Dead Man's Folly (1986) - full transcript

Hercule Poirot is called in by his crime writer friend, Ariadne Oliver and discovers that she is troubled. She has been asked to create a "Murder Hunt" game for a fair at Nass House and she is puzzled with all the help she is getting. Poirot and his assistant, Captain Hastings arrive at the fair to see what is going on. They find a couple on the brink of divorce, a rich Lord and a dizzy Lady, an old lady, trapped in the horrors of the past and a womanizing architect. Things take a turn for the worse when during the "Murder Hunt" the girl playing the "dead" body is murdered for real, an old man's body is pulled from the local lake and the Lady of the manor goes missing when a face from her past shows up. It is clear to Poirot that someone is playing the game for real and he sets out to discover who it is...

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Don't you have anymore optimistic fish?

They all look so depressed..

Hercule Poirot!

Don't tell me. It's Olivia.

No, Ariadne Oliver.

Yes.

What are you doing here, beneath the ocean?
You've become a mermaid.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

I'm upstairs, autographing my new book.

"Hatchets, Blood, and a Parakeet".



Parakeet?

- Have you read it?
- ''Non.''

Well, then. I'll give you a copy autographed.

Come over here.

You know, I was going to call you.

You see, I'm doing a "Murder Hunt."

A "Murder Hunt"?

Yes, it's like a Treasure Hunt,

only the players look for clues

to a murder that I have devised.

But surely, you, of all people, don't
need my help in your fictitious creation.

Oh, no, no, no, I should say not.

I've had plenty of that. That's
part of the problem.

More and more, I feel that
something is wrong with me.



I can't explain it. It's an intuition.

Could you just give me the tiniest
hint of what it's all about?

A very small clue.

Oh, no, no, no, not here.
I can't do that.

Not here, in the food hall?

Is there danger involved?

Mr. Poirot, your work is solving murders.

Mine is to create them in fiction.

I have the feeling that mine
won't be the only one

at Nasse House this weekend.

Give me the instructions how to get there.

Oh, thank you, I'll write them down for you.

Oh, no need. My mind is very clear.

Well, you can get there by car,
but it's shorter and more scenic

if you take the ferry on the river.

Poirot, look at those
magnificent, old houses.

Could you just imagine yourself
living somewhere like this?

They're not houses as such anymore, sir.

No, their taxes

has taken away from the old families.

One by one.

We stay at Hoodown.

Oh, that's the Nasse House.
It's a youth hostel now.

From Germany I am coming.

I'm in England for two week holiday.

Where do you come from, young lady?

She does not much English speak.
From Italy, she is ver kommen.

- Ah, La bella Italia.
- Si, Italia.

But we both have a little French.

You are the French, no?

I am the Belgian. Yes.

Too bad.

Ah, Mr. Poirot.

Ah, Mrs. Oliver, you know
my friend, Hastings?

- Oh, yes, how do you do?
- How do you do?

You brought weekend guests?

Whether they were. I mean..

The man here does not like we make shortcut to hostel,

but it is long walking on the road.

- Auf Wiedersehen.
- Auf Wiedersehen.

Arrivederci.

Ciao.

Mr. Poirot, now that you're here, I am embarrassed.

You see, this was supposed to be
my Murder Hunt,

but then, I started getting suggestions for changes.

Oh, little things mostly like moving the scene of the
crime or having somebody else play the dead body.

Well, you must know how we,
writers, hate suggestions.

Writers with detectives are worse.

I hate sugg... Who made these suggestions?

Oh, Lady Stubbs, but I feel she's been
influenced by one of the others.

- Who?
- I'm hoping you can tell me.

But first, I must know who everyone is.

Well, the river cottage is Amy Folliat's.

This estate was hers till she lost it
to death taxes when her husband died.

The present owner, Sir George,
is letting her stay here for life.

Then, of Michael Weyman,
architect and critic.

You should hear him go on about that folly.

Sir George put the folly up in a rush
the very week he arrived at Nasse House.

Sir George insisted it be perched
up on a pile of loose earth.

It doesn't even have a view.

Oh, did I mention there's a fair this weekend?

It was an annual event with the Folliats,
but Sir George hated the idea.

Then, he changed his mind about three months ago.

Then, we have Alec and Sally Legge.

I wanted Sally for my dead body, but Lady Stubbs
insisted she'd be the fortune-teller instead.

Alec's getting over a nervous breakdown.

And if you ask me, the marriage won't last.

Nasse House, returned to its former
glory by Sir George Stubbs.

A very interesting man, Sir George,
absolutely devoted to Lady Stubbs.

A self-made millionaire.

Don't ask me how, but rolling in money.

A large chunk of which he spent restoring the place.

I should say.

Sir George is very athletic.

Younger than you'd expect.

His wife is even younger.
Hattie, she's American.

Probably married him for his money.

She's very beautiful, but a little dim.
You know what I mean.

Right through here.

Sir George. Sir George,
your call from Zurich.

Amanda Brewis,
devoted secretary.

This lady?

Zurich.

Ah.

Mr. Poirot and... Hastings, isn't it?

- That's right, yes. How do you do?
- Pleasure to meet you.

Sir George, it is important.

Where's Hattie? Would you go and get her,
Amanda and the others? It's time for tea.

Excuse me, please.

Hello?

Well, what do you think?

Don't you sense something
abnormal in the atmosphere?

Abnormal? No.

But then, of course, I haven't had
the privilege of meeting with...

Lady Stubbs?

Lady Stubbs, may I present Hercule Poirot
and Arthur Hastings.

- Delighted to meet you.
- Oh, hi.

It's brand new. George gave it to me.
They're emeralds.

If I may say so, they're nothing
compared to their wearer.

See? It's winking at me.

- You're trespassing! Go back!
- ?Hola! ?Buenas d?as!
- Bonjour!

Damned youth hostel next door.

I'd like to see it shut down.

They use it as a shortcut, go
traipsing across to the fair.

No respect for private property.
All communists I shouldn't wonder.

Thank you.

Shall I fetch you some tea, madame?

Tea tastes like medicine.

The countryside looks wonderful at
this time of year, don't you agree?

During the day, when it's not raining.

But there aren't any nightclubs.

Oh, you like nightclubs?

Oh, yes. Because there's
music and you can dance.

Right, Michael?

And I can wear my nicest clothes,
and bracelets, and rings.

And all the other women have nice
jewelry and clothes as well,

but not as nice as mine.

And that's important?

Oh, sure, or else you're plain
and nobody like poor Amanda.

I'm going upstairs now.

You've been in bed all day.
You're not feeling well?

No, I have a headache.

I'll attend to her.

I'll be better tomorrow.

She's very beautiful.

Yes, she is extremely...

But only in a decorative sort
of way. Not functional.

- How?
- A building needs a good foundation,
not just an ornamental facade.

Okay, everybody, pay attention,
I'm going to explain my Murder Hunt.

This is a map of the grounds and
our cast of characters.

The first is our nuclear scientist.

Possibly, in the employ of spies.

His first wife is dead,
or may not be.

His second wife has just left him, and is hiding
next door in the youth hostel. She's Yugoslavian.

Now, you'll find your first clue in the
picture at the bottom of the page.

I think it's obviously a net of some sort.

Tennis net or...?

- Very good.
- Tennis net?

Yes, leave it to the professionals.

Now, remember. All clues lead to the boathouse,

where the Yugoslavian wife has
been strangled with a clothesline.

Any questions so far?

I think I must go and see
if Hattie needs anything.

And I'm sure Mr. Poirot and Captain Hastings would like
to be shown their rooms so they can freshen up before dinner.

- How well you understand. Take this.
- Yes, thank you very much indeed. Oh, right, old boy.

- It's...
- And Captain Hastings is next door.

Really?

- Hello.
- All?.

I hope everything will be satisfactory.

To whom do we owe these considerations? Is it
you, Miss Brewis or is it our charming hostess?

Lady Stubbs this time has fully
taken up in being charming.

Well, she's a very decorative person.

As you say.

Perhaps her intellectual attainments
are not of the same...

I should not have said that.

Lady Stubbs, besides being, as you say,
decorative is also extremely shrewd.

Oh, yours, I believe?

Oh, yes.

Thank you.

Poirot, come look at this.

She's taking her shoes off.

That's Weyman.

I know who it is.
It's Weyman.

Don't lose them from sight.

I'm sorry.

Where? Where?

The early evening air, it's so
very good for the lungs.

46, 47,...

Are you all right, Mr. Poirot?

Let me walk you to your home.

Thank you.

It was I who introduced Hattie to Sir George.

Yes,... I deliberately influenced her.

Well, that was a very farsighted move on your part.

Why do you say that?

Well, after all, you've got a
haven of your own out of it.

Do you know those lines of Spenser?

"Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas,
Ease after war, death after life, does greatly please."

It's a very wicked world,
Mr. Poirot.

And there are very wicked people in it.

You probably know that as well as I do.

I don't say so before the younger
people, it might discourage them.

But the world is very wicked.

Ferry, sir?

You mustn't do that. That's
extremely dangerous. I will...

- Ferry, sir?
- Ferry? No, thank you.

I'm going for a walk from Nasse House.

Ah, she's back like she was in the old days.

Last why a Folliat let her run to sea, did you? Only interested in the horses and the bottle, he was.

Lost a pretty packet at both, he did.

Me? I concentrate me vices.

No, no, no, look here, please, no.
I don't.

Frenchie, are you?

I'm Belgie.

- Sure, you won't have a brandy then?
- Thank you very much. You're very kind.

Rare and cunning, the Folliats are.

Why do you say that?

There'll always be a Folliat at Nasse House.

Oh, that's not true. You've
now got Sir George Stubbs.

Tom in the night, he did.

Him and his ladyship.

Worst gale as ever I remember.

Trees down right and left.

Even the big oak where he put the folly.

Gone. All gone.

Tell me more about the Folliats.

Always a Folliat at Nasse, lass.
Always a Folliat at Nasse, lass.

Always a Folliat, Folli,
Folli, Folli...

Always a Folliat at Nasse,
Nasse, Nasse.

Always a Folliat at Nasse.
Always a Folliat at Nasse, lass.

Always a Folliat at Nasse, lass.

- Morning.
- Good morning.

You're up bright and early. I expect
you've come to see Marilyn Gale.

- Who?
- Good morning.
- Morning.

Marilyn Gale, the film star who's
coming to open the fair personally.

- Hi.
- Hello.

Good morning.

- Sir George.
- Good morning.

- Good morning.
- Morning, honey.
- Good day.

- Hi, everybody. Good morning.
- Hello, darling.

Sir George, I can't seem to find today's mail.

Lady Stubbs, you know the
mail is my responsibility.

Oh, well, I just wanted to look at my vogue.
Here.

Well, let me see if I have anything else.

Thank you.

What is it, darling?

Eddie South is coming today.

Who?

Eddie South, a boy from my hometown.

He was...

He was what?

Nothing. Nothing. It was long time ago.

I have a headache.

I'm going to lie down.

- But...
- No, Lady Stubbs has left her reading matter.
I'm already up.

Oh, my lady.

- You have forgotten this.
- Oh, thanks.

Excuse me, but your news from an old
friend seems to distress you somewhat.

Eddie's no friend. I don't want to see him.

I don't like him. He's bad.

- He does very bad things.
- Well,...

Hattie, my poor darling. Let
me come and tuck you up.

He does very bad things, George.

Headache, my foot.

- Mr. Poirot, you forget your book.
- My book.

Now, do you see what I mean? Things
just aren't normal around here.

Oh, they seem normal enough to me.

Oh, you must be kidding.

Doesn't your intuition tell you that
there's something strange going on?

My intuition tells me that...
I've not yet finished breakfast.

Well, this is my big day.

Hello.

Well, I'm sorry, but this is not a shortcut.
This is private property. You're trespassing.

Please?

You're trespassing. You can't come
through here. This is private.

But we come for carnival.

Bloody hell! It's not open yet and
you need a ticket from the gate.

Gate?

Yes, gate. You know, bars locked.
Road, comprendo, road?

What's that, Hattie?

Oh, all right. Never mind. Be my guests.
All right, Hattie, darling. I'm coming.

Marlene, there you are, darling!

That's my new dead body.

Nobody's going to believe that she's the
Yugoslavian second wife of the nuclear scientist.

You look adorable, darling.

This is Marlene, our murder victim.

- Mr. Poirot and Captain Hastings.
- How do you do?

I'm not gonna have any blood on me.

Oh, dear. What a frightful shame.

A murder ought to have blood and
there should be a sex maniac.

Was even one around here once.

My granddad saw a dead
woman down by the woods.

At least, that's what he says, but granddad's daft.

Oh, yes. Well, let's go down to the boathouse
and get you settled in for the murder.

Excuse us, please.

I just wanted to say what a pleasure it is
for me to welcome you and to welcome

the return of this marvelous fair in the lovely
grounds of Sir George and Lady Stubbs' darling house.

And now, if we're ready, I hereby
declare this fair opened.

Dorothy, it's been ages.

We had to come to see Nasse back in its glory.

I came to see that Marilyn Gale.
Is that her in the big hat?

No, that's Lady Stubbs. Tell me, Amy,
is she always quite so overdone?

She's a perfectly, charming young woman.
You'll meet her later.

I'm sure you'll like her.

You don't happen to have the time, do you? I'm dying for my tea and I'm due a half-hour break at four.

It's ten minutes to four.

Just long enough to tell my fortune.

Very well. Give me your palm.

This one? All right.

Don't do that.

You will come into a great deal of money.

Take a sea voyage and get everything
you want for Christmas.

Oh, incidentally, it is nine minutes before four.

Bye.

You have broken my rhythm.

It is unforgivable to break someone's
rhythm. Do forgive me, please?

Bad luck.

- Could I have three, please? Hold this and pay him.
- Here you are, sir.

I did not yet have time to acquire
my rhythm, you understand, sir?

- Please, I want this one.
- Here you are, sir. One dolly.

Thank you very much.

It is yours.

I did not win. I do not deserve.

Ladies and gentlemen, Ariadne Oliver's
Murder Hunt is about to begin.

The maps giving the first clue to the
Murder Hunt are available at the South gate.

Ariadne Oliver's Murder Hunt is about to begin.

- Make way for the big people.
- Good morning.

Excuse me. I thought that this was
the home of a guy named Stubbs?

It is.

My name is Eddie South.

I wrote to Mrs. Stubbs that I'd be arriving, but I don't know that she...

Yes, they talked about you at breakfast.

- Then she did get my letter. That's funny. She never wrote me back.
- Yes.

Oh, Mademoiselle? Could you tell us
where Lady Stubbs is for this gentleman?

No, I've been looking all over the place for her.

She's late for judging the children's fancy dress.

Well, then, I suggest we do the next
besting and find Sir George for you.

Come along, sir.

Sir George? Sir George, may I present
Eddie South, the friend of Lady Stubbs.

- How do you do?
- That's quite a place you have here.

I'd be happy to show you around.

Well, that sounds great, but I'd
really like to see Hattie.

Oh, she's probably around somewhere. Probably off on the Murder Hunt with that ghastly woman.

Do be a good chap, Poirot, and
see if you can scare her up.

The first clue, if I remember
rightly, is a tennis net.

- I can't see anything here, Poirot.
- I have something here.

Tennis net over this water...
Is there a waterfall near here?

Yes, hang on, old man. Yes, yes,
it says cascade.

Cascade?

Mrs. Oliver! You're enjoying your cascade.

Well, I was hoping you were somebody
who was playing my game.

I'm afraid I made the clues too hard.

Not all. No, Mrs. Oliver.

That's Orpheus, Greek god of music.

What is the name of that building?

The Music Temple.

Greek god. See? It's got columns, classical.
The next clue must be...

Right! Oh, you're amazing!
I don't know how you do it.

Little gray cells.

Now, you must row out there and
see if you can find the next clue.

- Over the water?
- Yes.

- Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
- Oh, yeah.

In any case, we must find Lady Stubbs.

Oh, and you can do that later.

Go on, get in your boat and I'll
wait for you down at the boathouse.

But don't tell us where you're going to
wait for us, madame! Spoils all the fun.

Help the others if you wish,
but not us.

- Oh, right.
- Get in first. Tell me if it's dangerous.
- Righto.

You are going away, you are going away.
Come back. This...

Grab the oar, hang onto you, old man?

- Here you are.
- Give me your hand. Both of them.

Wait for...

- I'll give you a push. There you go. There you are.
- Okay. All right, all right.

Now, remember, I'll see you at the boathouse.

Don't panic.

Hang on. Would you hang onto that?

- There. Over there.
- Stand aside, old man.

- Follow me.
- Righto.

- That's a treble clef if I'm not mistaken.
- Yes, some key of... F.

- Key of F.
- Yes.

Key of F, key of F. And why the holly?

- Oh, yes, holly.
- Holly.

- Key of F, holly, a folly, a folly...
- Yes, yeah. A folly.

- Folly! Folly!
- Folly! Folly!

Hold on, hold on, old man!

- The key to the boathouse is in the folly!
- Yes. The folly! The folly, that's it!

Mr. Poirot! Mr. Poirot! Captain Hastings!

Come quickly to the boathouse!

Oh, please, quickly, come to the
the boathouse, please, come quickly!

It's just like my murder.

Yes, it is, Mrs. Oliver.
Exactly like your murder.

Except this young lady... is dead.

It was my murder! My murder!
And I did it!

I did it, I did it!
It was my murder!

I did it, I did it!
It was my murder!

Mrs. Oliver, be a man. You
must not blame yourself.

Oh, but I do, I do. Didn't I tell you my murder might not be the only one that was committed here this weekend?

The inspector.

It was my murder, I did it.

Who are you?

- My name is Hercule Poirot and this is...
- Of course you are!

- I was present when you solved the ABC murders. Extraordinary performance.
- Yes.

- Well, I filled out of it since then.
- Oh, who has not filled out?

- Actually, I haven't...
- No, no, you have not filled out.

You probably don't remember me.

Oh, wait. Now, I do.
ABC murders?

You're a detective sergeant at the time.

Now, you must be... you must be
a detective inspector or something.

Your name began with an H...

Bland? That's who you are.

But that was 15 years ago.

You remember me. Why should
I not remember you?

And this is...

- Hastings, old man.
- Hastings. It is Hastings.

How do you do?

And that is Mrs. Oliver.

Oliver? Ariadne Oliver, the
American detective writer?

Why, yes.

I've just read your latest book:
"Hatchets, Blood, And A Parakeet".

Bright as always.

Oh, thank you! Oh, but this isn't fiction.

Why did I ever allow that poor child to play the
Yugoslavian second wife of a nuclear scientist.

The dead girl was the wife
of a Yugoslavian scientist?

No, no, no. She was the Yugoslavian
wife of a nuclear scientist.

Perhaps I may be allowed to elucidate.

Mrs. Oliver, here, invented a "Murder Hunt", a game in which clues were left here and there.

We had to find them and whoever won,
would win the prize.

But unfortunately, life itself has begun
mysteriously to intrude upon this game.

Could you be more specific?

Well, it could've been somebody
who likes killing little girls,

or she might have recognized somebody
who was trying to conceal his identity.

Blackmail is always a possibility.

Or what if she saw somebody on that yacht out there, throw a body into the river...

- Or...
- Thank you, Mrs. Oliver.

Does Sir George know what's happened?

Certainly not. Sir George always does
his laps at this time of day.

His what?

Laps, swimming. Sir George always does
50 laps before tea.

I should like to talk to him straight away.

Inspector, can Hastings and I accompany you?
Unofficially, of course.

By all means, I'd be honored.

May I come too, please?

There may be a book in it.

Sir George, I regret to inform you that a
murder has been committed on your property.

Really, Mrs. Oliver. Isn't this carrying things too far?

Low-comedy police. I mean, the chap looks
like something out of the burlesque.

Detective Inspector Bland, sir.

Sorry.

It's Marlene, down at the boathouse.
She's been murdered.

- Yes, I know.
- I mean really murdered.

- Where's Hattie? Does she know?
- Lady Stubbs cannot be located.

Damn it all! This news will frighten her.

Amanda, give these gentlemen
all the help that they require.

What a terrible tragedy.
And find Hattie.

Well, simple and straightforward as it can be:
the girl was garotted with a clothesline.

No struggle. I'd say the poor kid didn't know
know what was happening to the chap.

Signs of sexual assault?

None.

Inspector, may I make a contribution?

Oblique widely insignificant, but there is here
a tray with a plate and a glass on it.

Well, I brought that.

Lady Stubbs thought it'd be nice to take
the poor girl some refreshment. So, I did.

- At what time?
- At about four o'clock.

- Estimated time of death?
- Between 4:00 and 4:30.

Miss Brewis, on your way down here or on your way back,
did you encounter anyone?

No one.

You know what this is, don't you?
A copycat killing.

Somebody's studied my murder and
decided to commit one of their own.

- Quite possibly, Mrs. Oliver...
- I know where Lady Stubbs is.

Oh?

- Hiding.
- Hiding where?

I don't know where. But somewhere,
she's hiding from that...

Hattie received a letter from him
this morning at breakfast.

Oh, Eddie South.

Yes, Eddie South.

That is his yacht over there, inspector.

She received a letter announcing his arrival today.

And it seemed to distress her somewhat.

Officer, a launch. I want a word with Mr. South.

May we come aboard?
Police business.

Mr. South, a girl has been found
murdered in the boathouse over there!

What?! You're kidding!

Around the time that you arrived!

Can you turn that off, please?!

Yeah.

I don't suppose you heard or noticed any...
specific activities in the boathouse as you came ashore?

No,... look, I just pulled in, you know.

These two guys right here introduced me to Lord George.

Sir George.

Yeah, whatever.

You've met Lady Stubbs yet?

Hattie? No. I mean, I hung around with Lord...
her husband for a while,

but he didn't seem to like me too
much, so I came on back here to the boat.

He said he was gonna call me when she turned up.

Where is she?

- Missing.
- Missing?

What do you mean missing?

Like, like vanished or maybe like, she just
zipped into town for a six-pack?

Mr. South, when we say that someone is missing, it means that we don't know.

- Now, Mr. South...
- Eddie's fine.

Mr. South, when did you first meet Hattie...?

- Frimple.
- Frimple?

Hattie Frimple.

Well,... she was the beautiful,
rich girl back in my hometown

when I was this poor, fat kid,
you know.

And I worked in a record store where all the kids hung out.

She'd come in the store and we'd, we'd talk about music and how much I wanted to make it in this business.

I remember she used to say to me:
"Just, just do it, Eddie. I believe in you."

So, one day, I did.

I now manage some of the biggest rock acts in this business.

You see, she knew that I had the right stuff up here.

Little gray cells.

Continue, please.

Well, after that, she graduated and came to England and her parents died and after that, I lost track.

Until about three months ago.

I came over here to pick up this little life's ambition and there was her name, boom, right there in the papers.

Some kind of a society thing, I guess.
So, I dropped her a note.

You dropped her a note three months ago?

Yeah, give or take.

- Was that the only note you dropped her?
- Yeah.

She never wrote me back, but... I don't know. I decided I was just gonna sail along down anyway.

I figured she'd get a kick out of seeing how the kid turned out.

- I trust you won't object if my men search your boat.
- What for?

- Oh, you think I killed that girl.
- I don't know.

Maybe you figured that I've got
Hattie stowed away here some place.

But aren't you supposed to have some
kind of a warrant to go poking around?

Yes.

Go ahead. I've got nothing to hide.

He seems to be a very straightforward sort of chap. I wonder why Lady Stubbs is afraid of him?

If, in fact, she is afraid of him.

Marlene was such a good, little girl.

I know we've had our disagreements,
all parents do.

I didn't approve of all that make-up she wore
or the boyfriend she ran around with.

Staying out all hours, missing school,

tramp girlfriends of hers lying about the house all day, painting their toenails, never turning the music down.

What'll we do without her?

Mrs. Tucker, how did Marlene come to be involved with this Murder Hunt?

Well, Tuckers have always worked for the Folliats ever since there was a Nasse House.

Did she have any enemies that you know of?

No, she had boyfriends!

Now, look here, Bland,
I want a word with you!

I am sorry, Mrs. Tucker.
My condolences.

Thank you, Mrs. Tucker. That will be all.
Officer, please see the lady out.

Yes, Sir George?

I gathered that Lady Stubbs
has not been found yet.

- What are you doing about it?
- Looking for her.

A question, perhaps.

Thank you. Sir George, did you receive a
letter from Eddie South three months ago?

No. Only that one this morning.

Why do you think that Lady Stubbs
was so terrified of Eddie South?

Well, she wasn't very articulate about it.
Just went on in a childish sort of way.

I don't set much stop by what Hattie says sometimes.

Might I know her precise words, please?

- About Eddie South?
- Yes.

She said: "He kills people."

"He kills people"?

I shouldn't take what she says too seriously.

I am devoted to Hattie, but...

But to say he kills people.

How many keys were there to the boathouse?

- Amanda?
- Three.

I have one. And there's one hidden in
the folly for the Murder Hunt.

Which makes two.

The third is in the drawer over there.

Yes, that's it.

Mrs. Oliver, I believe that the girl,
Marlene's duty was to lie still and play dead

if she heard the noise of someone approaching.

Yes, that's right.

But in light of the fact that all
the keys are now identified,

is it not possible that she did the opposite,

she rose and she opened the door to her murderer simply because she recognized him?

Or her? All right, I agree with Mrs. Oliver.

The murderer must have known about the Murder Hunt.

Excuse me. I think I'll go and see
if Hattie's returned to her room.

She's not in her room.

She's obviously avoiding Eddie South.

That's what I said.

We only have her word for the fact that
she was frightened of Eddie South.

How do we know she's telling the truth?

Women often say things they don't mean.

- How do you know?
- I don't wish to discuss it.

Between 4 and 4:30. That was my
break from fortune telling.

I had tea.

- In the tea tent?
- Yes, certainly.

Was Mrs. Folliat there?

No.

Mr. Legge, where were you?

Well, that was about the time I returned to our cottage.

I stayed there until I was sent for.

You were ill, of course.

Well, I was sick.
Sick and tired.

Michael Weyman does his architect work here.

- Hastings.
- Hmm?

Poirot, don't you want to hear
what Michael Weyman has to say?

He seems to be a bit...

Yes, but I'd rather hear what Mrs. Folliat has to say before the police have a crack at her.

Where were you between 4 and 4:30?

That when she got it?

Go on.

How do you pin it down so exactly?

About 4 o'clock, Lady Stubbs asked Miss Brewis here to take down a tray of refreshments to Marlene Tucker.

- The dead body that was dis...
- I don't believe it for a minute.

What don't you believe?

You claim dear Hattie sent you
on an errand for someone else?

She did.

Never. Totally out of character.

Hattie is a girl completely obsessed with herself. She wouldn't think of sending cough drops to Camille.

- Oh, may we come in?
- Oh. Oh, yes. Yes, I...

I'd expect you've come to talk about the tragedy.

That poor, poor girl.

You said only yesterday that it's
a very wicked world.

But I never thought anything
like this would happen.

May I offer you tea? I'll put the kettle to boil.

Oh, no, no, we can only stay a moment.

Can you prove where you were all afternoon?

No, I can't prove where I was all afternoon.

I knocked about a bit. Watched the
tourists behave like... tourists.

Chatted up the film star.
Now there's a piece of work.

Did you also happen to chat up Lady Stubbs?

No chance.

Parading around like a department store mannequin.

When was the last time you saw Lady Stubbs?

I don't know. 3:30, I guess. Why?

It was about the last time anyone saw her.
She seems to have vanished.

Vanished?

Oh, wonderful.

Find it amusing that Lady Stubbs is missing?

Oh, Hattie plays the helpless angelus,

but she knows exactly what she's
doing. I can vouch for that.

Can you?

I think Mrs. Folliat taught her a lot.

Even introduce her to Sir George,
did you know that?

Mrs. Folliat may not be mistress of the manor anymore, but she could teach survival skills to the Marines.

No family portraits, Mrs. Folliat?

When one has lost a family, portraits are only memory.

And memory is like dead wood. It must be
cut away if one is to go on.

They tell me you lost both your sons.

Yes. Henry through an illness. Jamie,
my younger,... died in the army.

My husband's tragedy was that he lived too long, letting the family welts trickle through his fingers.

Did you know that Lady Stubbs is nowhere to be found?

Don't speak to me of Hattie.
I don't want to think about her.

And yet, only this morning, she also
was talking about wickedness.

She was referring, of course, to
the young American on his yacht.

There seems to be wickedness everywhere
suddenly. What a coincidence.

For Hattie, there are no shadings.
Only black and white. Good and evil.

Like a child. Children are erratic,
or so I'm told,

I do not have the privilege of
knowing many personally.

But a child can be docile at one moment
and the next moment, have a temper tantrum.

And if you get an adult with childish characteristics,

this tantrum can become a rage so violent
that he or... she... can kill.

Hattie was never like that.

I won't allow you to say
such things about her.

She was a gentle, warm-hearted girl.

My Hattie would never kill anyone.

Sorry to disturb. Detective Inspector Bland.

Might I have a few words with you?

Yes, do come in. All of you.

Um, where was I between 4 and 4:30?

- Oh, that was tea time. I was helping serve in the tea tent.
- Tea tent...

Did you happen to notice within the...?
I'm so sorry. It's your...

- No, no, please. Feel free.
- I was rude. Really?

Avec plaisir.

Did you notice Mrs. Legge in the tent?

Um, no, I don't think I did.

Could you have missed her?

Oh, no. No, I made a point of going
around to greet everyone.

Of course, Miss Brewis said that Lady Stubbs told her to take the refreshments down to Marlene.

And Michael Weyman contends
that it is unlikely.

I agree with you.

Mrs. Legge said that she was having
tea between 4 and 4:30.

Mrs. Folliat says she wasn't.

- Sir George was doing his laps.
- Although no one saw him do them.

And that old man could've seen
Eddie South getting off his boat.

- You haven't interrogated him yet.
- I shall do so in the morning.

- Alec Legge has no alibi for the time in question.
- Nor does Michael Weyman.

This is all so fascinating. And
you get to do it every day.

Well, little man. Any conclusions?

Yes, quite a few conclusions.

Well, who do you think
our murderer was then?

The murderer of Marlene or Lady Stubbs?

Lady Stubbs?! You don't think she's been killed?

Yes, I do think she's been killed.

I can't imagine why.

Because Mrs. Folliat
thinks she's been killed.

She never said that.

Whatever Mrs. Folliat thinks
or says or pretends to think,

she believes that
Hattie has been killed.

Mrs. Folliat knows more than we do.

You know, this whole thing is incredible.

Marlene, then Hattie disappearing.

Why would she run away?

Damn pleased with her new ring,
got all dolled up for the fair.

Believe me, you never know what
fool things women can do.

One can never know.

Sorry.

Something must be done.

Amanda, put a notice in the newspapers for her.

She never reads the newspapers; I could put an advertisement in Vogue. That might catch her eye.

Anything, anything. I'm gonna phone Bland.

Men are such fools.

And why should you make such
an observation, mademoiselle?

Most of the time, they're quite shrewd,
then they go off marrying the wrong woman.

Oh, I see. You mean Lady Stubbs was...
is the wrong woman?

Totally.

She makes a fool of him. Him
and Michael Weyman.

Oh, Mr. Weyman would be in sorry if she
pity didn't have another kettle to boil.

To what kettle are you referring?

Sally Legge.

She was the one who recommended him to Sir
George as architect.

She and Mr. Weyman knew each other in Chelsea. She was an aspiring artist before she was married, of course, but...

I don't like to gossip.

But as to Sir George, with the proper
wife at his side,

Oh, he could achieve wonderful things
in politics, business,...

His abilities and potential
are being smothered by that...!

You will excuse me? I have my duties to perform.

Mr. Poirot!

Where are you?

Up here. You and I have to talk.
I'm coming right down.

Poirot, I'd wager you're
a wine connoisseur.

Oh, in my small way.

May I show you the cellar?
I need to speak to you privately.

Oh, in that case, the cellar.

Oh, Sally. Good morning.

Mr. Weyman?

Oh, I can't think things are normal now.

I laid down a few bottles about a year ago.

- Um, as an investment, of course.
- Yes.

It's all grape juice to me.

No! You mustn't do that, please.

You know, every wine, even a small one has its own personality. With its own secret past and its own promises of pleasure in the future.

And so, those of us who have been witnesses of death, as we have, for them, this is a manifestation of life.

What is it? Let's see.

Lynch-Bages, 1944.

You know that when these grapes were being picked, the battle was raging all the way around the vineyard.

But picked, they were. That's life.

And now, after the battlefield and all that is forgotten, these grapes have turned into juice that are quietly in the bottle,

developing strength and
character and subtlety. Life.

I'll give you every bottle of
this stuff if you find my wife.

I think you should begin to consider the fact that perhaps the unfortunate Lady Stubbs has...

No!

Hattie's alive. I want you to find her.

Why don't you express your
conviction to Bland?

He's an idiot!

Please,... find her.

We meet again. I am the
rhythm breaker, remember?

Oh, yes.

I trust we'd see your something of a kind.

- You are at the hostel?
- Hostel, yes.

- In that case, you are, you are trespassing.
- Yes, trespassing.

- Yes, you will have to go back.
- Go back. Yes, I, I go back.

Do svidaniya, am I right?

Oh, Mr. Poirot. I didn't hear you.

You have lost something perhaps?

Um, no, no, not exactly.

No? In that case, it must
be a secret rendez-vous.

I really think you ought
to mind your own business.

Oh, I can't. You know,
I've tried so hard.

Is your husband the... jealous type?

Not even close.

Do you know, I think I could walk through that fair stark-naked and he wouldn't even notice?

For that, I'd have to see to believe.

- Are you married, Mr. Poirot?
- No, I'm the care-free bachelor.

Very wise.

Marriage can be a big mistake.

You wish you were still the
Bohemian artist from Chelsea?

You seem to know all about me.

I keep my ear open.

Something's troubling, Alec.
He just won't loosen up.

At first, I tried sympathy and...
well, now I'm trying other things.

But he won't even talk to me.

I thought, for a while,
it was another woman.

I am the jealous type.

Did you enjoy your tea yesterday?

Tea? Yes, fortune-telling is terribly trying.

Could it be this that you are looking for?

Oh, yes. I've been looking for this for days.

For days? I saw it on your wrist when
you were telling my fortune yesterday.

Ah, yes, I only noticed that
it was missing this morning.

Anyway, thank you,
thank you very much.

And now, the lover.

Oh, no. Ah, I was expecting someone else.

Who did you expect?

Oh, but the young man you were expecting,
he's gone back to the youth hostel.

He's Russian, isn't he?
Or Bulgarian at a pinch.

What do you mean?

Do I mean nothing? The young man has gone
back to the youth hostel. That's what I...

You're down here to spy
on me, aren't you?

Well, I'm not gonna tell them what they
want, whether you believe me or not.

But I... I can't prove it. So, you
go right ahead, you turn me in.

That's what you're paid for, isn't it?

I don't give a damn anyway.

- Mon Dieu. It's rush hour.
- Poirot!

- Hello.
- Poirot, come here! They found
something in the river!

What?! Wait for me! Wait for me!
Wait for me!

Inspector, we found a woman's hat.
Or what's left of it.

This is Hattie's. She was
wearing it yesterday.

Oh, yes, I recognize it.

What is going on?

They found my wife's hat in the river.

Inspector, divers downstream just found
a body. They're bringing him in.

Poirot? Poirot, I've got
something to show you.

Now, look.

Option of the exercise, Nasse
House murders solution on.

Now, here we have Amanda Brewis,
did she kill Marlene Tucker?

Eddie South, did he drown old Merdell?

Sir George Stubbs, did he kill Lady Stubbs?

I think we should assume that she's still
alive, so I'm gonna pin her up here.

- Any objections?
- No. Good-bye, Lady Stubbs.

- Do you agree with me so far?
- So far? Oh, yes.

Now, you'll see that I've put the Legges,
I've grouped them with Michael Weyman.

Now, here's the foreign young man. Here we have, um... oh, Ariadne Oliver. I don't think she's a suspect.

Oh, her, do be careful there.
Ooh, that could be...

Poirot, I'm sorry, but you're
beginning to get on my nerves.

I mean, just because you never write anything out, doesn't mean that you're superior or that I'm less efficient.

I mean, I mean, here I am, I mean I've, I've got all these packs martialed and you just sit there...

My poor Hastings, the last thing I
want to do is to hurt your feelings,

but you must realize sooner or later, there is a considerable difference between military intelligence and normal intelligence.

Rather than surrender to unpleasantness, let us join forces once more.

Tell me, where, in your scheme of things,
you placed Mrs. Folliat?

Mrs. Folliat? Yes, I've racked my brains and I can't, for the life of me, think where to put Mrs. Folliat.

You see? We arrive at the same conclusion.

You, by rather cumbersome methods and I, by something a little more... different ones.

Let us bury the hatchet.

And go together and take
Mrs. Folliat by surprise.

- What do you say to that?
- Very good, sir.

- Gentlemen, if you've come to see Sir George,...
- As a matter of fact, we have come to see you.

Oh, well, in that case, you must
allow me to offer you tea this time.

Of course.

Oh! Look how my hands
shake. I'm very tired.

- Gunners. Royal artillery. Your husband?
- Family regiment.

I shall be not only ready, but very
thankful when my time comes, Mr. Poirot.

Surely, you exaggerate.

- The deaths here have upset me greatly.
- I'm sorry to hear that.

But it's strange that you who have lost
a... husband, two sons, your home,

suddenly go to pieces because a couple
of relative strangers are killed?

I'm older now.

Mrs. Folliat, you know who killed
Marlene Tucker... and you know why.

You know if old Merdell
was murdered and by whom.

And you know what happened to Hattie Stubbs.

You are mistaken, Mr. Poirot.

But you must have a guess in you
like everybody else.

May we have the benefit of those guesses?

Mrs. Folliat, who did these awful things?

I have nothing more to say.

I've given up.
Nothing can be done.

It's... It's all over.

Well, I have not given up, Mrs. Folliat.

And I will not give up.

Hercule Poirot never gives up.

- Hello.
- It's two men, Mom.

We don't want any...

Very good. We don't want to disturb
you. My name is Poirot.

We've met before at Nasse House
on the day of your tragedy.

We... May we come in? Thank you
very much. Thank you.

Mrs. Tucker, could your daughter
have known her assailant?

Marlene didn't know any homicidal maniacs.

Of course not, but it's difficult to identify homicidal maniacs before they strike.

I mean, was there someone who was
nice to her, who gave her presents?

Oh, that's Mrs. Legge, but she
wasn't a homicidal maniac.

Mrs. Legge gave her presents?

Yes, all that terrible make-up:
lipstick, eyeshadow, all that.

Of course, I didn't approve, but then,
I didn't know she was a homicidal maniac.

Mrs. Legge didn't murder
my daughter, did she?

Yes, well, things don't come
singly, they say.

First, Marlene, and then,
my father right after.

Drowned down the ferry landing.
It's a wonder it didn't come sooner.

He was known to take a few
drinks too many sometimes.

Are you telling me that Mer...
that Mr. Merdell was your father?

That he was Marlene's grandfather?

Yes.

Can you remember the little tune
he used to sing? Something like:

"Oh, there'll always be a Folliat at Nasse."

"Always a Folliat,
Folli, Folli, Follio,

Always a Folliat at Nasse, lass."

Thank you both so very much. And...

I'm so s... We are so sorry
for what happened, but...

- Don't bother to see us out.
- Thank you.

Quick!

Wait.

Nobody gave Marlene the make-up.
She bought it.

Lots more too that Mom never found.

Where did she find the money to buy such things?

Well, you see. Grandpa Merdell
told her something,

and somebody was paying
her not to pass it on.

She'd never tell me what her ho.
You see, Marlene didn't really like me.

She may have saved your life.
Remember that.

We will go back to London,

where you will use your influence on
your old friends at the secret service

to make available to us certain
information from the military archives.

If what I suspect is true, it
will be time to summon who?

The principles.

Good morning, Captain Hastings.

- Good morning, Mr. Poirot.
- Good morning, Mrs. Oliver.

Everybody is here. Including Inspector
Bland. He's waiting inside.

Who did it? Do you know the murderer?

No, I was relying on your intuition.

Oh, no, no. I only have impressions.
Nothing you can put your finger on.

- I don't like Michael Weyman.
- Oh, neither do I.

And Sally and Alec Legge are drifting
further and further apart.

Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.

Miss Brewis hardly ever
leaves Sir George's side.

Now, that doesn't surprise me a bit.

Mrs. Folliat just wanders around with her
pruning. She is clipping everything in sight.

- Hastings.
- Shall, shall I come with you?

You know perfectly well what you
have to do, Hastings. Capito?

Oh, yes! Righto! Yes, sir!

Well, what did you come up with?
I'm dying to know.

So am I.

Good morning.

Captain Hastings will join us presently.

First of all, I want to thank the Inspector
Bland for his courtesy.

And I would like to ask
you all a few questions.

Mrs. Oliver, I would like to direct
my first question at you.

Oh, don't be alarmed.

Nobody here should be
alarmed by the questions.

Only by the answers.

Mrs. Oliver, have you ever met
a nuclear scientist?

Oh, no, no. I don't think so.

And yet, you made a nuclear scientist,
one of your suspects in your Murder Hunt.

Well, last Christmas, I bought presents for
my 2 nephews and everything is nuclear.

I guess that's where I got the idea.

And then, I found that if I needed any
technical advice, I could always ask Mr. Legge.

You're some sort of scientist.
Aren't you, Mr. Legge?

Mr. Legge?

Yes, I'm a... a nuclear physicist.

Oh, then, I do know a nuclear scientist!

That's amazing.

And yet, his wife is not Yugoslav.

Well, I needed that foreign menace, you know.

And I, I used to see those youth hostel girls crossing the property, talking with foreign accents.

So, I came up with a Yugoslavian wife.

Yes, whereas Mrs. Legge is the opposite,
she is British and... and deeply unhappy.

I don't know what you mean.

Will you drop the act, Sally?

She's leaving me, not that I give a damn.

You're going to shot me before
I have a chance to clear myself.

It doesn't really matter, does it?

Alec, what are you talking about?

Perhaps I may cast some light
on this. It's...

Mr. Legge, when he was younger,
perhaps in his university years,

became deeply impressed by certain
aspects of Marxist philosophy.

And then, he became a reputable scientist,
and foreign agents began to work on him,

hoping to force him to give away secrets and threatening to reveal his former political affiliations.

And naturally, who can blame him?
He suffered a severe depression.

Yes, I... I didn't want to throw
away everything I had worked for.

But at the same time, I couldn't just
hand over classified information.

One of their people followed me here,
he was at the fair.

Well, that was when I finally bucked up the
courage to tell him that there could be no deal.

Alec, why didn't you tell me?

Because I didn't want
to involve you, Sally.

- But I thought you were rejecting me.
- I thought you'd given up on us.

Oh, don't be ridiculous. I was just
using Michael to make you jealous.

Using?

- Oh, Alec, I do love you.
- So, I love you too, Sally.

This is all very touching.

But what has it got to
do with the murders?

Doesn't it warm at least one
cockel of your heart?

I don't know. During the ABC murders,
you were much more... Yes, you were.

My question was absolutely everything
to do with the murder.

It started with my question to Mrs. Oliver.

She embodies all that is good and
that is, pardon me, bad with instinct.

Good, is it something quite uncanny at times?
Something... I can't explain

and nor can anyone. Sometimes
it's excessive and stupid.

It was good with Mr. Legge because she knew
instinctively that he was a nuclear scientist.

It was less good with the Yugoslav wife,
which was very stupid. Forgive me.

And you irritated me so very
much, very much. I'm sorry.

Yes, yes, but it... only until the moment that I
realized you had gifts which are denied to me.

Chauvinist cochon that I am.

- Oh, no, Mr. Poirot
- Oh, yes. Oh, yes, yes.

You see, it was when her vibrations began to tell us all that something abnormal had occured here,

that I eventually sent Hastings back
to his friends in the Secret Service

and to use his connections there to find some
military archives which interested me.

Particularly those of
Lieutenant James Folliat.

I'm sorry, madame to cause you such pain,

but the truth of the matter is...
that not both of your sons are dead.

One of them, Jamie, your favorite,
is still alive.

He joined the Army and was released from it under circumstances which are, at least, shrouded in mystery.

Her Majesty having no further
need for his services.

Those are the archives, in
case it interests anyone.

Sir George.

What's this all about?
Are you James Folliat?

I see no point in denying it
under the circumstances.

Well, then, Mr. Folliat,what have
you been up to for 20 years?

Mother, do be quiet!

Young James found himself to be
incompatible with Army life.

It was your fault, my dear.
You spoiled him.

James was such a sweet, little boy.

I could deny him nothing.

Well, what happened between his leaving the Army and marrying Hattie Frimple is anybody's guess.

And... who better than the greatest
guesser of us all.

- Huh, madame? But...
- Oh, okay.

- You see...
- He's on the run. One disguise after
another to keep ahead of the cops.

His father dies, his mother is destitute,
Nasse House is lost to death duties,

and James Folliat can't do
one thing about it.

- And then, he...
- No, until, until, until please?

Until his mother introduces
him to Hattie Frimple.

And hides from anybody they mention
that he is not dead at all,

but has merely changed his identity
and as far as possible, his appearance.

Right. So, Sir George Stubbs charms the
naive, beautiful, young, rich American girl.

He buys back Nasse House with her money and brings her back here to live happily ever after.

- Thank you, Mrs. Oliver.
- But then, a letter arrives from a boy
that Hattie used to know.

She's terrified of him. She tries to
hide from him,

but Eddie South finds her, drags her onto his boat, murders her, and dumps her body in the river.

Hey! Wait a minute! I never murdered anybody!

My wife is not dead.

- That is also the truth.
- Where is she then?

As much as I abhore physical intimidation,
she wouldn't come out of her own ablution.

May I present Lady Stubbs.

That's... That's not Hattie.

- Yes, it is.
- No, it isn't.

- Yes, it is.
- Well, is it or isn't it?

No, it isn't, and yet, it's difficult to explain.

You see, James Folliat, alias Sir George Stubbs, did marry a Hattie.

Hattie Frimple.

In America, she was an heiress,

and her inheritance restored the Folliat
fortune and this house to its former glory.

The poor girl didn't enjoy very
much of her newfound happiness

because this man, repaying her as
only he could,... killed her.

You...!

What proof have you got, Poirot?!

The proof... The proof, I believe
to lie under the folly.

That night was a famous one locally.

A terrible storm, trees were uprooted, and into the hole produced by one of these fallen trees,

this man buried Hattie Frimple.

But time to regain his cottage in the
storm came old Merdell.

He saw what was happening, he
was horrified, he ran away...

and what was left of his poor
mind was permanently affected.

In a short time, the folly was built
over the body of the dead woman.

And this lady took the
place of Hattie Frimple.

She became just Hattie Stubbs.

I shall need a warrant for some
excavations on this property.

Mr. Poirot, there is only one real criminal in
this room and her name is Bernice Radford.

She killed Marlene in the boathouse.

You'd do anything to save
your hide, wouldn't you?!

She also drowned Merdell in the river!

You're not gonna let all this on me!

He killed the old man!

I should've known you'd fold. The old
lady's got all the guts in your family.

I didn't know Jamie was married to her.

When I introduced Hattie to him, I hoped we could come here, back home, and I could take care of them.

Look after Hattie and my son.

Instead, you allowed a murder
to go unreported.

I wanted to say, but I couldn't.
I couldn't.

Jamie is my son.

All right, I still don't understand how Marlene Tucker and the old man were murdered or why.

Oh, that's easy. These are,
I think, exhibits.

You see, the old man threw his alcoholic stupor, recognized James Folliat behind the facade of Sir George Stubbs.

He tried to communicate his discovery
and sang his stupid, little song,

and no one listened, of course, to
his nonsense except young Marlene.

She could always be bought off with a
little pocket money, but for how long?

Suddenly something happened. Three months
ago, they got news from Eddie South,

who was coming to visit them.

He was the only one that had actually
known the original Hattie Frimple.

Sir George had always been opposed to
public fades and festivals on his land.

Now, he was on an opportunity to have one,
including a Murder Hunt.

And if it was cleverly arranged and stage-managed, he could get rid of the two embarrassing witnesses of his previous crime.

I hate it here.

This decrepit old house is like a jail.

Well, we'll soon know from
you if it's true, madame.

Tell me, how did you know it was me?

I thought it was pretty good disguise.

It was an excellent disguise, but there's
always something with every disguise.

In this case, the hands.

Notice if you will, how much
paler they are in the face.

That was an initial mistake.

And then, I remembered a beautiful,
young woman near the swimming pool,

trying to catch the light of
the sun in an emerald.

It was your lovely white hands
which gave you away, madame.

Poirot, this is all very
impressive, as always,

but could you be more specific?

Their scenario continued on Saturday
morning at breakfast...

when a lady, we will still call "Lady Stubbs",
for the sake of convenience,

came downstairs with the mail.

Now, this was usually Miss Brewis' function.

And she was extremely irritated by
the initiative taken by Lady Stubbs,

who surrendered the mail to her, but
kept back one enveloppe, a blue one,

which had been posted actually three
months before,

and announced the imminent arrival on
that very day, of a Mr. Eddie South.

She developped an extraordinarily, rapid
headache and went upstairs to her room.

She was not there for very long,

because she changed into the costume of
an Italian girl, who was at the youth hostel.

And appeared in the garden, together with
a German girl she had found on the way.

And then, Sir George shouted at her
to get off the land.

Then, seemed to be summoned from inside the house by another voice nobody could hear.

But it was evidently judging from his reaction, his wife pleading for calm and generosity that he allowed the girls to go through.

Lady Stubbs reappeared in the garden,
ready to open the fact as Lady Stubbs.

Just before tea time, she instructed Miss
Brewis to deliver some refreshments

to the little girl, Marlene in the boathouse.

It was to prove to Miss Brewis that Marlene was still alive at a time very shortly before her murder.

Her ladyship hovered around the
fortune-telling tent,

waiting for Mrs. Legge to leave for her
rendez-vous with Michael Weyman in the folly.

Upon which she entered and changed once
again into her Italian outfit with the black wig.

Then, she goes down to the boathouse
and calls out for little Marlene.

Marlene, no doubt, delighted to hear
Lady Stubbs, gets up, looks,

sees no one, opens the door, and finds... an entirely unknown presence bearing down the folly.

Is that specific enough for you, Inspector?

Or should we go into greater details still
and go into the motives and the sensations?

Was it amusing, killing that girl?
Was it easy as it is in the cinema?

Or is it much more difficult as the noose slowly tightens?

Or perhaps, there is some pleasure
to be derived from it?

She was a fat, stupid, greedy, little kid that got exactly what she deserved for trying to blackmail us!

You may not judge her!

You have absolutely no right to take
something that doesn't belong to you!

And greedy, did you say?

What could be greedier than just destroying something because it stands in the way of your own miserable ambitions?

You are very lucky, you know, that I'm
not responsible for your punishment.

- Where were we?
- The boathouse, old man.

The boathouse, yes!

Well, then, this lady comes of the boathouse, she has time to toss Lady Stubbs' hat into the water,

then, she goes back to her hostel.

Her part of the conspiracy is now finished.

Finally, we pass to Sir George,
the swimmer of laps.

Is he perhaps a health fanatic?

No, Sir George was in training for a specific event.

A deadly event which was performed
not after Marlene's murder, but before.

For Sir George, this task was a pitifully easy
one, especially after such rigorous training.

A short swim to the boat landing, and poor,
drunken, old Merdell is pulled under.

His song is silenced forever.

Voil?!

Sir George,... you are
nicked, my old son.

I did all this for you, mother.
To give you back Nasse House.

God forgive me for loving
you too much, son.

I can't help you now.
No one can.

Why not?

You always have before.

Mother!

Take your hands off me!
I wish to speak with my mother!

You've done it again, Poirot!
Congratulations!

Maybe a touch more long-windy
than the ABC murders.

But you're still right up there with the best.

- I mean, compared to you, I'm just a flatfoot.
- No.

- A policeman.
- No.

Oh, you know... there are some people who
have to exercise their little gray cells.

Others who merely lock people into them.

"Long-windy."

Well, Mr. Poirot. Thanks to you,
I have my next novel.

- "The Copycat Killing"
- "The Copycat Killing"?

I enjoyed your last one. I finished it,
but I have lost it somewhere.

Oh, here. Here, I want you to keep that copy.

Tell me, when did you first suspect that the time bomb was surgically implanted in the parakeet.

On Tuesday.

Very good.

Is it any good?

You tell me. But I'll tell you something.

We'll both be in the next one.