - I am Belgian, Madame.
I was thinking if you'd care to take the magic trip avec moi?
- Trip? - I know this is the wrong way round,
but, after all, we are... liberated now.
I was a great supporter of the "Suffragettes", you know...
So, are you here on business, Monsieur? Are there great affairs to be dealt with?
You know, Madame, I am simply the man of leisure.
Essential, n'est-ce pas, to be out of London in January?
Poor man. She's got her claws into him already.
I'm here for the local colour. My new book,
''Snow on the Desert's Face'', is set on these parts.
No doubt, of course, it'll cause another furor,
but, no matter, I speak the truth.
Why is everyone so afraid of sex?
The stars of the show.
You'd think she'd have some sense of shame.
Don't be so old-fashioned.
She's rather lovely, I must admit.
Linnet Doyle is the only heiress in England who doesn't look like an horse.
Hello, Andrew.
Spectacular!
Right over here.
It seems that everybody who is anybody is in Egypt, ce soir.
The lure of the fresh spot, no doubt.
- Remember Simon? - Yes.
Incredible, isn't it?
Millions unemployed,
a lunatic about to take the power in Germany and all we read about is
some spoiled brat ditched a Lord for her best friend's fiancé.
Some people have everything.
Depends on what you think's worth having.
- Hello, Simon. - Hi, how are you?
Hello, Tim.
Linnet, you're divine.
This Andrew Pennington, my american trustee. We just bumped in him in Cairo.
Oh, yes, quite a coincidence...
Mother, I'm sure Monsieur Poirot would like to rest.
Non, non, non... I think that is a great idea.
Non, non, because my dinner seems a little reluctant to settle.
If you'll excuse me...
Of course, Monsieur. We shall resume très bientôt.
Au revoir.
Linnet!
What a simply divine surprise!
We just can't stop bumping into each other, can we?
Hello, Simon.
You look a little tired, darling. Wearing you out, is she?
I'd hang on tight, ducky. He's a slippery fish.
I'll be seeing you.
- Are you alright? - I'm fine.
- Mademoiselle. - I hope my mother
hasn't exhausted you.
- Not at all. - I know how exhausting she can be.
- Linnet Doyle's very beautiful, isn't she? - Oui, Mademoiselle.
And very rich too.
I read about her in the papers, of couse, seen her photograph everywhere,
but nothing can quite prepare you for how lovely she's in the flesh.
I don't think I've ever hated anyone so much on first sight.
But not all that glitters...
Not in her case. Life is not fair, Monsieur Poirot.
Has life been unfair to you, Mademoiselle?
You've met my mother.
Monsieur Poirot.
- I didn't mean to startle you... - Non, non, non...
... but I am very anxious to speak to you.
At your service, Madame.
- You know who I am, perhaps?... - Yes, I know exactly who you are.
I'll go straight to the point:
I'm a victim of an intolerable persecution.
Persecution?
Perhaps if you could explain a little further...?
It's really very simple. Before I met my husband,
he was engaged to a friend of mine, Jacqueline de Bellefort.
Now, they weren't remotely suited and he broke it off.
She, I'm sorry to say, has taken it rather badly,
and, out of pure spite, has chosen to hound us wherever we go.
And you are here, I understand, on your honeymoon...
That's right. Now, she first appeared in Venice,
and then in Brindisi, then in Cairo, and now here.
She simply cannot be allowed to carry on like this.
But she's perfectly within her rights.
I'm sorry, did you not see the way she behaved just now?
Oui, but she did not actually threaten you,
or cause you any bodily harm.
Non, evidently she is very much aggrieved, Madame.
If you're implying that I stole my friend's fiancé,
then I assure you're wrong.
She loved him, yes,
but her feelings were not reciprocated.
Even before he met me, he knew he'd make a mistake.
But wasn't there a moment when you realized that you had a choice?
You have everything, but your friend,
from what I understand, had him only.
Non. Pardon my impertinence, Madame, but
I suspect you're feeling a little guilty.
Couldn't you, at least, try to reason with her?
Madame, I am on holiday.
I'm sure we could come to some kind of arrangement.
Non, Madame,
I am sure we could not.
Excuse me.
She did threaten to kill us, you know.
But then, she does have a tendency to be a little dramatic.
I suppose you saw our little floor show...
Oui, Mademoiselle.
I'm afraid I rather lost my head.
They serve us the most lethal Martinis in this place.
Bury your dead, Mademoiselle.
Mrs. Doyle sent you? Got you on her payroll already, has she?
She has approached me, that is true, but I declined.
You must look to the future.
- Oh, she'd love that! - I'm thinking of you.
- You have before you your whole life. - Simon is my life.
I can see that you loved him...
We loved each other, Monsieur Poirot. And Linnet was my best friend.
- How could she...? - It takes two.
She knew exactly what she was doing and he fell for it.
One of the richest women in England,
no wonder it went to his head.
You know, we had even planned to come here for our honeymoon?
- He loves me, Monsieur Poirot. - Even now?
No, not now.
Now I think he hates me.
Pretty, isn't it?
I've quite a good shot, actually. My father taught me.
I have to admit it crossed my mind to use it,
but then I thought... no.
Wouldn't it be much more fun to just follow wherever they went
and just when they thought it was safe to relax,
there I'd be,
the ghost of the banquet.
- You must stop this now. - And let them get away with it?
Do not open your heart to evil, Mademoiselle.
If you do, there'll be no turning back.
She has taken everything from me, Monsieur Poirot.
And I want to hurt her,
to put my gun against her head
and, gently, pull the trigger...
Oh God, I'm so afraid.
What is it?
Over there... someone was listening...
- I cannot see. - I think they're gone.
I can not do what you ask, Monsieur Poirot.
Good morning.
Bonjour, Monsieur Doyle.
- And how is Madame? - Absolutely pooked,
said she needed a little more shutter.
God, I'm ravenous! Isn't it marvellous they're doing English breakfast here?
I cannot stand those little brioche... Do you?
Did you-- Have you managed to speak to Jacqueline...
- Miss de Bellefort? - Oui.
- Did you get her to see sense, or...? - Non, I'm afraid not.
But decent girls just don't do that sort of thing!
She's making a complete ass of herself and playing merry hell with Linnet's nerves!
- And yours, Monsieur? - Oh, I'd like to wring her neck!
Between ourselves, Monsieur, I've hatched a plan.
I'm letting been known that Linnet and I
are staying put for the next couple of days,
but I've in fact booked us on a Nile cruise leaving tomorrow morning,
under false names, of course. - Of course.
Then we'll make it look like we're going on an excursion,
the maid will take charge of the luggage,
we'll hop aboard on the last minute, and "Bob's yer uncle"!
By the time Jacqueline realizes we won't be coming back, it'll be too late.
So, what do you think? Good wits?
She has the brains, Monsieur. We shall see.
- I myself will also be in the cruise. - Really?
Oui.
Oh! Not on any way, I hope, on our account...
Non, non, non. Not at all. I make my plans well in advance.
That is the only way to succeed in life, n'est-ce pas?
Yes, I suppose it is...
- Who is that gentleman? - A chap called Pennington,
Linnet's trustee. Bumped in him by chance in Cairo.
I must say he was not far from sick to find out she was married.
- Care to join us? - Non, non, non.
But thank you very much.
Jolly nice to talk to you, anyway. To have old kidneys back there.
Isn't that our trunk? You think it will be alright?
Welcome. Welcome to the S.S. Karnak.
- I'm so sorry. - Do you mind?
Off! Off! Don't let them touch the luggage. They don't wash!
Heavens, a floating tomb! Don't push me to the sea.
Oh! The black hole of Calcuta!
It's so beautiful!
- Where's my other luggage? - I left it with the man.
Merci.
Mademoiselle.
There's something about this place, don't you think?
Something unsettling one can't quite resist.
Oui.
I had no idea they were coming.
Oh, this is heaven, darling!
Darling, I thought you were staying at the hotel!
What a hoot! I'm sure we're having an absolute bore!
You refused to help, Monsieur Poirot, look what happens.
But this is not my making, Madame.
How could she have known that we would be on the boat?
- If you are suggesting... - I am suggesting nothing,
Monsieur, but I will tell you this, everybody hates me, ok?
I'm surrounded by enemies.
The way some of them look...
After all we've done for them...
- Monsieur Poirot! - Madame. Monsieur Allerton.
Now, Mr. Poirot,
perhaps you could help put a face on one or two of the passenger list.
- Dr. Bessner, for example. - Over there, Madame.
Oh yes, the plump one,
with the shaved head and the Bismarck moustache.
- German, no doubt. - No, Austrian, I believe.
A boche, whatever.
So, by a process of elimination, the rather glum looking gentleman
must be Mr. Ferguson. - Oui, a progressive thinker,
so I understand. - Bragging bolshy, more like.
Now, there's someone I'd throw my cap into the arene for.
- Mother! - That ruthless jaw.
And extremely rich. As are most people here.
My, she's ugly!
Looks something unearthed from a dig.
Isn't she lovely?
Madame.
She really knows how to make an entrance.
- Good night, Mademoiselle. - Good night, Monsieur Poirot.
You were surprised to find me here?
I am more sorry than surprised.
You have chosen a path that is most dangerous, Mademoiselle.
I doubt that you would turn back now, even if you could.
Ah, well...
One must follow one's star.
Love is not everything.
But it is, it is.
You must know that, Monsieur Poirot.
Surely you understand.
It is terrible, Mademoiselle,
all that I have missed in life.
- Good night, Monsieur Poirot. - Good night.
So, Mademoiselle Robson, your companion, she does not come ashore?
Well, you see, cousin Marie has to be very careful about her health,
but she was frightful kind and said it would be alright for me to come.
- That is most gracious of her. - Oh yes, she is.
It's simply wonderful of her
to bring me on this trip. I'm such a lucky girl!
I always dreamed of traveling. It's amazing, have you ever in your life...?
Isn't it miraculous what Man can create?
People died building this, you know?
So you preferred it there were no sfynxes, no beautiful tombs, no temples?
It's people that matter, not stones.
God, what were they actually for?
I never really thought about it.
Perhaps they were their equivalent to garden gnomes.
Nice try, Simon, but just a little wide of the mark.
The sphynx was, in fact, a monster from Greek mythology
with a woman's head.
See? And a lionesse's body and said--
Don't you want to know? It said riddles to travelers
and killed those who got them wrong.
Just sign right there.
And this is the lease agreement for the Fifth Avenue apartment.
Yes.
Yes, sign right there.
- It's perfectly in order. - I'm sure it is, but I like to read everything.
Gosh, I never read a legal document in my life!
- How careless of you. - It's really straighforward, my dear.
- It's just a lot of legal jargon. - I just sign at the dotted line.
Now that can be quite risky, don't you think?
Darling, if you carry on this way we'll be here all day.
- Why don't we... do this later? - I think it's a very good idea.
It's getting frighfully hot up here.
- Where have you been? - I'm sorry, cousin Marie,
but I couldn't find it. - You're a really hopeless creature.
I can be rather stupid, can't I?
You most certainly can.
Oh, you forgot your magazine.
What is the point of someone like that?
And that rich kid? Signs a few documents and then has to rest
because it's so frightully hot.
And what sets you apart, Monsieur Ferguson?
I make people aware.
And I certainly don't swan around like a fop.
Why are you actually here, Monsieur Poirot?
I'm on holiday. And you?
I'm studying conditions.
- Monsieur Poirot... - Madame.
I'm so sorry, it's all the motion.
I cant seem to find my sea legs.
All this pitching and jolting!
I think it would be best if--
- Where's that wretched girl? - You do go back inside, Madame.
Leaving me to suffer, hour upon hour...
God help if we go down, Monsieur Poirot!
The thought of being nibbled by haddock and carp...
- It is a little too dangerous out here, hm? - Yes, yes...
You might be swept overboard.
And end my days in Neptune's arms,
covered in carbuncles like an old wreck...
Non, non, non, non...
No doubt it was a pleasant surprise
to run into Linette Doyle and discover she was married.
Yes. Yes, it was.
Well, actually she did write me about it,
I'd already left New York,
on the Carmanic. - Oh! The Carmanic?
Yes.
Most fortunate then, that you had with you all of her documents.
That's truly none of your business.
But, as you mentioned it,
I had them sent over after we met.
Now, if you'll excuse me...
Don't fall on the hole...
... the goddess Hathor was often depicted as the winged cow of creation,
who gave birth to the entire universe.
Oh, my! She did keep herself busy.
And occasionally, she can be mistaken for Isis,
magically impregnanted with the seed of her own son.
- "Heavens to Betsy"! - Cornelia!
I'm sorry...
A nice curvy girl...
This is what I like.
When are we gonna see some more pyramids?
I thought Egypt was full of them.
Let go... we've had enough. go away, little hauls!
Oh! What a wonderful way to be remembered.
Maybe I'll have one build in the ground
you can be buried in it, too. - I'll say!
So we'll give the locals something to talk about.
A-- Aagh!
My God!
- Madame, Monsieur... - Are you hurt?
Isn't that fascinating!
The godess Hathor was a beautiful woman with the head of a cow.
Still, I supose that's better than being a cow
with the head of a beautiful woman.
This place is simply drenched in historical goodies like that.
- I thought... - Yes, Monsieur, I know.
I know what you thought.
Tim, what happened?
Bonjour.
Pardon... Je ne comprends pas, Monsieur...
Did I fool you? Poirot, you old dog!
- How's tricks? - Colonel Race!
- I do not believe my eyes! How are you? - Saddled and flittered.
- Otherwise, Tip Top. - What a big surprise to see you here!
Well, I've been sorting out a few local difficulties, you know
restless natives, odd assassinations, that sort of thing.
- I say, that's pretty daring. - Oh! Merci.
You know, you really must give me the name of your taylor.
- Oui. Where are you heading? - Back up the river with you.
With me? But surely you can go on a government steamer.
In normal circumstances, yes.
But when I heard that my old chum Poirot was on the vicinities,
I thought it would be much more fun. Something always seem to happen around you.
- It might have already started, mon ami. - Oh, jolly good!
Madame Allerton, Madame Otterbourne, allow me to introduce a very old friend of mine,
Coronel Race.
- Miss Robson. - Where have you been?
You're unusually breathless.
And blotchy.
I'm sorry, cousin Marie. I was just outside...
And what have you done with my velvet stole?
- Shall I see if it's in the cabin? - It couldn't possibly be in the cabin.
I had it in here after dinner and I haven't moved since,
have I, Dr. Bessner? - No, Miss Van Schuyler.
It was on that chair and it's not now.
- I thought you must have taken it. - No, I'm afraid I didn't.
It was a gift from Count von Mecklenburg.
Miss Van Schuyler,
Miss Robson.
Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle.
- You look tired, Monsieur Poirot. - Oui, oui, c'est vrai.
It must, I think, be the heat.
Bonne nuit.
♪ Love is the sweetest thing ♪
♪ What else on Earth could ever bring... ♪
♪ ... such happiness ... ♪
... ♫ ...
♪ Love is the sweetest thing ♪
Cornelia! Come and join me!
Right...
- Decided to make a night of it? - No, no.
I just don't want to bed yet. It's such a beautiful night.
It is lovely, isn't it?
Just perfect for a honeymoon.
- Two large gins. - Oh, no! I couldn't.
Oh, tish!
What's our score, Simon?
Sorry...
We've made 120 below the line.
Not bad looking, don't you think?
Well, I don't know about that...
You better watch out, there are no man-eaters around here.
I'm so sorry, I suddenly got very tired.
And it is rather rowdy in here.
Yes, time to turn in.
- Are you coming, Simon? - I'll...
I'll just finish my drink.
Good night.
- Well... - My dear, you didn't have your night cup, yet.
- No... - We girls must stick together.
- I'm absolutely gasping. - Thank you.
To love, marriage, stuff like that.
- Tell me all about yourself. - Oh, dear!
There isn't really that much to tell.
I live at home, in Connecticut, in a little place, called Bellfield,
this is my first trip to Europe and I'm just loving every minute...
- Go on. - I live with my mother,
whose health is, unfortunately, a little delicate, at the moment.
She sleeps very badly and she eats only in the middle day,
some days, just a piece of fruit or two,
some days, she'll only touch cereals...
- Do go on. - Yes, yes. We're all ears.
- I really must go to bed. - Don't go.
- I want to hear more. - There isn't any more...
- Please. - Well, I love art,
and I go to classes. I sculpt a little and make pots...
Sounds a hoot.
- Ring the bell, Simon. - It's after midnight.
- But I need a drink. - You've had enough.
So what?
- A bit of fresh air. - I think it's time...
Don't leave, Cornelia.
You see, Simon here is afraid
afraid that I tell you the story of my life.
- Go to bed, Jackie. - Afraid of a scene, are you?
Want me to behave decently, like you behave to me?
Do you really think you can get away with this?
You're drunk.
I said I'd kill you, and by God, I meant it.
Miss de Bellefort!
I'll shoot you like a dog! Like the dirty dog you are!
Mr. Ferguson! Mr. Ferguson!
Good God!
I didn't...
Ferguson, someone's coming.
Tell him it's an accident, it is nothing.
Nothing to worry about. Charades, that's all.
A game. Fun...
Yes... Yes.
Well, I don't think anyone else sould've heard. It sounded like a cork popping.
- What have I done? - It'll be alright.
Get her out of here, for God's sake, take her to the cabin!
And don't let her be left alone, whatever you do!
Don't worry, Mr. Doyle. I'll stay with her.
Get Dr. Bessner to take a look at this.
I'll kill myself...
Please, please don't let my wife get wind of this...
This way, let's go. It's alright...
His poor leg... My God, and if he bleeds to death?
Miss de Bellefort, I don't think that will happen.
Let go of me! I want to drown!
That wouldn't solve things.
I'll call Dr. Bessner.
- Do you have any idea what time it is? - We need your help! Someting's happenned.
Gott in Himmel!
It is bad. The bone is fractured and he has lost a lot of blood.
Herr Ferguson, we must take him to my cabin.
Gently...
Careful...
That's just the best I can do.
You've been a hero, my friend.
Now, I will give you something to help you sleep.
- Has anyone told Frau Doyle? - No. It can wait until tomorrow.
I... You mustn't blame Jackie. It's my fault.
I was a creep. She didn't know what she was doing.
- Ja, ja. - She might hurt herself.
Someone ought to stay with her.
It's alright. Miss Robson is with her.
Good...
The pistol. Can't leave it lying around.
Stewards will find it.
I'll get it.
- It's gone. - Are you sure?
Yes. It dropped out of her hand, she kicked it under a chair.
- I saw her do it. But it's not there. - Who could have taken it?
Entrez!
Ah! My dear Coronel, what a beautiful morning, n'est-ce pas?
I'm afraid someone's been shot.
- Who? - Linnet Doyle, last night.
Shot through the head.
The pistol was held close against her head.
- See? Where the skin is scorched? - Oui.
There was no struggle. She was shot in her sleep.
Time of death?
She's certainly been dead six hours, and probably not longer than eight.
Between twelve and two.
May I ask you, Colonel, with what authority you make these inquiries?
The Cruise Manager's asked me to take matters in hands until we reach port.
I have some slight official standing, you see?
- We are all at the disposal of the Coronel. - Yes, quite.
- Now, what's all that about? - What? This?
Well, it seems very simple, does it not?
It would appear that she is dying,
she writes with her finger dipped into her own blood,
the inicial of the name of the murderer:
Jacqueline de Bellefort,
a young lady who, less than a week ago, declared to me that:
''I would like nothing better than to place my gun against her head"
''and, gently, pull the trigger.''
So, I suppose her husband is next door?
At the moment, he is in my cabin, asleep.
He spent the night in your cabin, Dr. Bessner?
Ja. Ach. I see you have not heard.
Mr. Doyle was also shot last night.
- What? - In the leg.
Is there anyone else we should know about?
That is all.
It seems that Mademoiselle de Bellefort worked herself up, helped by a few drinks,
and finally took a shot at him.
The poor man is completely immobilized.
Then she went down to Linnet Doyle's cabin and shot her as well.
No, no, no, that's not possible.
You see, she was in an hysterical state
and Doyle was most concerned she should not harm herself,
so Miss Robson stayed with her all night.
- Who discovered the crime? - It was the maid, apparently, Miss Bourget.
- Coronel, my office is ready for you, sir. - Thank you.
If you could be as discreet as possible...
- It's our speciality, old chap. - Yes, of course.
Now, we need to speak to Doyle. You say he's still asleep?
I gave him a very strong opiate.
I would suggest I have my breakfast and then I will see if he's ready to wake.
- Thank you, Doctor. - Colonel.
So, at midnight Madame Doyle was alive and well.
- Yes, I saw her to her cabin. - Who was remaining in the lounge?
Doyle, Miss de Bellefort, Miss Robson and myself.
- What were you all doing? - Mr. Ferguson was reading a magazine,
and I'd got embroiderie and Miss de Bellefort was...
- Drinking. - Yes.
Like a fish.
And I tried to leave once or twice, but she made me stay
and I was getting very uncomfortable
and so was Mr. Ferguson, he went out on deck.
It was pretty stuffy in there.
Then, Miss de Bellefort pulled out a pistol
and shot Mr. Doyle in the leg and I called for Mr. Ferguson.
And Mr. Doyle said not to make a fuss, then one of the stewards came.
And Mr. Ferguson told him it was all a sort of a game
and then Miss de Bellefort started to cry and so we took her to her cabin.
And I stayed with her, while Mr. Ferguson got Dr. Bessner.
- At what time was this? - Mercy, I don't know.
About twenty past twelve,
because it was half past when I finally turned in.
And you are quite sure that Mademoiselle de Bellefort did not leave the cabin?
Positive.
And she couldn't have shot Mrs. Doyle before, let's say at twenty past twelve?
How long did you remain with her, Mademoiselle Robson?
Well, I was with her all night. She never woke once.
I think it was probably the drink.
Bien. So far, she has the alibi parfait.
And Monsieur Doyle, I understand,
was most anxious that she should not be left alone.
Yes, he was quite worried that she might do something stupid.
She even said that she wanted to kill herself.
And the pistol?
- What happenned to that? - She dropped it.
And kicked it under a chair,
but when I went to get it,
it'd gone.
Gone?
Now we begin to arrive.
You are quite certain that Mademoiselle de Bellefort
did not recover it before she left the lounge?
- Yes. - Absolutely.
And she had no opportunity of returning to retrieve it.
So how long was it between the time
that you and you and Dr. Bessner carried Monsieur Doyle out to the cabin
and when you returned to look for the pistol?
- Five minutes? - Five minutes.
In those five minutes, someone removed the pistol
and that someone was not Jacqueline de Bellefort.
Then we may assume that this person has overheard
or seen some of the events preceeding.
- But how d'you made that up? - Because you told us
that the pistol was out of sight, so it could hardly be discovered by accident.
Well, I saw no one on the deck before the shot was fired.
- On which side were you, Monsieur? - Starboard, I think.
So, if someone was on the port side, you could not have seen them.
No, I suppose not.
Did anyone hear the shot, appart from the steward?
I doubt it,
it sounded like a cork popping, anyway.
Did you hear anything at all, after retiring?
I think a heard a kind of ...splash, just as I was dropping--
What time would that be?
What's the French for ''third degree''?
- Just answer the question. - 1 h? 12:55? 1:05?
Who knows? Now, would that be all?
Hm? Oh-- yes? Thank you, Monsieur, for your help.
By the way...
- Who exactly are you? - What a damn fool question!
Heat's getting too much for you, is it?
Hm? No, but thank you for your concern.
What a fightfully rude young man!
Oh, one thing more, Mademoiselle...
had you ever met Madame Doyle before this trip?
- No. Never. - Merci.
Good day.
I-I didn't do it, you must believe me.
I was in such a state, I could have killed Simon, but I didn't do it.
There, there...
We know , Mademoiselle.
- You do? - Oh yes, it is proved, mon enfant,
it was not you.
Oh! Thank God for that!
- So, who was it? - Ah! That is where we need help.
I can't think of anyone who wanted her dead, except for me.
I wanted her dead, and she is dead.
- And she died just like I said. - Oui. Shot through the head.
See? I was right. There was someone listening that night, at the hotel.
- Who could it have been? - Are you certain it was a man?
No, I just assumed.
Entrez.
- Doyle is ready to see you now. - Is he alright?
Of course he's not alright, you shot him.
He's not going to die, is he?
He has the constitution of a peasant.
We will get him to civilization, where he'll have an x-ray and proper treatment.
We now know that it was not Jacqueline de Bellefort who shot your wife,
so, can you give to us any idea
of who you think that might have been?
Did she have any enemies or someone who bore against her the grudge?
You see, Monsieur Doyle,
on the first day of the cruise, I had a little encounter with your wife.
She was upset. She said that everybody,
everybody, mark you, hated her and she was surrounded by enemies.
Now, she was exaggerating,
but she did mean more than one person.
There was a name, on the passenger list...
- So, what name was that? - She did next to tell me.
You see, her father played the markets
several people got it in the neck.
Rolling in it one day, and in the gutter the next.
Someone on board whose father was one of those,
had it in for Linnet's old man.
She said how awful it was, everyone hating her
without even knowing her.
She did not mention a name?
Tell me, Mademoiselle Bourget,
what time was it, when you last saw alive your mistress?
- Sometime after midnight, Monsieur. - And what then?
- Then I went to my cabin, Monsieur. - You heard or saw anything?
- How could I? - Well, that is for you to say, Mademoiselle.
My cabin is on the deck below, on the other side.
It is not possible I should hear anything,
unless I could not sleep,
and came back up. Then, perhaps I see something,
this monster enter or leave my mistress' cabin.
Then-- Monsieur, I implore you! You know as it is... what can I say?
Calm down, for Heaven's sake!
It'll be alright. I'll look after you.
Nobody's accusing you of anything.
Monsieur is very good.
Do you know anyone who-- had a grudge against your mistress?
Non, Monsieur. Everybody loved her.
Tell me, Monsieur Doyle,
did your wife have with her, on this cruise any jewelry that was valuable?
- The pearls. - Do you know anything about these pearls?
- She was wearing them last night. - But did you see them when you went to bed?
- Yes, Monsieur. - And where she put them?
- On her bedside table. - And where they this morning?
I did not see, because when I come into the room
the only thing I notice was Madame...
... dead. - Oui bien, Mademoiselle, but I did see
and there were no pearls on her bedside table this morning.
Merci.
I think I heard a splash and someone running.
Or was it the other way about?
- Do you know what time that was? - An hour after I went to bed?
Or maybe more, I can't be sure.
- Did you ever met Madame Doyle before? - No,
but I'd heard a lot about her through a relative of ours, Joanna Southwood.
And through Tim, of course, who had met her.
One more question, Madame.
Did your family ever suffer financially
with the dealings of the father of Madame Doyle?
No. The family finances never suffered except by dwindling.
Our poverty has never been melodramatic.
I was woken by lots of different voices,
then somebody running along the deck,
then a splash.
You sure it was not a shot that you heard?
It might have been.
I did hear a cork pop.
Perhaps that was the shot and I imagined the splash.
You know, sort of association, a cork popping, liquid splashing...
- And after that? - Oblivion.
I heard somebody on the deck and then a splash.
- Do you know what time this was? - 01:10. I looked in my clock.
- You did not hear a shot? - No, I did not.
Have you any idea of what might have caused the splash?
- Oh, yes. - You do?
I know exactly what it was.
I went to the door of my cabin.
The daughter of that hideous woman in the turban
was leaning over the rail, she just dropped something into the water.
- You quite sure? - Why else would I have said it?
- Yes? - We've found it, Colonel.
Good job.
Is this the gun you saw at the hotel?
Yes, it is.
Two shots fired. This must be the weapon.
What about my stole? Look at the state of it!
Where did you last see this?
- I had it in the lounge, yesterday evening. - Please, do observe.
Hélas!
So, the murderer must have used this as a silencer.
The impertinence!
Er... Miss Van Schuyler, would you excuse us, please?
Count Van Mecklenburg will be most displeased.
Non, non! It does not make sense!
If the murderer wishes us to believe that Jaqueline de Bellefort is the culprit,
why throw the revolver, the evidence the most accusing of all,
into the River Nile?
I told you, I never left my cabin.
Well, that is strange, Mademoiselle, because someone said that saw you.
- Who? - Mademoiselle Van Schuyler.
She looked outside her cabin, and saw you throwing something over the side.
- And what else did she claim to have seen? - Nothing,
but she heard something: someone moving about the cabin of Madame Doyle.
Of course, mademoiselle,
there might be a reason that is perfectly innocent
for throwing something overboard.
But, then again...
- Is that what she was killed with? - Oui, mademoiselle.
Hmm... And you think that I might have done it?
Mademoiselle Van Schuyler is prepared to swear
that she saw you quite clearly in the moonlight.
It wasn't me.
I was dead to the world...
... like poor Madame Doyle is now, in fact.
A crime passionnel, wouldn't you say, Monsieur Poirot?
That girl, Jacqueline, half latin, you know, creeping along the deck,
pistol in full cock. Or Mr. Doyle, deranged by desire,
lust pumping through his veins.
Or perhaps Miss Robson, the repressed virgin, tragically plain,
driven to distraction by the proximity of honeymoon passion...
Tell me, Monsieur Pennington, are you aware of anyone
who wished to see Madame Doyle dead?
Well, there is that Madam, that Miss de Bellefort.
- Now, if looks could kill... - Thank you for that, Monsieur.
You may, perhaps also recall that Madame Doyle had a very near escape,
at the temple of Hathor. - Well, I did hear about that,
but I was inside the temple at the time.
Mr. Doyle mentioned that there was someone on board
who bore a grudge against her family.
- Do you know who that could be? - I'm afraid I don't.
No business dealings of her father that might have resulted
in ruin for some rival?
Not that I am aware of, no.
So, why should the murderer take the stole before the event?
After all, nobody knew that Mademoiselle de Bellefort
et Monsieur Doyle were going to... have a scene.
Perhaps he found it when he went in to get the pistol.
Why was it not discovered when the search for it was made?
Non, non, my friend, it makes no sense.
Well, don't be downhearted. We'll get to the bottom of it.
Oh, I know I will!
Doyle has asked if he may see Mademoiselle de Bellefort.
- Oui, I will bring her to him. - Very good.
Did you know that Monsieur Pennington told to us a lie?
Did he?
He said that he was in the temple when the statuette fell. He was not.
I had just come from there myself.
Come in.
I thought you might be worrying,
and I wanted you to know that it's-- it's alright.
I behaved absolutely rotten to you.
Oh! Simon, I'm so sorry...
I'm so sorry...
How could you do this to me? How could you?
You know I need it!
- It's for your own good, mother. - Ungrateful wretch!
- Have you any idea how I suffer? - You don't let me forget!
Mademoiselle, may I have a few words?
I won't "beat about the bushes",
but your mother, she drinks, n'est-ce pas?
No need for you to talk.
When I first met you, I saw at once
that you were protecting her from something
and soon I discovered what that something was.
The secret drinker, with the secret cunning of the drunken,
had a secret supply hidden away.
I believe that you yesterday discovered her supply
and, while your mother was sound asleep,
you threw overboard the bottles. I am right, am I not?
It all began when her books stopped selling
and that hurt her dreadfully.
She made a complete fool of herself,
it was awful.
I had to keep my eye on her all the time. And she began to hate me.
- Pauvre petite. - Don't pity me, for God's sake!
I know people think I'm stuck-up, bad tempered,
but the truth is, I forgot how to be nice.
You won't tell anyone, will you?
Non, but now I need you to tell me what I need to know.
At what time did you throw overboard the bottles?
- At 01:10, perhaps? - About that, yes.
As I have already told you,
Mademoiselle Van Schuyler saw you from her cabin door.
Now you tell me: did you see her?
No, I didn't. I looked along the deck, out to the river.
But did you see anyone, when you looked along the deck?
Anyone at all?
No, I saw nobody.
Merci.
Stolen?
- I'm afraid it is so, Madame. - Those beautiful pearls!
Remember that party at the Portarlington,
when poor Lady Hooper's diamonds were stolen?
The Police gave you quite a grilling.
Poor child! She looks dreadfully unhappy.
Well, she shouldn't go around shooting people.
I mean, who does she think she is, Annie Oakley?
French have blood on their hands, we have blood on our hands
and one day we'll all pay for all dearly, I tell you!
Yeah, and I tell you to shut up and eat!
Why couldn't you wait for me?
I had something to do.
I remember reading about the diamonds of Lady Hooper.
Well... As usual, mother has got the whole thing hopelessly wrong.
I wasn't there when they're actually stolen, just when it was discovered
that the old bag was wearing paste around her fat neck.
Some say she was in on it herself.
- Joanna, no doubt. - Joanna wasn't there, mother.
If I may have your attention...
It's come to our notice that a valuable string of pearls,
belonging to the late Mrs. Doyle, is gone missing.
What?
A search in the boat is just about to take place.
I'd be grateful if you would all remain here until it's completed.
And thereafter, I'd be most grateful
if you'd all submit yourselves to a search.
Sir, there is a lady that says it's urgent
she speak to you.
- Bring her in. - Please.
- Miss Robson. - Mademoiselle.
What can we do for you?
- You took them? - No, I didn't. Cousin Marie did.
- Mademoiselle Van Schuyler? - She can't help it.
It's her little idiosyncrasy.
That's why I'm here, to keep an eye on her.
- Where did you find them? - They were on her stoking,this morning.
That's where she usually hides things. I knew whose they were, of course,
so I went along to return them,
but there was a steward en garde, who told me about the murder.
I've been in absolute stale all morning.
The Van Schuyler, you see, are very particular.
I mean, it would never do if this got into the papers.
- But it won't, will it? - Well, it depends, Miss Robson.
Non, non, non, non, non...
We shall do our very best for you, of course, Mademoiselle.
- Thank you so much. - Please.
Thank you, Monsieur...
Poirot.
Imitation, my friend.
Now we begin our search for the real thing.
I doubt we will find them in Mrs. Doyle's cabin.
We never know what we might find, Colonel.
''Das Kapital''... Conrad Ferguson is a bolschie.
I always knew there was something fishy about the chap.
A bolschie is not all that he is...
Monsieur Allerton, it would seem, is most religious.
The glue... Now, what would he want with this, I wonder?
Well, I dunno...
Monsieur Pennington. S.S. Normandie.
Poirot.
The passengers have been searched, sir.
- And...? - Nothing,
except for Miss Rosalie Otterbourne,
there was a small revolver in her handbag.
- So, how did she react? - She did not notice.
I had my back turned to her, at the time.
And still there is one person we have not searched.
- Who's that? - The maid, Louise Bourget.
We can not find her anywhere.
Dead not more than an hour. Instantaneous.
Stabbed through the heart.
With what?
With something like this.
I suppose that none of your knives is missing.
Do you think I would kill a little miserable femme de chambre?
No, I just wondered...
All my knives are present and correct.
Good, good.
Well, now if you'll excuse me...
She was holding this.
It's the corner of one thousand franc note.
What did she say when we questioned her?
''It is not possible that I should hear anything,
"unless I could not sleep
''and came back up. Then perhaps I see something,
''this monster enter or leave my mistresse's cabin.''
This is exactly what happened! She did return to the top deck.
She did someone enter or leave the cabin.
- Blackmail. - Yes. So the murdered enters,
gives to her the money, and, while she is counting it...
You talk the scandal, mesdemoiselles?
We were just comparing lipsticks.
- What's wrong, Monsieur Poirot? - The maid of Madame Doyle
she has been killed. - Louise?
She saw something she was not meant to see.
What?
Someone enter or leave the cabin of Madame Doyle last night.
Did she say who?
Miss Jacqueline, if you please, do excuse us.
Oh! Of course.
- Why did you not tell me the truth? - I have.
Non, you did not tell me everything you saw last night.
And you did not tell me that you have in your handbag, the little revolver.
I don't!
- I want the truth! - And what is the truth?
That you saw last night someone come out of the cabin of Linnet Doyle.
I'm right, am I not, Mademoiselle?
I've told you I saw no one!
You're not thinking of jumping in, are you, old chap?
Why would I want to do that,
just when things begin to fall into place?
Just a few questions, that is all, Doctor.
I'll return in three minutes, then positively you go.
Merci.
I will not detain you for long, Monsieur Doyle.
So, what is it?
Monsieur Poirot! Monsieur Poirot!
Monsieur Poirot, I must speak with you,
I have vital information!
- I know who killed Linnet Doyle! - What?
- Yes, and I have evidence to prove it! - S'il vous plaît, Madame.
Merci. My theories about primeval urges
are completely justified.
You will agree that whoever killed Louise,
what's her name, also killed Linnet Doyle?
I saw the person with my own eyes.
You saw the person who killed my wife?
It was just before lunch.
I had an arrangement with one of the "ship's personnel"
to get me... something I needed,
we were to meet on the lower deck.
As I walked along, a cabin door opened
and this girl, Louise... Budget?...
popped her head out.
I think she was expecting someone, but when she saw it was me,
she darted back inside.
I thought nothing of it, of course went along,
got the-- from the man, and started back. Just as I did,
I saw someone knock on the... maids door and go inside!
Yes?
Yes!
- But who was it? - Didn't I say?
It was...
What the devil was that?
- Did you see anyone? - No.
That's Pennington's gun. I saw him cleaning it the other day.
So, how do you account for your gun being used?
- I have no idea. - Was anybody aware that you had one?
I made no secret of it.
Tell me, Monsieur Pennington,
Linnet Doyle was not yet of age when she married, yes?
She would turn 21 next July.
Which is when she would have taken control of her fortune?
According of her father's will,
Linnet was to take control over the dowry when she turned 21
or when she married.
And did this marriage, that was so sudden, cause you any consternation?
- Why should it? - Perhaps because her affairs
weren't in the perfect order that they should be.
- What are you suggesting? - Which she would have noticed
when she took control on her return to England.
And that prospect so alarmed you, - did it not? - that you rushed over
and arranged for a meeting that was apparently fortuitous in Cairo?
I did not! Her letter arrived a day after I sailed on the Carmanic.
Then why did you, on your luggage,
you have only the labels of the Normandie, that sailed two days later?
Non, Mr. Paddington. It is the easiest thing in the world to check the list of passengers.
I believe that you came over here to find a way out of the mess you were in
and endeavored, without success,
to obtain the signature of Mme. Doyle to certain documents.
And while you were walking along the roof of the Temple of Hathor,
you dislodged a statue head, which fell very close to it's objective...
- That is crazy! - And when a similar opportunity
presented itself on the return journey home,
when her death would, almost certainly, be described to somebody else,
not forgetting the fact, irrefutable,
that it was your gun that was used to shoot and kill
a woman that was about to reveal the identity of the murderer.
Three murders, Monsieur Pennington!
You may rest assured that the authorities will conduct an investigation
that will be most thorough to the condition of the estate of Madame Doyle.
All right!
It's because of this goddamn slum. I was hoping that, with a little bit of luck,
I would have straightened everything up by the time she would take control.
And the statue head was what? Was it an opportunity too tempting?
It was an accident! I tripped over my golf club.
And I didn't kill her either!
Do you hear me?
You're not gonna pin that on me, and you never will.
A spoiled brat, a domestic parasite and a drunken old bag,
who cares whether they're dead or not?
You really are the rudest man...
It's the future that matters, woman, not the past.
Have you ever considered, for a single second, that somebody, somewhere,
might be grieving by the poor maid or how distraught Rosalie might be?
And as for Linnet Doyle, well, she was just so beautiful...
Ah! Unbelievable, isn't it?
Did you know that Cornelia's father was practically ruined
by Linnet's old man
and all she say is how beautiful she was. Incredible!
I thought you said it's the future that mattered, not the past.
Touché.
Will you marry me?
- What?! - It goes against all my principles,
I know, but I really think you should. How about it?
It's a disgusting idea.
Is that a ''No''?
You are opinionated, unreliable,
scrubby, unpleasant
and utterly... utterly irritating.
- But apart from that... - You see?
Definitely smitten, I say. I think I'll have a word with the old crow!
Quite a field day for you, isn't it?
Everybody dropping like flies!
Good afternoon.
To come straight to the point, I want to marry your cousin.
In fact, I've already asked her. Unfortunately, she declined,
but don't worry,
I'll keep on her turn, until she says yes.
I can assure, sir, I shall take steps to see
that she's not be subjected to such persecution.
What exactly do you have against me?
I'm not that bad, you see. Anatomically, everything's in the right place,
it's in perfect working order and I'm really quite bright,
so what seems to be the problem?
- Social position, Mr. Ferguson. - Oh, I see.
Cornelia, come here. Have you been behaving wrongly with this young man?
No! No, of course not...
Your cousin says that I'm not good enough for you.
In the natural order of things,
she thinks that I'm the equivalent of pond life.
- Is that how you see me? - It's not that.
- It's-- It's...? - Yes...?
Isn't she wonderful?
Rather eccentric, I'm afraid, like most of his family.
Well, he refuses to wear his title because of his ideas progressive.
- Title? - Oui, Lord Dawlish. You did not know?
Oh, he is, how do you say it, rolling in money, of course,
but he became a communist on Oxford.
Lord... Dawlish?
I recognized him from a picture on the paper,
then I discovered the signet ring,
with the Dawlish coat of arms on it.
There can be no doubt, I assure you!
I am very much obliged to you, Monsieur Poirot.
Ah! Monsieur Allerton,
I would like very much to have a little word with you.
- What can I do for you? - There's nothing you can do for me, Monsieur,
but to sit and to listen. - Right... well,
I'm very good at that.
You can rely on me to say ''Whoa!'' on the right moments.
''Whoa!'' will do nicely. Thank you.
Merci.
So, to begin, your friendship with your cousin, Joanna Southwood.
For the past three years, Scotland Yard has been preoccupied
with a number of jewelry robberies.
And we know that the method has been always the same.
Oui, the substitution of the original with an imitation.
Attention soon focused on Mademoiselle Southwood.
You see, everyone of the victims had been either a friend or an acquaintance.
It also became clear that she did not make the substitution herself.
Non, non, non. She had a jeweler who made a copy
and the substitution would be made by someone else.
But the identity of this person has remained a mystery.
- Whoa! - Oui.
But over the past few days, certain facts have emerged,
that have been most helpful.
Your attendance at the house party where had one of such robbery occurred,
your obvious resentments of my presence here,
and the discovery that the pearls belonging to Linnet Doyle were missing.
But what do I find?
I find that the pearls that were stolen and returned
were an imitation,
previously substituted for the real thing.
It would have been easy to Mademoiselle Southwood find an opportunity
to examine the pearls of her friend and to have made a copy.
And it was then just a question of waiting for the right moment
for you to make the substitution.
Et bien! But you learned that Linnet Doyle was to honeymoon in Egypt, so hum!?...
Parfait, hein?
Mademoiselle Southwood sent you the imitation,
concealed, I suggest in a packet of books,
to you then, find your time.
Finally, you made the substitution,
returned to your cabin...
... and concealed them by gluing them into a rosary.
unfortunately for you, the night you chose to do the did
was the same night when Linnet Doyle was murdered.
But more unfortunately was the fact that someone saw you leave her cabin.
"Whoa!", would you not say, Monsieur Allerton?
- Who saw me? - Mademoiselle Rosalie Otterbourne.
- And she told you? - Non. In fact, when I taxed her with it,
she lied. - Why?
Perhaps because she thought the man she saw
was the murderer.
Surely, not thinking that...
Was Madame Doyle alive or dead when you stole the pearls?
I don't know. I... really don't know.
Could you hear her breathing?
I--I couldn't say.
Now listen, you young twerp,
Monsieur Poirot here, can build a case against you, that's so rock solid
that you'll be hanging from some gallows
before you can even draw a breath to say "False!".
I didn't murder anyone! I admit I substituted the pearls,
but murder no! I swear!
It would make a very good case, I assure you.
I suggest that, when I examine the rosary, I will find nothing there,
and, since Mademoiselle Otterbourne
asserts on saying that she saw no one
on the deck last night, for this particular theft,
there is no case against you.
The pearls were taken by a kleptomaniac
who has since returned.
I... don't know what to say, Mr. P.
Under the circumstances, Mr. A,
I will suggest that this is not a bad thing.
So that's that.
Now all I have to do is return the real thing to Mr. Poirot.
- Why didn't you say you'd seen me? - I thought they might suspect you.
- Did you suspect me? - No.
- I knew you couldn't kill anyone. - A miserable little thief, that's all I am.
Barking up the wrong tree, I'm afraid.
Timothy...
Mademoiselle,
Messieurs,
I am pleased to inform you
that the picture, it is finally complete.
Et bien, where to begin?
You know, our big mistake,
and unbelievable that I should go along with it,
was to suppose that this crime was spontaneous. Not so.
It was worked out meticulously in every detail,
even to the drugging of the bottle of wine of Hercule Poirot!
I was put to sleep, so there should be no possibility of participating
in the events of the night.
Nothing easier than to place a narcotic into my bottle,
which stands on the table of the dining room.
And my sleepinness... Et bien, it had been a hot day.
The drugging of the wine, it had to take place before dinner, at 19:30,
but, you know, even then,
premeditation was very far from my mind.
The first blow to our preconceived idea
was when the revolver was recovered from the River Nile.
If we had been correct,
the revolver would never have been thrown overboard.
Also the stole which was wrapped around the pistol
showed the signs that it had been fired through,
but the bullet wounds showed signs of scorching.
Which is to say the revolver had been placed against her head
and we knew the stole was not used against you, Monsieur Doyle,
because there are two witnesses to prove it.
Therefore, a third shot must have been fired, about which we knew nothing.
Next came the two bottles.
Madame Doyle always painted her nails ''Cardinal'',
a red color that was deep and dark.
The other bottle was ''Rose'', a shade of pink.
But the few drops that were remaining were bright red
and, instead of the usual odor of pale drops,
this bottle smelled of ink.
This linked it with the handkerchief
that was also stained bright red,
and wrapped around the revolver.
Then an event occurred which rended all the doubts superfluous.
When I asked Louise Bourget, the maid, if she'd seen anything, she said.:
It is not possible I should hear anything,
unless I could not sleep and came back up.
Then perhaps I see something,
this... monster enter or leave my mistress' cabin.
But why say all this to us?
If she knew who was the murderer, why not tell it to us,
or hold her tongue and demand money from the guilty person?
But she does neither. Why?
There could only be one reason,
because she was hinting to the murderer.
Therefore, the murderer must have been present.
Oh! You're accusing me?
But why would you kill her, Dr. Bessner? And you, Monsieur Doyle?
There are witnesses to swear that you didn't leave the lounge
before the quarrel broke out,
and then you were wounded in the leg, making it physically impossible.
So no, Dr. Bessner must be the guilty one,
but... why should Louise, the maid, be hinting to Dr. Bessner?
She could have spoken to him any time she wanted.
So... non! There was one person, and one person only,
who corresponded to her necessity.
Simon Doyle!
I say!
Poppycock! Absolute poppycock!
You were constantly attended to, she might not have another chance.
Monsieur, I implore you! You know how it is... What can I say?
Calm down, for Heaven's sake!
You'll be alright. I'll look after you.
And that was the assurance that she wanted and she got it.
- Impossible! The man could not move! - Exactly!
- This is an outrage! - But what had actually been seen?
Miss de Bellefort!
I'll shoot you like a dog! Like the dirty dog that you are!
Mr. Ferguson! Mr. Ferguson!
And what then?
Get her out of here, for God's sake! Take her to her cabin!
And don't let her be left alone, whatever you do!
Oh, don't worry, Mr. Doyle! I'll stay with her.
And get Dr. Bessner to take care of me.
But all of these cabins were on the port side.
The cabin of your wife, Monsieur Doyle,
it was on the starboard side.
So, this was your only chance
and a few minutes were all that you needed.
You see, what had been witnessed
was not what actually happened.
Monsieur Allerton heard a pop...
He heard a splash,
and he heard something else:
the footsteps of someone running past his door.
Now, who could possibly be running on the starboard side? No one.
Except Simon Doyle.
You cooked all that up yourself?
But that's all nonsense! Downright slander!
As I have said,
it looked as if this crime could have been committed in the spur of the moment.
But, non, non, it was not.
It was not an accident that you had in your pocket red ink,
it was not an accident that the revolver was kicked under the chair.
- Jacqueline! - Oui.
Who gives to Monsieur Doyle his alibi?
The shooting of him by Jacqueline. Who gives to Jacqueline hers?
You, Mademoiselle Robson, staying with her all of the night at his insistence.
Oh, the two halves of the murder, with all the qualities required:
the cool, resourceful plan of Jacqueline,
and the man of action to carry it out. They had been lovers...
Realize that they are still lovers and it all makes sense.
But then, your plan goes horribly wrong, does it not, Monsieur Doyle?
For Louise, the maid, sees you and hints you that she requires
the money for hushing her up.
You manage to inform Jacqueline
and tell to her where Doctor Hessner keeps his scalpels.
Et presto!... She returns the scalpel,
hurries into lunch, rather late and breathless.
But still, all is not well, Madame Otterbourne saw her,
rushes in to tell us. You raised your voice to her...
You saw the person who killed my wife?
Nerves, I thought. But the door was open
and you were hinting of the danger
to your partner in crime... she acted like lightening.
She remembered that Monsieur Pennington had in his cabin a gun.
Cracked behind the curtain here, and...
Another problem solved.
I am correct, am I not, Monsieur Doyle?
What happened to the first bullet fired by the girl?
What is the matter, Monsieur Doyle, has the cat got you by the tongue?
It went into the settee.
Removed it and threw it out of the window.
You also carried with you a spare cartridge
to make it look as if two bullets had been fired...
Did you not, Monsieur Doyle?
A crime that was almost parfait,
you kill your wife, you inherit her money and, in due course,
you marry your true love.
It seems as if you did thought of everything, Monsieur Doyle, except for one thing.
Hercule Poirot.
I'm sorry... I'm sorry!
Oh, there, there, Monsieur Doyle.
The executioner here
is very efficient.
Non, the mechanism it works like clockwork...
... as a rule.
I love him to death. I can't help it.
As I say, love makes you do things...
We... worked everything out, so carefully,
but even then he went and wrote a ''J'' in the wall in her blood,
such a stupid thing,
but absolutely typical.
So, we got away with it.
Until Louise Bourget,
how do you say, put a spinel in the works.
- Yes, I can't believe I did that. - And then Madame Otterbourne.
It's so dreadfully easy killing people, Monsieur Poirot.
You begin to feel it doesn't matter.
That evening, in the grounds of the hotel, when you said you saw someone...
... there was no person there, was there?
Just a little red herring,
to keep you on your toes.
Do you remember when I said I must follow my star?
It's finally burned out, hasn't it?
Monsieur Pennington, you must be happy to return home.
I'm not sure if I got a home to go, still,
but thanks for asking.
- I'm sure he'll get by. - Oui.
Mademoiselle.
Monsieur Poirot! Wonderful news! I've decided to get married!
That is most wonderful, indeed, Mademoiselle.
- Who is the lucky man? - Dr. Bessner.
- Bessner?! - He asked me last night.
He's so kind. He says I can help him in his work.
He's gonna teach me all about neurosis.
May I offer you my congratulations, Mademoiselle?
- Hear, hear. - Thank you.
- Have you told your cousin this news? - Oh, yes! She's absolutely thrilled.
Dr. Bessner, I offer you my congratulations, also.
Danke schon, danke schon, we are very happy.
Yes.
- I'm sorry. - Yes. I'm not very experienced
in these matters, you see? I thought I'd struck gold.
It happens, Monsieur Ferguson,
more often than one might suppose.
- Goodbye. - Au revoir.
Colonel.
Who would have thought it would come to this?
It was you, Mademoiselle who said that life was unfair.
Hello, Simon.
I messed up again, didn't I? Confessed a lot. I'm sorry...
It's a fool's game, my darling, and we've lost, that's all.
Please, may I kiss him? I'm not sure I'll get another chance.
Goodbye, my darling.
You know how much I love you...
Goodbye.
- Where the devil did she get that? - She had two of them.
She set it in your handbag, Mademoiselle, in the day of the search
and retrieved later, when she visited your cabin.
You knew?
It is not always that simple.
♪ ... love is the sweetest thing ...♪
♪... what else on earth could ever bring ... ♪
... ♪ ♪ ♪ ...
Translated & resync by titta for Addic7ed.com