Please, please,
you must come quick.
There's a woman lying dead
out on the moors.
It's alright, miss.
No need for you to take another look.
Ruber.
Alice. Mrs.
I'd say she's been dead
for no more than two hours.
Say four o'clock at the outside
for time of death.
Hercules Parrot, sir.
Poirot, mademoiselle.
Pucker your lips as though
about to bestow a kiss! Poi-rot.
Morning, Poirot.
I hope you have good news.
This case has been hanging fire
for four months.
No, I'm afraid
it's one of those rare cases
where an insurance company must, er...
...laugh and lump it.
Very well.
The usual 100 guineas, I take it?
By the way, Poirot...
Take a look at this.
It is the property
of Sir Horace Blatt.
He is seeking to insure it
with us for 50,000.
Well, on the face of it,
it seems to be worth every penny of...
...38 pounds, seven
shillings and sixpence.
You are of course quite right.
It is paste.
The question is why should
a millionaire industrialist
perpetrate such an obvious fraud?
Precisely. He must have known
the stone would be examined.
So you see,
there is something of a mystery.
Rest assured, with Hercule Poirot,
mysteries never last for long.
Exactly. We were wondering if you would
undertake to investigate the matter.
You know that you can count on
my discretion.
Very well, I will see Sir Horace...
this afternoon.
Hardly this afternoon, I think.
He's on his yacht, the Jolly Roger,
in the south of France.
Would a further 200 meet the case?
Guineas.
It will make my forthcoming holidays
even more attractive.
So that's your game, is it?
You come out here and as near as dammit
accuse me, Horace Blatt, of fraud?
Do you seriously think
that I'd cheat the insurance company
over one bloody jewel?
I am worth millions, Poirot.
Nevertheless, I'm afraid
it's quite worthless, monsieur.
God, I could wring her bloody neck!
If you would care to confide in me,
I should be most honoured.
Alright, I'll tell you this much.
A couple of months back,
I met a certain lady in New York.
She told me she was
so madly in love with me
that she'd leave the show she was in...
She was an actress, you know.
...and come back to England with me
on the Queen Mary and marry me.
So I bought her this stone
from Tiffany's.
Halfway across the Atlantic, she changed
her mind and ran off with another man.
I wouldn't have minded,
only she took the jewel with her.
That wasn't a fair do.
You see, I had given her it
in contemplation of marriage.
And, frankly,
$100,000 is a bit much to pay
for three days' fumbling
on the high seas.
Oh, monsieur, who can put a price on
les affaires de coeur?
I bloody can.
And this was too high.
So, three weeks ago,
I went after her and demanded it back.
Of course she tried to put me off, but
after a week or so she gave it to me
and I sent it along to be insured and...
She'd had the bloody thing copied,
hadn't she?
It would appear to be
the only explanation, monsieur.
Well, she's not gonna make
a chump out of me.
I happen to know that in three days'
time she'll be down at Daphne's place
for a little holiday.
I'll give her a little holiday!
Daphne's place?
Yes, you know, Daphne Castle.
She was a mistress of
the King of Tyrania for years,
then when he upped and married
the present queen
he gave Daphne
an old summer palace to keep her quiet.
She's turned it into one of those
exclusive la-di-da hotels
where the nobs and nancies
come to squawk at each other.
I can't stand it meself,
but she's good sort.
Anyway, you'd better come with me.
We can sail tonight.
Alas, monsieur.
Ever since I was a small boy,
I have suffered from le mal de mer.
It needed all my courage
to make this small trip.
I will take the train
and join you there.
Mes compliments a Monsieur Jerome.
Waiter?
Could I have another brandy
and the bill, please?
Patrick!
You haven't got time for another!
- The steamer leaves at 11:00!
- Of course I have!
You have the baggage sent down.
Why do I always have
to do everything?
Monsieur Poirot, your reservation
on the night train has been confirmed.
The tickets will be
at the desk.
Thank you.
Er...
I must go. I've got to catch
that damn boat
What on earth's wrong, Rex?
You look fearfully glum.
You're supposed to be enjoying yourself.
God knows you're paying enough for it!
Don't I know it?
As a matter of fact, Daphne,
I was wondering if you would care
to trade my bill for a super
piece in New Yorker?
You know the sort of thing.
"Farewell courtesan, hello inn-keeper. "
Darling, I'd love to help. But it's not
publicity I need, it's the cash.
Oh, good God, darling,
don't we all?
How are the Gardeners
this morning?
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale,
their infinite vulgarity.
Good morning, Gardeners.
Everything tickety-boo?
Good morning.
Sure, Daphne.
But I could wish that my shower worked
as snappily as the one that
I've got back home in New York City.
Oh, you can't expect American plumbing
in the Adriatic.
I guess not.
Well, at least we've got a shower.
A cousin of Odell's was at
some place in Yugoslavia last year
and had to wash in a kind of shack
in a field. Isn't that so, Odell?
It wasn't my cousin, Myra,
it was my aunt.
It was your cousin,
Thelma Snatchball.
OK, if you insist.
But there were two shacks.
One for the guests
and one for the staff.
It was very... stylish.
Boat's coming in, Daphne.
Prepare to repel boarders.
That'll be Arlena.
Do you mean Arlena Stuart?
No, Arlena Marshall. She remarried
a couple of months ago.
Oh, good God, darling, I didn't know
she was coming. Oh, how marvellous!
I am her greatest fan.
It will just make my vacation.
Did any of you happen to see that
last show of hers,Hail and Farewell?
Hail and farewell, I'll never tell
You've cast a spell over me...
We produced it.
Remember, dear?
Oh, good God, darlings,
I plumb forgot.
Isn't that the one that
she walked out on after just three weeks
and your biggest hit in years?
You know damn well it was.
And just what was that?
A sudden breakdown in health?
More like a sudden attack of
gold digging.
Which rather turned it into
"Sail and Farewell", eh?
Funny man.
Well, if that's Arlena, she must be
being dressed by Woolworths these days.
Oh, that's the Redferns. Patrick
and Christine, I seem to remember.
Excuse me, I must put my hostess hat on.
Anyway, darlings,
it must have cost you a pretty bundle
closing a hit show like that.
Would either of you
care to comment?
Why don't you go
and play with yourself?
Excessively.
Is coarseness a substitute
for wit, I ask myself.
Hello! I'm Daphne Castle.
Welcome to the island.
How do you do?
Looks lovely. I'm sure
we'll have a nice time here.
Oh. And a naughty one,
too, I hope.
- Would you care to sign in?
- Naughty?
What are the holidays for,
if you can't do a spot of flirting
and get a bit pissy boots?
Quite right. Do you fancy a walk
around the island before lunch, dear?
Patrick! You know perfectly well
that I've got a splitting headache
and I've got all the
unpacking to do.
Andrea will show to your room,
if you like.
Thank you.
After two days
on that suffocating steamer
I would have really thought that
you'd have more consideration for me.
Anyway, I'm no good at...
Thank you for those three hours
of pure and unadulterated hell.
This may come as a nasty surprise
to you,
but shock absorbers have been standard
on motorized vehicles for 30 years.
Stop playing boules with my Vuitton!
Linda, you gormless oaf, do something!
Like what?
Like stop them, cretin.
Kenneth! This is a nightmare.
Take it easy, Arlena.
We'll soon be there.
Soon can't be soon
enough for me.
Of all the dreadful
journeys...
Isn't that the absurd little man
we saw in the station at Tirana?
Pinched the only decent taxi
from under your nose.
Yes,
I do believe it is.
Good morning.
Since we are all obviously going
to Daphne's island,
I'd better introduce myself.
I'm Kenneth Marshall
and this is my wife, Arlena.
- Hercule Poirot. Enchante, madame.
- Charmed.
This is my stepdaughter, Linda.
Do stop standing there like a coughdrop
and say good morning to Monsieur Poirot.
- Morning.
- Bonjour.
Was your journey as frightful as ours,
Monsieur Poirot?
Alas, I fear the sea
more than the land, madame.
Oh, Mr Marshall,
I implore you not to spoil them.
- We have to pay double on the way home.
- It's only a 20-minute boat trip.
You'll find it all worthwhile
once we get to the island, I assure you.
You mean you've been there before?
Yes, I was there for a few days
three years ago.
After the death of my first wife.
God's teeth!
Don't worry, darling.
It's only the noonday gun.
The noonday gun?
Yes, it's fired every day
at 12 o'clock
to commemorate the glorious victory of
Kosovo-Metohija in 1193.
I am reliably informed that
a mere handful of Tyranian cavalry
routed over 50,000
barbarous Bosnian fanatics.
The only military success
in their entire history.
One success too many.
Arlena!
Arlena, darling, I love you!
That tub was even more uncomfortable
than that damned taxi.
What if the bitch
refuses to do the show?
We'll lose all our backers,
that's what.
After all, we sell the
show on her name.
To think our futures are riding
on that snake-eyed hussy!
Welcome to the island, everybody!
Kenneth, oh,
it's marvellous to see you!
Absolutely marvellous.
It must be at least two years
since you were last on the island.
It's three, actually. Wonderful to be
here. You never met Linda, did you?
No! No, I didn't.
Hello! Hello, Linda.
Welcome to the island.
And I don't think
you know Arlena.
Oh! Oh, yes.
Yes, I do.
Arlena and I are old
sparring partners.
Hello, Daphne.
- Oh, it's been years.
- Well, a little time, yes.
Years.
Arlena and I were in
the chorus of a show together,
not that I could ever compete.
Even in those days, she could always
throw her legs up in the air
higher than any of us...
...and wider.
Kenneth, this is such a surprise.
When you told me of an island
run by a quaint little landlady
I had no idea it was Daphne Castle.
Yes, quite. Daphne,
I wonder if we could go to our rooms.
It's been a long journey.
Oh. Certainly.
Andreas!
If you're short-staffed,
Kenneth can easily carry the bags.
They'll be brought up in a minute.
There'll be cocktails tonight
at eight o'clock.
Do have a good, long, peaceful rest,
Arlena.
You must be Sir Horace Blatt's friend.
Perhaps... Perhaps you'll sign in.
Oh, so you're the famous
Hercule Poirot, eh?
- You are too amiable, madame.
- Perhaps.
I hope you haven't come to practise
your sleuthing games on my guests.
They've all got far too many
skeletons in their cupboards
to join in with enthusiasm.
It's not my intention to derange
you or your guests, madame.
Pendant les vacances
my desires are simply a good valet,
a... tisane de menthe poivre
at eight o'clock in the morning
precisely,
and of course some wax,
some beeswax for my shoes. That's all.
Actually, Gilbert had nothing
to do with the success this season.
Oh, my God, I really don't know
what we are going to do about them.
I really do think that
the Millers have gone too far.
Gilly is my oldest friend,
Rex.
Oh, God,
I didn't know that!
- Gilly is Myra's oldest friend.
- I just told him, Odell.
Did you hear what Gilbert said
about the Queen?
No.
Well, you see...
Enjoying it?
I couldn't have one. This was
delicious, if I could... Thank you.
How about a cocktail,
Monsieur Poirot?
White Lady, a Sidecar,
Mainbrace or Between the Sheets?
No, if I could have a crme de Cassie
or a sirop de banana.
- Do you have banana syrup?
- Certainly.
Oh, my!
I'm the last to arrive!
Have a sausage, dear.
You must be famished, having to wait
all that time in your room.
Have you... Have you met the Redferns?
Christine and Patrick.
- Arlena, darling...
- Arlena, my favourite leading lady!
Why, if it isn't Odell and Myra!
What on earth are you two doing here?
It's wonderful to see you, Arlena.
We have a fabulous show for you.
Oh, it's a real humdinger, honey!
Odell insisted that we both come over
here together to see you personally.
Well, it's very sweet of you.
But I'm sort of retired, you know.
This is my new audience.
Have you met my husband?
How do you do?
How do you do? You'll change your mind.
You won't be able to resist this!
Keeler's mad to do it. But we're
holding her off until you have a look.
And Kern,
he's done some of the best music...
Arlena, darling, it's simply
sensational to see you again!
- Hello, Rex.
- How do you do? I'm Kenneth Marshall...
Excuse me.
I must talk to you, Arlena darling.
Not now, Rexy-poo.
Thank you.
Cheers.
Good morning, Linda.
How is your lovely mother?
She's not lovely
and she's not my mother.
Darling, didn't anyone ever tell you
that peevishness is unbecoming
in young ladies?
No. But they told me not to
talk to very strange men.
Morning, Gardeners!
- Good morning.
- Oh, good morning, Arlena.
I think it's gonna be a hot day.
Good morning Mrs Redfern.
Well, well, she's in wonderful shape.
Yeah. How much was it we paid
Kleinfield, Klausewitz and Stummerhoppen
to contest
that phoney doctor's certificate?
$20,000.
Arlena, darling,
you look quite divine in that outfit.
Say no more. It's yours. Next question?
There is something
frightfully important
- I have to talk to you about.
- So talk.
It's a bit private.
You heard the little man, Linda.
Scram!
Well, what is it?
Arlena, I was wondering
if you've had a chance to read
the proofs of the biography yet?
Indeed I have, Rex.
I simply couldn't put it down.
I knew you'd love it.
What a busy bee you've been researching
exactly where I was born... and when.
Well, there aren't too many stars
were born in Tooting Bec
at the turn of the century.
And the sweet way you wrote about
how I landed my first leading role
in Flames of Eternity.
However did you find out?
I bribed his wife.
Naughty Rex!
Ah, the days of my youth. But I've
shoved all that behind me now, Rex.
Which is exactly what you're going to do
with your lousy book.
But, Arlena darling, you promised.
When we were in New York.
I've spent the advance.
I simply must have that release.
Forget it.
You're not going to barbecue me
to keep yourself in sailor suits.
But, Arlena, angel,
you must.
I said forget it, I'm not going to
sign that release. And that's final.
You're going to regret this,
Arlene.
That's a promise.
Good morning, Mrs Marshall.
Good morning, Mr Brewster.
Hello.
Oh, hello.
Oh, Linda, what are doing here?
Acting as chaperone, gooseberry or spy?
I just wanted a chat.
I don't seem to be having much fun.
If it's fun you're looking for,
go play with the jellyfish.
Oh, my God!
She runs like a dromedary with dropsy.
Bonjour, madame.
Bitch!
No, no, put me down!
Put me down! No, no, no, no!
I shall cry! I shall, I shall cry!
You do not care for the aquatic sports
or the sunbathing, madame.
I wish I could. But I don't go brown.
I sort of resemble a cassata.
Pink skin, white blisters,
and green in the face.
Unlike your husband, I observe.
No, he manages those things rather well.
Sometimes I think he must think
I'm an awful goose.
But why, madame?
I do not indulge in those sports myself
and yet I assure you,
I am very far from being... a goose.
Ah, there you are, Monsieur Poirot.
I've just had a telephone call
from your friend, Sir Horace.
He says he's having trouble with his...
piffle valve?
Ha! Such a valve still
has to be invented, madame.
Well, I dare say you're right,
I wasn't paying attention.
Anyway, the result is,
he'll be 24 hours late.
Good morning, Kenneth.
Are you going for a swim?
The water is so hot,
the lobsters are coming out red.
Good morning.
Come along, Daddy, you promised
to come for a walk with me.
Patrick... aren't you getting
a little tired of rowing?
That was last night.
And this morning he starts all over...
Andre... Andre... I don't care.
I don't care if Monsieur Poirot
wants cement on his sausages
or boot-blacking on his butter,
just give it to him!
That finicky little Belgian fart
will find it all on his bill anyhow.
- With a vengeance!
- Very well, madame.
I'm so sorry. Are we late? Patrick
insisted he row me around the island.
It's bigger than I thought.
Poor darling, he's exhausted.
Not in the least surprised.
I'm sorry we didn't take you with us,
my dear.
The sun would have been
much too strong for you. You know that.
Arlena, here you are,
it's the script that I promised you.
No, I thought I told you last night.
I've given up the theatre.
These two are all
I'm concerned with now.
- What's it called anyway?
- ft"s Not Right And It's Not Fair.
Sounds like a black man's left leg.
- It's alright, Mr Poirot.
- Pardon, madame. Je m'excuse.
Please stay.
I'm just being silly.
I wish I had more self-control,
didn't show what I feel.
Well, that is sometimes
not easy for the ladies.
Do you know what I am most sick of
in this place?
- What, madame?
- Pity.
I can't bear to be pitied.
Everyone round here
seems to feel so sorry for me.
I can tell it
by the way they look at me.
"Poor little thing," they're saying.
"What she has to put up with, with
that poor fool of a husband of hers. "
"What a pity she's not strong enough
to compete for what she wants. "
Will you allow me to tell you something,
madame?
The Arlena Stuarts of
this world do not count.
Their domination is of
the moment.
Really, to count, a woman
must have either goodness or brains.
You can't actually believe that men care
for either of those things, can you?
Oh, yes, I do, madame.
Your husband loves you.
I know that.
Come, let us take a little promenade.
Hmm?
How I wish I could do that,
just lie in the sun.
Mais pourquoi, madame?
Look at them lying in rows,
like corpses in the morgue!
They are not men and women.
Nothing personal about them.
They're just bodies, butcher's meat,
steaks grilling in the sun.
I'm sorry, Mr Poirot,
I suffer from vertigo.
I can't bear to look down
from a height.
I'm better now.
In fact I am determined to enjoy myself.
It's so blissful here, so tranquil,
so far from all violence and trouble.
Yes, you are right, madame.
The sky is blue, the sun is shining,
and yet you forget that everywhere
there is evil under the sun.
You're going to be late for dinner,
you know.
Yes, I know.
Just having a bit of a think.
About Arlena?
I suppose it's no use
saying it's your own fault.
- Not much...
- No, it never is.
How about, "You've made your bed,
now you must lie on it"?
- Worse.
- Thought it might be.
- Poor Kenneth. You do pick 'em.
- Oh, I can cope.
- Do you think Linda can?
- What do you mean?
She's always on at that poor child,
bitching the hell out of her.
Yes. Yes, a pity about that.
Linda's like... like her mother,
you see, she takes things hard.
- Why don't you do something about it?
- Like what?
Like fixing up a divorce, for instance.
People do it all the time.
With most of my friends
it's a full-time occupation.
Arlena's alright.
She just adores to flirt, that's all.
There's nothing in it.
It's all on the spur of the moment.
Spur of the moment?
You really are blind.
Who the hell do you think booked Patrick
Redfern in here in the first place?
You don't mean...?
I'm afraid so.
Even so. With me, a deal is a deal.
I don't approve of quick marriage
and easy divorce.
Arlena is my wife.
That's all there is to it.
Till death do you part?
Exactly.
I see.
Well?
I could just kill that cow!
Well, what the hell do we do now, Odell?
Just leave it to me.
- I'll think of something.
- Hm! My hero.
I swear, if you were a man,
I would divorce you.
Hello, darling! You'd better get
a move on. Where have you been?
I've just been having a word
with Daphne.
You get on like a house on fire
with her, don't you?
She's a nice lady.
Yes, I suppose she is.
As hotel proprietors go.
And you get on rather well with Redfern,
don't you?
He's a nice fellow.
Yes, I suppose he is, as gigolos go.
What's that supposed to mean?
You liked him well enough
when you met him in London.
I never set eyes on the man before.
Really?
I could have sworn you were there.
It must have been
your regimental dinner.
Well, anyway, what does it matter?
He just happens to be a guest here
who took me for a boat ride.
He just happens to be a guest here,
Arlena,
because you just happened
to book him in.
The bitch Daphne!
Christine,
I refuse to talk about it!
That's rich!
You don't want to talk about it?
Look here,
I can't even speak to a woman
without you jumping to the conclusion
that I'm having an affair!
Aren't you? You leave me
here alone and go off with her.
I'm the laughing stock of the hotel.
Of course you're not!
How ridiculous!
Arlena and I are just good friends,
that's all!
I don't believe you!
Please, let's just go away.
I absolutely refuse.
Here we are and here we stay!
- If you don't like it you can...
- Yes, what can I do?
Well, I'm looking forward to having
a nice little chat with you, Patrick.
Oh, Myra, that is so beautiful.
- How's your drink?
- Incredible.
How are you?
Too much sun?
Good!
That's enough, Linda.
It's adult time. Off to bed.
Come on, darling. Let her stay.
She is on holiday after all.
Scram, Cinderella.
You're the top
You're the Colosseum
You're the top
You're the Louvre Museum
You're the nimble tread
Of the feet of Fred Astaire
You're the National Gallery
You're Garbok salary
You're camemben'
You're the Nile
You're the Tower of Pisa
You're the smile on the Mona Lisa
I'm a worthless cheque, a total wreck
A flop
But if, baby, I'm the bottom
You're the top
You're the top
You're a new invention
You're the top
You're the fourth dimension
I'm a frog without a log
On which to hop
But if, baby, I'm the bottom
- Sorry.
- You're the top
That was terrific!
Isn't she wonderful?
Wonderful!
Wonderful!
Mademoiselle!
Abracadabra!
I know how you did that.
The egg's in your top pocket.
I'm not five years old,
you know.
- Been for a bathe, darling?
- What's it look like?
Darling, there is no
need to be snappy
just because you went to bed
bright and early last night.
I always keep mine
behind my ear.
What?
Oh, there you are!
I was looking for you.
I'm going sketching at Gull Cove.
Would you like to come?
Yes, I'd love to.
I'll see you down in the hall
in ten minutes.
Ah, hello, Mr Poirot.
Monsieur Poirot,
just the man!
Would you be very kind
and help me push this out?
You require assistance,
madame?
It's like trying to launch
the Mauritania.
Without the Champagne!
Thank you so much.
Oh...
And, Monsieur Poirot, please
don't tell anyone where I've gone.
- Everyone will keep following me about.
- Everyone, madame?
Perhaps some people more than others,
but I just want to be alone.
- Voil.
- Enjoy your swim.
There she goes.
Not a care in the world!
I'll make her care.
Oh, what do you know about care?
If it'd been up to you,
the good Samaritan would've passed by
on the other side.
I have an idea,
but I need to work it out.
Well, don't forget about my cousin,
Hatty Heimenheimer.
It took her so long
to "work out an idea",
they finally had to stash her away
in the booby hatch!
Odell?
Odell?
- Hey, hey, hey. Where's the fire?
- Sorry.
- Have you had your breakfast?
- Had a piece of toast.
Linda, you really are naughty.
Andreas goes to all the trouble of
preparing decent English breakfasts
instead of those weedy
continental things and you eat toast.
I'm sorry, I just wasn't hungry.
What's the matter?
Is it Arlena?
- She's so beastly.
- You don't want to worry about her.
Things have a habit
of working out.
- I promise you.
- Yes, if you make them.
Would you like to come for a
stroll to the lighthouse?
This must be my lucky day.
I've never been in such demand.
I'd like to, but I can't.
I've got a date
to go sketching with Christine.
That's alright.
I'm glad to see you're making friends.
- Good morning, Kenneth.
- Ah, good morning.
Morning, darling.
There's a letter for you.
The boatman brought it over.
Ah, thank you.
Seeing your daughter
has just turned me down,
would you like to come for a walk with
me, before my staff meeting at 11:30?
I'd love to, but I'm afraid I can't.
This must be answered straight away.
This isn't my lucky day, Linda.
You can't get away from me at 12:30.
We're playing tennis. Remember?
I remember.
By the way, Linda,
have you seen your mother?
- No, thank God.
- Linda, I won't tell you again...
Clean it, clean it.
Don't just lean on the thing.
Here we all are.
Well... Well, what a...
colourful outfit!
Oh! Oh,
I'm so glad you like it.
Linda and I
are going off sketching, Mr Marshall.
Don't worry, I'll take good care of her.
See you on the tennis courts at 12:30.
- Bye, Daddy.
- Have a nice time.
Morning, Poirot.
Been swimming?
- You saw me?
- No.
Yes, I have been swimming!
There's nothing like the shock of
cold water and rhythmic movement
to stimulate the
little grey cells.
Yes, of course. I don't suppose
you've seen my wife about, have you?
- Madame Marshall?
- Hmm.
- What, she rose so early?
- She's not in our rooms.
Oh, by the way, I was looking for
that fellow Redfern earlier.
I don't suppose you've seen him?
Is someone taking my name in vain?
A very good morning to you, gentlemen.
What kind of paintings do you do,
Mrs Redfern?
- Call me Christine.
- Thank you.
Hi, Patrick! Going for a spin?
How about taking me along?
Er... well...
What time is it, dear?
Five to 12.
Lord, I must fly.
I'm playing tennis at 12:30.
That's a fine boat!
I think it belongs to
Sir Horace Blatt.
Odell and I were on it once, I think.
Look. I wonder who that is.
You know exactly who it is,
you naughty boy!
Would you be a sport
and take the boat back?
I'll come back with Arlena,
I'll walk.
Are you kidding?
I don't know how to work this thing.
Look, it's simple,
this lever puts you in gear
and all you have to
do is steer.
Well, just this once.
But don't get me involved.
You're a sport.
Boo!
Hey, come on,
wake up!
Oh, my God!
What's the matter?
She's dead!
She's been murdered!
- Strangled!
- Strangled?
- It's just not possible.
- We'd better get some help!
- I'll go. You'll stay with the body.
- Are you kidding? I can't do that!
You're right. The murderer
may still be about somewhere.
- Can you make it back to the hotel?
- In a flash. This thing's no problem.
You'd better hurry!
Madame Marshall
has been strangled.
There are contusion marks on the head
and the neck. This much is evident.
We must now send for the police
and acquire a doctor
in order to establish the time of death.
Have you ever met a Tyranian doctor,
Monsieur Poirot?
The limit of their skill is determining
the fitness of an ox to pull a cart.
That may be so, madame, but
Dear Monsieur Poirot,
a word in your ear.
The whole world knows that you are a man
of enormous discretion and gallantry,
a man not only privy to the secrets of
kings and prime ministers,
but also a man who would never willingly
stand by and see a lady in trouble
without rushing to her aid.
I appeal to you now, as just such
a frail woman, in need of help.
In fact I throw myself
on your mercy.
Couldn't we make this
a private investigation?
You know how peculiar people can be
about a spot of murder.
The scandal of a
famous stage star...
...being murdered here
would ruin my hotel.
I'm very sorry, madame,
but there is no way to avoid
this becoming an official matter.
In due course of time,
of course I quite agree,
when it can be released
in the proper manner.
But consider, just think what everyone
will say if they were to discover
that you were here ahead of the police
and failed to solve the crime.
I mean, Monsieur Poirot,
both our reputations are at stake.
I bet it pongs something rotten
in there.
Only of the breath
of the sea.
Oh, how poetic you are,
Monsieur Poirot.
You have the true soul of France.
The true soul of Belgium, madame.
Yes, of course.
How mortifyingly stupid of me!
- Oh, do please forgive me.
- In due course of time.
What do you say, monsieur?
Will you bring your colossal brain power
to the aid of a lady in distress?
Will you clear up this hideous mess
for me
with all the brilliance and discretion
for which you are world famous?
One moment, madame. I must carry out
a little investigation of my own
before answering your question.
Monsieur Redfern.
At what time did you
and Madame Gardener find the body?
It was 12 o'clock exactly.
That bloody gun went off as we
were coming round these rocks there.
I sent Mrs Gardener back
for help immediately.
I touched nothing except
to check she was dead.
Oh, yes, you acted quite correctly.
Well, since I was the last person
to see Madame Marshall alive,
when I pushed her off in her pedalo at
about 10:20, it means the time of death
can be established as being
between 10:30 and 12 noon.
How absolutely brilliant!
A doctor after all could only give us
an approximate time
and how she was killed, which I know.
I don't need the help of a doctor.
Messieurs!
It's a terrible tragedy, Poirot.
It's terrible.
She may have been a bit flighty, Arlena,
but no one would've wished this on her.
Just between ourselves,
you may have guessed,
but she was the lady in question.
- That was not too difficult to guess.
- I suppose it bloody wasn't.
Well, I'd best chalk it all up
to experience and be on me way.
There's no point in intruding
in the grief of the new husband
and all that sort of thing.
You had no chance
to speak to Madame Arlena?
Of course not.
I've only just arrived, haven't I?
Yes, of course.
There's only one thing
that puzzles me in that case.
You remember the false diamond
I left in your possession?
Yes.
How did I happen to find it once again
on the beach near the dead woman?
Oh, dammit, Poirot.
I'd make a right murderer, wouldn't I?
Leaving clues all over the place, eh?
- Alright, I confess
- You confess?
I mean I confess I had a word with her.
I was coming in on the boat and I saw
Arlena on one of them pedal things
going into a beach along there.
Anyway, I stopped the boat
and I rowed meself over.
It's better than confronting her
in front of her husband, you know.
We had a bit of a barney, what with her
pretending to be all surprised and that.
Anyroad, she promised to sort
it out by tonight.
She did not tell you
where the real jewel was?
No, dammit, she didn't.
If you don't mind,
I'd like to get changed.
I'm getting a little chilly,
what with the shock and everything.
I was very fond of Arlena,
as you well know.
Yes, you may well have
been, monsieur.
And yet there are cases of men
that have killed those women
who made it impossible for them to
return to the wives they really loved.
Well, I assure you,
that is not the case here.
I could have taken off
at any time I wanted.
Anyway you know I had
nothing to do with it.
You yourself saw me from the terrace
go off in the boat with Mrs Gardener.
Oui, c'est exacte.
It would seem
that I am your alibi, monsieur.
Please go and get changed.
So, that young man's been
sniffing round Arlena, has he?
Can't say I blame him.
I'm sorry, Sir Horace,
but it's my duty to put it to you
that you were furious
with Madame Arlena,
that you were determined
to get your jewel back,
you came up here in
order to demand it.
She laughed in your face.
You lost your temper,
you strangled her...
That is poppycock!
That is bloody poppycock!
If it is poppycock, then it's most
regrettable that you said in front of me
that you would willingly
"wring her neck".
Oh, that were...
That was just a bit of chat, that's all.
Look. All I did was tell her that
she couldn't make a monkey out of me
and I threw that bit
of glass at her.
Look, if I had killed her, my crew
would have seen me, wouldn't they?
They were all on deck,
watching.
Not averse to clocking
a decent bit of crumpet, my lads.
It's the only thing that wakes them up.
So, if you don't believe me,
ask them.
Trs bien. All the same, I must ask you
not to leave the island for the moment.
If you insist.
But if I were you, Poirot,
I would cherchez le hubby.
You'll find they're favourite when
dealing with the Arlenas of this world.
It's a little difficult to accept
your condolences, Poirot,
when in the same breath
you accuse me of murdering my wife
because she was unfaithful.
I can understand that, of course.
But I hope you realise that
I'm rather easier to get on with
than the Tyranian
police would be.
And therefore I will ask you
where you were between
11:00 and 12:00 this morning.
Very simple.
I was in here typing.
I changed for tennis
a few minutes after 12:00.
How very curious.
Because, you know, when I passed by your
door at what must have been about 11:15,
- I heard no sound.
- I can't help that.
One does occasionally pause to think,
you know.
Here.
This is what I typed.
As you can see,
it would have taken at least an hour.
With respect,
you could've typed that yesterday.
There's no proof
that you typed it this morning.
Excuse me, Monsieur Poirot,
I just couldn't help overhearing.
I have the proof you need.
- You do, madame?
- Yes.
Every week it's my custom
to collect all my staff together,
give them a collective
boot up the bum.
It does no end of good,
particularly the Eyeties.
Keeps them up to snuff,
as my old papa used to say.
Anyway, that meeting was this morning
at 11:30,
and just before it I came up here to
have a wash and I poked my nose in here
and I saw Kenneth hard at it,
so I... I just didn't disturb him.
But, madame,
you cannot see the desk from the door.
I saw him in the mirror.
In the mir...
Oh, in the mirror!
My goodness, you do type fast, Ken.
You must be the Horowitz of
the Remington.
Tell me, madame,
how many fingers am I holding up?
Three.
Yes. And now how many?
Well, that...
that's not fair, you're hiding.
You cannot see in the mirror
someone seated at the desk.
It is not me that is hiding,
it is you who are lying.
Now, Monsieur Marshall, are you,
by any chance, lying also?
It should be fairly obvious, Poirot,
that that letter, all eight pages of it,
is in reply to this one
from my stockbroker,
which arrived by this morning's post
at about 10:30.
It should, therefore, be equally obvious
that I must have typed it
when I said I did.
Yes, it would appear so.
Now to revert to you again, madame.
I would like to ask you a question
about your promenade
to the lighthouse this morning.
You went alone, I believe?
Yes, I did.
And you must have passed the bay
on which Arlena was murdered?
Yes. Yes, I did.
I also saw Arlena sunning herself.
Oh, but then you must have
taken the same path home.
There is no logical alternative.
And I am suggesting to you,
you could have gone down to the beach,
murdered Arlena Marshall
and still been in time
for your staff meeting at 11:30.
What utter balderdash! You can't
possibly think I'd want to kill Arlena
just because the silly cow
succeeded on the boards and I didn't.
No, that I do not think.
But there is a certain tenderness
between you and Monsieur Marshall.
Otherwise why take that absurd risk
of trying to protect him just now?
What if there is?
What does it matter?
It matters because
Madame Arlena was in the way.
Monsieur Poirot, you have
the French obsession...
I'm sorry, Belgian obsession,
with crime passionnel.
But you're barking up the wrong tree.
You see, I know, I know who did it.
Oh! You do, madame?
Of course.
It was Sir Horace Blatt.
When I came back here
from my walk at about 11:15,
I saw him down on the beach.
He was jumping up and down
and screaming blue murder at Arlena.
I've never seen a fellow in such a fury.
Why did not you tell me this before,
madame?
He is an old chum, isn't he? I didn't
know then you were going to start
hurling accusations at me and Kenneth.
But he is the chap you want. Why
don't you run along and question him?
Yes. I already have done, madame.
And he is exonerated by his crew.
All the same,
his story does confirm yours.
Without knowing it, you have
corroborated your own alibi.
Bravo, madame.
I'm sorry, Kenneth.
I nearly put you in it.
I was only trying to help.
I know. I forgive you.
I don't want
to hear any more, Patrick.
If you hadn't been poodlefaking
with that awful woman,
you wouldn't have been there
in the first place.
Oh, madame.
May I have a quick word with you?
About how you spent this morning.
Why me?
I've got nothing to do with all this.
You had no reason to love
Arlena Marshall, madame.
Perhaps not.
But I was with Linda all morning.
I went to her room early to ask her
to come to Gull Cove to do
some sketching, she wasn't there.
I mean, she came along a few moments
later. She'd been swimming.
And then we set off
and we were there all morning.
If you don't believe me, ask Linda.
She'll tell you...
- Calmez vous, madame.
- Mr Poirot, I'm alright now
I want you to think about this
very, very carefully.
At what time precisely did you
leave the cove this morning?
I was there until 12 o'clock
and I went off for my tennis game.
- You had a watch?
- No. No, I didn't.
Then how did you know it was
precisely 12 o'clock?
Because, well, when I climbed to the top
of the cliff and was waving to Linda,
who'd gone for a swim,
that awful gun went off.
The one they fire at noon eve/y day.
What did you do then, madame?
Well, I was late, you
see, for my tennis
which was fixed for 12:30,
so I simply tore back to the hotel
as fast as I could
and changed into my tennis things.
And I went to the court
where I met the others.
Mr Marshall, Mrs Castle
and Mr Gardener.
I played with Mr Gardener:
- I'm sorry I'm late.
- Not at all, my dear.
I was sketching at Gull Cove.
Lost track of the time.
Don't worry. It's only a matter of
four minutes exactly.
I'm afraid you have to play with me.
We'd barely started
when the news about
Arlena came.
Of course,
it's a dreadful thing, Mr Poirot,
but I can't pretend
that I'm not...
A little relieved.
Well, I can understand that.
Is there anything else you want to ask?
Not for the time being.
Come in.
- Hello.
- Hello.
Excuse me, mademoiselle,
for intruding into your grief.
Grief? That's a good one.
Why should I be sorry for Arlena?
You hated her so much?
I'm glad she's dead
if that's what you mean.
She was horrid to me
and beastly to my daddy.
Would you mind if I ask you
a few questions about this morning?
Why should I?
I was with Christine Redfern.
She wanted to go to Gull Cove
to draw some stupid cliffs.
And did she?
Oh, yes. She sat under her big hat
while I sunbathed.
She gets all blistered
if she sits out in the sun.
- Yes.
- It's bad luck really.
Here it is. She gave it to me.
It's not bad really.
No, she has talent, that one.
These are undeniably, er... cliffs.
When did she leave you?
- Five to 12.
- How can you be so sure?
Because she asked me.
What time is it, dear?
Five to 12.
Lord, I must fly!
I'm playing tennis at 12:30.
She got into a fearful panic
about being late for tennis
and rushed off back to the hotel.
- Would you like this?
- Thanks. It's super.
I'll see you later after my swim.
I remember I was halfway down the beach
when Christine called after me.
Don't forget your bathing cap!
I'd forgotten my bathing cap,
so I had to come back and put it on.
What a bore!
Did you see anyone else
while you were swimming?
No, no one. Apart that is from Christine
waving from the top of the cliff.
Look! Why don't you stop asking me all
these silly questions about Christine?
She couldn't have murdered Arlena.
Neither could I.
That slimy Rex Brewster's
the one you should be talking to.
He hated Arlena. He's the one
who really wanted her dead.
How can you say that?
He admired her so much.
Don't be daft!
He'd written this filthy book about her
which she wouldn't allow him to publish.
Excuse me, mademoiselle,
but how do you know all this?
I heard them having a row about it
on the beach yesterday.
They thought I'd gone away,
but I hadn't.
Maybe he won't be able to publish it
if he's hanged for murder first.
If I can't see you faces shining
in every knife, fork and spoon,
I'll have your guts for garters!
Madame! Have you any idea
where I can find Monsieur Brewster?
Rex? I thought I saw him
go out into the garden.
Oh, but...
He's not the one you want.
You should cherchez la femme.
Really, madame?
Absolutely, I have been having
a little think, and I worked it all out.
If Horace Blatt is in the clear
and Kenneth Marshall is in the clear
and I'm... I'm in the clear,
and Patrick Redfern is in the clear and
Myra Gardener because she was with him.
Then it's all down to
little Miss Cringe, isn't it?
Miss Cringe?
Yes. The jealous wife,
Christine Redfern.
Don't believe all that
about her being too weedy.
Women fight like tigers
when losing their husbands.
Not that I've had much experience
in that.
But what is your theory?
I mean, how did Madame Christine do it?
I don't know. Probably battered
Arlena with a bit of driftwood,
then finished her off with a little
pressure on the... carotid artery?
The artery there,
yes, yes.
Everyone knows that.
It's in all the crime novels.
In fact, only the other day a child of
11 did something like that, in Hungary.
Or was it Crete? I don't know...
Anyway, she used a pair of nutcrackers.
I know. Perhaps I'd better go
and see if any are missing...
Madame, unfortunately, there are
no nutcracker marks on the throat.
And Madame Christine
could not possibly have done it.
Her alibi had been confirmed by
Mademoiselle Linda, and vice versa.
How very irritating!
"Under the high... lazy...
...noonday Adriatic sun...
...the body lay on its back,
arms outstretched,
parodying in death a position
she so often occupied in life. "
Oh.
That is marvellous, that's...
Oh.
So, you've come, Monsieur Poirot,
to question me about poor Arlena.
I am shattered.
I am absolutely shattered.
She was so wonderfully funny,
so very generous...
Not generous enough
to give you a release
so that you could publish
that manuscript, eh?
Who told you that?
Never mind, but it is the truth,
n'est-ce pas?
You cannot libel the dead.
Now you are free to publish
your saucy tales and reap the reward.
Well, I would admit, from that
point of view, I have benefitted.
Oh, but I assure you, monsieur,
that the loss of so radiant a performer
infinitely exceeds
any possible gain to myself.
You must believe that.
The time of death has been narrowed
to between 11:30 and 12:00.
Where were you at this time?
I was on a pedalo.
A pedalo?
Whereabouts?
How should I know?
I wasn't carrying a chart at the time.
Oh, que c'est amusant.
How amusing that is!
Chart or no chart, it was perfectly
possible for you to have watched
Sir Horace Blattk boat leave and then
to have pedaloed into Ladder Bay,
there to find the unsuspecting
Arlena asleep,
and then you strangled her.
Monsieur Poirot, are you aware
that it would take nearly two hours
to paddle around the island
from Ladder Bay to Gull Bay?
At 12 o'clock precisely,
as that boring old gun went off
I pedalled into Gull Bay.
Linda was there, swimming.
In fact I nearly hit her, she was
splashing around like a deaf seal.
You say
that you saw Mlle Linda
swimming in Gull Bay at 12 o'clock?
Certainly, I asked her
to help me pedal back,
but the little charmer refused.
What do you want?
What did you say?
I said, Good god, darling.
Help me pedal this damned thing back.
My legs are killing me.
Pedal it back yourself.
So you see, darling,
I simply could not have killed Arlena.
Monsieur, if you are so anxious
to find a murderer,
why don't you find out
who tried to murder me?
Murder you? What do you mean?
Well, after I'd been left by that lazy
little cow Linda to rupture myself,
I pedalled off.
About ten minutes later,
a bottle came whizzing over the cliff
and smacked down in the water
fight next to me.
The damned thing missed my head
by inches.
I looked up,
there's nobody around.
I must congratulate you on that highly
interesting and imaginative story.
I refer of course to your visit, your
fictional visit, to Gull Bay at noon.
What do you mean "fictional"?
Linda!
Mademoiselle Linda denies
having seen anyone there at the time.
What?
Oh, that lousy little hoyden!
I... know she loathes me because I
adored Arlena, but this is ridiculous.
You just wait till I catch her...
You! Linda!
Linda. You... You just wait!
Stay right...
Linda! You tell Monsieur Poirot
that I was with you this morning
when you were swimming in Gull Cove.
Why should I?
You weren't.
You lying little brat!
You just tell him that you saw me
on the pedalo.
You tell him that you refused to
help me pedal back! You tell him!
- You tell him!
- Take your hands off my daughter!
Then you tell her to tell him the truth!
Well, Linda, did you see Mr Brewster
when you were bathing in Gull Cove
this morning?
- Oh, alright then, yes, I did.
- Linda, you mustn't tell lies.
You can get people into serious trouble.
Serious trouble? Hell, darling!
You can get them hanged!
That was rather the idea,
was it not, mademoiselle?
I'm sorry.
Kindly accept my apologies, monsieur.
Incidentally, I accept your alibi.
That's real white of you,
Mr P!
No, Monsieur Poirot,
I am not as lucky as my dear wife.
I have absolutely no alibi.
I was sitting over there
on a stone bench reading my book
and between the hours of
11:00 and 12:15 I didn't move.
Now, I'm well aware, Monsieur Poirot,
that in your world,
when a murder takes place
everyone automatically
comes up with a watertight alibi.
However, I belong to that great world
of millions of innocent men and women
who, curiously enough,
don't have the foresight
to provide themselves with an alibi
when a murder is taking place
of which they know absolutely nothing.
Consequently, as I
was guilelessly reading my book,
there was no gardener to come trotting
by respectfully touching his forelock
and registering the time
on his grandfather's turnip watch.
In short, Monsieur Poirot,
I don't have the ghost of an alibi.
Of course, I could have scampered over
the top of that peak,
like a mountain goat, and...
swarmed down the famous steps
we've all heard about,
and then crept up
on Arlena
and strangled her
with these powerful hands of mine.
But, unfortunately for you,
I did no such thing.
You see, I have a big fat motive
but no alibi.
Next question?
Next question is what did you do
when you had finished
being unobserved in the garden?
I went up to my room, again unobserved,
to change for tennis.
I was rather thirsty and so I rang
the bell. Naturally, no one answered.
Where the goddamn staff
had disappeared to was a mystery,
and worthy even of your talents,
Monsieur Poirot.
I turned on the tap,
but there was no water, not a drop.
Someone was running a bath
down the hall fit to float Noah's Ark.
"Damned odd time for a bath,"
I'd have said.
Anyway, I changed
and appeared suitably attired
in my Fred Peny outfit
on the tennis court at precisely 12:30
to join Daphne and Marshall.
Mrs Redfern came a few minutes later.
And that, Monsieur Poirot...
concludes the case for the defence.
You make pleasantries, monsieur,
but no alibi is still...
...no alibi.
If you're looking for that,
I've got it in here.
I've been using it to
sort everything out for you.
I was wrong about
cherchez la femme.
But it's quite obviously
cherchez le fruit.
Rexy is the only one unaccounted for.
Look, I'll show you.
At 11:30 Arlena Marshall was left here
alive by Horace Blatt,
who then sailed on down here. At the
same time, Myra and Patrick were here,
Linda and Christine were here,
Kenneth was here
and I was in my staff meeting.
It has just got to be
our genial columnist.
And, what's more, I know how he did it.
Oh, you do, madame?
Absolutely! Recently I was reading a
magazine story about a woman in Malaya
who was drowned by a huge moray eel
which darted out of a hole,
dragged her to the floor of the ocean,
its teeth buried in her throat.
Now that's what gave me
the clue I needed.
Rex... Rex Brewster could've been
lurking in the water off Ladder Bay,
and when Arlena appeared on her pedalo,
he could have leapt up,
pulled her off it...
Very interesting, madame. The only snag
is that Madame Marshall was not drowned.
Far less was she gnawed to death...
And perhaps even more damaging
to your theory is the fact
that it has been established that
Monsieur Brewster was here in Gull Cove
with Mademoiselle Linda at 12 o'clock.
He could not possible have pedalled
all the way from Gull Cove
to Ladder Bay in half an hour.
That's very inconvenient of him.
I mean, if he didn't do it, who did?
I just don't see who could have.
Everyone has an alibi.
Oh, no, they do not, madame.
Monsieur Gardener does not have an
alibi, seems rather proud of the fact.
Oh, but he does, dear, most definitely.
What are you telling me, madame?
At half past 11
I was having my staff meeting,
giving the hired help
a pleasing stream of the old rancid,
and in particular
pointing out to Andreas
that there was absolutely no point
in making your curry de poulet vindaloo
so hot that it raised welts
on the surface of your tongue,
when I looked out of the window
and there was Odell reading a book.
He stayed there throughout
the entire meeting. I'm positive of it.
What's the matter?
Have I said something?
You've said a great deal, madame.
Oh, I...
I see what you mean.
You...
You mean nobody did it.
And yet we still have a body, madame.
- Ah, Rigoletto
- Correct. Ah, Verdi. Quelle Igance!
It's funny to think, if Giuseppe Verdi
had been an Englishman,
his name would have
been Joe Green.
Yes, I suppose it would,
yes.
It used to make the boys laugh
when I was trying to din some Latin
into them when I was a teacher.
Little boys laugh easily
if it keeps them away,
even for a moment,
from their study of Latin.
Messieurs-Dames, please forgive me
for interrupting the cocktail hour,
but there are two questions
which I must put to you.
First of all, did anybody here throw
a bottle into the sea this morning?
No?
Secondly, did any of you take a bath
at 12:15 today?
An odd time for ablutions.
How remarkable!
A bath which nobody admits having taken
and a bottle which flies by itself.
Joe Green...
It's rather more amusing
than at first I thought.
- Morning, Sir Horace!
- Hello, enjoy your swim?
Yes. Sorry I'm puffed, the water was
freezing and I'm running to get warm.
.. crying his eyes out?
Tell him to pull himself together.
Hello, Daph!
That reminds me of a lady policeman.
She's all out of breath.
She's telling her friends
how she caught a burglar.
"I chased him past the grocer's,
and the butcher's, and the baker's. "
And then she said,
"I finally caught him by the cobbler's"
Sorry, I don't find that
remotely funny, Sir Horace.
Oh, I stand corrected, Daph.
I'll tell you what I don't find funny,
hanging around
waiting for the great detective!
Oh, good morning, Monsieur Poirot!
Listen here, Poirot. Not only
have you not find Allena's killer,
but you haven't found my diamond.
So I'm off.
The Gardeners and the Redferns
want to go, too.
I can't say I blame them.
The place is like a morgue.
Oh, I am so sorry.
Madame, there is nothing like
a good night's rest
to clear the little grey cells.
Kindly ask all our friends
to forgather in the lounge
after they have finished
their petit djeuner.
- When all will be revealed,
- What?
- You mean you know?
- Oh, yes.
Give us a few clues!
Alright, I wish you to consider
very carefully, a bathing cap, a bath,
a bottle, a wrist watch, the diamond,
the noonday gun, the breath of the sea
and the height of the cliff.
From that you should be able to
solve it yourselves.
We meet again in one hour. Now I am
going to have my oeuf a la coque.
There goes the most insufferable man
in the world.
"OEuf a la coque. " That's about
his mark, it's what he talks mostly.
Mesdames, mademoiselle, messieurs...
The reason I asked you to meet me here
this morning... please, monsieur...
...is that I, Hercule Poirot,
have discovered the identity of
the murderer of Madame Marshall.
This need surprise no one.
Are you all comfortable?
Even the murderer?
This has been a most unusual crime,
in that apparently nobody had
the opportunity of committing it.
Madame Marshall was killed
between 11:30 and 12 noon yesterday
and yet every single one of you
had a perfect alibi,
including you, Monsieur Gardener,
without knowing it.
I'm very sorry
if I have disappointed you.
We had undeniably a body,
which meant that somebody was lying.
Who?
After exercising
considerable reflection,
I came to the conclusion
that it was you...
...Madame Redfern.
Me?
But I didn't lie to you,
I swear it.
Oh, yes, you did,
madame.
When I asked you at what time
you left Gull Cove yesterday,
you said it was 12 o'clock.
You knew this, you said,
because you heard
that awful gun go off
when you were standing
on top of the cliffs waving at Linda
who was swimming in the water below.
But Monsieur Brewster was in the bay
at the same time.
It is very curious
that you did not mention him.
And it's even more curious
that when I confronted M Brewster
with the fact that his story about
entering the bay on his pedalo
at the very moment that the midday gun
went off was denied by Linda
he lost his temper.
He attacked the poor girl.
It would've been so much easier to have
called his second witness. You, madame.
He must have seen you
standing on top of the cliff
and yet he made no mention of it.
Why not?
The answer is obvious,
you were not there.
But I was there.
And I did wave and Linda waved back.
- Tell him, Linda!
- It's true. She did wave, honestly.
Yes, she probably waved
but there was no noonday gun, was there?
I don't remember it.
No.
No, there was no noonday gun for a
very good reason. It was not 12 o'clock.
But she asked me the time, I looked
at my watch and it was five to 12!
The watch,
now that is very important.
Let us go back to yesterday morning,
shall we?
I was having breakfast
on the terrace, an egg,
and in the course of performing
some act of Iger de main for you,
Mademoiselle, I happened to notice
that you were not wearing a watch.
Not particularly surprising
as you had been swimming,
a fact that could be noted by anyone
looking out of a hotel window.
You, Madame Redfern, actually told me
you went to her room early
to ask her to come with you
to Gull Cove to do some sketching.
But that she was not there.
What a perfect opportunity
to put Mademoiselle Linda's watch
forward... 20 minutes?
A few moments later, as you told me,
Linda appeared in the corridor,
as you knew she would.
And you invited her to accompany you.
- Would you like to come?
- Yes, I'd love to.
Alright, see you
in the hall in ten minutes.
Hello, Mr Poirot.
Your plan to make Linda
your false alibi was now in motion.
This is pure supposition, Poirot.
I've never heard such twaddle.
Twaddle or not, it is the only
explanation which fits all the facts.
Now if you will be a little patient,
I will explain to you
exactly what happened next at Gull Cove.
Madame Redfern, unseen by Linda,
consulted her own watch,
which she was wearing
but kept concealed
under the sleeve of that
strange voluminous outfit
she chose to protect
her from the sun.
It is of course 25 to 12.
She then asked Linda the time,
who naturally said it was five to 12.
Linda then starts to go down
to the sea. While her back is fumed,
Madame Redfern returns Linda's watch
to the correct time,
then calls Linda back, telling her
she has forgotten her bathing cap.
Why should she bother to do that,
you may ask?
The answer is simple.
Remember, at 12 o'clock
the noonday gun is due to go off.
And she can take no chance of
Linda hearing and noting it.
A girl splashing about in the sea
and wearing a bathing cap
would hear nothing.
So let us exactly see what happened
as Madame Redfern hurried up
from the cove to the top of the cliff.
It is 11:40.
She pauses to wave.
Linda waves back.
But there is no Mr Brewster:
No noonday gun.
Madame Redfern now tums
and runs across the path which
separates Gull Cove from Ladder Bay.
That takes her six or seven minutes,
no more.
She arrives at Ladder Bay
at about a quarter to 12
and sees Madame Arlena
sitting impatiently,
awaiting the arrival
of Patrick Redfern,
with whom, I am convinced,
she had a rendezvous.
Oh, Christ!
Suddenly, to her great chagrin
she sees you, madame,
about to come down the ladder
But I couldn't have!
I suffer from vertigo.
You know that.
I only know that because you took
good care to stage an incident
showing me that you
suffer from vertigo.
The day before yesterday,
on the terrace.
As we were having a stroll
and I was drawing your attention
to the sunbathing figures on the beach
below us, you suddenly fell against me
and stepped back,
saying you suffered from vertigo.
But she does have it, Poirot.
She's always had it.
That is not the case,
monsieur.
Your wife only
pretended to have it
in order to prove that she
could not have climbed down the ladder.
But, yesterday afternoon,
I myself stood on the cliff
ovelooking Gull Cove
and I discovered something
rather interesting.
In order to have seen Linda
in the water below and to wave to her,
you would have had to stand
right on the very edge.
Although I do not suffer
from vertigo,
I myself was quite dizzy.
For you, madame, had you suffered from
vertigo, it would have been impossible.
Let us now resume the story from the
point at which you descended the ladder.
Madame Arlena decided to
avoid a confrontation
and was about to leave the beach
when she noticed a small grotto
at the base of a cliff.
You may well ask
how I knew she had been in there.
Yesterday afternoon, not only
did I discover the false diamond
that Horace Blatt had returned to her,
but my excellent wine fastens nose
had detected, not as you put it,
Madame Castle, a pong,
but Souffle de Mer,
"the breath of the sea",
which, as you know, Monsieur Marshall,
was her favourite perfume.
But I am digressing.
You ran down on to the beach,
but Madame Arlena had disappeared.
Arlena! Where are you?
I know you're here.
I want to talk to you!
Be with you in a minute.
Well, what is it?
Look here, Poirot.
Haven't we heard enough of this blarney?
Arlena was not murdered with a blunt
instrument, she was strangled.
And if you would care to bend
those beady Belgian eyes of yours
on Christine's hands, you'll see they
are too small to have strangled anyone.
Yes, I quite agree. In fact that was
a major stumbling block to my theory.
Redfern's right,
this knocks your theory out of court.
Odell, please,
you weren't even there, and I was.
Remember,
I saw her lying there strangled.
Christine couldn't have done it.
I am absolutely of your opinion, madame.
In fact, she did not do it.
The murder was committed
by her husband, Patrick Redfern.
Now you really are
talking out of the top of your hat!
Oh, for God's sakes. Patrick couldn't
have done it, any more than his wife.
Don't forget I was with him
the whole time between 11:30 and 12:00
when we came into the bay
and saw her lying there.
That is the whole point, madame.
One moderately well-made young woman
is very much like another:
Two brown arms,
two brown legs
and a little piece of bathing suit
in between.
What exactly did you see from your
place in the boat, Madame Gardener?
The ardent young lover,
M Redfern,
bending over the body
with suntanned limbs
wearing Arlena's white bathing costume
and a red Chinese hat.
As I pointed out
a couple of days ago,
all bodies lying on the beach
are alike.
"They are not men and women, " I said.
"There is nothing personal about them,"
I said.
"They are like rows of butcher's
meat grilling in the sun," I said.
No wonder you were fooled
into imagining that you had seen
the corpse of Madame Marshall,
when what you had actually seen
was the live body of
Madame Christine Redfern.
That is why the murderer
had to conceal the face,
because it was not the murder victim
lying there, but somebody else.
And who else would help
Monsieur Redfern, but his own wife?
And now the performance
for the benefit of the witness is over.
Madame Gardener departs
from the bay by boat to fetch help.
And what do you think happened,
Madame Gardener,
as soon as you had disappeared?
Why, the corpse leaps to her feet
and runs into the grotto to remove
Madame Arlena's bathing costume,
which she had stripped off
the unconscious woman
and worn to play her part as a corpse.
I've got a point, Poirot,
which will scupper all your whole case.
Christine is as pale as
pasteurised milk. Now the question is,
how could I have possibly mistaken
her arms and legs for Arlena's?
This covers nothing at all, madame.
In answer to your question,
I would ask you to consider
the bizarre nature
of Madame Redfern's beach apparel.
When I saw Madame Redfern
in the lobby yesterday morning,
she was wearing
a totally exaggerated garment
which completely covered her
from wrist to neck.
No mere fear of the sun could have
occasioned such a choice of dress.
She had to wear such an all-concealing
outfit because underneath...
...she was brown as a nut
In the grotto, after having
climbed into the unconscious
Madame Arlena's swimming costume,
all she had to do was
to stain her hands and neck,
something she could not have done
earlier. Why?
Because Linda would have noticed.
She puts on the earrings
and then she mas out of the grotto
and onto the beach,
settles herself on Arlena's towel
and puts her great big Chinese hat
over her face
and lies still to await the arrival of
her husband and yourself.
Dead... on cue,
as it were.
And this, I must admit,
he stage-managed superbly,
timing his appearance at Ladder Bay
exactly to coincide
with the sound of the noonday gun.
The rest was easy.
She now changed back
into her original costume.
It was about five past 12.
Madame Redfern bids her husband a
hunted farewell. The clock is ticking.
She runs back across the island
to rejoin the path
leading from Gull Bay
to the hotel.
She has one more
task to perform.
She must get rid of the
incriminating bottle of suntan stain.
The bottle that no one
would admit throwing.
So she hams it over the cliff I
But has the bad luck to have the event
witnessed by Monsieur Brewster,
whom it almost hit.
She reaches the hotel,
15.
I myself timed the journey.
But then I was not running like
a young gazelle, for obvious reasons.
Madame Redfern now takes the bath,
heard by Monsieur Gardner,
the bath no one would admit to taking,
in order to wash off the suntan.
She changes into tennis clothes
and appears on the court
a few minutes late it is true,
but unruffled and smiling,
a picture of innocence.
Yes, Monsieur and Madame Redfern,
I blame myself for not having seen
through your little charades earlier.
But then, unfortunately,
not even Hercule Poirot is perfect.
From the moment you arrived,
you started playing out a series
of carefully rehearsed scenes,
in such a manner
that all might hear or see.
Together, there were
scenes of hysterical jealousy
played close to open windows.
You don't want to talk!
Look here!
Can't I even speak to a pretty woman
without you jumping to the conclusion
that I'm having an affair with her?
But you are, aren't you?
A part, you, madame,
took every opportunity
to give the impression
that you are a physically frail woman
who's no good at sports
and who had to hide her skin away
from the sun
because it blistered
and made her look like, what was it?
An Italian ice cream?
And who was altogether to be pitied as
a poor little helpless abandoned wife.
Whilst you, monsieur,
took elaborately indiscreet pains
to advertise your romance,
instead of trying to conceal it
as any prudent lover would.
I think you will all agree
that it was a most audacious plan,
brilliantly executed.
Oh, yes, brilliantly.
But the one thing you have failed to
supply, Monsieur Poirot, is motive.
Why on earth should
I kill Arlena?
I absolutely adored her.
Adultery may be reprehensible,
but it certainly is not criminal.
No, monsieur, you did not adore her,
you adored her money.
And, more especially, the magnificent
diamond offered her by Sir Horace Blatt.
Those who teach Latin to small
boys are not exactly overpaid.
You're not at all the romantic figure
you like to present.
You are a hardened adventurer
and a vicious swindler,
who had absolutely no moral compunction
in borrowing the diamond
from Madame Arlena
and of substituting a paste copy.
Oh, pray, do continue, Monsieur Poirot.
Oh, yes, monsieur, politeness
is very much part of the act.
You knew that
your deception would be discovered.
Too bloody right.
And you had to eliminate the
only witness capable of exposing you.
And what better opportunity than on
holiday, in a small exclusive island,
where you could plan
and execute her murder?
Picture to yourself the scene,
mes amis.
The half-lit grotto.
Madame Arlena slowly
returning to consciousness
and the so solicitous Monsieur Patrick
preparing le moment juste to strike.
Oh, Patrick.
Suddenly, his hands
are around her throat.
She struggles,
and it is the end of poor, foolish,
beautiful,
gullible Arlena Marshall.
And that, mesdames,
mademoiselle, messieurs
is the story of the murder of
Arlena Marshall.
The only thing they had not foreseen
was the presence on this island
of Hercule Poirot.
The well-known romancer
and teller of tales.
Excellent plot line. imaginatively
conceived. Good, clear narrative style.
I'll give you nine out of ten, Poirot.
I'm deducting one mark
for total absence of proof.
Is that true?
We've sat here and listened to all that
and you can't prove a word of it?
Unfortunately, Monsieur Redfern
is absolutely right.
I haven't a shred of evidence.
Although that is
unquestionably what happened.
I don't think we need to sit here
and be insulted by
this fanciful little mountebank.
Come along, darling.
Shall we go and pack?
Just give us five minutes, Mr Poirot,
and I'm sure we'll be able to work out
how you did it.
After all, where were you
at the time of the murder?
You've let that pair get off scot-free
and I haven't even got my diamond back!
You've made a right cock-up, Poirot.
Oh, how very kind of you to see us off!
Well, goodbye, my dear friends.
I don't think there'll be any necessity
to leave a forwarding address.
Just a moment, Mr Redfern.
Haven't you forgotten something?
Why pay, Patrick?
They've done nothing but insult us.
Oh, we must pay it, darling.
After all, we wouldn't want anybody to
think we were cheats now, would we?
- I know you'll take a cheque.
- Certainly.
Of course, I also know that you're
thinking the cheque may well bounce,
but I'm afraid
that's as good as it gets.
Here you are, dear. I've put
a little extra on for the inconvenience.
Thank you so much.
Would you mind me saying something,
Miss Castle?
Your ensemble does absolutely
nothing for you. Goodbye.
Un instant, s'il vous plait,
Monsieur Ruben
- Monsieur Felix Ruber?
- Who did you say?
- Ruber?
- Who the hell is Ruber?
Felix Ruber is the widower of
Alice Ruber,
whose strangled body had been
discovered on the Yorkshire moors
some months ago.
I was called in by the Trojan Insurance
Company to examine the police report.
In the event of Mrs Ruber's death,
her husband was a beneficiary of
a large sum of money.
The police were satisfied that it was
the work of a madman or a tramp
and so was I, since the
only possible suspect,
the husband, had a cast-iron alibi,
which had been established
by a woman-hiker
who had found the body
earlier in the day.
But last night I asked myself.
A strangulation,
an innocent witness, a change of time.
Could the similarity in the pattern of
the events here on the island
and those on the moors
be a mere coincidence?
No, mes amis,
the lonely hiker
was none other than
Madame Christine Redfern.
While Monsieur Ruber
was on a train,
undoubtedly attracting attention to his
presence before potential witnesses.
The bigamous Monsieur
Ruber was now free
to return to his surviving
wife, Madame Redfern.
You were clever enough to avoid putting
your signature in the hotel register,
but, you know, the signature on
this cheque is really quite good enough.
Different names, of course.
Here on the claim form
for Alice Ruber's insurance policy,
it appears as Felix Ruber,
and here on the hotel cheque
it appears as Patrick Redfern.
Different names, but, monsieur,
undeniably the same handwriting.
My God.
You were wrong to tell me that
little joke about Giuseppe Verdi
being called Joe Green in English,
or that you had once you taught Latin
to small boys.
It was at that moment that I realised
that in that language
"Felix Ruber" is "Red Fern".
You see, it is folly
to try and trick Hercule Poirot,
even in a dead language.
Do you think anyone's going to believe
the evidence of a couple of signatures?
And your bloody silly
word games?
Monsieur, if my modest assumptions
are too fanciful for you,
then perhaps a photograph
of a hiker and the mourning husband,
which must have appeared in local papers
and which I of course have sent for,
will be enough proof to hang you, sir.
You will be arrested for
the murder of Alice Ruber
and of Arlena Marshall.
But before that, there is a small favour
I would like to ask of you.
Would you smoke
the pipe
which has been conspicuous
by being unlit since you arrived here?
No?
Dommage.
As I thought.
Sir Horace, please be careful
to whom you give it next time.
My God, you're a wonder,
Poirot.
Yes?
Poor Monsieur Poirot.
Brave Monsieur Poirot.
I've just had a telephone call from His
Majesty and he is very pleased with...
The King of Tyrania?
He's very pleased with the matter being
cleared up so quickly and so discreetly.
He's so pleased that he's awarding you
the Order of St Gudrun the Inquisitive.
- St Gudrun the Inquisitive?
- First Class.
How many classes are there?