It doesn't have to be a masterpiece, Ariadne.
No, no. I'm going to take my time.
Last one looked like it'd had a stroke.
How are we doing, girls?
Grand, grand!
Sharp now... the children are arriving.
You will stay for the party, Mrs Oliver?
I'm not feeling too well actually. Won't go on long.
You know what children are like. They get so giddy.
Will that suit you? Well...
Excellent! First rate!
They'll be thrilled to meet you, I'm sure.
Well, must get on. Time's winged whats it, eh?
Rather a force of nature, Mrs Drake.
Mmm.
It's very good of you to muck in like this, Ariadne.
And your talk tomorrow...
Ah, well, I've been meaning to have a word with you about that, Judith.
I'm not feeling too clever.
I hope you've not picked up Miranda's cold.
Such a shame she couldn't come to the party.
She was so looking forward to it.
(SNEEZES) Bless you.
Thank you.
ANNOUNCER: ... which followed President Roosevelt's speech
earlier on today.
That is the end of the news.
WOMAN ON RADIO: Are you sitting comfortably?
No.
No? Good!
We wouldn't want that, would we?
Not on a dark and stormy night like this one!
(EVIL CACKLING)
(CHILDREN CHATTER)
He's coming to get us! (CHILDREN LAUGH)
We'll have to keep an eye on you, Mrs Oliver!
There'll be no apples left to bob with!
My besetting sin, I'm afraid. I can't resist them.
All this must have set Mrs Drake back a bob or two.
The year's on the turn, Vicar. Must we freeze yet again?
Alas, I'm afraid the heating at St Wulfric's packed up ages ago.
Maybe you should try wearing an extra woolly.
It's alright for you in that cassock.
Bet you're got up like Scott of the bloody Antarctic under that lot.
(SNEEZES) Oh, bless you.
I do beg your pardon. No, no, no. It's my fault.
I'm always in the way.
Mrs Reynolds. Local martyr.
Frances, did you ask Cook to soak the raisins?
Of course I did, Ma.
Do pace yourself, darling.
Sun's well over the yardarm, mother mine.
Come on, Edmund. Lend a hand, for God's sake.
I'm rather absorbed, as it happens.
Roderick Usher has just found his sister bricked up.
"We have put her living in the tomb!" It's awfully good.
Well, I'm more concerned with
the Fall of the House of Drake at the moment, so stir your stumps!
Oh!
Joyce Reynolds! You duffer! What do you think you're doing?
Sorry, miss, I'm sure. That's alright.
Look at the poor pumpkin!
(CHANTS) Joyce smashed the pumpkin! Joyce smashed the pumpkin!
Go and boil your head, Leopold.
Mind out, Joyce!
Bravo, Leopold! Now, who's next?
Patience, Cathie. Everyone will get a turn.
Leave that, Mrs Reynolds.
The party's not over yet. You enjoy yourself.
Oh, I don't mind. I like to help out.
Alright, alright, who's next? Mrs Drake says you're a writer.
The one who does the murder stories? Yes.
You must make a lot of money out of it.
ARIADNE: A bit.
That's not very polite, is it, Joyce?
And you have got a detective who's a Finn, haven't you?
Sven Hjerson.
Why a Finn?
I've often wondered.
I saw a murder once. Don't be silly, Joyce.
I did! Oh, really?
Of course you didn't see a murder. Don't say such foolish things, dear.
Has everyone had a go at the apples, Vicar?
I did see a murder! I did! I did!
What kind of murder, you ridiculous creature?
She's making it up. Again!
I'm not. I saw one.
We're going to play snapdragon next. It's great fun.
It wasn't really till a long time afterwards, I mean,
that I began to realise it was a murder I saw.
That's more a Christmassy thing, isn't it?
We Drakes always play it at Halloween.
Why didn't you go to the coppers, then?
Because I didn't know at the time that it was a murder.
Is that the one where you pluck fruit out of a bowl or something?
That's right. Raisins soaked in liquor.
Bit like Frances. Ha ha.
Then set fire to. In the dark.
JO YCE: Of course, now I'm older, I know that it was a murder I saw!
Utterly potty.
When was all this supposed to have happened?
Years ago. I was quite young at the time.
You're young now, you nit.
Who murdered whom?
I shan't tell any of you now. You're all so beastly.
Poor Miranda. She's missing a smashing party.
(CRASH!)
Who's there?
What is it, Miss Whittaker?
Thought I saw...
Just the wind, I expect.
MAN ON RADIO: A feeling of sick dread came over me
as I gazed upon that dreadful countenance,
at that obscene parody of a human face.
Even as I watched, his bloodshot eyeball
began to roll down the livid green skin!
"Fool!" he hissed. "Insect!"
Not enjoying it, sir?
It is the subject matter, George. It is distasteful.
Poirot, he has seen much evil in this world.
It should not be the subject of such mockery.
Oh, it's just a bit of fun, sir.
I love a good blood-curdler, me.
And very appropriate for the time of year.
George, at this time of year in Belgium,
it is the custom to light the candles in memory of the dead,
not to tell the stories macabre.
I grieve for your carpet, Mrs Drake.
There's water everywhere.
It'll set you back quite a bit to get it spruced up.
Oh, it's old, Vicar. Not to worry.
(KNOCKING)
Now what?
Jehovah's Witnesses?
It's Halloween for young and old!
Now, who would like their fortune told?
All the bells and whistles, I see.
Woodleigh Common's very own witch.
Ma won't like this!
Mrs Goodbody was certainly not invited.
Mummy?
Yes, dear, very good. You should be in films. Now, come along.
We don't want any unpleasantness in front of the children.
Now, come along. No, but I want to stay!
Come along. For the kiddies! For the kiddies!
That's it. Ah! Everybody ready, now! Come along!
Yes, come on. Into the parlour. Come on, now. Snapdragon time.
That's it. Quick, quick.
(CHILDREN CHANT) Snip! Snap! Dragon!
Take care don't take too much
Be not greedy in your clutch
Snip! Snap! Dragon!
With his blue and lapping tongue
Many of you will be stung
Snip! Snap! Dragon!
For he snaps at all that comes
Snatching at his feast of plums
Snip! Snap! Dragon!
Shut the door!
(SHRIEKS) Oh, dear, you're drenched.
What a clumsy thing you must think of me.
No, no, it can happen to us all.
Mustn't let the children run about in their stockinged feet.
I'll get a brush.
Mrs Baker!
(THUNDER PEALS)
Snap! Dragon!
Snip! Snap! Dragon!
Very well, everyone! That's your last go!
(CHILDREN WHINE) Oh, yes.
Come along now, it's 10 o'clock!
It's way past most of your bedtimes! Time to go home now.
Come along now. Home, home.
Would you all be dears and round up the little waifs and strays?
Some of the older ones gravitate to the cloakrooms and what have you.
Whatever for? What have you, I should think.
Has anyone seen my Joycey?
I'll do a head count.
(SCREAMS) (PHONE RINGS)
Hercule Poirot speaks.
Oh, thank God you're in!
My friend Ariadne. Yes, it's me.
But you are breathless. What is the matter?
Something, it has upset you? Upset me?
Dear God.
I shall never be able to look at another apple again.
(GHOSTLY WHISPERS) Snip! Snap! Snip! Snap! Snip! Snap!
(TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWS)
Ah!
(SIGHS)
Glorious, isn't it?
Oui.
The leaves are like gold.
No, no... I meant the mucky old window and the dusty seats
and the pervasive odour of Capstan Navy Cut and schoolboys' socks.
I see you have been out of England some little time, monsieur.
Fresh off the boat. From Athens.
Superb.
But I do miss the old country.
Heading far? Woodleigh Common.
Me too! How very nice. I live there, as a matter of fact.
Indeed? Mmm.
For how long, may I ask? About three years.
Came to do a garden, never left.
That's what I do... gardens, creation thereof.
A very beautiful part of the world.
Michael Garfield. Hercule Poirot.
Oh! Well, there's a turn-up! Oui.
It's good to know you, monsieur.
Je vous en prie.
On pleasure bent, I trust?
Indeed, non.
No? Non.
Regardez.
Good God. Poor kid.
Oui, d'accord.
The murder of a child, it is a crime so terrible, n'est-ce pas?
Have they got anyone for it?
Non, non.
And this little girl Joyce, she was known to you?
No, no, I couldn't claim to know her,
but seen her around the place, I suppose.
So you'll be coming round to give everyone the third degree, then?
Perhaps.
In the mean time, I wonder... some advice, s'il vous plaît?
Yes. Fire away.
If I were to seek out the local...
How do you call it? The chitter-chatter...
Oui, the local gossip. To whom should I go?
(CHUCKLES)
Monsieur?
Tell me...
...do you believe in witches?
(SIGHS) God, this is grim.
What?
I mean, clearing up after a party is always a bit of a chore
but when one's had a murder it feels so very... parochial.
Stop trying to be clever.
I don't have to try, Edmund. Stop it, both of you!
Sorry, Mummy. "Sorry, Mummy!"
It's bad enough that this terrible thing happened in our house
without you two snapping at one another like a couple of terriers.
You know who the police will be straight onto, of course.
What the hell do you mean?
Well, they hauled you in
when that grubby little crook got himself killed.
And they couldn't find anything to pin on me then either,
could they, Edmund?
What are you doing, Mummy?
Oh, just old clutter.
Lots of things I should have got rid of long ago.
I'd rather you stayed in, Miranda.
You're still off-colour, and besides...
I know what you're going to say.
There really is a maniac on the loose.
Will you stay indoors? For me?
Of course I will.
I have to telephone Cathie, though.
(DOORBELL RINGS)
Mademoiselle?
Who are you? Hercule Poirot.
Oh, hello. Yes. Ariadne said you were coming.
I'm sorry it's under such dreadful circumstances.
Yes, indeed.
But it is most kind of you to accommodate me.
Oh, it's a pleasure. Where are my manners? Come in, please!
Merci.
Are you the detective man?
Ah, oui.
Hercule Poirot,
he is the greatest detective in the world.
And how do you call yourself?
I'm Miranda.
Mademoiselle Miranda.
You'll be wanting to see Ariadne, I expect.
I'm afraid she's in bed, poor thing.
Indeed?
(COUGHS AND SNIFFLES)
(CROAKS) You'll stay, then?
Get to the bottom of this ghastly thing?
Oui, madame.
"I saw a murder once."
That is what the girl said?
Lots of people were talking,
but we all heard her quite distinctly, didn't we?
There was a general pooh-poohing.
Did you believe her?
Of course not.
She was showing off, I'm afraid.
It's a rather tiresome age.
It seems unkind to say it.
Non, non, non, madame.
In a case of murder it is not unkind to say what the victim was like.
Indeed, it is most necessary.
And this girl, she gave no details? No names?
No.
She got a bit upset because people were laughing at her.
Did she say when this murder, it occurred?
Years ago, she said.
But she said it in a rather would-be grown up sort of way.
She had not told the police? No.
She said, "I didn't know at the time that it was a murder."
That is a remark most interesting, eh?
(SNIFFS AND COUGHS)
How is it that you come to know Madame Oliver?
I went on a Hellenic cruise this year.
I managed to prevent Ariadne from falling into the harbour.
We became fast friends after that.
And you have lived here a long time in Woodleigh Common?
Oh, yes. Years.
And Monsieur Butler?
I'm afraid it's rather a sad story.
Max was a pilot.
He had an accident.
It happened before Miranda was born, so he never saw his little girl.
Ah, je suis désolé, madame.
But he would have been of her most proud, I am sure.
What now, monsieur?
Alors, now it is time for Poirot to make a visit to the police.
It's a horrible business.
The death of a child is always a bit of a wrench, but this...
He was probably peeping through the French windows.
That lock's very unsound.
He saw there was a kiddies' party going on,
lured the girl to the library and then killed her.
'He'?
Some lunatic.
They let all sorts of people roam the streets these days.
And you have interviewed
all those who were present at the Halloween party
and established their whereabouts?
Of course.
With what result?
No-one seems to remember when they last saw Joyce Reynolds.
The murder almost certainly took place during the game of snapdragon.
All the lights in the parlour were off.
If anyone came or went, no-one saw who they were.
And what about what was said by the little girl...
that she witnessed once a murder?
Utter rot. You know what kids are like, always exaggerating.
They'd tell you black was white at that age.
Why? You reckon there's something in it?
I do not know.
A young girl boasts to have seen a murder
and some hours later, that girl, she is dead.
It could be cause and effect. If so, somebody lost no time.
There have been murders not solved in this area?
Look, I don't mean to be rude, sir.
I mean, I've heard of you, of course. Who hasn't?
But we have very modern methods of policing nowadays.
I know you're very hot on your theorising,
your psychological whatnots.
But I think this is better left to us, don't you? To the professionals?
We'll get there, don't you worry.
Of that I have no doubt.
What are you gonna do now, then?
With your permission, I will visit the scene of the crime.
Good day to you, Inspector.
This is Mrs Drake's famous garden.
But it is exquisite!
I'll have to tell Mrs Drake
Ariadne can't give her W.I. Talk this afternoon.
Though under the circumstances... Ah, oui. Vraiment, oui.
She's assumed command magnificently.
She's rather good at that.
(HUMS PLEASANTLY)
Madame, s'il vous plaît?
Merci.
Alright? Oui, merci.
C'est formidable!
And yet people very rarely visit here.
And why is that?
Monsieur!
Ah! Monsieur Garfield.
Mmm. Mrs Butler.
So, what do you make of my little kingdom?
Ah! So this was the garden that you came here to execute?
C'est vraiment superb.
Of course, officially I finished it ages ago.
But beauty always draws me back.
I'm a bit like that dauber they used to drag out of art galleries
because he'd still be re-touching his paintings
years after they'd been sold!
"Another five minutes, and it'll be a masterpiece!"
We really shouldn't keep Mrs Drake waiting.
Non. Monsieur.
Monsieur.
My poor Joyce.
It's God's will, I suppose.
He moves in mysterious ways.
They say He gathers those close to him
who he cannot bear to be parted from.
Now all I've got is my Leopold.
Oh, thank you.
Mrs Butler.
And this must be...
Hercule Poirot. Enchanté, madame.
This is Mrs Reynolds, and Leopold.
Master Leopold.
I am so very sorry for your loss.
Thank you.
You're the detective, are you? Oui, madame.
It's very good of you, I'm sure, to come down here and help us.
De rien.
I do not wish to distress you.
I only wish to ask of you a few questions, perhaps?
Oh, of course. Please, do sit down.
Merci, madame.
No Mrs Oliver?
I'm afraid she's come down with Miranda's cold.
Oh!
Madame, you saw no-one leave the room
during the game of the snapdragon?
No. No, no. It was pitch-black, you see.
And there was an awful lot of to-ing and fro-ing.
Yes. No wonder nobody noticed him.
Noticed who, madame?
The killer.
The police think it was a tramp or something, don't they?
Oui, madame.
You know this remark that was made by your daughter...
that she once witnessed a murder?
God forgive me for saying this, but we all know what my Joycey was like.
She loved to tell a tall tale.
She'd have been showing off to try and impress that London person.
Perhaps. But if she did witness such a thing, then...
Are you sure you're going about this the right way, monsieur?
Shouldn't you be looking for Joyce's killer in the here and now?
"Old sins cast long shadows," madame.
(GHOSTLY WHISPERS) Snip!
Snap!
Snip!
Snap!
Snip!
Snap!
Snip!
Snap!
Snip!
(INDISTINCT WHISPERING ECHOES)
(HISSES)
(KNOCKS AT DOOR)
Madame Goodbody, I am told that you have
the knowledge unrivalled in this village.
Nosy, in other words! Non, non, not at all!
(LAUGHS) I don't mind what people think.
You'll always get the truth out of Mother Goodbody, mister.
More than from most others round here.
I's always been on the outside, me, looking in.
That ways, you get to see things different.
I sees things all the time.
Sometimes with me eyes, sometimes in the leaves.
Comment? The leaves? Tea leaves, me duck!
You can see a lot in 'em.
Past, future.
Sometimes just tea.
Mebbes our little Joyce might have seen things too.
Quite so.
Let me see.
Deaths in the village? Oui.
How far back?
Well, Mademoiselle Joyce said
that the murder took place when she was quite young
so... perhaps in the last five years or so?
Well, of course, there's plenty
has had their three score and ten and died natural.
But as far as I can see there's only three possibles
for this 'murder' what Joyce said she saw.
And they are?
(CLEARS THROAT)
Beatrice White. A mademoiselle?
Monsieur Lesley Ferrier.
Lesley...
...Ferrier, bon.
And Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe.
Llewellyn-Smythe.
Alors, let us take them then in the order of their deaths.
Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe went first, two and a half years back.
She was Mrs Drake's old aunt.
I used to char for her.
Then she got rid of me and got herself a...
...a whatsit, a...
...an opera girl.
An opera girl?
Ah! An au pair girl.
That's what I said.
Olga Seminoff.
Foreign, she was.
The vicar arranged it.
I always thought that Olga was a right little gold-digger.
Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe was rich, you see.
Ooh, rich as Croesus!
So there was some suspicion surrounding her death?
Well, she had a bad heart.
Nobody said there was anything funny about her going like that.
But it was sudden.
So therefore it is possible that she was poisoned by this Olga?
But then, how would little Joyce know of a thing like this?
Oh, it's possible, isn't it?
Oui.
And the next name? Lesley Ferrier?
He was a clerk.
Solicitor's clerk here in the village.
They never got who did it.
But the point is he and Joyce were under the same roof!
He was Mrs Reynolds' lodger!
Ah! So there is certainly the connection there.
And this Lesley Ferrier, did he have any other associates?
(CHUCKLES)
He was courting a girl in the village.
That tarty piece... Rowena Drake's daughter.
Ah!
And yet the little Joyce said that,
"I did not know at that time it was a murder."
So this does not fit in with a crime of such violence.
Alors, the last name,
this Mademoiselle Beatrice White?
She was Joyce's schoolteacher. Drowned.
Accident, they reckon.
Apparently, she had been drinking.
Ah. This, Poirot likes better. It is much more likely.
The thing is, you see,
there'd been mutterings about her from the parents
about her suitability.
She was very thick with the church organist, Elizabeth Whittaker.
Very thick.
I see.
Alors, you have been of the greatest assistance, madame.
Merci beaucoup.
Evening, Vicar. Oh, Miss Whittaker.
I was just shutting up shop.
Mrs Reynolds is thinking of
'Before Jehovah's Awful Throne' for the funeral
and I'm a bit rusty.
Thought I might do some practice? Be my guest.
Oh. You've had another one, then?
Yes.
Good evening. Good evening.
Tell to me, if you please, Monsieur Fullerton,
were you satisfied with Monsieur Lesley Ferrier as an employee?
He had his points. Handled clients well.
But... But?
He'd been in bother with the police when he was younger.
I gave him the benefit of the doubt, took him on here.
It didn't really work out, though, alas.
Non?
I rather suspected he was snooping into private documents.
I was on the point of giving him a formal warning when...
He was stabbed to death.
I'm afraid so. Vraiment.
Now, I am given to understand that Monsieur Lesley Ferrier
was close to Mademoiselle Frances, the daughter of Madame Drake.
I believe they were stepping out together, yes.
And I wonder, Monsieur Fullerton,
did you ever act on behalf of the late Madame Llewellyn-Smythe?
I did indeed.
Nothing fishy about her passing, I'd say.
She was a good age.
No, the queer business was what happened afterwards with the will.
The will?
As you are aware,
Louise Llewellyn-Smythe's last will and testament
has remained unaltered for several years now.
Legacies for Frances and Edmund,
then the bulk of the estate passed on to yourself, Mrs Drake,
and to your late husband.
Come on, Fullerton.
Don't drag it out.
A few weeks ago, however,
I received the following letter from Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe
which contained the following document.
It is a codicil to the original will, drawn up in her own hand.
Your aunt states clearly her desire
to leave her entire estate and fortune...
...to Miss Olga Seminoff.
What! There must be some mistake.
Olga?
The notion that she would disinherit her own flesh and blood
and leave everything to a virtual stranger, well...
And the family Drake, they contested the codicil?
No need, in the end.
A forgery.
A forgery. D'accord.
And what became of Olga Seminoff?
Up and left soon after.
Just so.
(CLOCK CHIMES)
Well, if that's all...
Yes, of course.
Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Fullerton.
Chère madame, you should not work, you should rest.
I have deadlines, Poirot.
In sickness and in health.
And my child of an editor
is pressing me for another draft of 'I'll Huff and I'll Puff'.
Comment?
Sven Hjerson solves a murder in a hot-air balloon over Abyssinia.
Anyway, how are you getting on with the real murder?
Eh bien, I have verified what was told to me by Madame Goodbody.
And there appear to be three deaths which might possibly be
the murder which was referred to by Joyce Reynolds.
I've been thinking about that.
It seems to me Joyce wouldn't have said what she did
had she known who had actually committed this murder she saw.
Poirot has considered this also.
Either that or she did not recognise
that the murderer was present at the Halloween party.
This is most intriguing, non?
(MRS BUTLER CALLS) Ready when you are, monsieur!
Madame, I must now take my leave.
I attend the morning service here in the church in the village.
(GRUNTS)
What's the matter?
(SIGHS) It is my feet.
They cause me the pain.
It's those silly patent leather shoes of yours.
Ludicrous for the country.
Now, why don't you get yourself a nice pair of those buckskin ones
with the rubber soles?
Madame, chère madame, I do not know that I agree with you.
"And they brought also unto him infants, that he would touch them.
"But when his disciples saw it, they rebuked them.
"But Jesus called them unto him and said,
"'Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not,
"'for of such is the kingdom of God.
"'Verily I say unto you, whosoever shall not..."'
You must come to luncheon today, monsieur.
I should be delighted, madame, but alas...
Excellent. Shall we say one o'clock?
Merci.
Don't worry, Monsieur Poirot. We can spare you.
Ah!
VICAR: The disciples think this is important.
They say, "No, stay away."
And Jesus says, "No, that is the whole point."
You must wrap up, Miranda. It's nippy out there.
It's nippy in here.
"Only sleeping."
Do you think that's true, Mummy?
Well, as a gardener, I'd have to say no.
I favour turning into compost.
We're not used to seeing you here, Mr Garfield.
Have you seen the light? (CHUCKLES)
Compost? Well, it's not a bad idea, is it?
To return to nature.
I was wondering if we could go and take some tea sometime soon?
The three of us? Oh, yes!
No. I'm afraid not.
Why not? You've been poorly, my darling.
That's why. She's not made of glass, you know.
Monsieur.
Lovely morning!
Cheerio, Mr Fullerton.
Inspector, you progress in the hunt for the lunatic?
Yup.
Master Leopold, is it not?
Oh, c'est tres joli.
It is a present, perhaps?
Pocket money. I saved up.
Most perspicacious.
I wouldn't pay much attention to what Joyce said if I were you.
Indeed? It was all a lot of hooey.
Who on earth would she see murdered?
I suppose you expect me to be all sad
and boo-hooing about the place, but I'm not.
I know she was my sister and all that,
but... I didn't really like her.
VICAR: Goodbye. MAN: It was a lovely sermon.
Extraordinary woman, Mrs Reynolds. Quite extraordinary.
Not the girl's flesh and blood, of course, but still so very stoic.
It's Monsieur Poirot, isn't it?
Yes, indeed, Reverend Cottrell.
Pardon, but not the girl's flesh and blood?
Stepmother. Ah.
Tell to me, if you please, about the child Joyce Reynolds.
What was she like?
Well, one hates to speak ill of the dead,
but she was rather given to embroidering things, I'm afraid.
Always telling tall stories.
I remember her uncle had been to India on holiday
and she had us all believing that she'd been there.
Went on about a maharajah
and shooting at tigers and elephants and so on.
And the stories got added to every time.
There were more tigers...
far more tigers than were remotely possible.
And she hadn't even been there!
But this does not mean that every story she told was a lie.
Excuse me, if you please.
Mademoiselle Whittaker?
Oh, you must be Monsieur Poirot.
I heard you were here. Mademoiselle.
If you please, tell me about
your poor friend Mademoiselle Beatrice White.
What do you mean?
Beatrice? What for?
Well, it might be relevant to the death of the child Joyce Reynolds.
But how could it?
There was nothing suspicious about Beatrice's death.
It was an accident. The inquest said it was an accident.
But at this present time no-one is suggesting otherwise.
She meant to you a great deal.
Beatrice was the finest person I've ever met.
I cared for her very deeply, monsieur,
and only discovered how much she cared when it was too late.
Good day, monsieur.
(GHOSTLY WHISPERS) Snip! Snap!
Snip!
Miss Whittaker!
Are you alright?
Yes. Quite alright, thank you.
This is where it happened, isn't it?
Your poor friend.
I know what it's like to lose someone.
But the pain does pass in time, believe me.
I... I just can't help thinking of what might have been.
Do you understand? Of course.
So many of us have lost loved ones, haven't we?
Poor Mrs Reynolds now.
Oh, that woman.
She rather gives me the horrors.
Putting it all down to the Almighty and his impenetrable plans.
Well, I suppose we all cope in our own way.
Wants us all to think she's the model Christian.
But there's not a lot of charity in that heart, I can tell you.
Reynolds wanted Beatrice out of the school.
Well, she got her way.
(SPLASH!)
(GARDEN SHEARS SNIP)
Hmm, you can't keep away!
Monsieur.
Madame Butler, she has told to me
that this garden, it is open to the public.
And yet, this place of beauty, it is deserted.
Oh, yes, it's supposed to be unlucky.
It's old superstitions left over from the Civil War.
Indeed? Oh, yes. The Witchfinder General.
Very active round these parts, he was.
Lot of poor old hags were dunked to death.
Comment? 'Dunked'?
Dunked, yes. Er... drowned.
There was a pond somewhere over there
and they used to put the accused witch on a ducking stool
and plunge her into the water.
And if she floated she was guilty, and if she sank she was innocent.
A bit of a no-win situation, frankly.
Oui.
It is curious to consider, is it not,
that this garden so beautiful of Madame Llewellyn-Smythe
was nearly inherited by someone else.
What do you mean?
The claim of the au pair, Olga Seminoff?
Oh, that! Yes, yes, that was funny.
Very like her to aim high.
So you knew her? Oh, yes.
Ever so popular with the young men of Woodleigh Common.
You are suggesting she was possessed of the loose morals?
Well, that is one way of putting it.
Young Olga was a raven-haired beauty.
You were an admirer of hers, monsieur?
No, no, no, no, not my type at all. Ah.
You off to the house? Oui.
I have a luncheon appointment with Madame Drake.
Do take care, old boy.
You will only survive if you look at her reflection in a polished shield!
Monsieur.
Sven Hjerson narrowed his eyes and surveyed the room.
"You do realise, of course,
"that the killer was in the balloon the whole time?"
No, no, no, that doesn't work, does it?
He couldn't have been there if he had to sign the poison register.
(SIGHS)
Miranda, dear, are you listening?
Hmm?
Oh, yes. Sorry.
Sorry, Mrs Oliver.
Where were we?
I've just realised I've got to cut one of my favourite ideas.
Shame.
Does that happen a lot?
Oh, more than you'd think!
Hey, ho.
One often has to sacrifice one's babies.
Sacrifice?
Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean that to sound...
Oh, dear, here's me going on about my silly book.
It's perfectly alright, honestly.
It's awfully nice having you here, you know.
Really?
I can't say I've been exactly effervescent company!
Even so.
It's always just been the two of us.
I think Mummy must get awfully lonely.
Please put that book away, Edmund.
Er, yes, Mummy. Sorry.
How are you finding us here in Woodleigh Common, Mr Poirot?
Common?
Indeed, most uncommon, Mademoiselle Frances.
Frankie, please.
I mean, fancy saddling your daughter with a name like 'Frances Drake'.
I've told you a thousand times,
it's only ignorant people who make a joke...
Yes, but it's me who has to live with it.
I've heard them all.
Armada this, game of bowls that.
I've even been begged to throw down my raincoat over a puddle
for some queen or other.
I forget his name.
That was Raleigh, not Drake.
Shut up, Edmund.
You have lived here long time?
10 years or so.
My late husband and I came here to be with my aunt.
We were the only family she had.
Ah, yes. Madame Llewellyn-Smythe?
That's right.
And then poor Daddy died.
Oh! Run down by a motor car.
Some youths going at a reckless speed.
And when Aunt Louise passed away, the house came to us.
Although there was a moment when we feared it wouldn't.
All that fuss with that wretched babushka!
What was she called? Molotov?
Don't pretend you don't remember Olga's name.
Poor ignorant girl. I felt rather sorry for her.
I didn't! What a bitch!
Language, Frances!
At least Olga was genuinely fond of Aunt Louise. Unlike you!
You were always snapping at her.
She thought you were a snivelling little mummy's boy.
Children!
I'll fetch the port. Madame.
Not entirely sure where it's got to,
now we no longer have a man about the house.
Mrs Baker!
How is your investigation going, Mr Poirot?
Do you really think Joyce was telling the truth?
Eh bien, there is still a murder not solved
here in Woodleigh Common, eh,
That of Monsieur Lesley Ferrier, the clerk to the solicitor.
And I believe that he was a close acquaintance of yours, mademoiselle?
Lesley had certain attractions, but he was...
...deeply unsuitable.
You spent most of the time
consumed by the green-eyed monster, didn't you, sis?
Anyway, it was all over between us when it happened.
All over. Yes.
I can still hear the smashing of crockery!
Success! A vintage tawny.
Bottled the year of Queen Victoria's jubilee.
Ah!
What do you say, monsieur?
A quick snifter and then a bracing stroll in the garden?
(CHUCKLES)
It's a devil to keep up, but Aunt Louise loved it so...
Oh, really, it's intolerable.
Oh, Mother... He loiters. It's unnerving.
Well, I shan't stand for it any longer!
Mummy! Don't!
You! Get away from this house! You are not welcome here!
I beg your pardon?
I've made it perfectly clear to you, Mr Garfield, on numerous occasions
that I do not approve of you hanging around in this fashion.
I'm afraid I can't help it.
It's such a lovely view.
So, if you don't mind, I think I might go and tend my Aster oblongifolius.
Ta-ta.
There's something I don't like about that man.
Something uncanny.
I wouldn't be at all surprised if...
Non, non, Madame.
Michael Garfield is not responsible for the death of Joyce Reynolds.
He was in Athens at the time.
Poirot, he has already checked,
and the sources of Poirot, they are impeccable.
(BUCKET CLATTERS)
Oh. It's you. Not surprised you'm jumpy.
Not surprised at all.
Can I help you?
Jeyes fluid?
You can't have got through the last lot already?
Well, I dare say I could make it go a bit further.
That foreigner's been to see me.
Asking questions. Really?
He was particularly interested in that Olga of yours.
Hardly mine.
Well, you was the one that organised all them girls come over here.
And there hasn't been one since, has there?
I discontinued the scheme.
Olga let me down.
She let us all down.
I always wondered, though, what you got out of it.
What on earth do you mean?
Well, putting all them waifs into service.
What was in it for you?
My Christian duty. Nothing more.
Obviously there were one or two minor expenses.
I'll bid you goodnight, then.
Sweet dreams.
Oh, and if you can remember the disinfectant, Vicar.
This old place needs a thorough clean-out.
(FLOOR CREAKS)
(HEAVY FOOTSTEPS, ROUGH BREATHING)
(DOOR CREAKS)
(SCREAMS)
It's this wretched fever.
That's why I've only just remembered.
About the Halloween party. Je vous implore, madame!
Calmez-vous and tell to Poirot what has occurred.
Well, it was during that silly snapdragon game.
Great fun, I'm sure,
but I was dead on my feet by then and it got awfully hot...
So I went out into the hall.
And there I saw Mrs Drake.
(SHRIEKS) Oh, you're drenched!
What a clumsy thing you must think me.
No, no. It can happen to us all.
Mustn't let the children run about in their stockinged feet.
POIROT: What do you think had happened to startle her?
She saw something. Must have done.
But here's the thing.
She was looking towards the library.
You understand? Oui.
Where Joyce was found not long after.
Maybe she saw someone she didn't expect to see.
And did you yourself see there anyone?
No.
It is strange, because Madame Drake,
she does not strike me as a woman that could be startled easily.
You concur?
I most certainly do.
(CACKLES)
It ain't me you should be scared of, missus!
Look to yourself!
Bloody curse there is on you!
Come on, Leopold.
First your husband, then your little girl.
Even your lodger!
All dead and mouldering in their graves.
Who's next? Hey?
(GHOSTLY WHISPERS) Snap!
Snip! Snap!
Madame Drake, I understand that during the party,
you met with an accident.
Accident? The vase that was dropped.
Oh, that! That was very irritating.
I'd noticed earlier that the flowers needed water.
The party was in full swing,
so I took the vase down to the downstairs cloakroom
and filled it up.
Next thing you know, it had slipped out of my hands!
Dreadful mess all over the hall. Very stupid of me.
I felt an awful fool in front of our guest of honour.
Madame Oliver? Mmm.
It was she that thought that something startled you
or it was something unexpected that you saw.
No, I didn't see anything unexpected.
What would there have been to see?
Everyone was playing snapdragon.
You did not see perhaps someone to open the door of the library?
The library door? No, of course not.
Are you certain, madame? It is unwise to conceal matters from Poirot.
I'm not accustomed to being accused of lying, monsieur.
Non, non, non, pas du tout, madame. Pas du tout.
There may be an explanation quite innocent for all of this.
But you must realise, madame,
that if you glimpsed someone in the library at that moment,
you may well have seen the murderer.
And by remaining silent you would be placing yourself
in the peril most considerable.
I'm touched by your concern, Monsieur Poirot.
But rest assured, I am in no danger.
No danger at all.
(SIGHS)
D'you know, I think it's turning chillier.
I don't know how you can stand to be in here.
I'm incurably morbid.
Or hadn't you heard?
What are you reading?
Fascinating stuff, the old religion.
What about it?
Some practices haven't died out like they have in the cities, you know.
Practices?
You mean the way Joyce was...
"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."
(GHOSTLY WHISPERS) Snip! Snap!
Oh! Hello, Monsieur Poirot.
Ah! Mademoiselle Butler.
Now, you should not be out here on your own. Your maman...
Oh, I'm perfectly safe.
I love it here. Oui. It is glorious.
Nobody knows where I am, you see, when I come here.
I sit in the trees and watch.
I like that... watching things happen.
And what is it that you watch, mademoiselle?
Birds and squirrels and that sort of thing.
And people? Sometimes.
But not many people come here.
What is it, mademoiselle?
Well, I was just thinking about Joyce.
Ah.
I'll miss her.
We used to share secrets.
But she never told to you about the murder that she saw?
No. Joyce never told me she'd seen a murder.
(HUMS PLEASANTLY)
One codicil.
Merci.
It is most kind of you, Inspector.
Kindness doesn't come into it.
Seems like you've got friends in high places.
Friends at the Yard.
Ah, it is just as was told to Poirot.
Madame Llewellyn-Smythe leaves the whole estate
to the au pair, Olga Seminoff.
Farcical, of course. It's a forgery.
Not a very good one at that.
And the signatures of the witnesses, a Mr and Mrs James Jenkins?
The odd-job man and his missus.
Emigrated to Australia just after the old woman died.
And were they contacted?
No point. Non?
The signatures were checked. Forged, like the rest of it.
It is possible for Poirot to examine the belongings of Lesley Ferrier?
Why not?
It's like bloody Liberty Hall round here.
Such disarrangement.
Yes, that's the codicil alright. The forgery.
Non, monsieur. You are mistaken.
I can assure you... Non, non, non, monsieur.
This is the codicil that was given to me by the Inspector Raglan
and it was this document that was examined by the experts
and declared to be the fake.
What's this, then?
That is the codicil that I discovered
amongst the personal belongings of your former employee Lesley Ferrier.
Were you aware, Monsieur Fullerton,
that amongst the other petty misdemeanours of Lesley Ferrier,
one of his convictions was
a three-month sentence in prison for forgery?
Good Lord.
So Olga Seminoff got him to forge the codicil?
It certainly appears so.
Now, this is odd.
Pourquoi?
I'm no expert, but it seems to me
that Ferrier has made a far better job on this one
than the one he sent to me.
(GHOSTLY WHISPERS) Snip! Snap!
Good evening, Mrs Drake. Good evening.
(RUSTLING)
(GHOSTLY WHISPERS) Snip! Snap!
(FOOTSTEPS PASS)
(TWIG SNAPS)
(GHOSTLY WHISPERS) Snip! Snap!
Snip!
(LAUGHTER)
You idiot!
You scared me half to death!
Guy Fawkes night is almost upon us, Mrs Drake. That's all.
There's no need to be scared.
Oh, God! Oh, God!
Just like his blessed sister.
Inspector?
Do you still search for your lunatic who has escaped?
Alright, Mr Poirot. I give in.
Help me out, will you?
So now you wish to involve Poirot in your detection moderne?
I'll listen to anyone right now.
Un moment.
Of course.
Mademoiselle.
A discovery most distressing, n'est-ce pas?
Brought it all back.
Beatrice.
This is where they found her.
And the death of Mademoiselle Beatrice White,
it was not an accident, was it, mademoiselle?
I've told you before. Beatrice wasn't murdered!
Non, non, non. Not murdered.
But, Poirot, he has considered what you told to him in the churchyard.
I cared for her very deeply, monsieur.
And I only discovered how much she cared when it was too late.
"When it was too late," eh?
How did you discover her feelings?
There was a note, was there not?
And she took her own life?
God knows, I thought she was happy enough.
But Beatrice...
Beatrice could never reconcile herself to her true nature.
Could never love me the way...
I didn't tell the police about the note.
I wanted to save her from the final indignity.
An unconsecrated grave.
I thought I could do that for her at least.
If only we could have been left alone.
Left in peace.
Job, Reverend Cottrell. Job was afflicted by the Lord just like me.
He had everything taken away from him.
Indeed, dear lady.
These things are sent to try us. It's His will.
First he took my Albert from me, then Joyce.
Now dear Leopold has been called to him.
Reverend Cottrell. Madame.
You have my...
"The fire of God is fallen from heaven,
"and hath burned up the sheep, and the servants, and consumed them,
"and I only am escaped alone to tell thee."
(SIGHS) Isn't it dreadful?
Quite dreadful.
Yes, indeed.
Reverend Cottrell, a word with you, if I may.
Of course.
Madame Goodbody tells to me that you were responsible
for the presence of Olga Seminoff here in Woodleigh Common.
Olga? Yes.
I started a little scheme.
Sort of missionary work in reverse.
Indeed?
I visited Czechoslovakia some time ago
and forged links with some churches there.
Various families were eager
that their daughters should better themselves...
seek opportunities in this country.
I was happy to help.
And Olga Seminoff, she was one of them?
Yes.
I managed to find a position for her with Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe.
That is most worthy of you, monsieur.
Well, I did my best.
Tried to keep a pastoral eye on her.
And this scheme of charity, it no longer operates?
No. Olga's disappearance rather brought it to a shuddering halt.
Her parents are still writing to me.
Blaming me, for heaven's sake!
Blaming you?
Well, she's never been in touch, you see.
Never returned home.
Two years, it's been now.
Hardly my fault.
The girl was trouble, monsieur. Why do you say that?
Well, I can't claim to know all the details,
but Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe did come and see me one night
in a terrible state...
It's all because of Olga, you see.
My dear lady, what has she done?
There's so much wickedness in the world. It's really most upsetting.
Whatever's the matter? Can it be true?
If it is, then I have no choice. I will have to involve the police.
But, oh, the scandal.
Would you like me to speak to her? No, forget I came to you.
I'll deal with it in my own way.
At the time, I didn't know what she was on about.
But when all that business about the forged codicil came to light...
Olga was a wrong 'un.
That's all there is to it.
I wonder where she is now.
I... I didn't know what to do, you see.
Yes. You're right. It was me.
Sacrifices are sometimes necessary. I see that now.
(DOORBELL RINGS) There's someone at the door.
Mrs Drake's just heard.
About poor Leopold.
I shall never forgive myself!
Of course you were right, monsieur.
I ought to have told you what I saw.
But I thought... I thought...
Calmez-vous, madame.
Tell all to Poirot.
I thought I was acting for the best, you must believe me.
And now... If only I'd told you, maybe we could have saved him.
Begin at the beginning, madame.
I did see something.
That night, in the hallway.
The library door opened rather carefully...
...and I saw him.
Whom did you see, madame? Leopold.
Ah.
Of course, it startled me.
I thought he was playing snapdragon with the others.
And what's more...
...he had such a queer look on his face.
(SMASH!)
He was always rather a strange boy.
Not quite right, you know.
The way he looked, it upset me.
And that's why I dropped the vase.
(SHRIEKS) ARIADNE: Oh, dear, you're drenched.
What a clumsy thing you must think me.
I didn't think anything of it at the time.
It was only later...
later, when we found Joyce, that I began to think it over...
And of course you concluded that master Leopold,
he killed his sister, n'est-ce pas?
God help me, I did.
And then when you came and questioned me about things,
I couldn't say anything.
He's so young.
Was so young.
He couldn't have known what he was doing.
I suppose I had a half-baked notion that I could get treatment for him
or not have him sent to some dreadful institution.
I understand, madame.
His being killed must mean something quite different.
He must have gone in there and found Joyce dead.
And that must have given him the most awful shock.
Not because he'd killed her, but because he'd found her.
Oh, God.
Who can have done these dreadful things?
Poirot will discover all, madame.
It will not be long now.
So that's the schoolteacher out of the picture.
Where does that leave us?
The poisoned old lady or the solicitor's clerk?
Cocoa, anyone? Non, merci, madame.
What do you think, Judith?
How much did Rowena Drake disapprove of
her daughter's liaison with a crook like Ferrier?
Enough to kill? Well...
Or could Mrs Reynolds have been
secretly attracted to her lodger all along?
And where has Olga Seminoff got to?
It occurred to me the vicar might be shielding her!
Then there's Mrs Goodbody. Well, she's just odd.
Je vous implore, madame!
This is not one of your detective fictions.
We must deal here only with the truth.
I'm only trying to help. I know you are, Ariadne.
The final piece of this puzzle, it eludes Poirot still.
The victim. One must always return to the victim.
For their personality, their nature... it is the key.
What has everybody told to Poirot about Mademoiselle Joyce Reynolds?
She is a liar. A teller of the tall tales.
A boaster. A little liar.
So when she claims to have witnessed a murder, nobody believes her.
And yet, she is... dead.
Monsieur?
(SIGHS) I have been an imbecile three times over!
An imbecile!
It was there all along! The maharajah!
What?
Tigers, mesdames! Elephants!
I remember her uncle had been to India.
The story got added to every time. And she hadn't even been!
She had not even been!
She appropriated the story.
A murder that was witnessed by someone else...
someone with whom she shared her secrets!
Miranda?
Your daughter, madame, she is in the danger most terrible.
Miranda!
I only hope we are in time!
Are you sure Mummy won't be worried?
Merci beaucoup, Inspector.
He will meet us there!
Come on, Ariadne!
It's so beautiful.
It's bright as day.
(LAUGHS)
You do look funny.
(LAUGHS) I don't mind if you laugh.
No-one can hear.
Shall we?
(SIGHS)
You know people used to worship here?
The sun and the moon and the stars.
And they used to sacrifice things as well.
I've explained to you about sacrifice, haven't I?
I have to die so that others might live.
So that beauty can live. That's right.
What I saw... was that a sacrifice too?
In a way.
And Joyce and Leopold? Mm-hm.
Is it time? Yes.
And now you and I will drink to
the past and the future and...
(SIGHS)
...to beauty.
That'll be nice. Er, what does it taste of?
It'll taste of whatever you want it to.
It's magical, you see. It's quite magical.
You remember what I said, Miranda, about returning to nature?
Look at the moon.
And you will be there soon.
Up there amongst the cold stars.
Immortal.
Now, you hold the cup and drink.
Drink!
(CLICKS TONGUE)
Drink to beauty, Miranda!
Non! Non, non, Monsieur Garfield!
(GROANS)
(POLICE WHISTLE BLOWS)
Get him! (GROANS)
You're right, of course.
Joyce just repeated what I'd told her.
I suppose she wanted to impress everyone.
And, alas, it cost her her life.
But you are now safe, ma petite.
Tell to Poirot what you saw.
I thought it must have been an accident, you see.
And nobody said anything the next day,
so I sort of just... forgot about it.
I'd been by myself, reading in the garden, when I spotted Michael.
I was going to wave, and then I noticed he was dragging something.
It was a body.
But why didn't you tell anyone, Miranda?
Why?
I thought it might have been a sacrifice.
Michael told me sacrifices are necessary.
It was only today that he guessed.
Guessed that it was me, not Joyce, that had seen him.
The thing is, I never even told Joyce it was Michael,
just that I'd seen a murder.
But whose body was it?
I don't know. I couldn't tell.
But I don't understand. He couldn't have killed Joyce, could he?
I thought he was in Greece.
Well, my men and I'll be off, Mr Poirot.
Get Garfield down to the station.
Bon, Inspector.
And perhaps it is time we were all of us in our beds, non?
Yes, come on.
Or perhaps it is time for Poirot to tell to you a story.
A Halloween story!
(THUNDER RUMBLES)
It was a dark and stormy night.
Is that not how one should begin, eh?
And such, indeed, was the night of the Halloween party
here in this very house.
A little girl claims, "I saw a murder once."
But which murder was this?
The stabbing of Lesley Ferrier, the clerk to the solicitor?
The drowning of the teacher, Mademoiselle Beatrice White?
Or could it be that the elderly Madame Llewellyn-Smythe
was, in fact, poisoned?
Poisoned?
But all of those people,
including Aunt Louise, are lying in the churchyard!
They're certainly not in our garden!
Précisément, Monsieur Drake.
In fact there is only one person who has disappeared from Woodleigh Common
and whose whereabouts are not known.
And Poirot believes that the poor soul
who lies buried in this garden so beautiful
is the foreigner...sans ami,
without a friend,
the au pair Olga Seminoff!
Nonsense.
Olga left the village after that stunt with the codicil.
Oui. The codicil that everyone thought was a forgery, eh?
And indeed, this one, it is.
This one...
...is the article genuine.
You mean Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe did leave everything to Olga?
Oui.
Don't be silly.
No, but it is true, madame.
The Reverend Cottrell told me of a conversation he had with your aunt.
Whatever's the matter? Can it be true?
If it is, then I've no choice, I will have to involve the police.
But, oh, the scandal.
And what scandal was this?
Perhaps the au pair, Olga Seminoff,
had seen evidence of a love affair illicit?
A love affair between Monsieur Michael Garfield,
the gardener of her employer
and someone who loved him with every cell in their body.
Someone who was determined to have this Michael Garfield
no matter what the cost.
And it has led this little village to become the slaughterhouse.
Has it not...
...Madame Rowena Drake?
(LAUGHS) I beg your pardon?
Are you seriously suggesting Michael Garfield and me?
Mummy can't stand Michael!
Once again, Monsieur Drake, précisément!
And it is this that first caused Poirot to suspect.
To quote the Shakespeare, "Methinks the lady doth protest too much!"
You loved him, madame. You love him still.
And so you set out on your campaign of butchery!
(LAUGHS) It's utterly crazy.
You think so?
The "reckless youths" who caused the death of your husband,
they were never caught, were they, madame?
So I wonder what the good Inspector Raglan would discover
if he searches into the alibis of yourself and Michael Garfield
on the day that your husband, he died?
Did you plan to stop there, madame?
Because now you are the widow, eh?
But you are still financially dependent upon your aunt.
And you stand to inherit
her house and her garden if this old lady, she dies.
And her health, it is most poor, so what could be more natural
than her heart, which is exhausted... giving out?
But in the ointment, there is a fly, eh?
Unbeknownst to you, the au pair Olga Seminoff,
who had the devotion so genuine towards your aunt,
has confided her suspicions about your love affair.
And Madame Llewellyn-Smythe believes her.
The wickedness which she spoke about to the Reverend Cottrell
was yours, madame!
Is it then that Lesley Ferrier, the crooked solicitor's clerk,
contacts you and tells you of the news so terrible
that your aunt has disinherited both you and your children
of neither of whom she is fond
and left everything to Olga Seminoff?
So the plan? It is this.
The criminal Ferrier will make another version of the codicil
and substitute it for the original!
A fake so clumsy that any amount of scrutiny will discredit
and the claim of Olga Seminoff will collapse.
And, of course, you and Michael Garfield agree to this plan.
And so now you are free to dispose of your aunt.
Upon her death, everything goes according to plan.
The au pair Olga Seminoff is dismissed as a gold-digger.
But she, herself, she does not understand what has happened,
that this codicil is now shown to be a lie.
So was it in desperation, that she came to you, Madame Drake?
I know it! I know it in my bones!
You did away with her, with my poor mistress...
and with your husband before that!
You're absolutely raving, girl!
For goodness sake get a hold of yourself!
You do not deserve to live in this beautiful place!
It is mine! It is mi...
And this tale of carnage...
...and horror...
...is not over... no, not even yet.
Lesley Ferrier is never to see the rewards of his actions...
the concealing of the codicil.
Non!
Ferrier?
Mr Garfield.
It's all there, I trust?
Pleasure doing business with you.
(WHISPERS) The pleasure is all mine.
Et alors, enfin, the two of you are now safe.
The house of your aunt, it is yours.
The money of your aunt, it is yours.
And, of course, the garden so cherished,
it is your paradise.
But its soil is drenched in the blood of the innocent
and its fruit is black and bitter.
And what, two years later, at a simple party for children
you hear a young girl say that she witnessed once a murder.
I saw a murder once.
And your heart that is so full of guilt...
...it leaps into your mouth.
Now, Joyce, what's all this about a murder?
It's true! I really saw one!
Where? In... in your garden.
I didn't realise it then. But I know now.
Well, I'll believe you. Thousands wouldn't.
I bet you half a crown you can't get that last apple out of the bucket!
Oh, bet I can! Show me, then!
(GHOSTLY WHISPER) Snip, snap! Snip!
Snip, snap!
And only after, when this deed so terrible, it has been committed,
you realise that you are soaking wet.
No adult has played the game of, what, the apple-bobbing, eh?
So at once you realise how suspicious it will appear.
So you devise a deception also very clever
to explain away the soaking of your dress.
(SHRIEKS) Oh, dear, you're drenched!
What a clumsy thing you must think me!
You blame the accident
on a glance directed towards the door of the library.
A glance that was staged
and that you will use later to cast suspicion elsewhere!
Michael Garfield, he returns from Greece,
you tell to him what has occurred,
and once again you consider yourselves to be safe.
Not so, madame.
For you were observed to enter the library with the little girl, Joyce.
Now Joyce, what's all this about a murder?
Oh, it's true. I really saw one. Where?
And Poirot himself has observed
that Master Leopold
has unexpectedly become flush with his pocket money
over the last few days.
How so? Because his silence, it was being bought.
But, madame, you are not sure for how long.
And so you decide to kill master Leopold
and you use the glance towards the door of the library
to divert suspicion onto him.
He's so young.
Was so young.
Another lie so callous to add to your catalogue of deceit!
You idiot! You scared me half to death!
Guy Fawkes night is almost upon us, Mrs Drake.
That's all. There's no need to be scared.
Is it done? It's done.
Do you still have the receipt? (LAUGHS)
ARIADNE: Good God. Mummy?
Well, really, monsieur!
That was quite a horror story!
Perhaps you will not sneer, madame,
when we have exhumed the body of Madame Llewellyn-Smythe
and examined the contents of her stomach?
Or when this garden, it is torn up
to reveal the last resting place of Olga Seminoff?
Because this is where she lies, mes amis.
Make no mistake.
In the place where it is not remarkable
that the soil, it is continually freshly turned.
This... garden
with which Michael Garfield is never satisfied.
His masterpiece!
Or perhaps your composure so absolute,
it will be shaken when you hear from his very own lips
that Michael Garfield never loved you.
(SIGHS)
It's all over, I'm afraid, old thing.
I've no idea what he's talking about.
Indeed, I doubt that Michael Garfield ever loved anybody but himself.
But he had a secret.
There had been someone else in his life.
Another lover.
Had there not, Madame Butler?
God help me, it's true. I did love him once.
And then I became afraid. His nature.
Even his passion for beauty and creation,
there was a sort of madness to it.
I never told him about Miranda.
Do you not think I guessed, Judith, hmm?
My beautiful child.
(WHISPERS) No! No, no, no!
(SHOUTS) No, no!
It's you I should have drowned, you filthy little beast!
It should have been you!
And you never had him! Never!
I'm the only one he ever wanted.
Ever loved!
Say it isn't so, Michael! Please! Please!
Don't make a fuss, you silly creature.
It's so undignified.
It's true.
I did it all for the money.
Of course I did.
And for the garden.
Actually, I was thinking about buying a little Greek island.
Start afresh.
No! No!
I just like pretty things, you see.
Is that so wrong? (SOBS)
One must have money to get pretty things.
I was very fond of you, Judith.
Once.
But even you're losing your looks now.
It is an awful shame, do you not think, monsieur,
that we must all wither and die?
Get them out of here.
Thank you, Hercule.
Sir!
It's incredible.
Non.
As soon as Madame Oliver told to me of the dropping of the vase,
my suspicions, they were aroused.
Because I knew that the killer of Joyce Reynolds
would have been soaking wet.
Dreadful woman. I always said so.
Trying to bully me into giving that lecture.
And what about me and Michael?
How did you know?
Ah.
Your histoire, madame, it did not fool Poirot.
Your husband who is dead?
Non, your husband was a figure of fantasy,
a figure tragique,
a figure to conceal your long-ago affair of the heart.
This husband, this pilot, this Max, so beloved
and yet there was not one single photograph of him
on your mantelshelf.
I wanted to give Miranda some notion of stability...
a father figure who was loving and selfless,
dependable.
Everything Michael wasn't capable of.
I hadn't seen him for years, you see.
Then that day, he turned up in Woodleigh Common.
I tried to stay out of his way.
I expected he'd soon be gone, but he stayed.
I had no idea he and Miranda had become so close.
His influence over her... There was a bond.
A bond that was natural.
But even this was not sufficient
to prevent him from attempting to kill his own daughter
and save himself.
You had a lucky escape, Jude. Oui.
What now? Will you stay here?
I don't think so.
Hard to believe it all happened.
All those grisly deaths.
It's like a nightmare.
Or a tale of terror.
Poirot, he was right, eh?
Halloween is not the time for the telling of the stories macabre
but to light the candles for the dead.
Come, mes amies.
Let us do so.
(GHOSTLY WHISPERS) Snip, snap! Snip, snap! Snip, snap!