Evil Under the Sun (1982) - full transcript

It's all right, miss.
No need for you to take another look.

- Ruber. Alice. Mrs.
- I say she's been dead for no more than two hours,

say, 4 o'clock at the outside
for time of death.

Hercules Parrot, sir.

Poirot, mademoiselle. Pucker your lips
as though about to bestow a kiss! Poi-rot.

Good morning, Poirot. I hope
you have some news for us.

This case has been hanging
for four or five months.

No, I'm afraid it's one of those rare cases
where an insurance company must...

laugh and lump it.

Very well. The usual
100 guineas, I take it?

By the way Poirot... Take a look at this.



It is the property of Sir Horace Blatt.
He is seeking to insure it with us

for 50,000 pounds.

Well, on the face of it,
it seems to be worth every penny of...

...38 pounds, 7 shillings and 6 pence.

- You are of course quite right.
- It is paste.

The question is why should
a millionaire industrialist

perpetrate such an obvious fraud?

Precisely. They must have known
the stone would be examined.

So you see, there is
something of a mystery.

Just be assured, with Hercules Poirot
mysteries never last for long.

Exactly. We were wondering if you
would undertake to investigate the matter.

You know you can count on my discretion. Very
well, I will see Sir Horace this afternoon.

Hardly this afternoon, I
think. He's on his yacht.

"The Jolly Roger" in southern France.



Will the further 200 pounds
meet the case?

Guineas!

It will make my forthcoming
holidays even more attractive.

So that's your game, is it?

You've come out here as near as
dammit accuse me, Horace Blatt, of fraud?

Do you seriously think that I cheated

the insurance company of one bloody jewel?

I'm worth millions, Poirot.

Nevertheless, I am afraid
it's quite worthless, Monsieur.

I've got to come and wring her bloody neck!

If you would care to confide in me,
I should be most honoured.

All right, I'll tell you this much.

A couple of months back
I met a certain lady in New York.

She told me she was so
madly in love with me

that she'd leave the show she was in
'cause she was an actress, you know,

and come back to England
with me on the "Queen Mary"

and marry me.
So I bought this stone from Tiffany's.

Then halfway across the Atlantics, she
changed her mind and ran off with another man.

Well, I wouldn't mind it so much.
Only she took the jewel with her.

That was not fair too. You see, I've
given her it in contemplation of marriage.

And frankly, $100,000 is a bit much to pay
for three days fumbling on the high seas.

- Oh Monsieur, who can put a price on "les affaires de coeur"?
- I, bloody can.

And this was too high. So three weeks
ago I went after her and demanded it back.

Of course she tried to put me off, but finally after a week
or so she gave it to me and I sent it along to be insured.

- And this bloody thing coming out, ain't it?
- It would appear to be the only explanation, Monsieur.

Well, she's not gonna make chump out of me.

I happened to know that in three days time she
would be down at Daphne' place for a little holiday.

- I'll give her a little holiday!
- Daphne's place?

Yes, you know, Daphne Castle. She was the
mistress of the King of Tyrania for years.

When he opted to marry the present queen,

he gave Daphne an old
summer palace to keep it quiet.

She turned it into one of those
exclusive bloody darn hotels

where the nobs and nonenties
come to squawk at each other.

I can't stand it myself. But she's a good sort. Anyway you'd better come away
with me. I'll ask the captain to prepare a cabin. We can sail off tonight.

Alas, Monsieur, ever since I was a small
boy, I have suffered from le mal de mer.

It needed all my courage
to make this small trip.

I will take the train. And join you there.

My compliments to.
Monsieur Jerome.

Patrick, really! No time for another drink!
The steamer leaves at eleven!

Of course, I have! If you have the baggage
sent down, I'll wait for the change.

Why do I always have to do everything?

Monsieur Poirot, your reservation
for the night train has been confirmed.

- The tickets will be at the desk.
- Thank you.

I must go.
I've got to catch that damned boat.

That's wrong, Rex. You look fearfully glum.
You are supposed to be enjoying yourself.

- God knows you're paying enough for it!
- Don't I know it? As a matter of fact, Daphne,

I was wondering if you would care to trade
my bill for a super piece in "New Yorker"?

You know that sort of thing
"Farewell courtesan, hello inn-keeper".

- Darling, I'd love to help. But it's not the publicty I need, it's the cash.
- Oh good god, darling, that need we all.

How are the Gardeners this morning?

Sea cannot wither nor custom stale
their infinite vulgarity.

- Good morning, Gardeners. Everything tikitiboo?
- Good morning.

Sure, Daphne. But I could wish
that my shower worked as snappily

as the one that I
have got back home in New York City.

Oh, you can't expect American plumbing
when you are in the Adriatic.

I guess not. Well, at
least we've got a shower.

A cousin of Odell's was at some place
in Jugoslavia last year

and had to wash in a kind of a
shack in a field. Isn't that so, Odell?

- It wasn't my cousin, Myra, it was my aunt.
- It was your cousin Thelma Snatchball.

OK, if you insist.
But there were two shacks.

One for the guests and one
for the staff. It was very stylish.

The boat's coming in, Daphne.
Prepare to repel boarders.

- That will be Arlena.
- Do you mean Arlena Stuart?

- No, Arlena Marshall.
- She re-married a couple of months ago.

Oh good god, darling, I didn't know
she was coming on. How marvellous!

I'm her greatest fan.
We'll just make fine vacation.

Has any of you happened to see
that last show of hers?

Hail and farewell, I'll never tell,
you've cast a spell over me.

- We produced it. Remember, dear?
- Oh, good god, darlings, I quite forgot.

Isn't that the one she walked out on

after just three weeks in
your biggest hit in years?

You know damned well it was.

What was there? A
sudden breakdown in health?

- More like a sudden attack of gold digging.
- Which rather turned into "sail and farewell", eh?

Funny a man.

Well, if that's Arlena, she must be
being dressed by Woolworth these days.

Oh, that's the Redferns - Patrick
and Christine, I seem to remember.

Excuse me, I must put my hostess hat on.

Anyway darlings, it must have cost you a
pretty bundle closing a hit show like that.

- Why don't you get comment on that?
- Why don't you go and play with yourself?

Excessively.

Is coarseness a substitute
for wit, I ask myself.

- Hello! I'm Daphne Castle. Welcome to the island.
- How do you do?

Looks lovely. I'm sure
we'll have a nice time here.

And a naughty one too.

- Would you care to sign in?
- Naughty?

It's what's the holiday's for. If you can't do
some sort of flirting and get a bit of petty booze?

Quite right. Do you fancy a walk
around the island before lunch, dear?

Patrick! You know perfectly well
that I've got a splitting headache.

And I've got all the unpacking to do.

- Andrea show to your room, if you like.
- Thank you.

After two days on that suffocating steamer I would
really have sought a little more cosideration.

Thank you for these three hours
of pure unadulterated hell.

This may come as a nasty surprise to you,
but shock absorbers

have been standard equipment
on motorized vehicles for 30 years.

Softly, fools, with my wardrobe!
Linda, do something!

- Like what?
- Like stop them, cracky.

- Kenneth! This is a nightmare.
- Take it easy, Arlena. We'll soon be there.

Soon? It can't be soon enough for me.
Thanks for these dreadful journeys.

Isn't that the absurd little man
we saw at the station of Tyranna?

The one who pinched
the only decent taxi from under your nose.

Yes, I do believe it is.

Good morning. It seems
we are all obviously going

to Daphne's
Island, I'd better introduce myself.

I'm Kenneth Marshall and
this is my wife, Arlena.

- Hercules Poirot. Enchanté, madame.
- Charmed.

This is my stepdaughter, Linda. Linda,
do stop standing there like a coughdrop

and say good morning to Monsieur Poirot.

And was journey as frightful as ours,
Monsieur Poirot?

Alas, I fear the sea more
than the land, Madame.

Mr. Marshall, I implore you
not to spoil them.

We'll have to pay double
on the way home.

It's only a twenty minute boat trip.
You'll find it all worthwhile

once we get to the island, I assure you.

- You mean you've been there before?
- Yes, I was there for a few days three years ago.

After the death of my first wife.

- Ghastlies!
- Don't worry, darling. It's only the noonday gun.

- The noonday gun?
- Yes, it's fired every day at 12 o'clock.

To commemorate the glorious victory of
Kosovo Methojiva in 1193.

I am reliably informed that
a mere handful of Tyranian cavalry

routed over 50000
barberous Bosnian fanatics.

It was apparently the only military success
in their entire history.

One success too many, hm.

Arlena, darling, I love you!

That tub was even more uncomfortable
than that damned taxi.

What if the bitch refuses to do the show?

We'll lose all our backers
that's what, Myra, after all

we'll sell the show under her name.

To think that our futures
are riding on that snake! A hussy!

Welcome to the island, everybody!
Kenneth, it's marvellous to see you!

Absolutely marvellous.
It must be at least two years

since you were last on the island.

It's three, actually. Wonderful to be here.
You never met Linda, did you?

No, I didn't.

- Hello, Linda. Welcome to the island.
- I don't think you know Arlena.

Yes, I do. Arlena and I
are old sparring partners.

Hello, Daphne.

- It's been years.
- Well, a little time.

Years. Arlena and I were
in the chorus of a show together,

not that I could ever compete.
Even in those days,

she could always throw her legs
up in the air higher than any of us.

...and wider.

Kenneth, this is such a surprise.
When you told me of an island

run by an acquainted landlady,

I had no idea it was Daphne Castle.

Yes quite. Daphne, I wonder if we could
go to our rooms. It's been a long journey.

Certainly.

- Andreas!
- If you are short-staffed, Kenneth can easily carry the bags.

They'll be brought up in a minute.
There'll be cocktails tonight at 8 o'clock.

Do have a good, long,
peaceful rest, Arlena!

You must be Horace Blatt's friend.
Perhaps you'll sign in.

I see you are the
famous Hercule Poirot?

- You are too amiable, madam.
- Perhaps.

I hope you have not come to practise
your sleuthing games on my guests?

They all have got far too many
skeletons in their cupboards

to join in with enthusiasm.

I don't have an intention to derange you
or your guests, madam.

My desires are simple: A good valet,

at 8 o'clock in the morning precisely.

...And of course some wax.
Some beeswax for my shoes. That's all.

Actually what Gilbert is going
to do is a success.

I really do not know
what they are going to do about that.

I really do think that
the Millers have gone too far.

Kitty is my oldest friend, Rex.

- Oh, I didn't know that!
- Kitty is Myra's oldest friend.

I just told him, Odell.

How about a cocktail, Monsieur Poirot?

White Lady, Sidecar,
Mainbrace or Between the Sheets?

No, if I could have creme de Cassis
or syrup de banan.

- Do you have banana syrup?
- Certainly.

Oh, my! I'm the last to arrive!

Have a sausage, dear.

You must be famished,
having to wait all that time in your room.

Have you met the Redferns,
Christine and Patrick.

- Arlena, darling...
- My favorite leading lady!

Why, Odell and Myra!
What on earth are you two doing here?

It's wonderful to see you, Arlena.
We have a fabulous show for you.

It's a real humdinger, honey!

Odell insisted that we both
come over here together

- to see you personally.
- It's very sweet of you.

But I'm sort of retired. This is my new
audience. Have you met my husband?

- How do you do?
- How do you do? You'll change your mind. You won't be able to resist this one!

Keeler's mad to do it. But we were holding
her off untill you had a chance to look at it.

And Kern has done the best music
you've ever heard.

Arlena, darling, it's simply sensational
to see you again!

- Hello, Rex.
- How do you do? I'm Kenneth Marshall.

Excuse me.
I must talk to you, Arlena.

Not now, Rexito.

Cheers!

Good morning, Linda.
How is your lovely mother?

She is not lovely and she is not my mother.

Darling, didn't anyone ever tell you that
peevishness is unbecoming in a young lady?

No. But they told me not to
talk to a very strange man.

Good morning, Gardeners.

Good morning, Arlena.

I think it's gonna be a hot day.
Good morning, Mrs. Redfern.

Very well, she's in wonderful shape.

And how much was that we
paid Kleinfield, Klauerwitz

and Stummerhoppen to contest
that phony doctor's certificate?

Twenty thousand dollars.

- Arlen darling, you look quite divine in that outfit.
- Say no more. It's yours.

- Next question?
- There's something quite frightfully important I have to talk to you about.

- So talk.
- It's a bit private.

You heard the little man, Linda.
Scram!

Well, what is it?

Arlena, I was wondering if you had the chance
to read the proofs of the biography yet?

Oh, indeed, I have read. I
simply couldn't put it down.

- I knew you'd love it.
- What a busy bee you've been researching exactly

where I was born and when?

Well, darling, there
aren't too many stars

who were born in Tooting Bec
at the turn of the century.

It's sweet that you
wrote how I was awarded

my first leading role in "Flames of
Eternity". How ever did you find out?

- I bribed his wife.
- Naughty Rex!

The days of my youth.
But I shoved all that behind me now, Rex.

Which is exactly what you are going to do
with your lousy book.

But Arlena darling, you promised.
When we were in New York.

And I've spent the advance.
I simply must have that released.

Forget it. You are not going to barbeque me
to keep yourself in sailor suits.

Arlena, angel, you must...

I said forget it. I'm not gonna sign
this release. And that's final.

You're gonna regret this, Arlena.
That's a promise.

Good morning, Mrs. Marshall. Good
morning, Mr. Brewster.

Now Linda! What are you doing here?
Acting a chaperon, gooseberry or a spy?

I just wanted to chat.
It seems we aren't having much fun.

What fun are you looking for, darling?
Go and play with the jelly-fish.

Oh my god!
She runs like a dromedar with dropsy!

Bitch!

You do not care for the aquatic sports
or the sunbathing, Madame?

I wish I could. But I don't go brown.
It's the sample I look after -

pink skin, white blisters,
and green in the face.

Unlike your husband, I observe.

No, he manages these things rather well. Sometimes
I think he must think I'm an awful goose.

But why, Madame?
I do not indulge in those sports myself

and I do assure you that
I am very far from being... a goose.

Ah, there you are Monsieur Poirot!

I've just had a telephone call
from your friend, Sir Horace.

He says he's having trouble with his...
piffle valve?

Such a valve still has
to be invented, Madame.

Oh, well I dare say you're right,
I wasn't paying that much attention.

Anyway the result is
he'll be 24 hours late..

Good morning, Kenneth.

Are you going for a swim? The water is
so hot, the lobsters are coming out red.

Come along, Daddy, you promised
to come for a walk with me.

Patrick, aren't you getting
a little tired of rowing?

That was last night.
And this morning he starts all over again!

Andrea, I don't care.

I don't care if Monsieur Poirot
wants cement on the sausages,

or bootblacking on his butter,
just give it to him!

I think the little Belgian
will find it all on his bill anyhow.

- We'll revenge on all this!
- Very well, madame.

I'm so sorry. Are we late?
Patrick insisted on rowing

right around the island.
It's much bigger than I thought.

- He is absolutely exhausted.
- Not in the least surprised.

I'm sorry we didn't take you with us, my dear,
the sun would be much too strong for you.

Arlena, here you are,
it's the script that I promised you.

No, I thought I told you last night.
I've given up the theatre.

These two are all
I am concerned with now.

- What's it called any way?
- "It's not right, and it's not fair".

Sounds like a black man's left leg!

- It's all right, Mr. Poirot.
- Pardon, Madame.

Please stay.

I'm just being silly.
I wish I had more self-control,

didn't show what I feel.

Well that is sometimes
not easy for the ladies.

Do you know what I am
most sick of in this place?

- What, madam?
- Pity.

I can't bear to be pitied.
Everyone round here seems

to feel so sorry for me.

I can tell it by the way they look at me.

"Poor little thing", they're saying.
"What's she has to put up

with that poor fool of a husband of hers".

"What a pity she is not strong enough
to compete for what she wants".

Will you allow me to tell you something, Madame?
The "Arlena Stuarts" of this world do not count;

Their domination is of the moment.

Really to count, a woman
must have either goodness or brains.

You can't actually believe that men
care for either of those things, can you?

Oh, yes, I do, Madame...
your husband loves you,

I know that.

Come, let us take a little promenade.

How I wish I could do that -
just lie in the sun!

Pour quoi, Madame? Look at them -
lying in rows like corpses in the morgue!

They are not men and women. There's nothing
personal about them. They are just bodies,

butcher's meat,
steaks grilling in the sun.

I'm sorry Mr. Poirot, I suffer from vertigo.
I can't bear to look down from the height.

I'm better now.
In fact I am determined to enjoy myself.

It's so blissful here, so tranquil,
so far from all violence and trouble.

Yes, you are right, Madame; The sky is
blue, the sun is shining, and yet you forget

that everywhere
there is evil under the sun.

- You are going to be late for dinner, you know.
- Yes, I know. Just having a bit of a think.

About Arlena?

- I suppose it's no use saying it's your own fault.
- Not much.

No, and never is. How about -
you've made your bed and

now you must lie on it.

- Worse.
- I thought it might be.

- Poor Kenneth. You do pay on account.
- No, I can cope.

- Do you think Linda can?
- What do you mean?

She is always on at that poor child,
pitching the hell out of her.

Yes, that's a pity about that.
Linda's like her mother, you see -

she takes things hard.

- Why don't you do something about it?
- Like what, for instance?

Like fixing up a divorce, for instance.
People do it all the time.

With most of my friends
it's almost a full time occupation.

Arlena's all right. She just adores to flirt.
That's all. There is really nothing in it.

It's all on the spur of the moment.

Spur of the moment?! You really are blind.
Who the hell do you think booked

Patrick Redfern in here in the first place?

- You don't mean ...?
- I'm afraid so.

Even so... with me a deal is a deal.
I don't approve of quick marriage

and easy divorce.

Arlena is my wife.
That's all there is to it.

Till death do you part?

Exactly.

I see.

Just kill that cow!

- What the hell do we do now, Odell?
- Just leave it to me.

- I'll think of something.
- My hero! I swear,

if you were a man
I would divorce you!

Hello, darling! You'd better get a move on.
Where have you been?

- I've just been having a word with Daphne.
- You get on like a house on fire with her, don't you?

- She's a nice lady.
- Yes, I suppose, she is. As hotel proprietors go.

- And you get on rather well with Redfern, don't you?
- He's a nice fellow.

- Yes, I suppose he is, as 'Gigolos' go.
- What's that supposed to mean?

You liked him well enough when
you met him at the Grangers' in London.

I've never set eyes on that man before.

Really? I could have sworn you were there. It must
have been the night of your regimental dinner.

Well, anyway what does it matter?

He just happens to be a guest here
who took me for a boat ride. That's all.

He happens to be a guest here, Arlena,
because you just happened to book him in.

The bitch Daphne!

Christine, I beg you not to talk about it!

That's it! You don't want to talk about it?

Oh, look here, Christine.
I can't even speak to a pretty woman

without you jumping to the conclusion
that I'm having an affair with her.

Well, aren't you?
You leave me here alone all day

and you go off with her.
I'm the laughing stock of the whole hotel.

Of course not!
You are being ridiculous!

Arlena and I are just
good friends, that's all!

I don't believe you!
Please, let's just go away.

I absolutely refuse. Here we are
and here we'll stay!

If you don't like you can...

Oh Myra, that is so beautiful.

That's enough, Linda.
It's adult time. Off to bed.

Common, darling. Let her stay.
She's on holiday after all.

Scram, Cinderella.

You're the top!

You're the Colosseum.

You're the top!
You're the Louvre Museum.

You're the nimble tread
Of the feet of Fred Astaire.

You're the National Gallery,
You're Garbo's salary,

You're the Nile,

You're the Tower of Pisa,
You're the smile on the Mona Lisa.

I'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop,
But if, baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top!

You're the top!
You're a new invention.

You're the top!
You're the fourth dimension.

I'm a frog without a log
on which to hop.

But if, baby, I'm the
bottom, you're the top!

I'm sorry.

Isn't it wonderful?

I know how you did that.
The egg's in your top pocket.

I'm not five years old, you know.

- Been for a bathe, darling?
- What's it look like?

Darling, there's no need to be snappy
just because you went to bed

bright and early last night.

I always keep mine behind my ear.

Oh, there you are!
I was looking for you.

I'm going sketching at Gull Cove.
Would you like to come?

Yes, I'd love to.

I'll see you down in the hall
in ten minutes.

Monsieur Poirot, just the man! Would
you be very kind and help me push this out?

You require assistance, Madame?

It's like a real launch of Mauritania.

Without the champagne!

Thank you so much. And Monsieur Poirot,
please don't tell anyone where I've gone.

- Everyone will keep following me about.
- Everyone, madame?

Perhaps some people more than
others. I just want to be alone.

Enjoy your swim.

- There she goes. Not a care in the world!
- I'll make her care.

Oh, what do you know about care?
If it had been up to you,

the good Samaritan
would have passed by on the other side.

I have an idea but I need to work it out.

Yeah, well don't forget about my cousin, Hatty
Heimenheimer. It took her so long to "work out an idea,"

they finally had to stash
her away in the booby hatch!

- Where is the fire?
- Sorry.

- Did you have your breakfast?
- I ate a piece of toast.

Linda, you really are naughty! Andreas goes to all
the trouble of preparing decent English breakfast

instead of those weedy continental things.

And you eat toast.

I'm sorry, I just wasn't hungry.

What's the matter? Is it Arlena?

- She is so beastly.
- You don't want to worry about her.

- Things have a habit of working out. I promise you.
- Yes, if you make some.

Would you like to come for a stroll
with me to the lighthouse? It'll be fun.

This must be my my lucky day.
I've never been in such demand.

I'd like to, but I can't. I've already got
a date to go sketching with Christine.

That's all right. I'm glad to see
you're making friends.

- Good morning, Kenneth.
- Ah, good morning.

There is a letter for you.
The boatman just brought it over.

Since your daughter has just turned me down,
would you like to come for a walk with me

before my staff meeting at 11:30?

I'd love to, but I'm afraid, I can't.
This must be answered straight away.

This isn't my lucky day, Linda.

But you can't get away from me at 12:30.
We're playing tennis. Remember?

I remember.

By the way, Linda,
have you seen your mother?

No, thank God.

Linda, I won't tell you again...

Clean it, clean it.
Don't just lean on the thing.

Here you are.

- What a colourful outfit!
- I'm so glad you like it.

Linda and I are going off sketching, Mr. Marshall.
Don't worry, I'll take good care of her.

See you on the tennis court at 12:30.

- Bye, Daddy.
- Have a nice time.

- Good morning, Poirot. Been swimming?
- You saw me? - No.

Yes, I have been swimming. There's nothing like
the shock of cold water and rhythmic movement

to stimulate the little grey cells.

Yes, of course. That's what you've
seen my wife about, have you?

Madame Marshall?

- What, she rose so early?
- She's not in our rooms.

By the way, I was looking for
that fellow... Redfern earlier?

I suppose might have
seen him either, have you?

Is someone taking my name in vain?

A very good morning to you, gentlemen.

- What kind of things will we do, Ms Redfern?
- Call me Christine.

Hi, Patrick! Are you going for a spin?

How about taking me along?

- So what time is it, dear?
- Five to twelve.

Lord, I must fly.
I'm playing tennis at 12:30.

That's a fine boat!

I think it belongs to Sir Horace Blatt.
Odell and I were on it once, I think.

Look. I wonder who that is.

You know exactly who it is,
you naughty boy!

Would you be a sport and
take the boat back for me?

I'll come back with Arlena after our walk.

Are you kidding?
I do not know how to work this thing.

Look, it's simple,
this lever is put on the gear,

and all you have to do is to steer.

- Well, just this once.
- But don't get me involved.

You're a sport.

Hey, come on, wake up!

Oh my God!

- What's the matter?
- She's dead!

She's been murdered!

Strangled!

- It's just not possible.
- We'd better get some help!

- I'll go. You'll stay with the body.
- Are you kidding? I can't do that!

You're right.
The murderer may still be out somewhere.

- Can you make it back to the hotel?
- In a flash. This thing is no problem.

You'd better hurry!

Madame Marshall has been strangled. There are
contusion marks there on the head and the neck.

This much is evident.

We must now send for the police and acquire a
doctor in order to establish the time of death.

Have you ever met a Tyranian doctor, Monsieur Poirot? The limit
of their skill is determining the fitness of an ox to pull a cart.

- That may be so, Madame, but...
- Dear Monsieur Poirot, a word in your ear.

The whole world knows that you are a man of
enormous discretion and gallantry,

a man notedly privy to the
secrets of kings and prime ministers,

and also a man not willing to stand by and see
a lady in trouble without rushing to her aid.

I appeal to you now, I'm such a frail woman, in
need of help. In fact I throw myself on your mercy.

Couldn't we make it
a private investigation?

You know how peculiar people can be
about a spot of murder.

The scandal of a famous stage star
being murdered here, would ruin my hotel.

I am very sorry, Madame,
but there is no way to avoid this

becoming an official matter.

In the due course of time,
of course, I quite agree,

when it can be released
in the proper manner.

But consider,
just think what everyone will say

if they were to discover
you were here ahead of the police.

And failed to solve the crime.

I mean, Monsieur Poirot,
both our reputations are at stake.

- Ain't it a pong of something rotten in here.
- Only of the breath of the sea.

Oh how poetic you are, Monsieur Poirot.

- You have the true soul of France.
- The true soul of Belgium, madame.

Yes, of course. How mortifyingly
stupid of me! Please forgive me.

In due course of time...

Well, what do you say, Monsieur?
Will you bring your colossal brain power

to the aid of a lady in distress?

Will you clear up this hideous mess for me
with all your brilliance and discretion

for which the world famous...

One moment. I must carry out
a little investigation of my own

before answering your question.

Mr. Redfern, at what time did you
and Madame Gardener find the body?

It was twelve o'clock exactly.

That bloody gun went off
as we were coming round these rocks there.

As you know I sent Mrs. Gardener back
for help immediately.

I touched nothing except
to make sure the body was dead.

Oh yes, you acted quite correctly.

Since I was the last person to see Madame Marshall
alive, when I pushed her off in her pedalo about 10:20,

it means the time of death
can be established as being

between 10:30 and 12 noon.

How absolutely brilliant!

The doctor can give us the approximate time
and how she was killed.

Which I know.
I don't need the help of a doctor.

It's a terrible tragedy, Poirot.
It's terrible.

She may have been a bit flighty, Arlena,
but no one could have wished this on her.

Just between ourselves. You may have
guessed but she was the lady in question.

- That was not too difficult to guess.
- I suppose it bloody wasn't.

I'd best chalk it up to experience in
beyond my way. There's no point in intruding

in the grief of her new husband
and all that sort of thing.

You had no chance
to speak to Madame Arlena?

- Of course not. I've only just arrived.
- Of course.

There's only one thing puzzles me in
that case. You remember the false diamond

- I left in your possession?
- Yes.

How did I happen to find it
once again on the beach

near the dead woman?

Oh, dammit, Poirot. If I made a right murderer,
I wouldn't be leaving clues all over the place.

- All right, I confess.
- You confess?

I mean I confess I had a word with her. I was coming in
on a boat and I saw Arlena on one of those pedal things

going to the beach along there.

Anyway I stopped the boat
and rowed myself over.

It was better than confronting
her in front of her husband.

We had a bit of a barney. We all
pretended to be all surprised at that.

As I rowed she promised
to sort it out by tonight.

- She did not tell where the real jewel was?
- No, dammit, she didn't.

If you don't mind, I'd like to get changed now. I'm
getting a little chilly, the shock and everything.

- I was very fond of Arlena, as you well know.
- Yes, you may well have been, monsieur.

And yet there are cases of men
that have killed those women

who made it impossible to return
to the wives they really loved.

I assure you that is not the case here. I
could have taken off at any time I wanted.

Anyway, you know I had nothing to do with
it. You yourself saw me from the terrace

go off in the boat with Mrs. Gardener.

It would seem that I'm your alibi.
Please go and get changed.

So this young man has been sniffing
around Arlene? No, I'd say I blame him.

I'm sorry Sir Horace, but it's my duty to put it
to you that you were furious with Madame Arlena,

that you were determined to get your jewel back, you came
up here in order to demand it, she laughed in your face.

You lost your temper, you strangled her -
That is poppycock! That is bloody poppycock!

If it's poppycock, that it's most
regrettable that you said in front of me

that you would willingly wring her neck.

That was just a bit of chat, that's all.

Look! All I did was tell her that she couldn't make a
monkey out of me and I threw that minute the glass at her.

If I had killed her,
my crew would have seen me.

They were all on the deck, they were watching. They are
not used to looking at the clock when I'm at my large.

Sometimes it is the only way to move.
So if you don't believe me, ask them.

Très bien. All I say I must ask you
not to leave the island for the moment.

If you insist. But if I were
you, I would cherchez le hubby.

You'll find the favour there when
you deal with the Arlenas in this world.

It's a little dificult to
accept your condolences

when in virtue in the same breath you accuse me of
murdering my wife, because she was unfaithful to me.

I can understand that of course.

But I hope you realize that I'm rather easier to
get on with than the Tyranian police would be.

And therefore I will ask you where you
were between 11 and 12 this morning.

It's very simple. I was in here typing until
I changed for tennis a few minutes after 12.

How very curious. Because you know when I passed
by your door at what must have been about 11:15.

I heard no sound.

I can't think that. One does
occasionally pause to think, you know.

Here. This is what I typed.

As you can see, it would take
at least an hour to do.

With respect, you could have typed it yesterday and brought it in
with you, there's absolutely no proof that you typed it this morning.

Excuse me, I just could help overhearing
I have the proof you need.

- You do, Madame?
- Yes.

Every week it's my custom
to collect all my staff together

to give them in a collective boot. It does
in the end no good particularly the eyeties.

Keep smack to snuff
as my old pappa used to say.

Anyway that meeting was this morning at 11:30 just before
I came up here to have a wash and puff my nose in here.

I saw that Kenneth work so hard.
I just didn't disturb him.

Madame, you cannot
see the desk from the door.

I saw him in the mirror.

In the mirror.

My goodness, you do type fast, Kenneth.
You must be the horror of the Remington.

Tell me, Madame, how many fingers
am I holding up?

Three.

And now how many?

That's not fair, you're hiding.

Madame, you cannot see
in the mirror someone seated at the desk.

It is not me who is hiding,
it is you who are lying.

Mr. Marshall, are you,
by any chance lying also?

It should be fairly obvious, that that letter, all eight
pages of it, is in reply to this one from my stockbroker,

which arrived by this
morning's post at about 10:30.

It should therefore be equally obvious
that I must have typed when I said I did.

Yes, it would appear so.
Now to revert to you again, madame.

I'd like to ask you a question about your
promenade to the lighthouse this morning.

You went alone, I believe.

Yes, I did.

And you must have passed the bay
on which Arlena was murdered.

Yes, I did. I also saw
Arlena sunning herself.

Then you must have taken the same path home. There is
no logical alternative. And I am suggesting to you,

you could have gone down to the beach,
murdered Arlena Marshall and still been in time

for your staff meeting at 11.30.

What utter bold!
You can't possibly think

I wanted to kill Arlena just because this
silly cow succeeded on the boards and I didn't?

No, that I do not think. But there is a certain
tenderness between you and Mr. Marshall.

Otherwise why take that absurd risk
of trying to protect him just now?

What if there is?
What does it matter?

- It matters bacause Madame Arlena was in the way.
- Monsieur Poirot, you have the French obsession.

I'm sorry, the Belgian obsession
with the crime passionale.

But you are barking at the wrong tree.

- I know who did it.
- You do, madame?

Of course. It was Sir Horace Blatt. When I
came back here from my walk at about 11:15,

I saw him down on the beach.

He was jumping up and down
screaming blue murder at Arlena.

I've never seen a fellow in such a fury.

- Why did not you tell me this before, madame?
- But he is an old chum, isn't he?

I didn't know then you are going to start
hurling accusations at me and Kenneth.

But he is the chump you want.
Why don't you run along and question him?

I already have done, madame.
And he is exonerated by his crew.

All the same, his story does confirm yours. Without knowing
it, you have corroborated your own alibi. Bravo, madame.

I'm sorry, Kenneth. I really put
you in it. I was only trying to help.

I know. I forgive you.

I don't want to hear any more about it, Patrick. If
you hadn't been poodlefaking with that awful woman,

you wouldn't have been
there in the first place.

Oh, madame.
May I have a quick word with you, please?

About how you spent this morning.

- Why me? I have nothing to do with all this.
- You had no reason to love Arlena Marshall, madame.

Perhaps not. I was with Linda all morning.

I went to her room early to ask her
to go to Gull Cove to do some sketching.

She wasn't there. I mean she came along
a few minutes later.

She'd been swimming.

Then we set off and
we were there all morning.

If you don't believe me,
then ask Linda. She will tell you.

- Calm down, ma'am.
- I'm all right now.

I want you to think about it very carefully. At what
time precisely did you leave the cove this morning?

I was there until 12 o'clock and went off
to my tennis game.

- You had watch?
- No, I didn't.

How did you know it
was precisely 12 o'clock?

Because when I climbed to the top of the cliff
and was waving to Linda, who had gone for a swim,

that awful gun went off.

The one they fire at noon every day.

What did you do then, madame?

I was late for my tennis
which was fixed for 12:30.

I simply tore back to the hotel as fast as
I could and changed into my tennis things.

I went to the court
right with the others.

Mr. Marshall, Mrs. Castle and Mr.
Gardener. I played with Mr. Gardener.

I'm sorry I'm late.
I was sketching at Gull Cove.

I lost track of the time.

Don't worry. It's only a matter
of four minutes exactly.

I'm afraid you have to
come and play with me.

We'd barely started when news
of Arlena came.

Of course it's a dreadful thing, Mr. Poirot.
But I can't pretend that I am now...

A little relieved. I can understand that.

Is there anything else you want to ask?

Not for the time being.

Come in.

- Hello.
- Hello.

Excuse me, mademoiselle,
for intruding into your grief.

Grief? That's a good one.
Why should I be sorry for Arlene?

- You hated her so much?
- I'm glad she's dead. If that's what you mean.

She was horrid to me
and beastly to my daddy.

Would you mind if I ask you
a few questions about this morning.

Why should I? I was with Christine Redfern.

She wanted to go to Gull Cove
to draw some stupid cliffs.

- And did she?
- Oh, yes. She sat under her big hat when I sunbathed.

She gets so blistered when she
sets out in the sun. It's bad luck really!

Here it is. She gave it
to me. It's not bad really.

No, she has a talent, that one. These are
undeniably cliffs. When did she leave you?

- Five to twelve.
- How can you be so sure?

Because she asked me.

- What time is it, dear?
- Five to twelve.

Lord! I must fly!
I'm playing tennis 12:30.

She got into a fearful panic about being late
for tennis and rushed off back to the hotel.

- Would you like this?
- Thanks. It's super. I'll see you later after my swim.

I remember I was half way down the beach
when Christine called after me.

Don't forget your bathing cap!

I'd forgotten my bathing cap, so I had
to go back and put it on. What a bore!

Did you see anyone else while
you were swimming?

No, no one. Apart from Christine
waving to me from the top of the cliff.

Look! Why don't you stop asking me
all these silly questions about Christine?

She couldn't have murdered Arlena. Neither could I. That
slimy Rex Brewster's the one you should be talking to.

He hated Arlena. He's the one
who really wanted her dead.

How can you say that?
He admired her so much.

Don't be daft! He's written that filthy book
about her which she wouldn't allow him to publish.

Excuse, mademoiselle, but
how do you know all this?

'Cause I heard them having a row
about it on the beach yesterday.

They thought I'd gone away, but I hadn't.

Maybe he won't be able to publish it,
if he is hanged for murder first.

If I can't see you faces shining
in every knife, fork and spoon,

I'll have your guts for
gutters, understood?

Have you any idea
where I can find Mr. Brewster?

Rex? I thought I saw him going out into the garden.
He's not the one you want. You should cherchez la femme.

- Really, madam?
- Absolutely, I have been having a little think, and I worked it all out.

If Horace Blatt is in the clear, and Kenneth
Marshall is in the clear, and I am in the clear,

and Patrick Redfern is in the clear, and Myra
Gardener is in the clear, because she was with him.

Then it's all down to little Ms. Cringe?

- Ms. Cringe?
- The jealous wife, Christine Redfern.

You don't want to believe all that stuff about
her being too weedy. Women fight like tigers,

when they are losing their husbands Not that I've
had much experience in that sort of thing myself.

But what is your theory,
I mean how did Madame Christine do it?

I don't know.
She probably battered Arlene over the head

with the blue driftwood and then finished her
off with a little pressure on the carotid artery.

Everyone knows that. It
is in all the crime novels.

In fact only the other day a child of 11
did something like that in Hungary.

Or was Crete?
She used a pair of nutcrackers.

Perhaps I'd better go
and see if any are missing.

Unfortunately, you see there are
no nutcracker marks on the throat.

Madame Christine could not possible have done it.
Her alibi had been confirmed by Mademoiselle Linda.

And vice versa.

How very irritating!

"Under the high
lazy noonday Adriatic sun"

"the body lay on its back, arms outstretched parodying
in the position she so often occupied in life".

That is marvellous.

You've come, Monsieur Poirot,
to question me about poor Arlena.

Note that I am shattered. I am absolutely shattered.
She was so wonderfully funny, so very generous...

Not generous enough to give you a release
so that you could publish this manuscript.

- Who told you that?
- Never mind, but it is the truth, n'est-ce pas?

You cannot lie with the dead, now you are free
to publish your saucy tales and reap the reward.

I would admit that point of view. I assure
you that loss of so radiant a performer

infinitely exceeds any possible
gain to myself. You must believe that.

The time of death has been narrowed to between
11:30 and 12. Where were you at this time?

I was on a pedalo.

On pedalo?
Whereabouts?

How should I know?
I wasn't carrying a chart at the time.

How amusing that is!

Chart or no chart, it was perfectly possible for
you to have watched Sir Horace Blatts's boat leave

and then to have
pedaloed into Ladder Bay,

there to find the unsuspecting Arlena
asleep and then you strangled her.

Monsieur Poirot, are you aware
that would take nearly two hours

to pedal around the island
from Ladder Bay to Gull Bay?

At twelve o'clock precisely, as that boring
old gun went off I pedalled into Gull Bay.

Linda was there swimming.

In fact I nearly hit her, she was
splashing around like a deaf seal.

You say that you saw Mademoiselle Linda
swimming in Gull Bay at 12 o'clock.

Certainly, I asked her to help me
pedal back but the little tard refused.

What do you want?

- What did you say?
- I said, good god, darling. Help me pedal this damned thing back, my legs are killing me.

Pedal it back yourself.

So you see, darling,
I simply could not have killed Arlena.

If you're so anxious to find the murderer,
why don't you find out who tried to murder me.

Murder you?

What do you mean?

After I'd been left by that lazy little cow
Linda to rupture myself, I pedalled off.

About ten minutes later a bottle came whizzing off the
cliff and smacked out on the water right next to me.

It missed my head by inches.
I looked up, there was nobody around.

I must congratulate you on that
highly interesting and imaginative story.

I refer of course to your visit,
your fictional visit to Gull Bay at noon.

- What do you mean "fictional"? Linda!
- Mademoiselle Linda denies having seen anyone there at the time.

What? That lousy little oigger! I know she loathes
me because I adored Arlena, but this is ridiculous.

You just wait till I catch her!

Linda! You just wait!

You tell Monsieur Poirot that I was with you
this morning when you were swimming in Gull Cove.

Why should I? You weren't.

You're lying, little brat!

You just tell him that you saw me on the
pedalo and refused to help me pedal back.

You hell!

- Don't touch my daughter!
- You tell her to tell him the truth.

Did you see Mr. Brewster when you
were bathing in Gull Cove this morning?

- All right then, yes I did.
- Linda, you mustn't tell lies.

- You can get people into serious trouble.
- Serious trouble? Hell darling! You'll get them hanged!

- That was rather the idea, was it not mademoiselle?
- I'm sorry.

Kindly accept my apologies, monsieur.
Incidentally I accept your alibi.

That's really white of you.

Now Monsieur Poirot, I am not as lucky as
my dear wife. I have absolutely no alibi.

I was sitting over there rather still on the bench reading
my book and between the hours of 11 and 12:15 I didn't move.

Now I am well aware, Monsieur Poirot, that
in your world when a murder takes place

everyone automatically comes up
with a watertight alibi.

However, I belong to that great world
of milllions of innocent men and women

who curiously enough don't have the
foresight to provide themselves with an alibi

when a murder is taking place,
of which they know absolutely nothing.

Consequently, as I was guilelessly
reading my book,

there was no gardener to come trotting by respectfully touching
his forelock and registering the time on his grandfather's watch.

In short, Monsieur Poirot,
I don't have a ghost of an alibi.

Of course, I could have scampered off
the top of that peak like a mountain goat

and swarm down the famous
steps over you head above

and then crept upon Arlena and strangled
her with these powerful hands of mine.

But unfortunately for you I did no such
things. I have a big fat motive but no alibi.

Next question?

Next question is what did you do when you
had finished being unobserved in the garden?

I went up to my room again
unobserved to change for tennis.

I was rather thirsty and so I rang
the bell, naturally no one answered.

Where the goddamned staff had disappeared was a
mystery worthy even of your talents, Monsieur Poirot.

I turned on the tap but there was no water,
not a drop, now some of those running a bath

down the hall fit to float Noah's Ark.

Dear God, what a time for a bath! I would
have said. Anyway, I changed and appeared

suitably attired in my Fred Perry outfit on the tennis
court at precisely 12:30 to join Daphne and Marshall.

Mrs. Redfern came a few
minutes later.

And that, Monsieur Poirot,
concludes the case for the defense.

You make pleasantries, but
no alibi...

is still no alibi!

If you are looking for that,
I've got it in here.

I've been using it to solve everything out for
you. Look! I was wrong about cherchez la femme.

Sorry about that.
But it's quite obviously cherchez le fruit.

Rexy is the only one unaccounted for. Look, I'll show you.
At 11:30 Arlena Marshall was left here alive by Horace Blatt,

who then sailed on down here. At the
same time Myra and Patrick were here.

Linda and Christine were here now, Kenneth
was here and I was in my staff meeting.

It is just got to be our genial columnist.
And what's more, I know how he did it.

You do, madame?

Absolutely! Recently I was reading a
magazine story about a woman in Malaya,

who was drowned by a huge moray eel
which darted out of a hole,

dragged her to the floor of the ocean,
its teeth buried in her throat.

That's what gave me a clue. Rex Brewster could
have been lurking in the water here off Ladder Bay

and when Arlena appeared on her pedalo, he
could have leapt up, pulled her off it...

Very interesting, madame, the only snag is
that Madame Marshall was not drowned.

Far less was she gnawed to death... And perhaps
even more damaging to your theory is the fact

that it has been established that Monsieur Brewster was
here in Gull Cove with Mademoiselle Linda at 12 o'clock.

He could not possible have pedalled all the the
way from Gull Cove to Ladder Bay in half an hour.

That's very inconvenient of him.

I mean if he didn't do it, who did? I just
don't see who could have. Everyone has an alibi.

Oh no, they do not, madame. Monsieur Gardener does
not have an alibi and seems rather proud of the fact.

- Oh, but he does, dear, most definitely.
- What are you telling me, madame?

At 11:30 I was having my staff meeting,
giving the hired help

pleasing stream of the old rancid
and in particular pointing out to Andreas

there was absolutely no point in making your curry so hot
that it actually raised welts on the surface of your tongue.

I just happened to look out of the window and
there was Odell in the garden reading a book.

He stayed there through the entire meeting.
I'm positive of it.

- What's the matter. Did I said something?
- You said a great deal, madame.

I see what you mean. You mean
nobody did it.

And yet we still have a body, madame.

- Rigoletto.
- Correct, Verdi. Che elegant!

That's funny to think if Giuseppe Verdi had been
an Englishman, his name would have been Joe Green.

I suppose it would.

Well it used to make the boys laugh when I was trying
to din some Latin into them when I was a school teacher.

Little boys laugh easily if it keeps them away
even for a moment from their study of Latin.

Please forgive me for interrupting the cocktail hour, but there
are two questions of great importance which I must put to you.

First of all, did anybody here throw a
bottle into the sea this morning? No?

Secondly, did any of you take a bath at
12:15 today? An odd time for a blue sheen.

How remarkable! A bath which nobody admits
having taken and a bottle which flies by itself.

Joe Green... It's rather more
amusing than at first I thought.

- Good morning, Sir Horace!
- Hello.

- Enjoyed your swim?
- Sorry, the water was freezing, I'm running to get warm.

It reminds me of a lady policeman. She is all out of
breath. She told her friends how she caught a burglar.

"I chased him past the grocer's, and the butcher's,
and the baker's. I finally caught him by the cobbler's.

Sorry, dear. I don't find it
remotely funny, Sir Horace.

I'll tell you what I don't find so funny - that's
hanging around waiting for the great detective!

Good morning, Monsieur Poirot.

Listen here, Poirot. Not only
have you not found Arlena's killer,

but what is more you haven't found my diamond.
So I am off though if it's all the same to you.

The Gardeners, and the Redferns
want to go too.

I can't say I blame them.

The place is like morgue.
I am so sorry.

There's nothing like a good night rest
to clear the little grey cells.

Kindly ask all our friends to forgather in the
lounge after they have finished their petit déjeuner.

- When all will be revealed.
- What?

- You mean you know?
- Oh, yes.

- Give us a few clues.
- All right, I wish you to consider very carefully.

A bathing cap, a bath, a bottle, a wrist watch, the diamond, the
noonday gun, the breath of the sea and the height of the cliff.

From that you should be able
to solve it yourselves.

We'll meet again in one hour.
Now I am going to have my "oeuf a la coq".

- There goes the most insufferable man in the world.
- "Oeuf a la coq", supports his remarks when he talks mostly.

Mesdames, mademoiselle, messieurs...

The reason I asked you
to meet me here this morning

is that I, Hercule Poirot, have discovered the
identity of the murderer of Madame Marshall.

This needs surprise no one.

Are you all comfortable?

Even the murderer?

This has been a most unusual crime in that apparently
nobody had the opportunity of committing it.

Madame Marshall was killed
between 11:30 and 12 noon yesterday,

and yet every single one of you
had a perfect alibi,

including you, Mr. Gardener, without knowing it.
And I'm very sorry if I have disappointed you.

We had undeniably a body,
which meant that somebody was lying.

Who? After exercising considerable reflection,
I came to the conclusion that it was you...

Madame Redfern.

Me? But I didn't lie to you, I swear it.

Yes, you did, madame. When I asked you at what time you
left Gull Cove yesterday, you said it was 12 o'clock.

You knew this. You said because
you heard that awful gun go off.

When you were standing on the top of the cliff
waving at Linda, who was swimming in the water below.

But Mr. Brewster was in the bay at the same time,
it's very curious that you didn't mention him.

And it's even more curious when I confronted Mr. Brewster with
the fact that his story about entering the bay on his pedalo

the very moment that the midday
gun went off was denied by Linda,

he lost his temper, he attacked the poor girl. It would've
been so much easier for him to have called his second witness -

- you, madame. He must have seen you standing on the top
of the cliff, and yet he made no mention of it. Why not?

The answer is obvious,
you were not there.

But I was there. And I did wave and
Linda waved back. Tell him, Linda.

- It's true. She did wave, honestly.
- Yes, she probably waved but there was no noonday gun, was there?

- I don't remember it. No.
- No, there was no nooday gun for a very good reason. It was not 12 o'clock.

But she asked me the time and I looked
at my watch and it was five to twelve!

The watch, that is very important.

Let us go back to
yesterday morning, shall we?

I was having breakfast on the terrace,
an egg,

and in the course of performing some slight
act of "lege de mag" for you, mademoiselle,

I happened to notice
that you were not wearing a watch.

It was not particularly surprising
as you had been swimming,

the fact that could be noted by
anyone looking out of the hotel window.

You, Madame Redfern, actually told me
you went to her room early

to ask her to come with you to Gull Cove
to do some sketching.

But she was not there. What a perfect opportunity to
put Mademoiselle Linda's watch forward 20 minutes.

A few moments later, as you told me, Linda
appeared in the corridor as you knew she would.

And you invited her to accompany you.

- Would you like to come?
- Yes, I'd love.

All right, see you
in the hall in ten minutes.

Hello, Mr. Poirot.

Your plan to make Linda your
false alibi was now in motion.

This is pure supposition, Poirot.
I've never heard such twaddle.

Twaddle or not, it is the only explanation
which fits all the facts.

Now if you will be a little patient, I'll explain
to you exactly what happened next at Gull Cove.

Madame Redfern unseen by Linda consulted
her own watch which she was wearing,

but kept concealed under the sleeve of that strange
voluminous outfit she chose to protect her from the sun.

It is of course twenty-five to 12 she then asked Linda
the time who naturally said it was five to twelve.

Linda then starts to go down to the sea. While her back is
turned, Madame Redfern returns Linda's watch to the correct time.

Then calls Linda back telling her
she has forgotten her bathing cap.

Why should she bother to do that,
you may ask?

The answer is simple: Remember, at 12
o'clock the noonday gun is due to go off.

And she can take no chance of
Linda hearing and noting it.

A girl splashing about in the sea and
wearing a bathing cap would hear nothing.

So let us exactly see what happened
as Madame Redfern hurried up

from the cove to the top of the cliff.
It is twenty to 12.

She pauses to wave,

Linda waves back.
But there is no Mr. Brewster.

No noonday gun.

Madame Redfern now turns and runs across the
path which separates Gull Cove from Ladder Bay.

That takes her six
or seven minutes, no more.

She arrives at Ladder Bay
at about a quarter to twelve

and sees Madame Arlene sitting impatiently
and awaiting the arrival of Patrick Redfern,

with whom, I am convinced,
she had a rendezvous.

Oh, Christ!
Suddenly, to her great chagrin

she sees you, madam,
about to come down the ladder.

But I couldn't have come down the ladder.
I suffer from vertigo. You know that.

I only know that because you took good care to stage
an incident showing me that you suffered from vertigo.

The day before yesterday
on the terrace as we having a stroll

and I was drawing your attention to the sunbathing
figures on the beach below, you suddenly fell against me

and stepped back saying
you suffered from vertigo.

But she does have this problem.
She's always had it.

That is not the case. Your wife only
pretended to have it in order to prove that

she couldn't have climbed down the ladder.

But yesterday afternoon, I myself
stood on the cliff overlooking Gull Cove

and I discovered something
rather interesting.

In order to have seen Linda
in the water below and to wave to her

you would have had to stand
right on the very edge.

Although I do not suffer from vertigo,
I myself was quite dizzy.

For you, madame, had you suffered from
vertigo, it would have been impossible.

Let us now resume the
story from the point

at which you descended the ladder. Madame
Arlena decided to avoid a confrontation

and was about to leave the beach when she
noticed a small grotto at the base of the cliff.

You may well ask how I knew
she had been in there.

Yesterday afternoon, not only did I discover the
false diamond that Horace Blatt had returned to her.

- But my excellent wine taster's nose had detected.
- Not as you put it, madame Castle - a "baume"

but "Souffle de mer"
"The breath of the sea".

Which, as you know, Monsieur Marshall,
was her favourite perfume.

But I am digressing. You ran down on to the
beach but Madame Arlena had disappeared.

Arlena! Where are you?

I know you're here.
I want to talk to you.

Be with you in a minute.

Well, what is it?

Look here, Poirot. Haven't we all heard just about enough of this baloney?
Arlena was not murdered with a blunt instrument. She was strangled.

And if you would care to bend those beady Belgian eyes of yours on
Christine's hands, you'll see they are too small to have strangled anyone.

Yes, I quite agree. In fact that was a
major stumbling block to my theory.

- Redfern, this knocks your theory out of accord with Monsieur Poirot.
- Odell, please, you weren't even there, and I was.

Remember, I saw her lying there strangled,
Christine couldn't have done it.

I am absolutely of your opinion, madame,
In fact she did not do it.

The murder was committed
by her husband, Patrick Redfern.

- Now you really are talking out of the top of your head!
- Oh, for God's sake. Patrick couldn't have done it, any more than his wife.

Don't forget I was with him the whole time between 11:30
and 12 when we came into the bay and saw her lying there.

That is the whole point, madame. One moderately
well-made young woman is very much like another.

Two brown arms and two brown legs, and
a little piece of bathing suit in between.

What exactly did you see from your place
in the boat, Madame Gardener?

The ardent young lover Mr. Redfern bending over the body
with suntanned limbs wearing Arlena's white bathing costume

and a red Chinese hat.

As I pointed out a couple of days ago,
all bodies lying on the beach are alike.

They are not men and women, I said, there
is nothing personal about them, I said.

They are like walls of butcher's meat
grilling in the sun, I said.

No wonder you were fooled into imagining that you had seen the
corpse of Madame Marshall, when what you had actually seen was

the live body of Madame Christine Redfern.

That is why the murderer
had to conceal the face

because it was not the murder
victim lying there but somebody else.

And who else would help Mr. Redfern,
but his own wife?

And now the performance for the benefit of the witness is over.
Madame Gardener departs from the bay by boat to fetch help.

And what do you think happened, Madame
Gardener, as soon as you had disappeared?

Why, the corpse leaps to her feet and runs into the
grotto in order to remove Madame Arlena's bathing costume

which she had previously stripped off the unconcious
woman and worn to play her part as a corpse.

I've got a point which will stop all your whole
case. Christine is as pale as pasteurized milk.

Now the question is how could I have possibly
mistaken her arms and legs for Arlena's?

This covers nothing at all, madame. In answer to your question, I would
ask you to consider the bizarre nature of Madame Redfern's beach apparel.

When I saw Madame Redfern in the lobby yesterday morning, she was wearing a
totally exaggerated garment, which completely covered her from wrist to neck.

No mere fear of the sun could have occasioned such a choice of dress,
she had to wear such an odd concealing outfit because underneath

she was brown as a nut.

In the grotto, after having climbed into the unconcious Madame Arlena's
swimming costume, all she had to do was to stain her hands and neck

something she could not have done earlier,
Why? Because Linda would have noticed.

She puts on the earrings and
then she runs out of the grotto

and onto the beach, settles herself
on Arlena's towel

and puts her great big Chinese hat over her face and lies
still to await the arrival of her husband and yourself

dead on cue, as it were.

And this, I must admit, he stage-managed superbly, timing his appearance
at Ladder Bay exactly to coincide with the sound of the noonday gun.

The rest was easy. She now
changed back into her original costume.

It was about five past twelve. Madame Redfern bids
her husband a hurried farewell. The clock is ticking.

She runs back across the island to rejoin
the path leading from Gull Bay to the hotel.

She had one more task to perform. She must get
rid of the incriminating bottle of suntan stain.

The bottle that no one would admit
throwing... So she hurls it over the cliff.

But there's bad luck to have the event
witnessed by Mr. Brewster, whom it almost hit.

She reaches the hotel arriving there at about
12:15. I myself timed the journey. But then

I was not running like a young gazelle
for obvious reasons.

Madame Redfern now takes the bath,
heard by Mr. Gardner, the bath

no one would admit to taking,
in order to wash off the suntan.

She changes into tennis clothes
and appears on the court

a few minutes later, it's
true, but unruffled and smiling.

A picture of innocence.

Yes, Monsieur and Madame Redfern, I blame myself for
not having seen through your little charades earlier.

But then, unfortunately not
even Hercule Poirot is perfect.

From the moment you arrived here, you started
playing out a series of carefully rehearsed scenes.

In such a manner that
all might hear or see.

Together, there were scenes of hysterical
jealousy played close to open window.

You don't want to talk about it.

Now look here, Christine. Can't I even
speak to a pretty woman without you

jumping to the conclusion that
I'm having an affair with her?

But you are, aren't you?

Apart you, madam, took every
opportunity to give the impression

that you were a physically frail woman
who's no good at sports

and who had to hide her
skin away from the sun

because it blistered and made her look
like an Italian ice cream

and who was altogether to be pitied
as a poor little helpless abandoned wife.

Whilst you, monsieur, took elaborately
indiscreet pains to advertise your romance

instead of trying to conceal it,
as any prudent lover would.

I think you all will agree
that was a most audacious plan

brilliantly executed.

Yes, brilliantly, but one thing you have
failed to supply, Monsieur Poirot, is motive.

Why on earth should I kill Arlena?

I absolutely adored her.

Adultery may be reprehensible,
but it certainly is not criminal.

Nor is that you had adored her,
you adored her money,

and more specially, the magnificent diamond
offered her by Sir Horace Blatt.

Those who teach Latin to small boys
are not exactly overpaid.

You are not at all the romantic
figure you like to present.

You are a hardened adventurer
and a vicious swindler,

who had absolutely no moral compunction

in borrowing the diamond
from Madame Arlena

and of substituting a paste copy.

- Oh, pray, do continue, Monsieur Poirot.
- Oh, yes, politeness is very much part of the act.

You knew sooner or later
your deception will be discovered.

Too bloody right.

And you had to eliminate the only
witness capable of exposing you.

And when better opportunity than on holiday
in a small exclusive island

where you can plan and excute her murder?

Picture to yourself the scene, mes ami,

the half-lit grotto. Madame Arlena's
slowly returning to consciousness

and so, solicitous Mr. Patrick prepares
le moment just to strike.

Suddenly his hands are around her throat.

She struggles and it is the end of

the poor, foolish, beautiful girl-bird,

Arlena Marshall.

And that, mesdames,
mademoiselle and messieurs

is the story of the
murder of Arlena Marshall.

The only thing they had not foreseen,

was the presence on this
island of Hercule Poirot.

The well-known
romancer and teller of tales.

Excellent plot line.
Imaginatively conceived.

Good, clear narrative style. I
give you nine out of ten, Poirot.

I'm deducting one mark for
total absence of proof.

Is that true?

Do you mean we sat here and listened to
all that and you can't prove a word of it?

Unfortunately, Mr. Redfern
is absolutely right,

I haven't a shred of evidence. Although
that is unquestionably what happened.

I don't think we need to sit here and be
insulted by this fanciful little mountebank.

Come along, darling.
Shall we go and pack?

Just give us five minutes, Mr. Poirot, and I'm
sure we'll be able to work out how you did it.

After all, where were you
at the time of the murder?

You let that pack go scot-free
and I haven't even got my diamond back!

You've made a right cock-up, Poirot.

How very kind of you to see us off!
Farewell, good-bye, dear friends.

I don't think there will be a necessity
to leave a forwarding address.

Just a moment, Mr. Redfern.
Haven't you forgotten something?

Why pay, Patrick?
They've done nothing but insult us.

Oh, we must pay, darling. After all,
we wouldn't want anybody to think

we were cheats now, would we?

- I know you'll take a check.
- Certainly.

Of course, I also know that you're thinking
the check may well bounce,

but I'm afraid that's as good as it gets.

- Here you are, dear. I've put a little extra on for inconvenience.
- Thank you so much.

Would you mind me saying something, Miss Castle? Your
ensemble does absolutely nothing for you. Good-bye.

One moment, Monsieur Ruber.

- Mr. Felix Ruber.
- What did you say?

- Who the hell is Ruber?
- Felix Ruber is the widower of Alice Ruber,

whose strangled body had been discovered
on the Yorkshire moors some months ago.

I was called in by the Trodd Insurance
company to examine the police report.

In the event of Mrs. Ruber's death her husband
was a beneficiary of a large sum of money.

The police were satisfied that it
was the work of a madman or a tramp.

And so was I, since the only possible
suspect, the husband, had a cast-iron alibi,

which had been established by a woman-hiker
who had found the body earlier in the day.

But last night I asked myself
a strange relation,

an innocent witness, a change of time.

Could the similarity in the pattern of the
events here on the island and those on the moors

be a mere coincidence?

No, mes amis, the lonely hiker was
none other than Madame Christine Redfern.

While Monsieur Ruber was on the train, undoubtedly attracting
attention to his presence before potential witnesses.

The bigamous Mr. Ruber was now free to
return to his surviving wife, Madame Redfern.

You were clever enough to avoid putting
your signature in the hotel register

but, you know, the signature on this
check is really quite good enough.

Different names, of course, here on the claim form for
Alice Ruber's insurance policy it appears as Felix Ruber

and here on the hotel check
it appears as Patrick Redfern.

Different names,
but undeniably the same handwriting.

My God.

You were wrong to tell me that little joke about
Giuseppe Verdi being called Joe Green in English,

once you taught Latin
to small boys.

It was at that moment that I realized that
in that language Felix Ruber is Redfern.

You see, it is folly to try and trick
Hercule Poirot even in a dead language.

Do you really think anybody is going to believe
the evidence of a couple of scribbled signatures?

And your bloody silly word games?

If my modest assumptions are too fanciful
for you, then perhaps a photograph

of a hiker and the mourning husband which
must have appeared in the local papers

and which I of course have sent for

will be enough proof to hang you, sir.

You will be arrested for
the murder of Alice Ruber

and of Arlena Marshall.

But before that, there is a small favour
I would like to ask of you.

Could you smoke the pipe

which has been conspicuous by
being unlit since you arrived here?

As I thought.

Sir Horace, please be careful
to whom you give it next time.

My god, you're a wonder, Poirot.

Poor Monsieur Poirot.

Brave Monsieur Poirot.

I have just had a telephone call from His Majesty
and he is very pleased with the matter being...

- The King of Tyrania?
- Yes, he is very pleased with the matter being cleared up so quickly and so discreetly.

He's is so pleased, in fact, he's awarding
you the Order of San Gudro the Inquisitive.

- San Gudro the Inquisitive?
- First Class.

How many classes are there?