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Agatha Christie's Poirot (1989–2013): Season 6, Episode 2 - Hickory Dickory Dock - full transcript

Miss Lemon persuades Poirot to investigate a series of apparently minor thefts in a university hostel, but simple kleptomania soon turns to baffling homicide.


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[mysterious jazz music]

♪♪

[clock ticking]

[gears whirring]

[clock chimes]

[suspenseful music]

♪♪

[mouse skittering]

♪ Hickory ♪

♪ Dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

[groans]

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory,
hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

[knife chopping]

I don't know about this,
Poirot.

Oh, but I can assure you,
Chief Inspector,

it is of the quality
most fine.

- Well, I'm sure, but--
- Yes, sir.

Have you got a nice bit
of scrag end?

Scrag end, sir?

Ah, no, no, no, no.

No, Chief Inspector,
the scrag end,

it is an animal
native to Isleworth, huh?

It does not, I think,
habituate here as well.

No, no, no, no, might I suggest
the muscle de filet mignon,

cooked au poivre
avec la sauce béarnaise?

All right, then.

Thank you, sir.

And the good Madame Japp,
she is away for how long?

Another week.

Should have been my holiday too,
you know, Poirot.

So the, um,
how do you call it, then?

The leaving,
it has been canceled.

All leave canceled, yes.

It's these men from Jarrow.

We've got 200 of 'em
heading for London,

and suddenly the government's
reading the Riot Act.

But even so,
Chief Inspector,

it gives you the chance,
once again,

to enjoy the life
of the single man, n'est-ce pas?

I'm not sure about enjoy.

Sir?

That will be six shillings.

I beg your pardon?

Six shillings
for a piece of meat?

That's three days
of housekeeping, Poirot.

Jarrow marchers,
spare some money, sir?

Hold on a minute, Poirot.

Can you spare six pence, sir,
for the Jarrow marchers?

Not anymore, I can't.

Any change?

Jarrow marchers.

Spare some change
for the marchers, sir?

Ah, you are reading
of Sir Arthur Stanley.

Yes.

He is a champion,
is he not,

of the men
marching now to London.

That's right.

I met him once,

about ten years ago.

You are an admirer of his?

I wouldn't say that.

Well, I best be getting back,
Poirot.

I've got the dusting to do.

Ah, but, Chief Inspector,

now is the time to consider
your dessert.

That's all right, Poirot.

I think I'll forget
about the dessert.

[boat engine chugging]

[dramatic music]

♪♪

American?

That's right.
Sally Finch.

On holiday?

No, I'm studying
English literature.

I've just had a week's vacation
in Amsterdam.

It is me, Leonard Bateson.

Thank you.

I should have warned you,
Sally.

They don't like young people,
students, or foreigners.

Are you two
traveling together?

Yes.

Well, let's have a look
inside there.

[mysterious music]

♪♪

68%, Nigel.

That's the number of jobless
in Jarrow.

Where is Jarrow?

Oh!
But that's just the point.

That's why
they're marching here.

Hi.

Welcome back,
the weary travelers.

How was Amsterdam, Sally?

Oh, it was wonderful.

It was just the journey back.

It was hell.

Do you know they nearly
arrested me for smuggling?

Smuggling what?

100 cigarettes.

Well, maybe that's why

the police are coming here,
then.

The police?

They're not coming here,
are they?

Guilty conscience, Celia?

What do they want?

I don't know.

Ma Hubbard told me
just now.

They're investigating something.

Maybe it's something to do
with all these thefts.

It's about time.

They wouldn't call the police
for that,

would they?

I don't know.

Anyway, I have to make a call.

I'll see you.

You seem to have rattled
our American friend, Patricia.

Maybe she's the one
with the guilty conscience.

They're sending a constable
this evening.

It's about some poor man
shot in Soho.

The police think
he was a foreigner,

maybe a student.

And that's why
they're checking here?

Yes, they're visiting
all the student hostels,

as if we don't have
problems enough.

It's still happening, then.

Why, yes.

I mean, a stethoscope,
cigarette lighter, bracelet,

box of boracic powder--
the list goes on and on.

You know, I could have a word
with Mr. Poirot.

Oh, no.

Don't be silly,
Felicity, dear.

No, it's our problem.
We'll deal with it.

Ah, there you are.

Good afternoon,
Mrs. Nicoletis.

I don't believe
you've met my sister.

Your sister, no.

It's you I must speak with,
Mrs. Hubbard.

These bills!

I was just about to leave.

Oh, please, Mrs. Nicoletis,
can't this wait?

Well, all right,
you can stay.

We can talk tomorrow
or the day after,

but soon, before I ruin.

That was Mrs. Nicoletis.

She owns the hostel.

Nicoletis.

That's a Greek name,
isn't it?

Yes.

I suppose that explains it.

[footsteps tapping]

[suspenseful music]

♪♪

[footsteps tapping]

♪ Hickory dickory,
hickory dickory ♪

[fabric ripping]

[dramatic music]

♪♪

Quick, quick!

Give it to me.

[doorbell rings]

I go now.

Ah, good evening, Officer.

Go in, go in.

Ah, good evening, Officer.

Ah, do come through.

The students
are waiting for you,

if you'd care to come
this way.

[knocking at door]

[door clicks open]

Mm, these are good,

the best yet.

Christina, what's the matter?

I frightened, Giorgios.

I have enough.

You're afraid?

What, of the police?

No, not the police.

I losing control.

[typewriter clicking]

No, no, no, no, no.

No c'est imposible.

Miss Lemon.

Miss Lemon, there are
three mistakes in this letter.

Oh, Mr. Poirot.

Why, it has never happened
before, not once,

and now the three errors
of typing on the one page.

Mr. Poirot,
I don't know what to say.

You are perhaps unwell?

No.

Yes.

I suppose in a way I am.

I've been very worried,
Mr. Poirot.

It's my sister, Florence.

One moment,
if you please, Miss Lemon.

You have a sister?

Yes.

She lived in Singapore,
but then her husband died,

and now she's the housekeeper
at a hostel,

a student hostel
in Hickory Road.

And it is this sister of yours
who has a problem?

Yes.

Things have been disappearing,
odd things,

and in a most unusual way.

She's worried, Mr. Poirot,

and I suppose
that's what's worrying me.

I see.

How would it be, Miss Lemon,

if you and I would have tea
with your sister this afternoon?

Could you, Mr. Poirot?

Would you?

"Stethoscope,
cigarette lighter,

"box of boracic powder,
electric lightbulbs,

evening shoe"--

Only the one shoe?

Yes.

Please do continue,
Madame Hubbard.

"Silk scarf, rucksack"--

We found that cut up
in the boiler room,

outside in the backyard.

And one of the girls, Patricia,
lost a diamond ring.

Well, then,
we got that back too.

And how did you get that back,
madame?

Well, it was the most
extraordinary thing.

It turned up in the soup.

It doesn't make
any sense at all,

does it, Mr. Poirot?

No, it is indeed most unusual,
Miss Lemon.

Merci.

I must congratulate you,
Madame Hubbard.

I'm sorry?

No, I must congratulate you

on having a problem
so unique and beautiful.

Oh.

Madame Hubbard, are you able
to describe for me this shoe?

Oh, certainly.

It was most distinctive.

Distinctive?

But what are you going to do
about it, Mr. Poirot?

Et bien,to begin with,
I must make the acquaintance

of the students who live at
number 26 Hickory Road,

but in a matter that will not,
how you say,

wake up the suspicion.

Mrs. Hubbard,

who is this man,
Hercule Poirot?

Mr. Poirot,
Mrs. Nicoletis.

He's a famous
private detective.

A private detective,

here, in my hostel?

Well, the students
will be very interested.

You don't have any objection,
do you?

No.

Why should I object
to Mr. Poirot?

You'll be able to come,
won't you, Patricia?

Oh, yes, I'll be here.

No, no, no.

You don't understand,
Celia.

Look, I could murder someone
if I wanted to,

but only if
there was no motive.

How can I understand when you
don't explain it to me, Colin?

But I have explained it.

Have you heard about
this great detective

we've got coming to see us?

Yes, Val,
I saw Ma Hubbard just now.

It certainly got Colin going,

I'm afraid.

I'm just saying
murderers get caught

because they have a motive.

Take away the motive,
and they are invisible.

That's a horrible thought.

Is there any milk left,
or has that been stolen as well?

I finished it.

If you ask me, that's what
we need here, a detective.

Oh, come on, Patricia.

No, I hate it here,

always wondering
what's gonna vanish next.

Maybe this Mr. Poirot
will be able to sort it out.

Miss Lemon.

Merci.

I'm Celia Austin, Mr. Poirot.

I'm on a part-time course
in chemistry.

Colin McNabb, psychology.

I'm Patricia Lane.
I'm studying politics.

I'm Sally Finch.

I'm here
on a Fulbright scholarship,

studying English lit.

Valerie Hobhouse, studying
fashion and creating it.

Leonard Bateson,
soon to be Dr. Leonard Bateson,

studying medicine.

And I'm Nigel Chapman,

studying medieval history
and archeology.

Well, if that's
the introductions over,

let's have the soup, Ma.

I'm starving.

Are you going to talk to us
about crime, Mr. Poirot?

After the supper, oui.

That is indeed my intention.

You know, Colin thinks
he'd make a good detective.

Or a good criminal.

Well, why not?

If you understood the psychology
of a crime the way I do,

then you could disguise it.

And that way,
you would never be caught.

What a frightening thought.

Yes, indeed,
but it is wrong.

. Why?

Because the little gray cells,
they see everything.

It is the clues,
always the little mistakes

that the criminal ignores,

that opens the door
to the psychology

and so to the crime.

I still think Colin's right.

You enjoy your dinner,
Mr. Poirot.

We'll have time
for making speeches later.

Retsina, Mr. Poirot.

It come from my hometown.

You see, always the prevention
is better than the cure,

and so we try to prevent
the murders

before they are committed.

Thank you.

[applause]

Now,
has anyone got any questions?

Yes, I have one.

What I'd like to know is,

what's your real motive
in coming here tonight?

Really, Len.

Oh, come on, Ma.

You arranged this dinner
at short notice

and with Mr. Poirot,
of all people.

You've come to investigate us,
haven't you?

There hasn't been
a murder here, has there?

No, it's about all the thefts,
isn't it?

That's why he's here.

Oui.

That is indeed why I am here,
mademoiselle.

Well, I'll be.

Well, it's either Mr. Poirot
or the police.

We have to do something.

Yes, but what can you do,
move in and spy on us?

No, no, no,
no, no, no, no,

but I can begin with the return
of something to its owner.

S'il vous plait, Miss Lemon.

That's my shoe,

my lost shoe.

How the hell
did you do that?

You haven't got my lighter,
have you?

And my stethoscope.

Where did you find it,
Mr. Poirot?

Oh, Mademoiselle Patricia,
it was you, was it not,

who had lost a diamond ring?

Yes, but I found it again.

In my soup.

And the soup,
it was served then

in exactly the same manner
as it was tonight?

- Yes.
- Ah.

To hell with the ring.

Tell us about the shoe.

Miss Lemon.

Acting
on Mr. Poirot's instructions,

I picked it up this afternoon

at the London Transport
Lost Property Office.

How did you know
to look there?

A simple process of deduction,
mademoiselle.

One shoe, it cannot be worn,

and it is not possible
to sell.

Alors the simplest way--

is to leave it on a bus
or a train.

Oui, c'est ça.

That was my guess,
and, of course, I was right.

The shoe, it was discovered
on the bus with a number 42.

Now, that bus, I believe,
passes close by.

That bus goes to the hospital.

Ah, well,
that narrows the field a bit.

I'm studying medicine.

I take that bus every day.

Come on, Len,
you're not the only one.

I go on that bus too.

I have an afternoon job
in the pharmacy.

Any one of us
could have got on that bus.

It doesn't prove anything.

I am of your opinion,
Monsieur Chapman.

Any one of you
could be the thief.

So what do you advise us
to do?

There is something here at
Hickory Road that I do not like,

that causes me to fear.

The rucksack
that is cut to pieces--

that is not nice.

You ask my advice?

It is this:
go to the police.

Go now, madame.

No time can be lost.

[clock ticking]

[sighs]

No more diamonds,

not for a long time.

This man, Poirot--

He's dangerous.

It's nothing to do with us.

We can go on as usual.

No, Giorgios.

This is my business.

I make the rules.

Then tell me
who's working for you.

Who are you afraid of?

No, it's better you not know.

Better for you.

Mr. Poirot,

Celia Austin and Colin McNabb
are here to see you

from Hickory Road.

Please do show them in,
Miss Lemon.

Mr. Poirot, I had to see you.

After what you said
last night--

- Mademoiselle Celia,
Monsieur McNabb.

Asseyez, s'il vous plait.

Mr. Poirot, I'm the thief.

I took those things.

No, you're not a thief,
Celia.

It's not the right word.

I feel terrible.

Look, she couldn't help it.

It's a medical condition.

It's not a case for the police.

Ah, so you believe,
mademoiselle, that you suffer

from the medical condition
known as the kleptomania?

Yes, yes.

I never meant to take anything,
but I couldn't help it.

Celia's going to return
everything.

I can't return the bracelet
or the cigarette lighter.

I put them down a gutter.

But I'll buy new ones.

And what about the
stethoscope, mademoiselle?

Where did you put that?

I didn't take the stethoscope.

I'd never take anything
as expensive as that.

But you stole
the diamond ring

belonging to Mademoiselle
Patricia Lane, did you not?

Yes, but it was a mistake.

When I realized it was valuable,
I returned it.

Celia told me everything
after you went last night.

I think she's been very brave.

Mademoiselle,
for which of these thefts

were you not responsible?

Tell me the truth.

Not Len's rucksack.

I didn't take that,
and I didn't cut it up.

Not the lightbulbs,
not the boracic powder--

Come on.

I hope you're satisfied,
Mr. Poirot.

I'm writing to Mrs. Hubbard
to apologize,

and I'm going to tell
everyone.

Listen, don't worry.

From now on,
I'm going to look after you.

Mademoiselle,
what you have done...

It is good.

No more talk of the police,
then?

As far as you are concerned,
mademoiselle,

HO.

Thank you, Mr. Poirot.

Just talking to you,
I feel better already.

Mademoiselle,
Monsieur McNabb.

Au revoir.

Come on, Celia.

You know, Mr. Poirot,

I think we've just been watching
a modern love scene.

Et bien, Miss Lemon.

Nowadays it is
the maladjusted lives

and the complexes that
bring together the young people.

Well, Florence will be glad
it's all over.

All over, Miss Lemon?

No, it is now that I fear
that it may begin.

[dramatic music]

♪♪

So you went to see
the great Monsieur Poirot.

Yes, he was very kind to me.

You've all been kind.

I don't deserve it.

Oh, come on, Cee.

Colin's explained.

It wasn't your fault,
and you didn't do any real harm.

Oh, what about my rucksack?

That wasn't cheap, you know.

That wasn't me, Len.

And I didn't take
your stethoscope either.

I told you--

Then who was it?

That's not up to me
to tell you.

But I know who it was,
and I've spoken to them,

and they've promised
to come forward.

Here you are, Celia.

Thank you.

Anyone else for coffee?

No, thanks, Colin.

I've got some work to do.

Where is everyone tonight?

[suspenseful music]

♪♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

[dramatic music]

♪♪

♪ Hickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

Hello, Pat.

Where are you sneaking in from?

I wasn't sneaking.

I was at the cinema.

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

[suspenseful music]

♪♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

[gasping scream]

[gasps]

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

This is the national program
of the BBC.

Here is the news.

The Jarrow marchers
arrived last night in Bedford.

They received a warm welcome
from the mayor

on behalf of his town.

And in a special church service,

prayers were said
for their cause.

The marchers are expected
in London in three days' time

for a rally in Hyde Park.

[phone ringing]

They will also present
a petition

with 12,000 signatures.

Japp here.

Dead girl
down at Hickory Road, sir.

Right, I'm on my way.

[sizzling]

The marchers
are merely exercising

their constitutional right
to present a petition.

What, you here, Poirot?

Ah, yes, Chief Inspector,
I came as soon as I heard.

Have you been unwell,
Chief Inspector?

What?

No, I'm all right,
thank you very much.

Let's go in.

Who called the police
without consulting me?

The police, here in my
respectable hostel, is outrage!

Please, Mrs. Nicoletis--

- I'm afraid this is
a police matter, Mrs. Nicoletis.

Poirot, you!

It is your fault!

You come here to my hostel.

You frighten my students
with your accusation,

and now see the result!

Come on, now, Mrs. Nicoletis.

Let me take you upstairs.

No, I not go.

Now, come along, my dear.

No.

Why did the detective
come here in my hostel?

Now, this paper,
it is of a type used

for the sleeping draft,
is it not?

And yet...

- Morphine?
- Indeed, sir.

So Celia Austin
was a kleptomaniac.

She admits it to you,
and now this.

Yes.

Could it have been suicide?

The sleeping draft
exchanged for the poison,

no letter of regret...

No, I think not,
Chief Inspector.

But who would want
to kill her?

And why?

Poirot.

See here, Chief Inspector,
there is a fire escape.

It connects also, I see,
with the room next door.

And who has that?

It belongs, I think,
to the American girl,

Mademoiselle Sally Finch.

Mademoiselle Celia,
had, as they say,

a room with a view.

I do not believe
that Mademoiselle Celia Austin

was a kleptomaniac.

Well, what was she, then?

I give it to you
as my opinion

that her pilfering
of the petty objects

was done with a purpose.

What purpose?

Well, let us suppose

that Mademoiselle Celia
had the feelings, huh?

The strong feelings
for a man whose passion

was for the psychology,
but that this man ignored her.

Ah, you're talking about--

What'd you say his name was?
Colin McNabb?

Oui.

Well, let's go see
what he has to say.

So you're telling me
that Celia did what she did

just to attract me?

She just wasn't bright enough
to think up an idea like that.

But you yourself
were attracted to her,

were you not, Monsieur Colin?

She was a fascinating case.

Was it suicide?

No, Mr. McNabb, it would
seem that she's been poisoned.

Poisoned?

With morphine.

Morphine?

That's not possible.

Why not?

I mean,
nobody would want to kill her,

not Celia.

You speak, then,
of a murder without a motive?

Well, look, I don't know.

Monsieur Colin,

you were with Mademoiselle Celia
on the evening of her death.

Yes.

Did she say anything then
which you might now recall

in view of what has occurred?

Well, there was one thing.

It was to do
with the-- the thefts.

She said she knew
who had taken Len's rucksack.

I don't suppose
she gave you a name.

No.

She said she'd spoken
to someone, but-

Come on, for heaven's sake.

Colin, my God, so it's true.

- I only just heard.
- Who are you?

Nigel Chapman.
I live here.

- You're a student?
- Yes.

How did it happen?

They're saying
she was poisoned, Nigel...

with morphine.

Poison.

I don't think it's worked out
quite as you expected,

has it, Mr. P?

Do you have any idea

who might have wanted to kill
Miss Austin?

No.
You sure it wasn't suicide?

Monsieur Nigel, who was here
at the hostel last night?

Oh, we all were, I think.

Except Patricia,
she must have come in late.

They think someone
got into her room

and put it
in her sleeping draft.

In her room?

Last night?

There is something you wish
to tell us, Monsieur Nigel?

Well, yes.

Look
I don't want to be a snitch.

This is a murder
investigation, Mr. Chapman.

Yes.

Well, my roommate,
Len Bateson,

I saw him go into Cee's room.

At what time?

It was about an hour
after dinner.

I was just having a bath.

Oh, but, look,
Len would never hurt anyone.

I'm sure there's
a perfectly simple explanation.

I may be wrong, Poirot,
but it seemed to me

that the mention of morphine
meant something to those two.

Chief Inspector,
the morphine,

from where do you think
it had come?

You tell me.

Miss Lemon.

This girl, Celia Austin,
didn't she say she worked

in the pharmacy
at the hospital?

Exactement.

You're quite right.

I don't understand it.

We are missing
a bottle of morphine tartrate.

When might it have been taken?

It's impossible to say.

It's not a drug
we use very often.

It could've been taken anytime
within the last three months,

since our last stock taking.

But entry to the pharmacy,
it is, of course, restricted.

Absolutely.

It was Celia,
two other women dispensers,

myself, of course--

And the doctors.

Some doctors use the pharmacy
as a shortcut...

[door clicks shut]

But I know them.

Could Celia Austin
have taken the morphine herself?

I suppose so,

but Celia was very scrupulous.

It would have been
very unlike her.

How about friends?

Did anyone ever visit her?

There was one chap
who used to come and see her,

as a matter of fact,
but he was no outsider.

He was a medical student
working here.

And what was his name, sir?

Bateson, Leonard Bateson.

Monsieur Leonard,

you and Mademoiselle Celia
were on the terms amicable?

We were friends, yes.

And sometimes you visited her
in the pharmacy?

What, and stole the poison
while I was there?

Come on, Mr. Poirot,
what do you take me for?

What were you doing
in her room last night?

Who said I was?

You'd be well-advised
to answer my question civilly,

Mr. Bateson.

You can't intimidate me,
Chief Inspector.

Yes, I did go into her room.

I was looking
for my stethoscope.

But Celia didn't take
the stethoscope.

Yeah, that's what she said,

but it cost me a packet,
and I wanted to be sure.

You mean
you searched her room?

I had a quick look around.
It wasn't there.

Monsieur Leonard,
you have not yet asked

what poison it was
that was stolen.

- You tell me.
- Morphine tartrate.

Well, it wasn't me.

Oh, to hell with you.

I didn't take anything!

[bell ringing]

Oh, here he is now.

Just stand back, please,
and give him a chance.

Give us room, please.

Have you examined
Sir Arthur yet?

Not yet, not yet.

How long will Sir Arthur
be staying here, Doctor?

I have no idea.

Will he be well enough
to meet

the Jarrow marchers
next week, Doctor?

Really, Mr. Poirot,
these young people,

they have no respect
for anyone.

It is a symptom
of the modern age, Miss Lemon.

My God.

Ah, the girl, it is
Mademoiselle Patricia Lane.

No, not her,
the man she's speaking to,

I know him.

- Mr. Poirot.
- Mademoiselle Patricia.

Miss Lane, that man
you were just speaking to...

He's a friend
of Sir Arthur Stanley's.

Well, you must have heard.

He's just been admitted here.

You know Sir Arthur?

No, but I'm studying politics.

Sir Arthur Stanley
has always been

something of a hero of mine.

He's changed British politics.

Why do you ask?

No reason.

Mademoiselle, you have heard,
of course,

about the death
of Mademoiselle Celia Austin.

Yes.

I've just come
from Hickory Road.

Mrs. Hubbard told me.

It's ghastly.

Tell me, mademoiselle,
you were not present

at the hostel last night?

No, I'd been out.
I came back late.

So you didn't see anything
that might help us?

Well, there was one thing.

I don't know
if it means anything,

but as I got back,
I noticed somebody

coming out of the window
onto the fire escape.

The fire escape?

I don't want to get anyone
into trouble.

Miss Lane.

I know.

It was Sally.

Sally Finch.

I've often thought there
was something strange about her.

And it was her.
I'm sure.

Do you know
where we could find her?

You were seen, Miss Finch.

Well, I don't know
who told you that,

but it's complete nonsense.

I was in my room all night.

But your room does open out
onto the fire escape.

What of it?
I didn't go anywhere.

- Mademoiselle--
- Shh.

[whispering]
Mademoiselle Sally,

you are on the terms amicable
with the other students?

Some of them.

I've just had a vacation
with Len Bateson:

a week in Amsterdam.

This was before the rucksack
was stolen.

It was taken
the same day we got back.

That was the day
the police came.

The police?

Sure, there'd been a murder
in Soho,

and they were checking
all the hostels.

If the suspect
was young and foreign,

that would have been routine.

All the same,
it is strange, is it not,

that the rucksack
should be taken

on the same day
of his visit?

And the lightbulbs.

They went at the same time too.

Huh.

Mademoiselle Sally,
you are here, I understand,

on a Fulbright scholarship.

That's right.

Hmm.

And, um...

You are studying, I see,
John Keats.

Mm, yes.

He's my speciality.

Let me see.

"And like a dying lady,
lean and pale...

Who totters forth,
wrapped in a gauzy veil...".

You know your Keats.

It is interesting
that Mademoiselle Sally--

- She was lying
about the fire escape.

And there is more.

She professes
to be the expert on John Keats,

yet the lines
that I quoted to her...

They were from Shelley.

[spirited piano music]

♪♪

Poor Celia.

She wasn't that bright
or anything,

but I liked her.

You were close?

We were friends,

but we're all friends
at Hickory Road.

Tell me,
Mademoiselle Valerie,

what is it that you do here
in the fashion house?

At Sabrina Fair?

I'm working with them for a year
as part of my course:

fashion and design.

Ah, well, then you assist
in the...

how-- how do you say--

the displays of fashion?

Yes, and they take me abroad,
to Paris, Milan.

I'm having a wonderful time.

I'm sure.

And this particular dress,
it is of your own design?

Yes.

Oh, Miss Lemon, régarde.

How beautiful.

Did you make it yourself?

Yes.

What unusual stitchwork.

One final question,
if I may, mademoiselle.

What's that?

Would it be of significance
if I were to tell you

that the cause of death
of Mademoiselle Celia Austin

was poisoning by morphine?

No, not at all.

Au revoir.

Right, well,
I best be getting home.

No, no, no, no, no.

No, Chief Inspector.

Tell me, the good Madame Japp,
she's still not returned?

No.

- I thought as much.
- I also.

Et bien,
I have la bonne idée.

How would it be,
Chief Inspector,

if you and I were to have
dinner together this evening?

Oh, I have to say, Poirot,

I could do
with a good square meal.

Mind you,
it's a bit of a step back

all the way to Isleworth,
Mr. Poirot.

I have an idea.

Alors, the simplest way
is to have the Chief Inspector

stay with me until the good
Madame Japp, she returns.

What, stay with you?

I can make up the spare bed.

Well, that's very decent
of you, Poirot.

You accept?

Yes, with pleasure.

[door slams]

You are settled in,
Chief Inspector?

Yes, thank you, Poirot.

I put him in the back room,
Mr. Poirot.

Something smells good.

Merci.

It is mon assiette de saveur.

It was a speciality of my mother
when I myself was a student.

[giggles]

S'il vous plait,
Miss Lemon.

That's very kind of you,
Mr. Poirot.

Chief Inspector.

What's that thing
in the bathroom, Poirot?

Comment?

Like a, um, foot bath.

Uh, the bidet.

Oh, bidet.

It's got a sort
of fountain thing in the middle.

What's that for?

Ah, it is of no significance.

Nearly got a squirt in the eye
when I turned it on.

[Chokes]

It is best not to tamper
with it, Chief Inspector.

It is broken.

I will get the food.

I must say, I'm looking
forward to this, Miss Lemon.

You look like a man

in need of his dinner,
Chief Inspector.

That thing in the bathroom,
though--

- It is best not to bother
Miss Lemon

with the deficiencies of
our plumbing, Chief Inspector.

Maintenent,
mon assiette de saveur.

Voilà.

Well, you didn't tell them.

- Of course not.
- Nor me.

Well, you know I didn't.
You were there.

I don't think we can
just keep quiet about it.

Why not?

We can't.

We're gonna have to tell
Mr. Poirot.

Ah, you here.

Yes, I also.

I have one small drink.

It's for my heart.

Good night, Mrs. Nicoletis.

I know.

I know what happened
is wrong.

That's right.

I go to the police.

I tell the truth before.

No more death.

What's she on about?

She's loaded, as usual.

Colin.

All right,
I had the morphine,

but you all saw what I did.

Then you've got nothing
to worry about, have you?

Well,
I'm not going to tell them.

Well, if you don't,
maybe one of us should.

I hate to say it, Colin,
but I think Nigel's right.

We have to tell Poirot.

Why, for heaven's sake?

Well,
in case it happens again.

♪ Hickory ♪

♪ Dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

[knock at door]

♪ Hickory ♪

Oh, it's you.

Come in.

Everything is going wrong!

Why are you doing
these things?

It's not part of the plan!

Why you do these things?

That girl Celia, you finish--
I will tell.

[grunts]

[glass shatters]

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

Stabbed through the heart.

With a precision
that is medical,

you might say, Chief Inspector.

Now, there's a thought.

Leonard Bateson's training
to be a doctor, isn't he?

Yes, indeed.

What's going on, Poirot?

First Celia Austin pilfers
a whole lot of useless things--

- It wasn't Celia who stole
the lightbulbs or the rucksack.

No, but someone kills her.

And now Mrs. Nicoletis,

who owns the hostel and has
got nothing to do with anything.

[somber music]

♪♪

There is something here
at Hickory Road,

something behind
these two deaths, we do not see.

It's the middle of the night.

The hostel's locked
from the inside.

Mrs. Nicoletis opens her door
to whoever knocks.

Then you believe
it was one of the students?

It had to be.

Yes, but which one?

You've heard.

Yes, of course.

Do the others know?

No, most of them had left
before she was found.

Look, I can't do this anymore.

I've had enough.

Sally, we can't stop now,

not now, of all times.

Someone's going to find out,
and I--

- Don't worry.
Nobody knows.

What about this detective,
Poirot?

Don't worry about Poirot.

I'll deal with him.

You better.

I promise.

I will.

I never thought
that it would come to this.

First Celia, and then--

Oh, it's like a world gone mad,
Mr. Poirot.

Come on, Florence.

Mr. Poirot will sort it out,
you'll see.

What can you tell us about
your employer, Mrs. Hubbard?

Not a great deal.

She was a very solitary person.

I rather think--

Well, I know
it's a wicked thing to say,

but I think she may have been
a secret drinker.

After all the bottles
we found in her room,

there's no secret about it.

And you told me, I think,
that she had other interests.

Yes,
one or two student clubs

and a shop
just across the road.

Which shop is that?

It sells luggage.

A lot of our students
buy rucksacks there.

Rucksacks?

Ah, yes, of course,

the rucksack belonging
to Monsieur Leonard Bateson.

The one that was cut up.

Yes...

On the day that the police
came to Hickory Road.

[knock at door]

Sir.

Excuse me.

[indistinct whispering]

Two of the students
have come back

and would like to see you.

I feel like a rat
coming to you.

We all agreed.

S'il vous plait,
Monsieur Leonard.

Proceed, Monsieur Nigel.

Well, it's like this.

About six weeks ago, we were
talking about crime and murder.

Who were?

I'm sorry, we all were--
Len, Pat, Celia, me,

the whole hostel.

Colin had come up
with this theory

about how anyone
could get away with murder,

and now this has happened.

Yes,
he spoke of some of this to me,

at the dinner, you remember?

Yes, well,
we were ragging him about it,

and then somebody asked him

how he would go about
killing someone.

Colin said poison.

Poison?

Yes, I said
it would be impossible

to get ahold of a lethal poison,
but Colin disagreed,

and that was when
we made the bet.

What bet?

Colin said he could produce
enough poison

to kill someone,

and he could do it
in a week.

You mean he stole some poison?

It was morphine tartrate.

He produced it a week later.

None of us believed him
at first.

It was just white powder.

I had a look at it.
It was what he said it was.

And this poison,

what happened to it after
the bet, it was won?

Well, Colin kept it
for a few days,

but we were all so nervous
about it.

In the end,
he flushed it down the toilet.

Did you actually see him
do this?

- Yes.
- He did it in front of us.

Now, let me get this straight.

Colin McNabb stole a phial
of morphine tartrate

just to prove a point?

Yes.

I'm sure it's not as bad
as it seems.

Personally, I don't see
how it could be worse.

I was just proving a point,
that's all.

Tell me, Monsieur Colin,

the poison,
from where did it come?

Isn't it obvious?

From the pharmacy
at the hospital.

Celia Austin gave it to you?

No, I took it myself.

It was easy.

I'd been to the hospital,
and I seen how busy it was,

and I knew I just had to wait
for the right moment.

Yes, well, I did date it.

All it took was a white coat
and a stethoscope.

That's human psychology
for you.

To anyone who looked,

I was just another doctor
passing through.

And the stethoscope,
from where had that come?

I pinched it,
if you must know.

It was Len Bateson's.

Ah, so that,
also, was not the work

of Mademoiselle Celia Austin.

No, as she told you.

What happened
to the stethoscope?

I left it in the hospital.

I will get him a new one
eventually.

What's all the fuss about?

I didn't do anything wrong.

It was theft,
at the very least.

I mean,
I threw the poison out.

Ask Nigel or Len.

They were both there.

But you kept it, did you not,
for at least one week?

Yes.

And everyone in the hostel

knew that it was
in your possession.

Yes, but--

Oh, wait a minute.

You think somebody
might have taken it

and swapped it
with something else?

Oui,with the boracic powder,
which was harmless.

That was one of the items
that was also stolen.

Then I threw away
boracic powder.

Who had access to your room,
Mr. McNabb?

Anyone.
I don't keep it locked.

Now, look, I was just proving
a point, Chief Inspector.

I didn't mean any harm.

You'll return now to
Hickory Road, Chief Inspector?

I'm gonna search that hostel
from top to bottom.

Maybe I should have done it
from the start.

What is it that you expect
to find, Chief Inspector?

The remains of the poison.

It only took a small amount
to kill Celia Austin.

I'll wager the killer's
hung on to the rest.

That interview
with Monsieur Colin McNabb,

it explains, at last,
why the boracic powder

and the stethoscope,
they were both stolen.

Yes.

And all that remains
is the rucksack

belonging
to Monsieur Leonard Bateson.

What, and you think
that's more important

than the poison
that killed Celia Austin?

No, but I believe it was
the reason why she was killed.

Hickory Road.

Taxi.

Hickory Road.

[dramatic music]

♪♪

Would you please to wait for me?

Good morning, sir.

Bonjour.

If you please, I would like
to purchase a rucksack.

A rucksack, sir?

Oui.

Would it be for yourself?

Oh, no, no,
no, no, no, no.

It is for my nephew.

This is the deluxe model.

The Imperial, sir.

It's very sturdy
but light.

C'est vrai.

And this model of rucksack,
it is your most popular?

No, sir.

Our most popular model
would have to be this one.

It's good and stout,
and it'll stand a lot of wear,

and it's half the price
of the Imperial.

Et bien.

This is the one I will choose.

I'll just get my assistant
to wrap it for you.

Mr. Casterman.

[mysterious music]

♪♪

You can't do this.

If you'd told me about
that stolen poison earlier,

Miss Hobhouse,
I wouldn't have had to.

I do have rights,
Chief Inspector.

So did Celia Austin

and Mrs. Nicoletis,
for that matter.

Perhaps you should think
of them.

[door slams]

Val, what's going on?

It's the police.

They're searching
the whole place.

They can't!

They've just finished
in my room.

Now they're in yours.

Chief Inspector.

Ah, Mr. McNabb.

Just the man I wanted to see.

What? Why?

That poison of yours,
the morphine tartrate,

you said you threw it away.

I did.

Then how do you explain this?

What is it?

I think you know what it is,
Mr. McNabb.

No.

No!

Whitehaven Mansions,
if you please.

[dramatic music]

♪♪

[door clicks shut]

Bonjour, Chief Inspector.

How did you sleep?

I didn't.

But with Monsieur Colin McNabb
arrested for the crimes,

you should have slept
to perfection.

Actually, Poirot,
it's the central heating.

But it was on to
the full extent, mon ami.

Exactly.

You have seen the headlines?

Ah, the Jarrow marchers,
yeah.

It says
that Sir Arthur Stanley

is too ill to meet with them.

Hmm.

You told me once
that you met Sir Arthur Stanley.

Yes.

It was on a matter
for the police?

Yes.

Sir Arthur Stanley
may be the people's hero,

the champion of the jobless,

but ten years ago,
he murdered his wife.

Comment?

Yes,
and it was rather similar

to this Celia Austin business.

I'll tell you how it happened.

Sir Arthur Stanley
was already famous.

He'd just become an MP.

Anyway, his wife was found dead

from an overdose
of her sleeping powder,

and although I was only
an inspector then,

I was called in to investigate.

They had a big place
over in Richmond,

and the two of them
had lived there

with their son
and a couple of maids.

It could've been an accident.

That's what everyone thought,

but there was something
about Sir Arthur that--

I don't know-
got my wind up.

[doorbell rings]

Who was in the house with your
wife last night, Sir Arthur?

Oh, look, I've already
answered all these questions.

Please, sir.

[sighs]

Just myself, the maid, my son.

I will have to speak to them,
sir.

Well, the maid's here,
but I've sent my son away.

He's only 16, for heaven's sake.

He's upset!

We're all upset.

And who actually
gave your wife

her sleeping powder,
Sir Arthur?

No one gave it to her.

She took it herself.

She measured the dose?

No, I did,

but it was the correct dose,
I'm sure of it.

Then how do you explain
what happened, sir?

[exhales forcefully]
Well, it's simple.

She, uh-- she took
the first dose,

but she took it too early.

Then she'd forgot
she'd taken it,

and she took another one.

So...

It was an accident.

I've never heard such
a feeble story in all my life.

He was hiding something,
that was for sure,

but I wasn't gonna be given
the chance to find out what.

Just what do you think
you're doing, chap?

This is Sir Arthur Stanley
we're talking about.

You don't investigate
a man like that

unless you got
a damn good reason,

and as far as I can see,

you haven't got any reason
at all!

Sir Arthur Stanley
had some pretty powerful friends

high up in the labor party
and in the police.

I was pulled off the case.

It was an accident,

and that was to be
the end of it.

But I knew I was right,

so I went back to the house
one last time.

I still don't know
what I expected to find,

but I'll tell you this, Poirot:

I struck gold.

He was talking
with his solicitor,

a man called Endicott.

I had to do it.

I had no choice.

Yes, sir.

But can you live with it?

God help me,
I don't know.

I don't know!

Endicott,

promise me you'll never tell.

I saw it with my own eyes,

the two of them in it together.

And it was
this Monsieur Endicott

that you saw
at the hospital yesterday.

Yes.

That's one face
I'll never forget.

What do you think was in the
letter that passed between them?

I don't know.

Some means
of protecting himself, maybe.

But as sure as eggs is eggs,
Sir Arthur killed his wife.

But what would have been
the motive

for Sir Arthur
to have committed this murder?

Money.

Lady Stanley was a rich woman
in her own right,

and he got everything.

Endicott knew that, of course.

And what did you do?

There was nothing I could do.

I wasn't meant to be there.

I couldn't prove
what I'd seen and heard.

I was off the case.

Hmm.

Now, you realize
I could get the push for this.

Len, it's important to me.

Oh, yes, I know, I know.

You and Sir Arthur Stanley.

Anyone would think
you were related or something.

I've read everything
he's ever written,

his whole life's work.

I have to meet him,
just once.

I can give you five minutes,
Pat, that's all.

Thanks, Len.

He's gonna die, isn't he?

He's very sick.

[somber music]

♪♪

Who are you?

Please, sir, don't be afraid.

I suppose I'm an admirer
of yours, Sir Arthur.

I just wanted to see
how you were.

[sighs]

You've done so much
for this country:

with the labor movement,
your stand against Mussolini,

your support
of the Jarrow marchers.

Baldwin won't see them,
you know,

won't see them.

Too scared.

They don't need Baldwin.

They need you.

You're their voice.

No, not now.

You'll get better, sir.

You're needed.

I was.

Yes.

Great days.

Behind me now.

Oh...

Just“

[dramatic music]

♪♪

[grunting]

Mr. Poirot?

[grunting]

Mr. Poirot!

Pardon, Miss Lemon.

Good afternoon.

Are you all right, Mr. Poirot?

Yes, thank you, Miss Lemon.

I am just discovering
that to cut up a rucksack

requires much of the strength.

[fabric tears]

Voilà.

What is it?

The stitchwork, Miss Lemon.

You've cut right through it!

Mmhmm, and between
the base and the inner lining,

what is it that you see?

I don't see anything at all.

Uhhuh.

Précisément.

That is exactly the point.

Merci.

I thought I might make dinner

for you and the Chief Inspector
this evening, Mr. Poirot.

Merci beaucoups.

The Chief Inspector,

he has an appetite
that is most healthy,

n'est-ce pas?

That's what I thought,
Mr. Poirot.

Ah, merci.

Half past 7:00, as usual?

I shall return
within the hour.

Mr. Poirot.

Oui.

- Get in.
- Comment?

Just get in.

What are you doing?
What are you doing?

What is this?

Come in, Mr. Poirot.

Hi, Mr. Poirot.

Sit down.

My name is John Casterman.

I'm sorry for the way
you were brought here.

By assaulting me
in the open street?

You were about to ruin

six months undercover
investigation...

Besides putting the life
of one of my agents at risk.

Mademoiselle Sally.

Yes.

There was no danger of that,
monsieur.

I was well aware
that Mademoiselle Sally

was not what she claimed to be.

How?

You should have studied
perhaps more of your Keats.

Keats?

Tell me, Monsieur Casterman,
this work of yours,

it involves investigating
the smuggling, n'est-ce pas?

Ah, yes, diamonds.

From Amsterdam and Paris.

We know who's buying them,

but we don't know
who's bringing them in,

and that's our first priority.

And it was for this reason
that you were working

in the shop with the rucksacks
in Hickory Road.

Yes, to keep an eye on the
students intending to travel.

We think it's the students
who are bringing them in.

The trouble is,
we don't know who they are.

I will suggest that
that is something

of which they themselves
are not aware.

I don't understand.

There is something strange
about the rucksacks

that come to Hickory Road.

One, they are too cheap.

Also, I myself cut to pieces
one of these rucksacks,

and I'll tell to you
exactly what I found.

What?

There is hidden
beneath the lining

a compartment
which is secret

into which any amount
of diamonds may be placed

without the owner having
any knowledge of the fact.

You mean the diamonds
are smuggled by people

who have no idea
they're doing it.

C'est ça.

Leonard Bateson
had one of those same rucksacks,

Mr. Poirot.

It was stolen and cut up.

Oui, and I believe
that it was this one event

that led to both of the
catastrophes which followed.

The deaths of Celia Austin
and Mrs. Nicoletis.

Oui.

Mr. Poirot, there is something
you should know

about Mrs. Nicoletis.

Ah, you suspect
that she was the leader

of the smuggling ring.

We don't suspect.
We know.

It was her cousin,
Giorgios Nicoletis,

who was buying the stuff.

C'est parfait.

Madame Nicoletis, she owns
the shop with the rucksacks,

and with her clubs
and the hostel for the students,

she would have had access
to many of the young people.

But why did she have to die?

Parceque évidemment she knew
the identity of the killer

of Mademoiselle Celia Austin,

and to murder,
it was not in her plans.

And she panicked and
threatened to tell the police.

Mm.

But who was it?

Which one of them
is the killer?

The killer, ah.

The killer was the person
who felt compelled

to steal the lightbulbs.

Typical Customs and Excise,

they always have to do
everything cloak-and-dagger.

But Monsieur Colin McNabb,
he's still under arrest?

Well, he stole the poison
and kept it.

And he had this bee
in his bonnet

about a motiveless murder.

So you believe
that Monsieur Colin McNabb,

he murdered
Mademoiselle Celia Austin

by way of the experiment?

Well, these psychologists,

most of them
are barmy themselves.

Your health, Chief Inspector.

I don't suppose you've got
a nice glass of beer,

have you, Poirot?

No, no, no, no, no.

Besides,
the syrup of the banana,

it is better
for the appetite.

Santé.

Cheers.

[approaching footsteps]

Are you hungry,
Chief Inspector?

You can say that again,
Miss Lemon.

I've been looking forward
to a healthy meal all day.

And I've taken you
at your word.

What's this?

Filet of sole, poached
in milk, with boiled vegetables.

You can't get much healthier
than that.

Sole, Miss Lemon?

Lemon sole.

[giggles]

[doorbell rings]

Who can that be
at this time of night?

If you please, Miss Lemon.

Asseyez-vous, Chief Inspector.

You know,
it's very kind of you

to put me up like this, Poirot,
but I was thinking--

Not at all, Chief Inspector.

The pleasure, it is mine.

And I insist
that you stay here with me

until the good Madame Japp,
she has returned.

Oh, right.

Mr. Poirot, Chief Inspector.

Monsieur Nigel.

Forgive me
for calling so late,

but I had to see you.

Not at all.

Miss Lemon.

Please do sit, Monsieur Nigel.

Mr. Poirot,
you've arrested the wrong man.

Ah, it was not I who arrested
Monsieur Colin McNabb.

What makes you say that,
Mr. Chapman?

It's not me.

I've just been talking to Pat,
Patricia Lane,

and she knows who put the poison
back into Colin's room.

She's saying
he's being framed?

Yes, and she knows who by.

Well, who?

She wouldn't tell me.

She says I'd never believe her.

Why didn't she come here
herself?

She's frightened,
very frightened.

She didn't want me to come,
but I said that--

[phone ringing]

Miss Lemon.

What now?

I told Pat she had to tell you
what she knew,

if only for Colin's sake,

but she still wouldn't budge,
so I came myself.

It's Patricia Lane for you.

Maybe she's changed her mind.

Hello, Pat.

Why are you doing this, Nigel?

I told you I'd come here,
Pat.

If there's something you know,
you've got to tell them.

Don't you see?
You could be in danger yourself.

The Chief Inspector's here.

Why don't you talk to him,
Pat?

All right.

Chief Inspector.

Miss Lane.

Is that Chief Inspector Japp?

Yes, this is Japp.

Chief Inspector,
I know who killed Celia.

You see,
I saw them with the poison.

And who was that, Miss Lane?

I was going past Colin's room,
and--

It's impossible,
Chief Inspector.

Just tell me what you saw,
Miss Lane.

Miss Lane?

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

[alarms blaring]

Why didn't she come with me?

I told her it wasn't safe
staying here

if she knew something.

This is my fault.

I should have persuaded her.

There's no point
blaming yourself, Mr. Chapman.

She wouldn't tell Nigel Chapman
what she knew,

but maybe she told
somebody else.

Sir.

The murder weapon.

Yes.

A paperweight in a sock:
simple but effective.

Yes, indeed.

Regardez, Chief Inspector.

Mais fait attention.

There is on it some blood.

That's Sir Arthur Stanley.

With his wife
and with his son.

Yes, but what's it doing here?

And there is something else.

There is trapped
in the fingernail a hair...

A red hair.

Leonard Bateson.

Yes, I was here.

No, I didn't hear anything.

Who else was in the hostel,
Mr. Bateson?

I don't know.

Ma Hubbard was upstairs,
I think,

and Valerie
was somewhere around.

Tell me, Monsieur Leonard,

when was the last time
you saw Mademoiselle Patricia?

Funnily enough,
it was this morning.

She was at the hospital.

Do you know why?

Yes, she was trying to see
Sir Arthur Stanley.

Stanley?

Were you able to assist her?

Yes, I sneaked her in
for five minutes.

She'd always admired him,
and...

She just wanted to see him,
that's all.

Chief Inspector,
without doubt,

it was from Sir Arthur Stanley
that came the photograph.

Wait a minute, Poirot,
you're not saying that all this

has got something to do
with Stanley, are you?

But it was you
who said the same thing.

The death of Lady Stanley,

the murder
of Mademoiselle Celia Austin,

there were similarities, no?

Don't tell me, then,
is he on your list of suspects?

Sir Arthur Stanley?

He can't be.

Oh, of course, there's no way
you would have heard.

Sir Arthur Stanley,
he passed away this afternoon.

[somber music]

♪♪

[sighs]

[exhales forcefully]

Ah, so that's what it's for.

[crunching]

[door clicks shut]

Bonjour, Chief Inspector.

Vous avez bien dormir?

Mm?

Oh, pardon,
you have slept well?

Barely a wink, Poirot,
if you want the truth,

until I cooled myself down
in that contraption of yours.

The bidet?

Mm, mind if I join you?

I'm starving.

You hunger, I think,
for the truth, Chief Inspector.

But concern yourself not.

The little gray cells,
they also did not sleep.

The case, it is solved.

- Is it?
- Oui.

You must release at once
Monsieur Colin McNabb.

He's the only one who couldn't
have killed Patricia Lane.

He was in prison.

Well,
what about Nigel Chapman?

He was with us.

You'll forgive me,
Chief Inspector, but your tie,

it has on it
a spot of grease.

Well,
it's the only one I've got.

I could lend you one
of Mr. Poirot's.

Ah, no, no, I can manage.

Haven't got any bacon and eggs,
have you, Poirot?

Uh, no.
At this hour of morning?

No.

There is no time for the egg
and the bacon.

It is time now
to close in the net.

[suspenseful music]

♪♪

[mouse skittering]

[clock ticking]

There is no mystery
as to who was stealing

most of the objects from
number 26 Hickory Road or why.

Mademoiselle Celia Austin
confessed herself to me

in the presence
of Monsieur Colin McNabb.

She pretended to be
the kleptomaniac, but, in fact,

it was only to attract
the attentions

of Monsieur Colin McNabb that
she embarked on this exercise.

I still think
that's nonsense.

It's true.

Cee would never have thought up
an idea like that on her own.

No, and I believe that the
idea, it was suggested to her.

Suggested to her?
Who by'?

By the very same person
who arranged for the safe return

of the diamond ring belonging
to Mademoiselle Patricia Lane.

But the ring turned up
in Val's soup.

Anyone could have put it there.

Uh, no, no, no, no, no.

No, for I will tell you
what I observed

when I came here to the dinner.

Madame Hubbard prepared and
brought to the table the soup,

and I saw then
that for the diamond ring

to be found in the soup
of Mademoiselle Valerie,

only two people could possibly
have placed it there:

Madame Hubbard
or Mademoiselle Valerie herself.

And if it was me?

Then you must have
received the diamond ring

from Mademoiselle Celia.

- You're right.
- What?

Oh, Colin,

Celia was mooning after you
like a little ghost.

You never even looked at her.

So I said to her,
"Become a case,

"something he can study,

then maybe you'll have
more luck".

It certainly worked.

Oui, but was it not the idea
to steal items

only of the little worth?

Yes, but then she went

and pinched that ring
from Pat's room.

I could see at once
how much it was worth

and thought the police
might be called in.

Huh.

And so Mademoiselle Celia
gave you the ring

to return
to Mademoiselle Patricia Lane?

That's right.

That business about the soup
was my idea.

This is all very well,
Mr. Poirot,

but is this going to tell us
who killed Cee

and Mrs. Nic and Pat?

Have patience,
Monsieur Chapman.

Je vous en prie.

When she came to visit me,

Mademoiselle Celia Austin
claimed responsibility

for only some of the thefts
from number 26 Hickory Road.

S'il vous plait, Miss Lemon.

She admitted taking the shoe,

the bracelet,
the silk scarf,

the cigarette lighter,
the cookery book,

and the ring.

And we can also eliminate
the stethoscope,

which was removed
by Monsieur Colin.

What?

Len, I can explain.

I was going to pay you back.

He used it most ingeniously,

when he took from the pharmacy
also the poison.

That just leaves three.

Oui,

the last three.

And at this point,

I would like to introduce you
to Monsieur Casterman,

who, for many months, has
been investigating this hostel.

Investigating us?

But why?

I've been in charge
of an investigation

into a smuggling ring, ma'am,

and I had a strong belief

that the late Mrs. Nicoletis
was a part of it.

Mrs. Nic?

Oh,
you must be making a mistake.

I don't think so.

It's true, Ma.

Sally?

I work for Mr. Casterman.

Sally.

I'm sorry.

Mademoiselle Sally
was seen leaving the hostel

by the fire escape,
and she used this means

to report on the smuggling
to Monsieur Casterman.

What was being smuggled?

Diamonds.

The smuggling operation
involved the use

of a certain type of rucksack,

and this rucksack had in it
a compartment that was secret

and was unknown even to the
person who might be wearing it.

And it was this rucksack
which set off the events

which led to the death
of Mademoiselle Celia Austin.

For on this day,

a new assignment of diamonds
had arrived from Amsterdam

in a rucksack belonging
to Monsieur Leonard Bateson.

Perhaps the policeman,

he's coming to Hickory Road
to investigate,

using the death in Soho
as an excuse to make a visit.

The diamonds,
they are quickly retrieved,

and the rucksack disposed of.

But our smuggler
had also a fear.

It is essential not to be seen,

so instead, simplicity.

Lightbulbs are removed from
certain points in the hostel.

Oh, good evening, Officer.

So our smuggler is passed by
unnoticed by the policeman.

Students are waiting for you,
if you'd care to come this way.

[clock ticking]

But for all this care,
our perpetrator had been seen.

Mademoiselle Celia Austin
had a room

which overlooked the boiler room
in which the rucksack was found.

She had seen everything.

And I assume that she believed
that the person she saw

was also responsible
for the other thefts.

That's right.

The night she died,
she told us.

She said she was sure
they'd come forward.

Hmm, and so, you see,
mesdames et messieurs,

that Mademoiselle Celia Austin
was killed

because she had to be silenced,

and the easiest way
to ensure that silence

was for the killer to take
advantage of the morphine

that had been stolen
from the hospital

by Monsieur Colin McNabb.

It was a simple task for
the killer to enter her room

and to exchange
her sleeping draft

for a dose of morphine
that would be fatal.

God, it's all my fault.

I should never have taken it.

No, but you threw it away.

We all saw it.

No.

It was the harmless boracic
powder which was thrown away,

for the morphine,
that had already been taken away

from Monsieur Colin McNabb
by someone who believed

they might have reason
to use it one day.

But you found the poison
in Colin's room.

Ah, yes,
but that was after the death

of Mademoiselle Celia Austin.

You see, the poison
was returned to his room

in an attempt
to incriminate him.

I'm sorry, Mr. Poirot, but
I can't bear this any longer.

Who is the killer?

We have here two crimes:
the smuggling and the murder.

And it is with the smuggling
we must begin.

When I purchased the rucksack

from the shop
owned by Madame Nicoletis,

I found in it
a secret compartment

which was used
to conceal the diamonds.

What is it?

The stitchwork, Miss Lemon.

You've cut right through it.

The stitchwork,
it was very distinctive,

and it was
the good Miss Lemon

who had previously drawn it
to my attention.

What unusual stitchwork.

I saw at once that
the stitchwork on the rucksack

was the work of the same hand,

your hand,
Mademoiselle Valerie.

Your work in the fashion house

allows you to travel abroad
most frequently, n'est-ce pas?

You also displayed a certain
knowledge of diamonds,

which I found most revealing.

For example, you knew at once
the value of the diamond ring

belonging
to Mademoiselle Patricia Lane.

No, it's all wrong.
You've got it all wrong.

Why don't you leave her alone?

I didn't kill anyone.

No, not on your own, no.

And I do not believe that
you have the nature to kill,

but you were not acting alone,
were you, mademoiselle?

She had an accomplice?

Oh, yes, Chief Inspector.

Madame Nicoletis, she was
head of the smuggling ring,

as was suspected
by Monsieur Casterman,

but she had more than one young
person engaged in the business.

So who else was it?

Hmm, there was a little clue
left for us,

Chief Inspector,
with the third killing.

The hair that was trapped in
the fingernail of the dead girl,

what was the color
of that hair?

It was red.

Ah.

You think it was me?

I never went near her.

It is of no matter.

Mademoiselle Patricia Lane,
she was struck down from behind,

so it would not have been
possible physically for her

to even reach the hair
of her attacker.

So what are you saying?

I have said it to you
once before, Monsieur Colin,

that it is always
the little mistakes

that the criminal ignores that
opens the door to the psychology

and so to the crime,
and so it is here.

The hair that was found
in the hand of the dead girl,

it was an act of a killer
who is too clever, too daring.

And this killer has spent
most of his life hiding a secret

he will do anything to conceal,

and this secret drives him
to acts even more daring,

even more dangerous,

that he cannot stop,
no, not even at murder.

Yes, but who, Poirot?

Who are you talking about?

I am talking about the
young man in this photograph,

Chief Inspector.

What photograph?

A photograph
that I took from the body

of Mademoiselle Patricia Lane
yesterday,

and the reason why
she had to die.

Mademoiselle Patricia Lane

was a fanatical admirer
of Sir Arthur Stanley,

and it was when she visited him
in the hospital

that she found the family album

from which she removed
a photograph.

But why did she remove
this photograph, huh?

Because she saw
to her amazement

the son of Sir Arthur Stanley,

who was living
at number 26 Hickory Road

under a name
that was assumed.

What name?

Who is he?

Et bien,now that I have
removed the bloodstain

from the photograph,

which obscured the identity
of his son...

It is plain for all to see...

For it is you.

Monsieur Chapman.

[dramatic music]

♪♪

Do you deny that your true name
is Nigel Stanley?

Come on, Mr. Poirot,
it's not a crime

to change your name,
you know.

No, Monsieur Stanley,
that was not your crime.

And besides,
you've got it all wrong,

or have you forgotten?

I was with you
when Pat was killed.

No, when you were with me,

Mademoiselle Patricia Lane,
she was already dead.

You come to us
with a story that, to me,

is a concoction
of the most obvious.

You mentioned the name Patricia
three times

to convince us that it is her
with whom you speak.

Hello, Pat.

Why are you doing this, Nigel?

I told you
I'd come here, Pat.

The Chief Inspector's here.

Why don't you talk to him,
Pat?

- All right.
- Chief Inspector.

But it is not with
Mademoiselle Patricia Lane,

for that pauvre mademoiselle

lies dead upon the floor
in her room.

Yes, this is Japp.

Chief Inspector, I think
I know who killed Celia.

But it is easy, is it not,
to imitate her voice.

You see, I saw them
with the poison.

So who is it at the other end
of the line?

I was going past Colin's room,
and--

It's impossible,
Chief Inspector.

It is your accomplice,

Mademoiselle Valerie Hobhouse.

♪ Hickory dickory ♪

[clock ticking]

I never wanted any part in it,

not the killing.

That was him.

Shut up, you little fool.

I'm sorry, Nigel,
but I can't go on anymore.

He's got nothing on you, see?

It's all just talk.
He's got nothing.

No.

I want to tell you everything,
Mr. Poirot.

I want to make a statement.

[clock chimes]

[screams]
A mouse!

[glass shattering]

After him!

" Go!

[horns honking]

Don't let him get away!

[dramatic music]

♪♪

All right, fan out, lads.

Don't let him double back.

[suspenseful music]

♪♪

Hey!

[train whirring]

All right, son,
you've got nowhere to go.

No!

" No!

We gather together
on this sad day

to bury a man whose tragic death
has foreshortened a life

that promised so much
to those who believed in him.

But in their long quest
for justice,

I know Sir Arthur lives on.

Will you all please rise?

[somber organ music]

♪♪

[engine turns over]

Ah, Monsieur Endicott.

Mr. Poirot.

You have reflected
on what I've said?

Yes, and I have no objection
to your having this,

Chief Inspector.

What is it?

It is a confession,
is it not?

That's right,

the confession of that man,
Nigel Stanley,

to the murder of his mother,
Lady Stanley, by poison.

Merci, monsieur.

He killed his mother?

Don't look so shocked, Ma.

But why?

I stole money from her,

not once, quite a few times.

Eventually she threatened
to call the police,

and when she caught me again,
well, I had to stop her.

She really was
going to turn me in.

And your father
knew it was you.

He made me
write a confession,

and if my name ever appeared
in connection with any crime,

no matter how trivial,

that confession would be
delivered to the police.

And that was why
it was so important

to keep your identity
unknown.

I think you'd better go
and pay your respects.

It was very nice of you
to bring me, Chief Inspector,

but I've really
no respects to pay.

[gasps]

It is most kind of you to
invite me here, Chief Inspector.

After staying with you
for a whole week, Poirot,

the least I could do
is offer you a spot of lunch,

wean you away from that--

Well, let you taste
some proper English cooking.

And the good Madame Japp,
it is today that she returns?

Yes, about 3:00.

There,
now, that is what I call food.

That's your mashed potato.

This is your peas--
mushy peas, we call 'em.

You'll love 'em.

And this,
the piéce de résistance:

faggots.

Faggots?

Faggots.

And there's spotted dick
for afters.

Dick?

Yes,
it's called that because...

This is tragic,
Chief Inspector.

No, no, it's fine.

I can eat
none of this wonderful food.

What?
Why?

Because I have an allergy
of the faggot.

An allergy?

Oui.

I-I do not know how you say it
in English,

but in Belgian
it is known as...

la phobie de faggot.

I never heard of that.

I'm so sorry, Chief Inspector.
I should have warned you.

Well, this is a blessed upset,
I must say.

Still, you can have
some spotted dick.

You haven't got
a phobie de dick, have you?

No.

Some cheese?

I'll have a look.

Just some camembert,
a little brie, perhaps?

Bon.

Nothing like a nice bit
of mousetrap.

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