Agatha Christie's Poirot (1989–2013): Season 9, Episode 1 - Five Little Pigs - full transcript

[ Edith Day's "Alice Blue Gown" plays ]

♪ I once had a gown ♪

♪ It was almost new ♪

♪ Oh, the daintiest thing ♪

♪ It was sweet Alice blue ♪

♪ With little forget-me-nots placed here and there ♪

♪ When I had it on ♪

♪ Oh, I walked on the air ♪

♪ And it wore ♪

♪ And it wore till it went ♪

♪ And it wasn't no more ♪



Oh!

Lucy.

Hello, darling.

The Lord is my shepherd.

I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down
in green pastures.

He leadeth me beside
the still waters.

He restores my soul.

Merci.

Santé.

LUCY: Santé.

Alors.

Mlle. LeMarchant?

For starters, M. Poirot,
that is not my name.



Pardon, but I understood
it was...

Mlle. LeMarchant
that I was to meet.

That is the name
I was given as a child.

My real name is Crale.
Lucy Crale.

Crale.
Now, I seem to remember...

Yes, my father was Amyas Crale, the artist.

And my mother was...

- Caroline...
- Caroline.

Crale.

That's right.

Yes, yes.

A story most tragique.

But it was a long time ago, yes?

14 years.

POIROT:
14 years?

You know...

I saw a picture
that your father painted...

in the Tate.

"Girl in Shadow."

"Girl in Shadow."
That was the one.

It was a composition
most striking.

Yes, he was a great painter.

His reputation is,
yes, considerable.

I'm not here to discuss his art,
M. Poirot.

I'm here because I want you
to investigate his murder.

I was 7 at the time.

Too young, really,
to know anything about it.

We lived in Devon
in a house called Alderbury.

My parents were
very much in love,

and in many ways,
it was an idyllic childhood.

But then one day, I was
suddenly taken from my home

and sent to relatives in Canada.

And finally, when I turned 21,

they were obliged
to tell me the truth.

For one thing,
I came into my own money.

And then, you see,
there's the letter.

The letter?

Which my mother wrote me
just before she died.

That was the first I knew

that my mother was hanged
for killing my father.

What did she write?

Quite simply
that she didn't do it.

She's innocent, and that
I could always be sure of that.

That is what
I want you to prove.

But why Hercule Poirot, mademoiselle?

LUCY:
I've heard about you.

The things you've done.

The way you work.

It's psychology.

It's your forte, n'est-ce pas?

C'est vrai.

My success, it is founded
on psychology,

or the why of human behavior.

It is this that I use.

Mademoiselle, it is so long since it happened.

Secrets and lies, monsieur.

The past keeps pulling me back.

It won't let me be.

And until these ghosts
are laid to rest,

I can't move on.

Bon.

I am honored
by your faith in me.

But...

...I cannot, you understand,

accept your assurance
of the innocence of your mother.

Eh bien, if she was guilty,
what then?

I have to know the truth, monsieur.

And if the truth
is not what you wish to hear?

I have to know.

From there to
a lawful place of execution,

where you will be hanged
by the neck until death.

Not one of my greatest successes, I have to say.

The defense was suicide, yes?

Didn't go down too well,
I'm afraid.

Amyas Crale simply wasn't
that kind of chap.

Wine, women, beer...

the lusts of the flesh,
you know?

The idea of his killing himself
out of conscience, well,

frankly, I don't think
he had one.

So, in your opinion,
Sir Montague,

Caroline Crale, she was guilty?

I rather thought we were
taking that for granted.

Did she ever admit as much?

M. Poirot, she didn't need to.

I knew we'd lost

as soon as she stepped
into the witness box.

She certainly had motive.

Amyas Crale was always
getting mixed up

with some woman or other,

but this was rather different.

The girl, Elsa Greer,
just turned 18.

Quite the looker, I must say.

She knew what she wanted,
and that was Amyas Crale.

She got him to paint her.

He ended up falling for her.

Caroline Crale
was overheard to say

that if he didn't give her up, she would kill him.

What was the evidence
against her?

She stole some poison
from a neighbor

who dabbled in herbs
and the like.

She hid it in a scent bottle.

And when the police
found it in her room,

she claimed she meant
to kill herself.

What she couldn't explain
was why the bottle was empty

and only her fingerprints
were on it.

We contended, of course,

that Amyas Crale had used it
to kill himself.

But if he had,

his fingerprints would
have been on it as well.

And how did she give it to him, this poison?

Used a pipette to spike his beer.

Pardon, monsieur.
Spike?

Uh... tamper.

Took him a bottle
while he was painting.

The police found the pipette

crushed near the scene
of the crime.

Oh, the prosecution
had a field day.

So...

she put the coniine in
into the bottle

before taking it to him?

No, there's no coniine
in the bottle at all.

Only in the glass.

I see.

Was that you being inscrutable, M. Poirot?

No, no, no, no.
No, pardon.

But there were, I believe,
other people present at the time?

Oh, yes, there were...
Let me think...

five, if memory serves.

Philip Blake, a stockbroker,
one of Crale's best friends.

Meredith, his elder brother,

lives across the estuary

from the house
where the murder took place.

Elsa Greer, of course.

Currently a late edition,

though nowadays
she spends most of her time

in the gossip columns
and the divorce court.

There was a governess,
Miss Wilson?

Williams, that's it.

Very capable, but not exactly
a barrel of laughs.

Then, of course,
there was Angela,

Caroline's half sister.

Oh, she'd been packed off
for school

by the time of the trial.

Poor thing.

She had, perhaps, some problems?

There was a rather unfortunate incident
when she was a toddler.

Caroline Crale, as a young girl,
threw a bit of a tantrum.

I did argue that she was not
of sound mind,

but...

fascinating creature.

I'll never forget her, you know.

She had a quality
one couldn't help but admire.

Somehow she was above it all.

What people will do
in the name of love.

It makes fools of us all,
n'est-ce pas?

Eh bien,
I thank you, Sir Montague.

You have been most helpful.

Pleasure meeting you, Poirot.

Tell to me, if you please,
if, as her daughter hopes,

Caroline Crale
did not kill her husband...

But she did, old boy.
Take my word for it.

Well, but then,
it makes the logic

that one of these five people must have done so.

There's no reason
why any of them should.

No, but all the same,
I think I should pay to them each a visit.

Get five different versions
of the same event.

PHILIP:
Thank you, Hollinghurst.

HOLLINGHURST:
Pleasure, Mr. Blake.

Perfectly good egg,
old Hollinghurst,

even though he does bat
for the other side.

Tallyho.

PHILIP:
Well, who'd have thought it?

Raising a glass
with the famous Hercule Paro.

Poirot, monsieur.
Hercule Poirot.

Poirot, Paro.

Could never get
my tongue around French.

Let's keep the old
entente cordial, eh?

But I am Belgian,
monsieur, not French.

So, what can I do for you?

The Crale case, monsieur.

It is that which I wish
to discuss with you.

What the hell for?

Because I have accepted
a commission, monsieur,

to review the case.

From whom?

Lucy Crale.

Lucy Crale?

Oui, monsieur.

Nothing to discuss.

Five minutes of your time,
M. Blake. That is all I ask.

What the hell is she poking
her nose in for now?

Because she wishes to know
the truth.

Everyone knows the truth.

But all she wishes is to
assess for herself the facts.

It's over.

Dead. Buried.

As are her parents, monsieur.

Amyas Crale was
the best friend a chap could have.

Knew each other
since we were children.

We all did...
myself, my brother, Caroline.

Neighbors, you see.

Amyas was a great fellow.

All that talent,
that lust for life

wiped out because of her.

You did not like her?

Rotten through and through.

And Amyas could never see it.

But he was also something
of a rotter, was he not?

That's what
she'd have you believe.

Oh, she liked playing
the injured party

and did it very well,

but underneath it all,
she was cold and calculating.

Had a devil of a temper.

Tried to kill her baby sister, for God's sake.

Do you say true?

Damn right.

Chucked a paperweight at her

and blinded the little blighter in one eye.

Disfigured for life.

Do you know the reason
for this fit of temper?

Sibling jealousy.
Simple as that.

And it was jealously
that made her kill Amyas.

I tell you...

that woman was trouble,
even as a girl.

The way she played us boys along.

Give us all the once over,

but finally settled on Amyas,
not surprising, really.

He was in line
to inherit Alderbury

and was showing talent
as an artist.

A rich genius.
What could be better?

It is surprising, is it not,

how soon in life
the die is cast?

Yes, I suppose it is.

Anyway, after the marriage,

I kept my distance
for a while at least.

I soon succumbed to temptation.

Temptation, monsieur?

Alderbury.

A place I couldn't resist.

Had some of the happiest times of my life
in that house.

That September,
like the sounds of childhood,

I was hoping
for a peaceful few weeks.

Uncle Phil!

But I should have known better.

Morning, Mr. Blake.

Good morning, Mrs. Spriggs.

- Good to see you again.
- Good to see you, too.

CAROLINE:
Amyas, please!

They've been at it for hours.

Hello, Uncle Phil!

Hello, there.

My, you've grown!

Angela looking after you,
is she?

No? No?

ANGELA:
Come on, Lucy, catch me.

Give her a chance, now.

Wait for me, Angela!

Why won't you
listen to me, Amyas?

Caroline, for God's sake!

Oh, that's right.
Run away like you always...

There goes the jardiniere.

There was always something
of an atmosphere.

This time you could cut it
with a knife,

and I soon saw why.

Amyas, old chap,
how the hell are you?

Lovely, isn't she?

Sometimes I wish
I'd never met her.

Thank God you've turned up.

Living in a house full of women

is enough to send any man
off his chump.

Philip, how lovely to see you.

Hello, Caroline.

Just in time for lunch.

Will Elsie be joining us?

Elsa.

Amyas is doing her portrait.

Skittish little thing.

She should watch all that sun, you know.

Can be very aging.

Things are a bit rocky
at the moment.

Is it serious, though,
Elsa and you?

It'll be a damned good painting.

That's not what I asked.

You know me, Phil.
I can't help myself.

Then things got worse.

Amyas and Caroline's
half sister Angela

had been bickering all morning.

Would you stop that please, Angela?

What?

Slurping.

I'm not slurping.

Yes, you are.

Amyas.

I thought I might try
that other kimono,

the canary yellow.

It could look rather stunning against
that water, don't you think?

Canary? How lovely.

Of course, on some people,
it might look a little...

How shall I put it?

Don't worry, Caroline.

I'm young enough
to carry it off.

We're not changing anything.

Did you hear that?

It's like feeding time
in the monkey house!

Why can't you just
leave me alone?!

Haven't seen this before.

It's by Volger Migdal,
a young Norwegian.

Extraordinary, don't you think?

Everyone's talking about him.

Got a sense of humor.
I'll give him that.

Don't you agree, Miss Williams?

Beech wood, isn't it?

Thank you, Mrs. Spriggs.

This room would be so lovely
if it weren't so cluttered.

When I'm living here,
I'll throw out all the rubbish,

which, let's face it,
is practically everything.

And I've always thought
a couple of colored curtains

would be simply divine.

Don't you think
they'd look rather lovely

in the setting sun?

Are you thinking of buying, then, Elsa?

That won't be necessary.

You seem to have lost me,
my dear.

All this pretense.
It's so dishonest.

Amyas and I love each other
and we're going to be married,

so I shall be moving in.

As I suspected, my dear,

you're completely insane.

Bloody bisque is giving me
the most frightful indigestion.

Ask Mrs. Spriggs
for some bicarbonate of soda.

Good thinking.

By the way,
Elsa says you want to marry her.

Is this true?

Is it true?

It's only fair
that she should know.

Amyas... is it true?

Then it is.

If you'll excuse me,
I'll just...

You know, looking back...

...I wouldn't be surprised

if she'd made up her mind
to kill him then.

Amyas, do tidy yourself up.

We're going over to Meredith's for tea, remember?

Oh, yes, I'd forgotten.

Philip, you should do some fishing while you're here.

The sea's probably swarming
with mackerel.

So, we all trooped off
to Merie's.

Not very merry that afternoon.

Amyas can't do this.

Looks like he's going to.

He can't just leave
his wife and child

for some slip of a girl.

She's... She's too young
to know what she's doing.

She knows, all right.

Poor old Merie.

All that sensitivity.

No use at all.

Hard to believe we come
from the same stable.

After tea,
he took us to his lab.

Coniine.

I've never heard of this.

It's distilled from the flowers of the spotted hemlock.

It's highly poisonous,

but it can be efficacious in
the treatment of whooping cough.

Then he had the cheek
to read us some classical tripe

about the death of Socrates
or Plato or some such nonsense.

MEREDITH: "The man
who administered the poison

pinched his foot
and asked if he felt it.

Socrates said no.

Then he did the same to his legs

and gradually moving upwards
in this way,

he let us see that
he was getting cold and numb.

He said that
when it reached the heart,

Socrates would be gone."

Back at H.Q. that evening,
Amyas and Angela

had a God-almighty row
about something,

but that was nothing
out of the ordinary.

I even think she might have
thrown something at him.

Can you remember what?

Good Lord, no.
It was 14 years ago.

Oh, yes.
Yes, of course.

You are being most helpful,
M. Blake.

The next morning
when I came downstairs,

I heard Amyas and Caroline
at it in the library.

I don't know where they got
the energy from.

AMYAS:
I swear to God!

You and your women.

Someday I'll kill you, Amyas.

I swear to God, I will.

Good morning.

Lovely day.

I want to get on.

I'll go change.

Don't be long.

Bloody women.

And off he went
back to his painting

while I went back inside.

Good morning.

It's too cruel.
Too cruel.

She hardly noticed me.

Now, of course, I know why.

Hello?

What the hell is the matter?

I heard these noises
in the laboratory,

so I went to have a look.

The coniine bottle
was not only out of place,

but it was practically empty,

and I swear to you, Phil,
that yesterday it was full.

Are you sure?

Of course I'm sure.

I'm very careful
about these things.

And I knew at once
it must have been Caroline.

I should have gone straight
to Amyas and warned him.

That's absurd.

Caroline wouldn't dream
of such a thing.

Then what's your explanation?

We'll discuss it after lunch.

I'll see to her packing.

What are you two up to?

- We were just...
- Oh, what a surprise.

We were just having a chat
about Angela and school.

I'm not at all sure
it's the right thing.

Sorry about that.

Hello, everybody.

I'd kill for a cold beer.

I'll send some down.

I think we could
all do with one.

And that's when it happened.

Why don't I take it?

Oh, no.
Enjoy the sun.

At the time, I reasoned
it might be jealousy,

that she couldn't stand
the thought

of the two of them
being alone together.

I should have realized,

but instead I just
sat and watched.

I had the chance to save him, and I did nothing.

You reproach yourself on duty, M. Blake.

Amyas didn't join us for lunch.

And then Caroline
took him coffee.

So calm and collected, and yet,

she must have known
by then he'd be dead.

Miss Williams went with her,
and then Meredith wandered off.

But it wasn't long
before we saw him again.

Get a doctor quick.

What's wrong?

It's Amyas.

What?

I'm afraid he's dead.

Amyas!

Phone a doctor.

I'll take care of her.

She was like an avenging fury.

I've never seen
anything like it.

You killed him!

Why?!

You've killed my dearest friend.

No!

He did it himself.

Tell that to the police.

They didn't believe her, either.

Bien, M. Blake.

The truth... it has the habit
of revealing itself.

M. Poirot.

Lady Dittisham.

Let's get on with it, shall we?

I said all I had to say about
the Crale case many years ago,

but I found your letter
rather intriguing.

How lucky you are curiosity
got the better of me.

Indeed I am, my lady.

It must be very painful
for you to recall.

Painful? No.

My father was a mill hand, worked his way up,

and made a mint.

You can't do that
with thin skin,

and I, M. Poirot,
am my father's daughter.

I am not as sensitive
as you might think.

Ah, then that makes
my task a little easier.

One so often jumps
to the wrong conclusion.

At the trial, for example,

people thought
what a terrible ordeal

it must have been for me...

the brutish questions,
the ghastly journalists,

the mindless screaming crowds.

Well, the English are a people
very marrowed, n'est-ce pas?

That's one way of looking at it.

Alors, if you did not find
the trial an ordeal,

how did you find it?

I enjoyed it.

You see, I got exactly
what I wanted.

And what was that?

Caroline Crale
at the end of a rope.

Coffee?

Thank you, Tippy.

You said in your letter
that a mademoiselle...

LeMarchant.

ELSA:
That's right.

...had commissioned you.
I don't believe I know her.

She is the daughter
of Amyas and Caroline Crale.

Oh, yes, of course.

There was a child.

Oh, dear.

Does she think it was my fault?

That is a possible interpretation, oui.

How very stupid.
Cream?

No, no, no.
Merci.

So, you take no responsibility?

Why should I?

I loved him,
and I would have made him happy,

and that woman killed him
to stop that from happening.

You have to understand...

Amyas Crale did not seduce
an innocent young girl.

It wasn't like that at all.

Elsa Greer.

As soon as I laid eyes on him,
I knew I had to have him.

I want you to paint me.

I don't do portraits.

I'm rather rich, you know.

I can afford to pay.

And what makes you think
I'd want to paint you?

But you do, don't you?

And I always get what I want.

So, when do we start?

If I paint you, you realize
I'll make love to you.

I'd have thought that went without saying.

So he invited me down
to their house.

Quite bold of him, really,

but Caroline
didn't seem to mind.

She didn't like me,
but, then, why should she?

And we never said anything
that she couldn't have overheard.

But we were more than aware
of what was going on.

What is it?

I think you ought to go back
to London.

But the picture.

You've hardly started.

I can't paint you, Elsa.

Why?

You know why.

So I left.

I didn't write or telephone.

And then after 10 days...

...he couldn't keep away.

We were together for two weeks,

and soon we realized that
we had to be together... always.

I want you to come back
to Alderbury.

I've decided to finish
the painting.

What about Caroline?

What about her?

Shouldn't you tell her?

What on earth for?

She's bound to find out
sooner or later.

We'll get the picture
finished first.

But you will tell her,
won't you?

Yes.

Promise?

Promise.

Do you think
she'll make a terrible fuss?

She always makes a fuss.

She loves me.

Then she should put
your happiness first.

He painted in a kind of frenzy.

I'd never seen him
like that before.

AMYAS:
Keep still, for God's sake.

I was convinced
we should tell her,

but Amyas wouldn't hear of it.

And then one day
I lost my patience.

Amyas and I love each other

and we are going to be married,

so I shall be moving in.

Amyas was furious,

but he had to admit
what I said was true.

And I still think I was right.

Honesty is, after all,
the best policy.

Don't you agree, M. Poirot?

Desirable, certainly,
but not always advisable.

We believe in plain speaking where I come from.

I'm very pleased to hear it, madame.

But Caroline had
a devious way about her.

When we went to Meredith's
for tea that afternoon,

she behaved as if nothing
had happened.

I even began to think
she was taking it rather well.

How wrong I was.

If you please to tell me,
Lady Dittisham,

in plain speaking, if,

when you're all assembled
in the laboratory of M. Blake,

you observed Caroline Crale
take the coniine?

No, I did not.

I seem to remember chatting
to Meredith in the doorway,

so I wouldn't have been able
to see a thing.

Caroline?

Sorry, Merie, it's such
a fascinating collection.

But of course she did take it,

and we all know why.

Perhaps not everyone
is as sure as you.

I actually heard her
threaten him.

Someday I'll kill you, Amyas.

- Don't be an idiot.
- I swear to God.

You can threaten me
all you like, but get this...

I am going to marry Elsa,
and nothing's gonna stop me.

I'll kill you
rather than let you go.

- Morning.
- For God's sake!

Lovely day.

I want to get on.

I'll go change.

Don't be long.

Which I did.

Then I went to join him,
and I poured him a beer.

She's making
a terrible song and dance.

Told you she would.

To my Mona Lisa.

My darling Amyas.

God, it's warm.

I can get you a cold one.

On that seat.

Sit down now.

He painted as if
his life depended on it.

Dear Amyas.

I loved him so much.

It happened shortly after that.

I popped up to the house
to fetch a shawl,

and when I came back,
she was there.

Sorry about that.

Hello, everybody.

I'd kill for a cold beer.

I'll send some down.

She must have known then
what she meant to do.

She brought it back
about 10 minutes later.

Oh, tastes foul.

Everything tastes foul today.

Too much bile, my dear.

It'll choke you
one of these days.

I didn't suspect a thing.

About 40 minutes later,

he complained
of stiffness and pains.

Ow! Bloody rheumatism.

Then the bell sounded for lunch,

and Meredith came to fetch me.

Amyas decided to skip lunch,
as he often did.

Old grump.
He doesn't want any lunch.

So we left him...

to die alone.

Amyas!

And I just knew it was Caroline.

How could she do that?

How could she?

It is a story most...
tragique, n'est-ce pas?

Hanging was too good for her.

M. Blake?

Little Lucy.

A grown woman.

One can hardly believe it.

Time passes swiftly,
does it not?

Poor child.

Such a terrible shock.

How much better
to let it all be.

The whole point, you see,
is that Amyas Crale was an artist,

and his art was his passion.

When he painted,
he was like a man possessed.

He meant to finish
that portrait whatever the cost.

Elsa was terrifically
enthusiastic about the painting,

and Caroline...

Yes?

I had always been...
very fond of her.

Come on, Merie, come on.

There was a time
when I'd hoped to marry her,

but that was soon
nipped in the bud.

Still, I remained,
if I may say so,

devoted to her service.

Dear God.

When I think of what
they did to her,

strung up like an animal,

such a gentle creature.

I remember
a conversation we had

shortly after it all began.

Do you think
he really cares for her?

Well, he's very committed
to the painting.

He's in love with her, isn't he?

A little, perhaps.

A great deal, I think.

There's only one person
who really cares for him.

I think that's you.

These infatuations,
they come and they go.

That's what I used to think,

but this time,
I have a feeling it's serious.

She's just a girl.

But that's the trouble.

The way she looks at him.

So intense.

I'm afraid, Meredith.

It's nothing.

I hope you're right.

But I can't help feeling
I'd like to take a hatchet to her.

A hatchet?

It's a small ax.

Yes, I know what a hatchet is, monsieur.

I was commenting, rather,
on her remark.

It was merely to make a point.

But she made her point a little more forcibly,
did she not,

with her baby sister Angela?

Oh, the paperweight.

Oui.

It was a moment
of sibling jealousy

for which
she never forgave herself.

And disfigured the girl
for life?

That was the problem.
It was a constant reminder.

She tried desperately
to make amends,

which, in turn,
made Amyas very jealous.

You knew him for many years, n'est-ce pas?

Since boyhood.

But he was always more
Philip's friend than mine.

You did not like him?

I thought his conduct was,
frankly, disgraceful.

Don't you understand?

This painting's the best thing I've done,

and I'm determined
to see it through.

No.
That is a disgrace.

The way you treat Caroline.

The way you've always
treated her.

What about Lucy,
for heaven's sake?

You can't just
throw it all away.

You're a good man, Merie,
but such an old softy.

Wait till
the picture's finished,

then you'll see I was right.

That grin he gave me.

I'll never forget Caroline
that afternoon.

She made such an effort,
and yet behind it all...

ls anything the matter, my dear?

Everything.

It's gone.

Finished.

When she said at the trial

that she took the poison
to kill herself,

I swear she was speaking
the truth.

Why did you take your guests into the laboratory?

Someone must have suggested it.

Caroline Crale, perhaps?

Well, I often took guests
into my laboratory.

It wasn't unusual.

This is Valerian.

The one that cats like?

Yes, they can't get
enough of it.

It can be used
as a sleeping draft.

Elsa, you should have a sniff.

Ohh!

I've got a lot
of pleasure from my brews,

gathering the plants at night, macerating them,

and all the rest of it.

It's astonishing how simple decoction
can work wonders.

Coniine.

I've never heard of this.

It's distilled from the flowers of the spotted hemlock.

Isn't that what Socrates took?

That's right.

You know, there's the most moving
description of his death

in Plato's "Phaedo."

Well, I could read it to you
if you'd like.

Sorry, sorry.

Must be the heat.

"The man who administered
the poison pinched his foot,

he asked if he felt it,
and Socrates said no.

Then he did the same to his legs

and gradually moving upwards
in this way,

he let us see that
he was getting cold and numb.

He said that
when it reached the heart,

Socrates would be gone."

And that is how Amyas met his fate...

...the very next day.

When did Mme. Crale take
the coniine from the bottle?

Just before she came
into the study.

I think Philip and Angela
left first, followed by Amyas.

I was in the doorway,
waiting to lock up,

having a word with Elsa.

I suppose that's when
she took it.

Caroline?

Oh, sorry, Merie, such
a fascinating collection.

Phil, it's Meredith.

Something terrible has happened.

He immediately suspected Caroline.

Quite unfairly, in my opinion.

Who else would have done it?
It must have been Caroline.

And as we approached
the water garden,

we overheard
Amyas and Caroline

having a rather
heated discussion,

I think about Angela
being packed off to school,

but I was in such a state,
I didn't pay much attention.

It's all settled.

I'll see to her packing.

Philip blamed himself
for not acting sooner.

But how on earth could anyone
have assumed at that point

that someone had murder in mind?

I needed time to think.

So just before lunch,

I sat above the water garden where
Amyas was painting Elsa.

I can sit there like
a Roman empress in the coliseum.

So radiant.

Full of life.

More alive than any person
I've ever known.

The blind confidence of youth.

Bloody rheumatism.

Old grump.
He doesn't want any lunch.

The problem was

he often looked like that
when he was working,

so I didn't think
anything of it.

Elsa?

I could eat a horse.

You know, I do so wish that...

What?

Well, that you and Amyas
would stop it.

Just stop it.

He has a wife and child.

His place is with them.

Oh, Meredith.

After lunch,
we had coffee on the terrace.

Caroline took a cup
down to Amyas,

and Miss Williams
accompanied her.

I followed shortly afterwards,
I think, to walk off my lunch.

WILLIAMS:
Mr. Blake!

Mr. Blake!

What's wrong?

A terrible thing!

What on earth is it?

Uh...

Mr. Crale...

he's dead.

Would you be so kind
as to call a doctor?

My God.

Get a doctor quick.

What's wrong?

- It's Amyas.
- What?

I'm afraid he's dead.

Amyas!

Poor child.

She just couldn't believe

that life could play
so cruel a trick.

Caroline stood there
quite calmly

and said he must have
done it himself.

So, you are
perfectly convinced, monsieur,

that she was guilty?

She was provoked in the extreme.

But you do not believe
it was suicide?

Caroline did it.
I'm sure of it.

And anyway...

What if she didn't?

Hercule Poirot, mademoiselle.

Lucy Crale.

She must have been very young
when last you saw her.

Seven and a half.

Charming.

Little too quiet.

Lived in a world of her own.

If you please to tell me, mademoiselle,

her parents,
they were most devoted, yes?

One does occasionally find,
M. Poirot,

a husband and wife
so wrapped up in each other

that the child hardly seems
to impinge.

So more like lovers
than husband and wife?

If that's how
you wish to put it.

Did you like Mme. Crale?

Yes, I was very fond of her.

And your pupil?

Angela was a most interesting, if difficult, girl.

I cherished the belief

that I've played a modest part in her success.

Have you read her book
on the tombs in the Fayum?

Sadly, no.

It's compelling stuff.
Read it.

Yes.
Ah, yes.

Yes, I shall.

You must have been upset when
she was sent away to school.

No, no, not at all.

Her homelife was hardly
what one would term "ideal."

Caroline indulged her.

Amyas got jealous.

He and Angela would fight.

She'd end up
playing some spiteful trick.

Although, of course,
far greater ructions prevailed.

You mean Elsa Greer?

Exactly.

What was your opinion of her?

She was thoroughly unprincipled.

And also very much in love.

His death must have been for her
a shock most terrible.

And it was entirely her fault.

Mlle. Greer?

The way she carried on.

She even had the insolence

to suggest
they were going to marry.

It's only fair
that she should know.

Amyas, is it true?

Then it is.

The look she gave him...

magnificent.

And then she walked out,
head held high,

her grace and dignity unsullied.

Was she aware of how much
you admired her?

I believe.

I hope that I adequately expressed
my support for her.

- Mrs. Crale?
- Not now, Miss Williams.

I just wanted to...

Another time, please.

Yes, of course.
I'm sorry.

I think you're wonderful.

Oh, but you don't know.

And then...

Mademoiselle?

And then they all went to tea
at Meredith Blake's,

and that evening after dinner,

the usual arguments began
about Angela and school.

Now, you listen to me.

The fees are paid.
The uniforms bought.

I'm not going!

It's a lovely school, darling.

It's right in the middle
of the downs.

I'm sure you'll make lots
of nice friends.

I don't want any friends.

You won't get any
if you carry on like this.

Why do you want
to get rid of me?

Nobody wants to get rid of you.

You know we all love you.

He doesn't!

He wouldn't care
if he never saw me again.

Too right.

Always screeching
like a fishwife.

You'd know all about them.

Now, look here, girly!

I wish you were dead!

Angela!

I followed Angela
to her room

and reprimanded her sharply.

The next morning was so beautiful, I fondly thought

it might restore some peace
to our lives.

Little did I know it was
the harbinger of murder.

Angela!

Angela had yet again disappeared,

I thought, for a swim,
but there was no sign of her.

Angela!

So I returned to the house.

Mrs. Crale was about
to serve some beer before lunch,

so I offered to help her.

We went to the cellar,
which was used for cold storage.

As we arrived, we found Angela

behaving in
a most suspicious manner.

What on earth
are you doing with that?

I was just...

I hope you weren't
thinking of drinking it.

I'll take it, if you don't mind.

Would you mind serving
the others?

I'll pop this down to Amyas.

And all this time Mlle. Greer

was sitting for M. Crale?

Yes.

Oh, he got what he deserved.

Well, he acted very badly,
oui, c'est vrai,

but he was, well,
a great artist, n'est-ce pas?

Great?

Couldn't even draw.

His perspective was terrible.

His anatomy
was all over the place.

I know what I'm talking about.

I studied art as a girl
in Florence.

Tell me, mademoiselle,

you were with Mme.
Crale when she discovered the body, yes?

No, not exactly.

We went down from the house together after lunch.

She was taking Mr. Crale
some coffee,

and I was going to the beach
to look for Angela's jersey.

Amyas?

Amyas!

Mrs. Crale?

It's Amyas.

He's dead.

Mr. Blake!

I bumped into Meredith Blake.

I told him the terrible news

and asked him
to telephone the doctor.

I was most concerned
about Mrs. Crale.

I didn't want her
to be left alone.

Did you get an impression

of what Mme. Crale was thinking at that time?

It was impossible to tell.

She was stunned.

What view did she adopt officially as to his death?

Suicide.

But even in private to you?

She had no doubt whatsoever.

Oh.

And what did you say to her?

Is that chair uncomfortable,
mademoiselle?

It's perfectly comfortable, thank you.

You were about to tell me?

I...I think I said,

"Certainly, Mrs. Crale,
it must have been suicide."

- Did you believe that?
- No, I did not,

but understand this...
I was entirely on her side.

So, you would have liked
to have seen her acquitted?

Well, of course I would.

A woman of honor, of dignity,

hanged like a carcass
in a butcher shop.

Poor Lucy.

Having to be confronted
by all of this.

Still, it is always better
to face the truth.

But there is more to it
than that.

She wants to prove her mother
to be innocent.

Then her wish
will not be granted.

Before she was hanged,

Caroline Crale wrote
to her daughter a letter

in which she solemnly swears
her innocence.

It would perhaps
have been better

to tell her daughter
not to judge.

You seem very sure of her guilt.

It's hard to believe otherwise.

And yet you profess
to have loved her.

I did love her.

I did.

If that is all...

Yes, yes, of course.

Thank you very much
for your time, mademoiselle.

You have been most helpful.

I know that she was guilty, monsieur,

without a shadow of a doubt.

May I ask how?

After bumping
into Meredith Blake

and informing him
of Mr. Crale's death,

I returned to the water garden.

Mrs. Crale was not in command
of herself as I implied.

It was the fear on her face
that told me the truth.

That's when I knew she
had poisoned her husband,

and I, for one,
do not blame her.

She never knew what I'd seen,

and I never told her.

In fact, I never told anybody.

During the trial,
I was never asked a question

to which I returned
an untrue answer,

but I was guilty
of withholding certain facts,

and I do not repent of that,
M. Poirot.

I would do so again.

...was in fact
just as corrupt and venal

as society is today.

Since then, there have been other key excavations,

but none as remarkable
as Chuga Bazaar.

Thank you.

Thank you so much for coming.

Thank you.
Bye-bye.

Hercule Poirot, mademoiselle.

The Chuga Bazaar dig
was quite simply extraordinary.

Did you read my account of it
in "National Geographic"?

Sadly, no,
I have not yet had...

Very definitive,
though I do say so myself.

Little Lucy.
Yes, I'd like to see her.

You have not kept in contact?

No, not nearly as much as
I should have done.

I think it's admirable she wants to
clear her mother's name.

Then you approve?

Of course.

Caroline didn't do it.
I've always known that.

You surprise me, mademoiselle.

Everyone else with whom
I have spoken...

I know, I know.

Circumstantial evidence
was overwhelming.

That's frankly why I've never
attempted anything myself.

I knew my sister extremely well.

She quite simply couldn't have killed anyone.

But human nature has
the infinite capacity to surprise.

Oh, not in this instance.

How can you be so certain?

Because I am.

Ah. But I'm afraid, mademoiselle,

that that will not stand up
in court.

Just as well, I was never
called to give evidence.

But if you had been?

This is why I know.

But for many, that would prove the exact opposite.

As they claimed at the trial.

This was a moment's rage.

It haunted her
for the rest of her life.

She never forgave herself.

As a result,
she was constantly on her guard.

I'm not saying she was meek
or timid, quite the opposite,

but murder?

Never, never.

It was an idyllic summer
in so many ways,

what I can remember of it.

Oh, come on, Lucy, do shoot me.

That's the whole point.

ANGELA: If only that woman
hadn't come into our lives.

All this pretense.
It's so dishonest.

Amyas and I love each other
and we're going to be married,

so I shall be moving in.

Then when Amyas came out...

Why did Elsa say
she's going to marry you?

How the devil did you hear that?

The window's open.

It's damned rude, eavesdropping.

But why did she say it?

- It was a joke.
- Didn't sound very funny to me.

Enough, all right?!

Come on.

And then on our way
to tea at Meredith's,

I confronted Caroline.

Is it true?

What, darling?

That Elsa
is going to marry Amyas?

Only after I'm dead.

The rest of the day's a blur.

I can remember Meredith
reading something

rather beautiful about Socrates.

"He said that
when it reached the heart,

Socrates would be gone."

And then Amyas
and I having a real humdinger

after dinner.

Now, look here, girly!

I even think
I threw something at him.

And then the next day,
the day it happened,

again, it's all very vague

up until the point Meredith
came punting down the path.

I kept saying to myself,

"Amyas is dead,"

but it didn't seem real.

Then the doctor came,
the police came.

They brought him up
to the house.

I want you to go
to grandma's with Lucy.

No, no,
I don't want to go.

I want to stay with you.

I know, my darling,
but it's best that you do.

It'll be easier that way, believe me.

No, please, I don't want
to leave you.

For me, my darling,
do it for me,

and you must try not
to think about it.

There's nothing to worry about,

I promise.

And that was
the last time I ever saw her.

The end of summer.

It was the end of childhood.

A few days later,
she was arrested.

I was sent to school in Germany.

Lucy was sent to relatives
in Canada.

Just before she was hanged,
she wrote me a letter.

I've never shown it to anyone.

I think you should read it.

Merci, mademoiselle.

My darling Angela,

I want you to know
that it is all all right.

I have never lied to you,

and I don't now
when I say that I am happy,

that I feel a peace
that I've never known before.

It's remarkable.

She was a remarkable person.

And innocent.

But the letter,
it does not say so explicitly.

Because she didn't need
to say it.

Then how do you think
Amyas Crale died?

Suicide.

But is that not
out of character?

As you said before,

human nature has an infinite capacity to surprise.

Ah.

Then you can see
no other explanation?

You mean someone else
might have killed him?

Oui.

I think it unlikely.

But if for one second,
we consider the possibility,

what then?

I would say Philip Blake
might be your man.

Now, that interests me
very much, mademoiselle.

May I ask why?

I cannot see what possible motive he could have.

He was the best friend
of Amyas Crale, n'est-ce pas?

Or were the two men rivals, perhaps, over Elsa?

Not Elsa.

One night that summer,

I got up to go to the bathroom,

and as I opened the door,

I saw Caroline coming
out of Philip's bedroom.

She had a look on her face
at the time

I didn't really understand,

but looking back...

I got the impression
from M. Blake

that always he disliked
your sister.

I have, I confess,

precious little experience
of affairs of the heart,

but what other explanation
could there possibly be?

This could be a disaster.

You can trust me, mademoiselle.

[ Edith Day's "Alice Blue Gown" plays ]

♪ I once had a gown ♪

♪ It was almost new ♪

♪ Oh, the daintiest thing ♪

♪ It was sweet Alice blue ♪

It warms my heart to see you
all together again.

Is Lucy joining us?

This is, uh, very good of you, Mrs. Spriggs.

A pleasure, sir.
It is really.

I'm very proud of you, my dear.

I wish someone would tell us
the point of all this.

If you will excuse me.

Lady Dittisham, I am delighted
that you could make it.

I hope it's worth it.

God, this place
is falling apart.

I thought that before
we join the others...

I'd kill for a martini.

...we might have a little word.

You don't let up, do you?

To come straight to the point...

I'm pleased to hear it.

After the trial,

did Meredith Blake show
any interest in you at all?

Animals!

Stupid, unthinking animals!

Oh, what a terrible ordeal
for you, my dear.

What a brave girl you are.

Elsa...

I've had special feelings for you
ever since we met, you know,

and now you're
all alone in the world.

Oh, do shut up.

Were you not surprised?

Just faintly nauseated.

Can I have my martini now?

But of course.

Well, what a hoot.

Can't one have a moment's peace?

You were not entirely honest with me, I think,

when we had our chat in London.

Is that so?

Yes, indeed, M. Blake.

On at least one night
during that summer,

Mme. Crale was seen
coming out of your room

at an hour
somewhat compromising.

Who told you that?

It's none of your
damn business.

I am afraid that it is, monsieur,

if this matter is to be
laid to rest.

She thought she might
try it on.

He's gonna leave me.
I know he is.

I can't bear the thought
of being without him.

On, Philip.

Philip.

Sometimes I get so lonely,
I feel I'm going mad.

She always thought
she could get what she wanted.

But that didn't wash with me.

I think you better
go back to bed.

So, you see,

when I said I didn't like her,

I wasn't telling fibs.

No.

Merci, monsieur.

Actually...

It's not quite true.

M. Blake, are you all right?

It was such a mess.

Always has been.

Ever since we were children,

and she was always ready
with some snide remark.

Amyas and I,

we...

...we were true friends.

She couldn't stand it.

He meant everything to me.

Everything.

Meredith knew, I think.

Caroline suspected it.

Nothing she could say
changed anything.

It's Amyas, isn't it?

It's still Amyas.

You just can't get him
out of your head.

Do you have any idea
how pathetic you are?

Just made me hate her
all the more.

I, uh...

I trust you'll keep this
to yourself.

Of course.

Hmm.

Not that I care much anyway.

How kind of you to come.

Do you think we could get on
with the business at hand?

Indeed, monsieur, I was about
to suggest the very same.

Et alors, where to begin, hein?

As you know, it was my purpose
to discover the truth

about the murder of Amyas Crale.

We all know the truth.

Yes, indeed, M. Blake.

But sometimes what we accept
as the truth

may not be the full story,
n'est-ce pas?

And sometimes...

It may not be true at all.

D'accord.

This is what I learned.

That at no time
did Caroline Crale

protest her innocence,

except in her letter
to her daughter.

That in the dock,
she showed no fear.

That in her letter
to her sister,

she expressed acquiescence
in her fate.

And in the opinion
of everyone...

pardon... with one exception
most notable...

Caroline Crale was guilty.

Of course she was.

But it was not for me to accept
the verdict of others, no.

It was necessary for me
to examine the facts

and to ensure that
the psychology of this case

accorded itself with them.

Now, there is no doubt whatever that
she had the ample motive,

and much of the evidence,
it tells against her...

the scent bottle
discovered in her room.

The poison that she admitted
to stealing.

The row with her husband

in which she had threatened
to kill him.

None of this seems
incorrect psychologically.

But then we come to something
that does not quite ring true.

After Meredith Blake
discovers the poison is missing,

he rows over here to discuss
it with his brother.

On the way up to the house,
they overhear a discussion

between Caroline Crale
and her husband

on the vexed subject of Angela
being sent away to school.

It's shameful behavior, Amyas.

You're being so hard on her.

We'll discuss this after lunch.

I'll see to her packing.

Now, that does strike me as odd.

They have just had
a row most horrific

in which she has threatened to kill him,

and yet a short time later,

they're having an argument relatively trivial

in which M. Crale says
he will see to Angela's packing.

Now, does that not strike you as strange?

Why should he do her packing when there is a sister

or the governess
or the housekeeper?

I did not know M. Crale,

but, you know,
somehow I cannot picture him

folding neatly the skirts,
the blouses, or the underwear.

Another thing
that struck me as odd...

having just threatened
to kill him,

Caroline Crale offers to bring
to her husband a cold beer.

A simulation.

You think so?

But if she intends
to poison him,

would it not be
more intelligent to, uh...

Oh, what is the word?

Spike the supply of beer

that he has in the water garden
when no one was about, hmm?

Alors, Caroline Crale brings
to him the beer from the house.

He drinks it.

He says,
"Everything tastes foul today,"

and after lunch,
she finds him dead.

We know all this.

Oui, oui, bien stir, but, um...

Now I offer some information which is new.

After asking Meredith Blake
to call for a doctor,

Mlle. Williams returns
to the water garden.

You actually saw her do that?

- Well, that settles it.
- Not necessarily.

That is what I saw.

With only your word for it.

I'm not accustomed
to having my word doubted.

And I do not doubt it,
Mlle. Williams.

I believe what you saw
took place

exactly as you say that it did,
and because of what you saw,

I know that Caroline Crale
was not guilty.

Well, how the hell
did you work that out?

Oh, do calm down.

I will tell it to you.

Mlle. Williams
saw Caroline Crale

wipe off the fingerprints
from the beer bottle

and impose the prints
of her husband onto it...

onto the bottle mark.

The coniine was in the glass, not the bottle.

The police found no traces of it in the bottle.

No coniine had ever been
in the bottle.

And Caroline Crale,
she did not know that.

She, who has poisoned
her husband,

did not know
how he had been poisoned?

So why make it look
like suicide?

Because she knew
who was the culprit

and would do anything

rather than let that person
be suspected.

So, who could it be?

There was only one person

whom she would be willing
to protect at all costs.

Mlle. Warren...

I would like to read the letter
your sister wrote to you.

No.

But, mademoiselle...

I've realized what
you're suggesting.

I deny it utterly.

That letter was meant
for my eyes only.

Angela, please.

No!

For my mother's sake.

Please.

Merci, mademoiselle.

"My darling Angela,

I want you to know
that it is all all right.

I have never lied to you,

and I don't now
when I say that I am happy..."

...that I feel a peace
that I've never known before.

Don't look back,
and don't grieve for me.

Live your life and succeed.

It's all all right, my darling.

It's all all right.

I'm going to Amyas,
and I'm happy,

and you must be, too.

One has to pay one's debts.

"Your loving sister, Caroline."

it is a beautiful letter, no?

And also quite remarkable

for it contains one omission that is most striking.

There is no protestation
of innocence.

Because it was unnecessary.

Oui, bien sûr,
because she thought her sister

knew that she was innocent

for the best of
all possible reasons,

and her only concern
was to comfort, to reassure,

and to avert the possibility
of you having to confess.

"It's all all right, my darling.

It's all all right."

She wanted me to be happy.

- It's as simple as that.
- Yes, indeed.

And so that the burden of
your guilt may not be too great,

she tells to you,
"One must pay one's debts."

And now at last, she has
the chance to repay the debt

she owes you for the injury

she caused you
all those years before.

And now the trial,
the sentence...

nothing can touch her...

because finally,
she felt redeemed.

She felt, well,
at peace with herself.

And in the light of this,

everything falls into place.

Now, look here, girly!

I wish you were dead!

When Angela threw
the paperweight at Amyas Crale,

the memory that haunts her
is brought to life most vividly.

Then the next morning,
she sees Angela tampering with a beer.

I'll take it, if you don't mind.

Which she then brings to Amyas.

It's foul.

Everything's foul today.

And after lunch,

she finds him dead.

Alors, she is convinced
he has been poisoned,

but who could have done it?

And then suddenly it hits her.

The resentment of Angela
over the school.

Her disapproval of Elsa.
Her rage the night before.

Her tampering with the beer,

and she remembers,
oh, so well...

her own violent emotions
at that age.

So, yes, Angela.

It has to be.

And the one thought
that springs into her mind...

...is how to protect her.

So she wipes the fingerprints from the bottle,

puts her husband's there instead

to make it look like suicide,

sends Angela out of the country as soon as
possible,

hoping against hope...

that she does not confess.

But if I'd done it,
of course I'd have confessed.

I'd never have let Caroline suffer for what I'd done.

But you did tamper
with the beer, did you not?

I can't remember that.

M. Blake...

you say that you heard
a noise in the laboratory

on the morning of the murder?

Yes.
It was probably a cat.

Or probably not.

I would suggest, rather,

it was someone who
got in through the sash window

and took something
from the shelf.

The Valerian.

Ah.

To put in Amyas' drink.

I remember taking it.

Oh, Angela.

Was it really that day?

Oui, mademoiselle.

This is Valerian.

The one that cats like.

They can't get enough of it.

And it was
the description of it by M. Blake

which gave to you the idea.

Yes.

I remember getting out some beer

and Caroline catching me before
I could put the stuff in it.

I never connected it
with that particular day.

She thought it was me.

Oh, I didn't kill him.

I didn't kill him!

Of course not, my dear.

Can't you see
she's telling the truth?

I see it quite clearly

because I know very well
who killed him.

Don't you think you're milking it a bit, old man?

It is the oldest story
in the world.

Two women and one man.

But what we have taken
for granted

is that the man would leave
his wife for the other woman.

But I would like
to suggest to you now

that he had no intention
of doing anything of the kind.

After all, the women he had
fallen in love with in the past

never expected
too much from him,

but this time, it was different.

She was just a girl

who saw the world
in black and white.

She had the passion for him,

and so assumed he had for her.

She assumed without question
it was for life,

so naturally,
he would leave his wife.

He said he would.

A little white lie, perhaps.

All he really wanted was
to finish the painting,

and nothing could be allowed
to stand in the way.

And when Elsa Greer
let the cat from the bag,

he was furious.

But he was not concerned unduly.

After all, Caroline had only
to put up with things

for a few days longer, then
he would tell her the truth,

and she would believe him,
as so often before.

And Elsa Greer,

she would get over it
soon enough.

But by that last evening,

I believe that he was getting
worried that Caroline Crale

was taking things
more seriously than usual.

And by the following morning,

I think that he had decided
to come clean.

You're the only woman
in my life, Caroline.

You always were.
You always will be.

You know that.
She is nothing to me.

Nothing.

She was, yes.

She knocked me for six to start with,
but now it's gone.

It's over.
I swear to God.

She's just a kid.

A passing fancy, that's all.

You and your women.

Someday I'll kill you, Amyas.

Don't be an idiot.

I swear to God, I will.

What he did not know

was that Elsa Greer
had overheard every word.

And the account that she gave
to me of the conversation

was not the true one.

You're very sure of yourself, aren't you, M. Poirot?

Of this, Lady Dittisham,
yes, I am.

When Amyas Crale came down
and said he wanted to get on,

you said you had to go
and change,

which you did...

eventually.

I wonder,
do you realize how angry

was Mme. Crale with her husband

for his treatment of you?

How very touching.

When Philip Blake
encountered her

coming out of the library...

Good morning.

It's too cruel.
Too cruel.

It was of you she was thinking.

I wonder what she would have thought
had she known that,

at that very moment,

you were in her room
preparing to murder her husband

and put the blame on her.

You see, something else that
I am sure of, Lady Dittisham,

is that in the laboratory
on the previous afternoon,

you would have seen
Caroline Crale steal the poison.

M. Blake had his back
to the room

while he was talking to you,

so it was perfectly possible
for you to see her...

the only person
who could do so.

Sorry, Merie, it's such
a fascinating collection.

And once you had the poison,

you went to join Amyas
in the garden...

poured him some beer.

To my Mona Lisa.

And he tossed it back
in his usual manner.

My darling Amyas.

As he painted,
you watched and watched,

waiting for the poison
to take its effect.

A short time later,
you went to fetch a shawl,

and Caroline Crale again
took the opportunity

to confront her husband
on your behalf.

It's shameful behavior.
You're being so hard on her.

For God's sake!

It's all settled.
I'll send her packing.

And it was this that
the Blake brothers misheard

on their way up from the jetty.

An error that is understandable, n'est-ce pas?

You then returned with a shawl,

and then Caroline Crale,
she played straight into your hands

for she brought to her husband

a bottle of cold beer.

Ugh! Tastes foul.

Everything tastes foul today.

"Everything tastes foul today."

Which suggests that he had tasted
something else unpleasant

before the beer

that Caroline Crale
had brought to him.

And so you sat
and posed and chatted

and waved to Meredith Blake.

Oh, you played
your part beautifully.

Bloody rheumatism.

While Amyas Crale painted
on and on

until his limbs failed

and his speech thickened

and he lay sprawled there on the bench

helpless with his mind still clear.

When Meredith Blake appeared
from the shade of the path

into the sunlit garden,

he could not see clearly.

Only his friend
turning slowly around,

unable to convey to him the fact

that he was in the grip
of a paralysis that was fatal.

En route to the house,
you crushed the pipette underfoot.

The traces of which
the police later found.

And then went to lunch,

leaving Amyas Crale to his fate.

Thank you, M. Poirot.

Mademoiselle.

Amyas dead.

Caroline hanged.

After all these y...

After all these years.

You're very clever, aren't you?

I hope you don't expect me
to confess.

So, what are you going to do?

I shall do what I can to induce
the appropriate authorities

to grant to Caroline Crale
the posthumous free pardon.

And me?

What are you going to do
about me?

I shall lay my conclusions
before the necessary people.

If they decide that there is
a case against you, they may act.

But it is my opinion...

...that the evidence
is not sufficient.

Inferences only, huh?

Not facts.

Moreover, I believe they
will not be anxious to proceed

against a...

person in your position.

When I saw Caroline
take the coniine,

I thought she meant
to kill herself.

But the next morning

when I overheard them talking about me, I...

I loved him

and he was just
stringing me along

and she felt sorry for me.

I watched him die, M. Poirot,

and I never felt more alive.

But what I didn't understand
was that I was killing myself.

It was as if
they hadn't died at all,

but I had.

I died, M. Poirot.

Elsa!

Come on, then, Lucy.

Shoot me.

You know you want to.

Do not listen to her, mademoiselle.

That's right.

Just pull the trigger.

If you do, she will have won.

Come on, do it.

You're not afraid, are you?

You kill her, you kill yourself.

Just one little squeeze.
That's all it takes.

Spare her, mademoiselle,
and justice may still be done.

Lucy, shoot me.

SubRip: HighCode