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Agatha Christie's Poirot (1989–2013): Season 2, Episode 1 - Peril at End House - full transcript

While Poirot is staying at an exclusive Cornish resort, he meets a beautiful heiress whose life is in danger.


Looks just like a patchwork quilt,
doesn't it?

No!

Well, it does to me.

It does to everybody else.

Not to Poirot.

I suppose you don't think that
looks like a mass of cotton wool?

No!

I don't think you've got
any imagination at all.

That is true, mon ami.
But you have enough for both of us.

It is extremely valuable to me.

Good morning, sir.

Good morning.

Ah, c'est magnifique!

Just the place for
a restful vacation.

The food will be inedible!

What do you think, Poirot?

Down to the beach
this afternoon or a round of golf?

The tennis court's pretty good,
I understand.

Waiter!

- Still no news of Captain Seton.
- Comment?

- The round-the-world flight.
- Ah.

They haven't given up hope yet,
though, apparently.

He may have made it
to one of the Pacific islands.

Cannibals.

I say!

Makes you proud to be an Englishman,
though.

- Oh, I'm sorry.
- Do not be sorry, Hastings.

It is not a tragedy for me that I was
born the wrong side of the Channel.

Oh! This is intolerable!

I'm going to find a waiter!

Ah, mon Dieu!

Garcon!

Waiter!

Ow!

Are you all right?

I say!

Do not perturb yourself.
The turned ankle, that is all.

I wish you'd let it be seen to.

In the pleasure of your company,
Mademoiselle, the pain, it passes.

Pardon. This is Captain Hastings.

Hastings, the house over there, on
the point, belongs to Mlle Buckley.

- Really?
- It's called "End House".

I love it
but it's going to rack and ruin.

Oh, that is sad.

It's big. Do you live there
all by yourself?

I'm away a lot. When I'm at home, a
rowdy crowd usually comes and goes.

I was imagining you were in a dark,
mysterious mansion

haunted by a family curse.

Then the ghost must be sent to
protect me.

I've had three escapes from certain
death in the last three days.

Escapes from death?

Well, just accidents, you know.

Curse these bees! I hate the way
they come right past your face.

Nick! Nick!

Here, George! Here I am!

Come on, girl,
Freddie's frantic for a drink.

Hello.

This is Commander Challenger.
He's in the Navy.

I have a great regard for
the Royal Navy.

Oh, well done. Well done.

George, don't get overexcited.
Let's find Freddie and Jim.

I hope the ankle will be all right.

Merci.

Nice girl.

Is Commander Challenger
what you call "the good chap", yes?

Oh, absolutely. Oh, good dive!

Has he "the tendresse" for her?

What do you think, Hastings?

My dear Poirot, how should I know?

That's Miss Buckley's hat, isn't it?

Yes. We're returning it to "End House".

Thus we shall have the opportunity
to see again the charming Mlle Nick.

I do believe you've fallen for her!

No, no, no. You are under a
misapprehension, mon ami.

The young lady is very charming
but I am more interested in her hat.

I don't see why
you'd be interested in her hat.

- There's a hole in it!
- Yes, indeed.

Did you do that?

Hastings, did you notice how Mlle
Nick flinched as a bee flew past?

A bee in the bonnet,
a hole in the hat?

A bee couldn't make
a hole like this.

But a bullet could, my friend.

A bullet like this.

Mlle Nick has three escapes from
death in as many days, now, a fourth?

These are not mere accidents,
mon ami.

You'd have to be a mad man

to try and shoot someone
in a hotel garden in broad daylight.

Ah!

Thank you.

G'day.

- Morning.
- Good day.

Quite impressive. Looks as if
it could do with some work.

I say!

Yes?

♪ Isle Of Capri ♪

It's not exactly courteous, Lazarus,
to ignore us like this.

Jim is far too good a dancer
to be a gentleman, aren't you?

Hope so, Freddie. An awful waste of
an expensive education, otherwise.

There are some men to see you, Miss.

Oh! Hello again.

Pardon, Mademoiselle. Commander.

We have come to return your hat.

I wondered what had happened to it.

This is for you, George.

♪ Red sails in the sunset ♪

♪ Way out on the sea... ♪

There is a matter of the greatest
urgency I must discuss with you.

Don't say you're selling something.

No! With that moustache and staying
at the Majestic, it can't be.

♪ ..all day I've been through ♪

♪ Red sails in the sunset ♪

♪ I'm trusting in you ♪

Now, what's all the mystery?

Mademoiselle...

It was not a bee that flew past
your face this morning.

It was this.

What is it?

It is a bullet.

Well, I'm damned!

♪ Love Is The Sweetest Thing ♪

Miss Buckley helped my friend when
he twisted his ankle this morning.

Ah, yes. So Nick said.

I am glad she didn't invent it all.

She's the most brazen liar that ever
existed. Oh, it's quite a gift.

She had a marvellous story the other
day about her car brakes failing.

All nonsense, Jim says.
Jim knows about cars.

Is that your Chevrolet Phantom
outside?

Yes. Pretty, isn't she?

I say, there's two watches
on the table exactly the same!

Oh, we've all got one of those.

Don't touch, old boy.

Keep good time, do they?

They keep the best time in the
world!

♪ Who's Been Polishing The Sun? ♪

- Oh, I can't dance to that!
- Of course you can, Freddie.

♪ They must have known
just how I like it ♪

♪ Cos everything's coming my way ♪

♪ Who's been teaching all the birds
how to sing a roundelay? ♪

♪ They must have known
just how I like it ♪

♪ Cos everything's coming my way ♪

The first accident was that picture.

The painter might have said that
when he'd finished it.

Anyway, it came down crash
in the middle of the night.

Luckily, I've been sleeping badly
and I'd got up to make some tea.

Otherwise
it might've bashed my head in.

And the other accidents?

The brakes on my car went as I was
going down the hill to St Looe

and the next day a boulder detached
itself from the cliff

at the end of the garden
while I was on the rocks underneath.

It's jolly nice of you and all that,
but why are you so interested?

You do not understand?
You are in grave danger.

- Oh, come off it!
- Oh, no, no. I tell it to you, I.

You do know who I am?

No. I don't.

Ah, I forget.
You are but a child, eh?

Alors, my friend Captain Hastings
will tell it to you.

Monsieur Poirot is a detective.

Oh.

Erm, a great detective.

My friend, is that all you can say?

Mais dis donc, say then
that I am "the detective unique".

Unsurpassed.
The greatest that ever lived.

There doesn't seem much point now.
You've told her yourself.

Ah, yes, but it is more agreeable
to preserve the modesty.

Seriously,
these were just accidents.

- You are as obstinate as the devil.
- Clever. That's where I got my name.

My grandfather was supposed
to have sold his soul to the devil.

I lived here with him, so they
called us Old Nick and Young Nick.

- My real name is Magdala.
- That's unusual.

Yes, it's a family name.

There's been a lot of Magdalas
in the family.

That's it.
That's where I was standing.

And the boulder
only just missed you?

Could someone have pushed it
from above?

No. I tell you,
it was just another accident.

Do you have any enemies,
Mademoiselle?

I'm afraid I don't. No. Sorry.

Is there anyone who would profit
by your death?

No. That's why it
seems such nonsense.

There's only the house, but
it's mortgaged and the roof leaks.

There's one usable bedroom.
My friends stay at the Majestic.

Who is your nearest relation?
My cousin, Charles Vyse.

He's a lawyer. He gives good advice.
Tries to restrain my extravagances.

He arranged the mortgage
and made me let the lodge.

We saw someone gardening.

Mr Croft. Australian.
Hearty, and that sort of thing.

Terribly kind, but Mrs Croft's
a cripple, poor dear.

Have you ever made a will?

Yes. About six months ago. The day
before my op for appendicitis.

And what were the terms?

I left "End House" to Charles.

I hadn't much else left, but
what there was I left to Freddie.

Tell me about your friends.

Freddie Rice is my greatest friend.

She left her husband a year or two
ago. He won't give her a divorce.

And Commander Challenger?
He wishes you to marry him?

He mentions it now and again,
after the second glass of port.

And you remain hardhearted?

What'd be the use of George and I
marrying? Neither of us has a bean.

Eh bien! Apart from Madame Rice,

is there any other friend
you can trust, Mademoiselle?

- There's Maggie, I suppose.
- Who is Maggie?

A distant cousin.
Lives in Yorkshire.

I have her to stay in the summer.
She's no fun, though.

The person ideal!
Telegraph her to come tomorrow.

Oh!
Ah-ah!

Jim Lazarus, Mrs Rice's friend, is
he to do with Lazarus Art Galleries?

That's the chap.
I was in there the other day.

The Lagonda overheated
just outside, so -

This morning somebody shot at
Mlle Buckley with a Mauser pistol.

A Mauser?

- Do you know anyone who has a Mauser?
- Yes. I have.

It was Dad's.
He brought it back from the war.

It's gone.

Mrs Rice says that Miss Buckley's
accident in her car was all my eye.

She says
Miss Buckley's a terrific liar.

Really? That is most interesting,
Hastings.

It is interesting for itself

and interesting
that Madame Rice said it.

But why should she say it,
even if it were true?

Ah, these little curious things.

I like to see them appear.
They point the way.

Ah, that's a baby!
There's a darling!

This is all very well, but what
we're trying to do is impossible.

We're trying to detect a murderer
before he's committed the crime.

Well said, Hastings.

I don't know where to start. I don't
like the look of her friends much.

Except Commander Challenger,
obviously a pukka sahib.

Hastings, you have
the most extraordinary effect on me.

- Really?
- Yes.

You have so strongly the flair
in the wrong direction

that I am almost tempted
to doubt the Commander.

Who's there?

It is I, Poirot.

The office isn't open.

I pushed the door downstairs.
It was not locked.

You are Monsieur Vyse?

Yes.

It is very good of you
to see me at the weekend.

Hercule Poirot.

Boirot?

Poirot!

(What kind of place is this?)

Tell me, Monsieur Vyse,

if I may ask...

and I have said nothing about this
to your cousin Mlle Buckley,

you understand, is there any chance
of "End House" being on the market?

Oh, no.

Miss Buckley is devoted to
the place.

Nothing would induce her
to sell "End House".

But I do not ask idly. Er...

I myself am in search of
just such a property.

It's out of the question. She's
fanatically devoted to the house.

Ah.

Try A Little Tenderness

Why should Vyse say Mlle Buckley had
a fanatical devotion to the house?

Did it seem like that to you,
Hastings?

- No.
- No.

Nor to me.

What did the garage say?

Whatever I tell you,
you'll believe the opposite.

Oh, come now, Hastings!

Oh, very well, then.

The garage said the brake drum valve
had definitely been loosened.

Truly?

Then why did Madame Rice say
that the car accident

was all an invention by
Mlle Buckley?

Permit?

Madame, I do not know
if your friend has told you,

but today her life
has been attempted.

What do you mean?

Mlle Buckley was shot at
in the gardens of this hotel.

Did Nick tell you that?

It is no fantasy of
Mademoiselle's imagination.

I happened to see it with
my own eyes. Here is the bullet.

Madame, several curious accidents

have occurred
during the last few days.

- Ah, but you arrived here only...?
- Er, yesterday.

- Before that, you were in London?
- No. With friends in Tavistock.

Ah! What were the names of your
friends with whom you were staying?

Is there any reason why
I should tell you that?

No, no. Mille pardons.
I was most maladroit.

I have friends in Tavistock.
You might have met them.

Their name is Buchanan.

No.

But go on about Nick.

Who shot at her? And why?

As yet, we do not know.

But I shall find out.
I am, you know, a detective.

Oh.

What do you want me to do?

Watch over your friend.

Excuse me.

It's open.

There must be somebody here.

Hello?

If they leave the house
open all the time,

I'm surprised
they haven't all been murdered.

Come out slowly
with your hands above your head.

Ah, Monsieur Croft.

Stay where y'are.

No, no, no, my friend.

I am Hercule Poirot.

Coo-ee! Coo-ee!

Who do you think this is, Mrs C?

The extra-special, world-celebrated
detective, Mr Hercule Poirot.

I brought him along
to have a chat with you.

Isn't this too exciting for words?

Enchante, Madame.

And Captain Hastings, his associate.

I've read about you, too, Captain.

Oh! Right.

They're friends of Miss Buckley.

Isn't that nice?
What a dear child she is.

Not very well liked
in this neighbourhood, I've heard,

but isn't that just the way
in these stuck-up English places?

Her beady-eyed cousin has
no more chance

of persuading her
to settle down here than fly.

Ah! So Mr Charles Vyse is
in love with our little friend?

He's silly about her but she won't -

Don't gossip, Milly.

I have my reasons
for being interested in that girl.

I wonder, Mr Poirot, if you'd care
to see some snapshots of Australia?

- Well, er...
- Good.

The inventor of the camera
has a lot to answer for.

Nice people. Typical Australians.

Hm...

I do not know.

That cry of "Coo-ee!"

The insistence on showing us
5,000 photographs?

Were they not playing the part
a little too thoroughly?

Ah! That's Mademoiselle Nick!

See you tonight, then, George.
Righty-ho.

Bonjour, Mademoiselle.

Hello, Monsieur Poirot,
Captain Hastings.

Is this your boat?
How would I afford that?

It's George's.

I'm rushing to meet Maggie,

the guardian you insisted I send for
from darkest Yorkshire.

Bon. I shall feel happier.

But you're wrong about her.
She's got no kind of brains.

Good works is all she's fit for.

That, and never seeing
the point of jokes.

But there is no joke here.

Cheer up, Monsieur Poirot.

Why don't you both come to dinner
tonight and watch the fireworks?

Tell me, Hastings,

if Commander Challenger has not got
a bean, as Mlle Nick has said,

how can he afford such a ship?

Oh, probably just er...

Well, maybe it's...

Maybe she meant...

I don't know.

Ellen!

Oh, it's only you!

Ah, Mademoiselle, I am desolated!

Oh, I'm sorry. It did sound rude.

Thank you.

Did you call, Miss?
It's all right. I answered it.

They haven't delivered my dress
to the back door?

No, Miss.

That's why I sounded rude.

I thought you were my dress being
delivered. They promised faithfully.

Ah, here's Maggie.

Maggie, here are the sleuths

that are protecting me
from the secret assassin.

This is my cousin, Maggie Buckley.

That's a marvellous shawl, Nick.

Yes. It'll be warm
when we're watching the fireworks.

I've never seen you
in a black dress.

I thought you hated black.

I do hate it. The cleaners didn't
deliver the one I wanted.

They shouldn't allow speedboats
in the harbour!

That's not a speedboat.
It's a seaplane.

I think these flying people
are absolutely marvellous.

- A pity about Michael Seton.
- He may still be all right.

Rather a mad family.

The uncle of his, Sir Matthew Seton,
he was barmy. Died a week ago.

That millionaire
who ran bird sanctuaries?

Yes. A gal chucked him once.
He took to gannets for consolation.

I don't see any reason to assume
Michael Seton's dead yet.

You knew him, didn't you? I forgot.

We met him last year at Le Touquet.
Wasn't he marvellous?

Don't ask me, darling.
He was your conquest, not mine.

- Have you done any flying, Captain?
- Well, actually -

There's the telephone.

Oh, don't wait for me.
I don't eat dessert.

All the extra guests will arrive
for the fireworks soon, anyway.

♪ I Won't Dance ♪

Too bad Mrs Croft can't be here.
It's bad luck on poor old Mrs C.

She never complains. You know, that
woman's got the sweetest nature.

Splendid view of the festivities,
eh?

Didn't you come last year?

I say! Look at that! What a display!

Beautiful.

I think I'll run inside
and get a coat.

Oh, let me.

You wouldn't know where to find it.

Oh, Maggie, get mine, too.
It's in my room.

She didn't hear.
I'll get it, Freddie.

I want my fur.
This cape isn't enough.

Thank you, darling.

It is monotonous,
do you not find, Hastings?

I like the different coloured ones.

I feel the dampness of the feet.

I shall watch the rest through a
window, from the warmth of the house.

I wouldn't mind
putting something on myself.

Poirot, look!

It's Miss Buckley!

Mon Dieu!

Sorry I've been so long, Maggie...

It's Maggie Buckley.
She's been shot.

How did your cousin come to wear
your cape tonight?

We came in to fetch our coats and...

I just flung off the cape
on the sofa there.

I went upstairs
and I was still in my room...

..when I heard Maggie call out
that she couldn't find her coat.

She said she'd take mine,
if I didn't want it,

and I said all right,
I'd be out in a minute.

And when I did...

..did come out...

Well, I, er, I won't ask
any more questions tonight.

I'm going to suggest, Miss Buckley,
that you don't stay here.

You've had a shock, you understand.

What you need is complete rest.

I know of an excellent nursing home.

No.

But we want you to feel safe,
mon enfant. Do you understand?

I understand, but you don't.

I'm not afraid any longer.

I've got nothing to live for now.

If someone wants to murder me,
they can.

You can't say that,
Miss Buckley, you mustn't.

Mademoiselle, I have failed you.

I, who promised you protection,
have not been able to protect,

but now I want to know
that you are in safe hands,

with people around you,
day and night.

What's going on?

It's not Nick, is it?
She's not dead?

No. No, mon ami, she is alive.

Nick!

My darling, I thought you were dead.

It's all right, George.
Don't be an idiot. I'm quite safe.

Then what's happened? The policeman
said Miss Buckley was dead.

The sooner you get to your bed,
the better, Miss Buckley.

I'm sorry, George.

Er...

It was Miss Maggie Buckley.

Oh, my God!

What a tragedy!

"The Chancellor's statement
has announced

hope has been abandoned for the
aeroplane pilot, Mr Michael Seton.

Fishermen have salvaged wreckage

believed to be parts of
the Albatross,

the seaplane built by Mr Seton

for his attempt
to fly round the world."

No-one, Dr Graham. No-one.

Not even Mademoiselle's dearest
friend is to be allowed in.

Oh, Monsieur Poirot!

Not even the King of England.

No-one.

Except me, Captain Hastings
and your good self.

Mademoiselle, I wish you good night.

Hastings.

How is she?

Safe.

Could the police be right, Poirot?
That this is the work of a lunatic?

No. The murderer is someone
in Mademoiselle's own circle.

Do you think he realised
he'd killed the wrong person?

I am quite sure he did not.

It must have been an unpleasant
surprise when he learned the truth.

Difficult not to give oneself away
in circumstances like that.

Answer me three questions, Hastings!

- What? What?
- Three questions.

One: why has Mlle Nick been sleeping
so badly of late?

Two: why does she own a black dress
when she never wears black?

Three: why did she say
"I have nothing to live for now"?

- Did she?
- She did. Answer the questions.

Well, as to the sleep,
she's been worried lately.

- About what?
- What?

Oh. I don't know.

The black dress?

The cleaners let her down.
Anyway, all women have one.

You have little appreciation
of the feminine temperament.

Well, anyway...

The last... It was a natural thing
to say after that shock.

No, mon ami, it was not
a natural thing to say.

To be horror-struck by her cousin's
death is natural. But the other?

No.

Never before has she displayed that
attitude. She has been defiant.

Hello? Yes?

Certainement. Yes.

Madame Rice. She wishes to see us.

I suppose there's no doubt that the
intended victim was really Nick?

I should say, Madame,
that there was no doubt at all.

You asked questions about Tavistock
the other day, Monsieur Poirot.

You'll find out,
so I might as well tell you now.

I was not in Tavistock.

No, Madame?

I motored down from London last week
with Mr Lazarus.

We stayed in a little place
called Shallacombe, together.

I see.

I'm still a married woman,
technically.

May I be impertinent, Madame?

Is there such a thing these days?

You care for Monsieur Lazarus?

He's rich.

Oh la la!

That is an ugly thing to say.

Better to say it myself
than to have you say it for me.

You are very intelligent, Madame.

You'll be giving me a diploma next!

I'm going to take some flowers
round to Nick.

Oh, that is very amiable of you.

And I thank you, Madame,
for your frankness.

Very nice. Very nice.

I'm at the Gulls.
A stone's throw from the gasworks.

Chief Inspector, it is so good to see
you. You do not stay here?

The Metropolitan Police lodging
allowance doesn't run to this.

It's a funny old business,
this "End House" malarkey, eh?

As you say, Chief Inspector.

You think these accidents
were all part of it?

Oh, there is no doubt.

You might be right. Be a help
if we could get hold of the gun.

Probably at the bottom of the sea,
if the murderer has any sense.

They mostly haven't.

I'd better have a word
with the dead girl's parents.

They've just got down
from Yorkshire.

Let me know if you have any ideas.

Of that you may be sure, Inspector.

It is all very well
for Madame Rice

to force the richness of
Monsieur Lazarus down our throats.

Yes. I must say that disgusted me.

Mon ami, always you have the right
reaction in the wrong place.

Madame Rice was telling us something.

"I have a friend who is very rich.
He can give me all I need."

"I do not need to murder
my dearest friend for a pittance."

I see.

Poirot, they won't let me see her.

Is this your work?
Have you seen Dr Graham?

Gave the usual guff. "As well as can
be expected. Passed a quiet night."

I know those tricks.
My uncle's in Harley Street.

I think you're at
the bottom of this, Poirot.

Listen, mon ami.

There is no fooling you.

If one guest is to be admitted,
others cannot be kept out.

You comprehend?

I see.

It's all or nothing,
as you might say.

We will say no more. Extreme prudence
is what is needed at the moment.

I can hold my tongue.

Mum's the word, eh?

I'll send her some flowers.
They like flowers, don't they?

May I offer you, Mademoiselle,
my very deepest sympathy.

You know?

Oh, well...

It doesn't matter who knows now.

Now that it's all over.

Now that I'll never see him again.

Courage, Mademoiselle.

I haven't any courage left.

I've used up every bit
in these last weeks.

Waiting and hoping.

Captain Hastings does not know
what we are talking about.

Michael Seton, the airman.

I was engaged to be married to him.

He's dead.

You heard the news last night?

On the wireless.

I made an excuse about
the telephone.

I wanted to hear the news alone,
in case...

I don't want to live.

I don't want to live.

I know. I know.

To all of us, there comes a time
when death seems preferable to life.

The grief, it passes.

You think I'll forget.

Marry someone else?

Never.

But you are fortunate, Mademoiselle.

You have been loved by a brave man.

- When did you get engaged?
- Just after Christmas.

But it had to be a secret,
because of Michael's uncle.

Sir Matthew Seton.

He thought women ruined
a man's life.

He was frightfully proud of Michael.

He financed
the building of the Albatross.

But if Michael had succeeded, he
would have been independent of him.

He would have been a...

I don't know.
A kind of a world hero.

His uncle would have come round
in the end, anyway.

Yes. Yes, I see.

I never told anyone,
not even Freddie.

Even when the uncle of Michael Seton
died a week ago?

It seemed boastful...

while the papers
were full of Michael's flight.

Michael would have hated that.

Mademoiselle, you once mentioned
you had made a will.

Mm.

Where is it, this will?

Oh. Knocking around somewhere.

I'm frightfully untidy, you know.

Papers and things are...

mostly in the writing table,
in the library.

Or maybe in the bedroom. Or maybe...

I'm sorry.

You permit me to
make a search for it, yes?

If you want to.

I was right.

The engagement has a bearing
on the crime?

A week ago, Sir Matthew Seton dies,
one of the wealthiest men in England.

He has a nephew, whom he idolises,

to whom, we assume,
he has left his fortune.

Last Tuesday, the nephew is missing.

On Wednesday,
the attacks on Mademoiselle begin.

Suppose he made his will
before his flight

and left all he had to his fiancee?

In this case, it is not
a paltry inheritance at stake!

It is an enormous fortune.

Ahh!

- I say, you any further?
- Comment?

You're goin' to get
to the bottom of this, aren't ya?

I am the dog who stays on the scent
and does not leave it.

- Hope my alibi's in order
- Alibis are not everything ...

You would like, I think, to marry
Mademoiselle Nick...

- I've always wanted to marry her...
- Precisement! Et bien...

Mademoiselle was the fiancee of another man.
A motive perhaps for killing, n'est-ce pas?.

But there would have been no need.
The other dies a death of a hero...

So is it true? Nick was engaged
with that Michael Seaton.

There's a rumour about it
all over town, today.

- Well, I didn't know about it!
- Hello, Freddie!

So neither of you knew
that Mademoiselle was engaged?

Nick's a naughty little devil when he likes.

But I understand now why
she's been so nervy lately...

- Have you got my watch, darling?
- Yes, I got it on this morning.

- There's always something goin' wrong with him.
- You said it gave wonderful time.

Yes... Well, it does...

It's just the strap.
This little buckle thing.

I've got a bit of a headache,
I am going to bed and lie down.

" Compliments of Hercule...

... Poirot. "

Merci, madame.

I sent her come flowers already...
I might as well send some fruit, I suppose.

The eatable...
It is not permitted, Commander.

You think someone will still try...?

Good Lord!

The night of the fireworks, you were
in the kitchen?

That's right.

You help your wife with the
cleaning up?

When there's company.

The lady was killed by the steps.

I've seen a pig killed, haven't I,
Dad?

That's right, son.

Dad used to kill pigs. Didn't you,
Dad?

I've seen pigs killed. I liked it.

Young 'uns like to see pigs killed.

Shot with a pistol the lady was.
She didn't have her throat cut.

Are they all like that round here?

Poor Miss Buckley was in a state.
Had no idea where she'd put the will.

Most people have a secret place
to keep such things.

Mon Dieu!

Are there secret panels in the house?

There is, as a matter of fact.
I was shown it as a girl.

Only I can't remember just now
exactly where it is,

in here or in the drawing room.

Big enough to hide in?

Oh, no, sir. A little cupboard sort
of place. About a foot square.

Oh.

Thank you very much, sir.

Secret panels!

I like to cover every eventuality.

Here is an eventuality for you,
Hastings.

- Who's it from?
- Madame Rice.

"Party was too marvellous. Feeling
doomy today.

"You were wise not to touch that stuff.

"Don't ever start, sweetie. It's so
hard to give up.

"I'm writing the boyfriend to hurry
up the supply.

What hell it all is.
Love, Freddie."

Dated last February.

She takes cocaine, of course.

Driver's licence.

Dressmaker's bill.

Perfectly good dividend warrant.

The young girls nowadays,
Hastings,

they are not properly trained!

Order and method
are left out of their bringing up.

There's a cheque for £20 from...

What are you doing, Poirot?

We are searching for the will,
mon ami.

Those are...well

underclothes, aren't they?

Hastings, decidedly,
you belong to the Victorian era.

Ah!

This is Monsieur Michael Seton.
Yes.

And his love letters, if I mistake
not.

Poirot, you can't do that.
It isn't playing the game.

We are not playing a game, Hastings.
We are hunting down a murderer.

Here. You'd better read them as well
as me.

Two pairs of eyes are no worse than
one pair.

I don't like this sort of thing,
Poirot.

"January 3rd.

Darling, it seems too good to be true
that you should actually love me."

Oh, look here!

"March 2nd.

My dearest, this is pretty rotten,
all this beastly concealment.

"But Uncle Matthew has an absolute bee
in his bonnet..."

Poirot, listen to this!

"Dearest, I'm off tomorrow, feeling
excited.

"By the way, somebody said I ought to
make a will, tactful fellow, so I have,

"on half a sheet of notepaper,
and sent it to Whitfield.

"I remembered your name was Magdala.
A couple of the fellows witnessed it."

So he did make a will!

Yes. And anyone who read these
letters would know it.

We looked everywhere.

Try to remember, Mademoiselle,
where you last saw your will.

I can't.

You didn't put it in the secret
panel, did you?

The secret what?

Ellen said there was one
in the drawing room or the library.

I've never heard of such a thing!

Ellen said so?

Mais oui, but we are wandering from
the subject.

The last will and testament of
Magdala Buckley.

Did you use a will form?

There wasn't time.
I was going to have my appendix out.

Besides, Mr Croft said
that will forms were dangerous.

Mr Croft was there?

Yes, it was his
idea to make the will.

He's helpful, the excellent
Monsieur Croft. Yes, he...

Oh, what an idiot,
letting you hunt round End House!

Charles has got it, of course.

My cousin, Charles Vyse.

Ah.

Mr Croft said a lawyer should
properly have charge of it.

So we stuck it in an envelope
and sent it off straight away.

Charles has got it.
He'll show it to you if you want.

Not without an authorisation from
you, I hope, Mademoiselle.

No, I suppose not.

- Non!
- What on earth's the matter?

Eat nothing that comes from the
outside, Mademoiselle.

Nothing.

You think they're still trying?
You think it isn't over yet?

I think...

It is not over yet.

Even if the murderer did throw the
gun in the sea,

all this is a waste of time.

Poirot says that 93% of all police
work is a waste of time.

Go on.

He's a peculiar so-and-so, ain't he?

Oh, yes, but sharp.

Go on.

Of course, he's picked up a lot from
me over the years.

Keep your eyes down, lads!

But, my dear sir,

no will has been entrusted to my
keeping.

She wrote it herself on a sheet
of plain paper and posted it to you.

No.

Now look here, Mr Vyse!

I never received anything
of the kind, Captain Hastings.

In that case, Monsieur...

..there is nothing more to be said.

There must be some mistake.

- There you are, sir.
- That's six pence.

Thank you.

Peppermint rock! Lovely peppermint
rock!

Ah, there you are.

I've got information on the Lazarus
Gallery.

Tell me, Chief Inspector.

They're on Queer Street.

A slump in pictures has hit them.
Antique furniture, too.

They built new premises last year
and overreached themselves.

Thank you, Inspector.

That's a good motive, eh, Poirot?

I just asked her if she'd
made a will.

More as a joke than anything else.

Yes?

She wrote it out, then and there.

Who witnessed it?

Oh, er, Ellen, the maid, and her
husband.

And, afterwards, what was done with
it?

We posted it to Mr Vyse.

The lawyer, you know.

You know that it was posted?

I posted it myself, in this box here,
by the gate.

Looks all right.

But who is lying, I wonder?

Monsieur Bert Croft or Monsieur
Charles Vyse?

I see no reason for Monsieur Croft
to lie.

To suppress the will
would be of no advantage to him.

What are we doing here, Poirot?

All change!

Apparently, Dr MacAllister is
what they call "a woman's doctor".

- A gynaecologist?
- No.

"Woman" seems to be a general term
for "neurotic".

Who is this Dr MacAllister?

Miss Lemon is trying to tell us.

I went to his place in Harley Street.

He has a nursing home there and
another in Paris.

I didn't like it.

There was something unpleasant
about it.

It is respectable?

Yes. Very smart, though.

I told him I wasn't sleeping very
well and I was depressed.

Oh?

It was only a ruse, Captain Hastings.

Oh, a ruse. Right.

I managed to chat to a nurse.

She said, "Your Commander Challenger
comes to the clinic

at least once every ten days."

Does he, indeed?

Miss Lemon, you have done well.

Jolly well. Who is Dr MacAllister?

Oh, Hastings!

He is the uncle of Commander
Challenger.

The uncle he told us about.

Right.

But you should have seen the waiting
room. Lady Lowestoft was there.

And Mrs Bindhoff.

Blimey!

None of them was with the doctor
more than five minutes.

No, no. Hastings, you do not come.

You are going to visit
a Monsieur Whitfield for us.

Who's Mr Whitfield?

The lawyer Michael Seton mentions in
his letter.

He sent his will to him.

Precisement. I want you
to find out if that was true

and what were the
terms of the will.

If all the dibs is coming to Miss
Buckley, he'll never tell me.

Then you must use
your powers of persuasion, Hastings.

Dibs, hm!

He's in London, isn't he?

There's a train to Plymouth soon.
From there you can catch the London
train.

The Majestic Hotel, if you please,
driver.

Would you be kind enough
to take this box for me?

- Mr Poirot?
- Yes?

There's an urgent message for you.

Uh-huh?

It's from Dr Graham.

Will you telephone him at the
nursing home? It's important.

Yes, of course.

Would you make the call for me
on your telephone?

Thank you.

The Grange Nursing Home, please.

I do not like these urgent messages.

I never reply to urgent messages.
I know they'll be unpleasant.

- There you are, sir.
- Thank you.

Hello? Dr Graham?

Inspector Japp, it's you?

What's happened?

Comment?

Yes. Yes, I will come at once.

Mademoiselle Nick is
dangerously ill.

She has been poisoned.

It's touch and go,
they say

Only a 50/50 chance

It is impossible

No one could get to her

Who has disobeyed my orders?

- There was a box of chocolates
- Ah, sacré!!

I told her to eat nothing that
came in from the outside

The cocaine, it was in all
of the chocolates?

The girl ate one.
There was 2 others on the top layer.

The rest were all right.

- And how was it done?
- Clumsily.

The chocolate's cut in half,
horizontally,

cocaine mixed with the filling,

the chocolate's stuck together again.

How could she be so idiotic?

Only this morning I warned her.

Our killer's a bit cleverer
than you give him credit for.

This came with the chocolates.

"With the compliments of Hercule
Poirot?"

I did not write this
and yet it is in my handwriting.

Copied from the card
you sent with some flowers.

Quite well copied, too.

How is Miss Buckley?

I have failed, Miss Lemon.

I have failed utterly and completely.

Mademoiselle Buckley died
ten minutes ago.

Tickets, please.

Madam.

Sir.

♪ She Didn't Say Yes ♪

♪ You love to be en rapport with him,
but not behind a bolted door with him ♪

♪ What did she do? I leave it to you ♪

♪ She did just what you'd do, too ♪

- That's terrible.
- I know.

Poor old Poirot.

He must be feeling dreadful.

He is.

He won't come out of his room.

I wanted him to come to dinner with
me, but he wouldn't.

How did you get on with that lawyer?

Very well. I remembered I'd been at
school with his son.

He's a partner now and so...

Anyway, the upshot is, yes,
Michael Seton did send a will to him.

- And?
- He left everything to Miss Buckley.

Millions and millions, because of
his uncle dying just before.

Exactly how and when
did Miss Buckley's parcel arrive?

A dark-haired gentleman brought it.
Came up in a big red car.

Ah. Lazarus, eh?

And what did you do with it?

I put it on the end of the table
here.

About, er, half past two.

Everything that comes in for the
patients is left here

for the nurses to take up.

I came on duty at three o'clock.

Well, five to, because I got a lift
from Dr Graham.

I took her up the parcel then.

So, for nearly one half hour
it was left unguarded?

There was the box of chocolates,

a bunch of flowers from a Mr.
and Mrs Croft.

A parcel that had come in the post.

That was a box of Fuller's
chocolates, too.

Comment?

A second box?

Yes, it was a coincidence.

Miss Buckley unwrapped them both.

Your card was in one.

She said that was all right and
I was to take the other away.

- Who was the other one from?
- There wasn't a card.

But which was the one
that was meant to be from me?

The one that came by post
or the one delivered by hand?

Oh.

Oh, I'm not sure.

Miss Buckley had unwrapped them
both before she looked inside.

I couldn't say.

You left chocolates at the nursing
home for Miss Buckley yesterday.

Yes, I did.

That was amiable of you, Monsieur.

They were from Freddie, Mrs Rice.
She asked me to get them.

I see.

So you've still got no leads, then?

I wouldn't say that.

I want to see them hanged,
whoever did this.

Why isn't anything simple?

Two boxes of chocolates.
One of those's got your card in.

The girl can't remember
which one came by post.

We don't know who sent it anyway

Lazarus delivered the other one,
but not from himself.

She don't want to see nobody,
she says.

- Well, you just tell her...
- No, no, no, no, no.

Could you please inform Madame Rice
it is her friend, Hercule Poirot?

She says, "Will you please go away."

Excuse me.

Go away!

How dare you!

This is a murder investigation, Mrs
Rice, not a vicarage tea party.

You sent chocolates to Miss Buckley
yesterday.

I won't be bullied!

Two people have been killed, Mrs Rice

Your friend died from poisoned
chocolates.

We have information that you sent
her a box of chocolates.

You think I killed Nick?

We have to investigate every
possibility, Madame,

even the remotest.

Nick telephoned me yesterday
and asked me to get her

a two-pound box of
Fuller's chocolates.

- She asked you to get them?
- Yes.

So I did.

How did she sound, on the telephone?

Sound?

All right.

Her voice sounded a bit weak.
I didn't realise who it was at first.

Until she told you who it was?

Yes.

Are you sure, Madame, that it was
your friend?

Yes, of course.

Well...

Who else could it have been?

Well, that didn't get us very far.

I understand nothing.

Nothing! I am in the dark.

I am a little child.

Who stands to gain
by the death of Mademoiselle?

Madame Rice.

Who buys chocolates, admits it,

then tells a story about being
rung up

that does not hold the water?

Madame Rice.

No, it is too simple.

- Stupid.
- But she takes cocaine, you say?

- Of that there is no mistake.
- There was cocaine in those chocolates.

But she is not stupid.

The killer tried four times and
failed.

The fifth time...

he succeeded.

What did he want?

What was going to happen when
Mademoiselle Nick died

that he so
dearly wanted to happen?

Well, we shall see.

Today, perhaps, all will become
clear.

I cannot eat these eggs.

They are of totally different sizes.

But appart from Mr Lazarus and
Mrs Rice, who is there?

Well,... there are the Crofts,
Australian, why are they here?

Did they really post
Mrs Buckley's will?

if not, why not?

Then there's the cousin,
Charles Vyse,

he may think
everything's coming to him...

I think that's about everyone,
isn't it Poirot?

I think there may be someone
you have left out

Well, I can't think who...

Non... nor me.

- Mr Poirot?
- Yes.

Telephone for you. In the foyer.

- Who is it?
- A Mr Charles Vyse.

Ah! Things begin to happen, eh?

Excuse me.

When?

This morning?

Ah, no, no, no, we cannot wait
so long.

Tonight? Oh, yes, yes.

Au revoir.

It begins.

What's going on?

Suivez.

Monsieur Charles Vyse
has informed me

that this morning, by post,

he has received a will
signed by his cousin

Mademoiselle Buckley that is
dated the 25th of February last.

It's turned up after six months in
the post?

Just at the right moment,
n'est-ce pas?

But does she leave everything
to Mrs Rice?

Monsieur Vyse was too correct to say
anything about the contents of.

But there seems no doubt it is
the same will

and it is witnessed by Ellen
Wilson and her husband.

Which brings us back to Frederica
Rice.

Such a pretty name, Frederica.

Mais oui. Prettier than what
her friends call her, eh? Freddie?

Ce n'est pas joli for a young lady.

There aren't many abbreviations for
Frederica.

It's not like Elizabeth,
where there are dozens.

Eliza, Liz, Betty, Betsy, Bess.

- Thank you, Miss Lemon, that's...
- Margaret has a lot, too.

- Maggie, Madge.
- Margo.

Peggy.
Margie, Meg, Meggie.

Ah, there you are Poirot?
I've been looking for you.

What's your name, Chief Inspector?

- Name? What name?
- Your first name.

James.

James Japp.

Jim.

Jimmy Japp.
Jamie Japp.

Chief Inspector Japp and I
will leave you to play.

- What about Hercule?
- Oh, there aren't any for Hercule.

Herc?

It may be what the murderer
has been waiting for, Inspector.

But we cannot be sure.

This is a matter of complex and
hidden motives.

And...

Oh, mon Dieu!

What's up?

I have been blind. Blind!

"Complex", I have said?
Mais non.

Of a simplicity extreme.
Extreme.

And miserable one that I am, I saw
nothing.

S'il vous plait.

This makes a nice change for me.

Bert, we're sitting next to
that nice Captain Hastings.

Oh.

Good.

That is all, I think, Monsieur Vyse.

In an ordinary case, the will
of a deceased person

is read after the funeral.

In fact, I am proposing to read it
now.

Although dated last February,

it only reached me by post this
morning.

However, although it is a most
informal document,

it is properly attested.

This is the last will and testament
of Magdala Buckley.

I appoint my cousin, Charles Vyse,
as my executor.

I leave everything of which I die
possessed to Mildred Croft...

..in grateful recognition of the
services rendered by her

to my father, Philip Buckley,

which services nothing can ever
repay.

Signed Magdala Buckley.

It's true, not that I ever meant to
let on about it.

Philip Buckley was out in Australia
and if hadn't been for me...

Well, I don't want to go into that.

Well, I think you ought to, Mrs
Croft.

A secret it's been
and a secret it had better remain.

She knew about it, though. Nick, I
mean.

I guess her father must have told
her.

But if anyone says that there is no
gratitude in this world,

I shall tell them they're wrong and
this proves it.

I presume, Monsieur Vyse,
that, as next of kin,

you could contest that will?

A vast fortune is at stake, which was
not the case when the will was made.

I should not dream of contesting
my cousin's disposal of her property.

You are a very honest fellow and
I shall see that you do not lose by it.

Well, Mrs C,

this er...this is a surprise.

Dear sweet girl!

I wish she could look down now and
see us.

Perhaps she does. Who knows?

Perhaps.

A little idea.

We are fortunate indeed
to have with us this evening...

..Mademoiselle Lemon.

I know she does not like it to be
bruited about,

but Mademoiselle Felicity Lemon has
the pronounced powers of the medium.

Now, we are all here,
we are seated around the table.

Let us hold a seance.

- This is ridiculous.
- Wonderful idea.

A seance! But surely...

This is nonsense.

No, no, it will be most interesting.

Why not?

All ready, Mademoiselle Lemon?
I'll turn the lights out.

Now, we must all join hands.
Is that not so, Mademoiselle Lemon?

Well...

Everybody join hands, and...

Now, if you please,
we must have the complete silence,

while Mademoiselle Lemon goes
into her trance.

Quiet, please.

Yes, she is now going into her
trance.

Is there anybody there?

I think it's time we stopped
fooling about.

Shhhh.

Is there anybody there?

It's her! She's come back!

Them that's murdered always walks!
It's her!

- You're real.
- I'm real, all right.

Thank God. Thank God.

Who was responsible for this
farrago, then?

It was I who persuaded
Mademoiselle Nick

to pretend to be dead,
I'm afraid.

Thank you so much, Mrs Croft,
for what you did for my father.

But I'm afraid you won't be able to
enjoy the benefits

of that will you forged just yet.

It was just a joke, dear.

Just a joke.

Oh, it really is very funny!
Just a bit of a lark.

That will was a forgery?

Oh, yes. And a very fine one, too.

You've got nothing on me.

Nothing?

You forge my will and then, when I
don't die to suit you,

you try to murder me!

No!

You don't succeed, but you kill my
poor cousin by mistake.

And you say nothing!

We never had nothing to do with
that.

Don't say anything, Bert. Don't say
anything.

We may've forged the will,

but we never had nothing to do
with no killing.

Take them away, Inspector.

Take them out of my house.

Strewth! We never had nothing
to do with that girl dying!

Oh, it's so wonderful, now that it's
all over.

I really hated doing it.

Deceiving you, all my nice friends.

As long as you're all right really.

I think it's time for a celebration.

- Yes.
- Perhaps.

Or perhaps it is time for the truth.

Chief Inspector Japp.

Early this evening, acting on
information received from Mr Poirot,

I concealed myself behind a screen
in the library.

When everyone was assembled in the
dining room,

another person entered
the house.

This person made their way
to a secret panel in the library.

Then took out the object that
was in there

and went out into the hall.

Now, this person comes out here
and does a very curious thing.

They put the object they'd removed
from behind the secret panel

in the pocket of one of those coats
hanging there.

Mrs Rice.

Yes?

Just help me out, will you? Go and
look in the pocket of your coat.

Show me what's in there.

There's nothing in there, apart from
my gloves.

Humour me, Mrs Rice.

Gloves.

Try the other pocket.

It's not mine!

If you're trying to frame her...

No, no.

Someone is trying to frame
Madame Rice,

but it is not Inspector Japp.

And it is not Poirot.

Merci.

Maggie Buckley was killed.
That was inescapable.

But, surely, it was Mademoiselle Nick
that someone was trying to kill?

But that did not make sense.

Mademoiselle Nick loves
"End House", huh?

Is that not so, Mademoiselle
Nick?

But she is in desperate need
of money in order to keep it.

So, what good fortune, she thinks,

when she meets the wealthy young
aviator, Michael Seton, at Le Touquet.

But he does not fall in love with
her.

He falls in love with someone else.

This is rubbish.

So an outrageous plan
begins to form

in the pretty head of our young lady.

And when I think of this,

I think of some silly things that

Captain Hastings
and Miss Lemon were saying.

That there were many abbreviations
for the name of Margaret.

Maggie, Margo, Madge et cetera. Yes.

And it occurred to me to ask myself
the question

what was the real name of Maggie
Buckley?

And tout d'un coûp it came to me!

There were two Magdala Buckleys!

Oh, my God!

This is rubbish, Freddie!

It's slanderous, too! Charles, you're
my lawyer!

Magdala was a family name.

But Michael Seton did not know

that Mademoiselle Nick was called
also Magdala.

He only knows her as Nick.

And in his very informal will,

he just says he leaves everything
to Magdala Buckley.

This is untrue! It's untrue, every
word of it!

Voilà the person, the person
who shot Mademoiselle Maggie!

Mademoiselle Nick!

Are you mad? Why should I kill
Maggie?

In order to inherit the money left
to her by Michael Seton.

It was to her he was secretly
engaged, not you!

It was with her he was in love,

not you!

You silly little man.

You don't know anything.

You're all so stupid!

Let me get my watch.

Come on, then.

She'd never have got away with it,
of course.

My dear Chief Inspector,

she very nearly did get away with it.

Even Poirot is taken in, huh?

The murder of Maggie Buckley
was easy,

but to make it doubly convincing,

Mademoiselle Nick continued with
more tales of attempts on her own life.

What first put you onto it?

I think...

the love letters...

of Michael Seton.

You see, Mademoiselle Nick
stole only those letters

which did not contain the name of
Maggie.

But there was something else
about those letters.

On the 27th of February last,

Mademoiselle Nick underwent an
operation for appendicitis.

But there was a letter dated March
the 2nd, from Michael Seton,

and he does not mention it.

She was such a queer little girl.

She couldn't help herself, you know.

It's going to be a very unpleasant
business.

I must see about some kind of defence
for her, I suppose.

I think there will be no need.

If I mistake not, the wristwatch of
Mademoiselle Nick

will obviate the
necessity for a trial.

Because it is there, is it not,
that you conceal the cocaine?

What?

What the hell do you mean?

Do not try to deceive me,
Commander,

with your hearty goodfellow manner.

You make a good thing of it, do you
not, the trafficking of the drugs?

You and your uncle in Harley Street.

Now look here!

What do you think, Inspector,
about the trafficking of drugs?

I'm not keen on it, as a matter of
fact.

I think we'd better go and have a
little talk, Commander.

Good God!

Cocaine in the wristwatches?

And that is why she wanted her watch,
n'est-ce pas?

Ooh, that's awful!

Indeed it is, Miss Lemon.

But it is better than the rope of a
hangman.

It is satisfying, is it not, Chief
Inspector, in a case,

when at last one knows everything?

I thought you knew everything
anyway, Poirot.

Well.

Ah.

- There's one for you, Chief Inspector.
- Ah, thank you.

None for Mr Poirot, because I read
an article on the train

how ice cream was extremely bad
for the little grey cells.

And two for me because mine
are dead already.

They are very amusing,
are they not, Chief Inspector?

The sea air obviously agrees with them.

I think, perhaps, when I return to London,
I shall leave them here.

Thank you!

Santé!