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

No!

Well, it does to me.

It does to everybody else.

Not to Poirot.

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

No!

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

That is true, mon ami.

But fortunately, you have enough for both of us.

It is extremely valuable to me.

CAR HONKING Good morning, sir.

POIROT: Good morning.

POIROT: Ah, c'est magnifique!

Just the place for a restful vacation.

The food will be inedible!

What do you think, Poirot?

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

The tennis court's pretty good, I understand.

POIROT: Waiter!

Still no news of Captain Seton.

Comment?

- The round-the-world flight.

- Ah.

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

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

Cannibals.

I say!

Makes you proud to be an Englishman, though.

Oh, I'm sorry.

- Do not be sorry, Hastings.

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

Oh!

This is intolerable!

I'm going to find a waiter!

Ah, mon Dieu!

Garcon!

Waiter!

Ow!

POIROT GROANING Are you all right?

I say!

Do not perturb yourself, Hastings.

The turned ankle, that is all.

I wish you'd let it be seen to.

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

Pardon.

This is Captain Hastings.

Hastings, imagine, the house over there, on the point, it belongs to Mademoiselle Buckley.

- Really?

- It's called End House.

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

POIROT: Oh, that is sad.

It's big house.

Do you live there all by yourself?

I'm away a good deal.

When I'm at home, there's usually a rather rowdy crowd coming and going.

I was meaning to imagine you in a dark, mysterious mansion haunted by a family curse.

Well if it is haunted, the ghost must be sent to protect me.

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

PLANE ENGINE ROARS Escapes from death?

NICK: Well, just accidents, you know.

Curse these bees!

I hate the way they come right past your face.

Nick!

Nick!

Here, George!

Here I am!

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

Hello.

This is Commander Challenger.

He's in the Navy.

I have a great regard for the Royal Navy.

Oh, well done.

Well done.

All right George, don't get overexcited.

Come on, let's go find Freddie and Jim.

I hope the ankle will be all right.

Merci.

HASTINGS: Nice girl.

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

Oh, absolutely.

WATER SPLASHING Oh, good dive!

Has he the tendresse for her?

What do you think, Hastings?

My dear Poirot, how on earth should I know?

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

Yes.

We are going to return it to End House.

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

Do you know, I do believe you've fallen for her!

No, no, no.

You are under a misapprehension, mon ami.

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

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

- There's a hole in it!

- Yes, indeed.

Did you do that?

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

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

A bee couldn't make a hole like this.

But a bullet could, my friend.

A bullet like this.

POIROT: Mademoiselle Nick has three escapes from death in as many days, now, a fourth?

These are not mere accidents, mon ami.

You'd have to be mad man to try and shoot someone in a hotel garden in broad daylight.

Ah!

POIROT: Thank you.

G'day.

- Morning.

- Good day.

HASTINGS: Quite impressive.

Looks as if it could do with a bit of work.

I say!

DOORBELL RINGS Yes?

MUSIC: 'Isle Of Capri' by Lew Stone And His Band GEORGE: It's not exactly courteous, Lazarus, to ignore us like this.

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

Hope so, Freddie.

An awful waste of an expensive education, otherwise.

There are some men to see you, Miss.

Oh!

Hello again.

Pardon, Mademoiselle.

Commander.

We have come to return your hat.

My hat.

I wondered what had happened to it.

This is for you, George.

♪ Red sails in the sunset ♪ ♪ Way out on the sea... ♪ There is a matter of the greatest urgency I must discuss with you, Mademoiselle.

Don't say you're selling something.

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

♪ All day I've been through ♪ ♪ Red sails in the sunset ♪ ♪ I'm trusting in you ♪ Now, what's all the mystery?

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

It was this.

What is it?

It is a bullet.

Well, I'm damned!

Er, Miss Buckley very kindly helped my friend when he twisted his ankle this morning.

Ah, yes.

So Nick said.

I am glad she didn't invent it the whole thing.

She's the most brazen liar that ever existed, you know.

Oh, it's quite a gift.

She had a marvellous story the other day about the brakes on her car failing, and her nearly being killed.

All nonsense, Jim says.

Jim knows about cars.

HASTINGS: Is that your Chevrolet Phantom outside?

Yes.

Pretty, isn't she?

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

Oh, we've all got one of those.

Don't touch, old boy.

Keep good time, do they?

They keep the best time in the world!

SHE LAUGHS - Oh, I can't dance to that!

- Of course you can, Freddie.

♪ They must have known Just how I like it ♪ ♪ Cos everything's Coming my way ♪ ♪ Who's been teaching All the birds ♪ ♪ How to sing a roundelay?

♪ ♪ They must have known Just how I like it ♪ ♪ Cos everything's Coming my way ♪ The first accident was that picture.

The painter might have said that when he'd finished it, don't you?

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

Luckily for me, I've been sleeping badly lately and I'd got up to make myself a cup of tea.

Otherwise, it might've bashed my head in.

And the other accidents?

The brakes on my car went west as I was going down the hill into St Looe, and the next day, a boulder detached itself from the cliff at the end of the garden while I was on the rocks underneath.

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

You do not understand, Mademoiselle?

You are in grave danger.

Oh, come off it!

Oh, no, no.

I tell it to you, I. You do know who I am?

No.

I don't.

I forget.

You are but a child, eh?

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

Well, Monsieur Poirot is a detective.

Oh.

Erm, a great detective.

My friend, is that all you can find to say?

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

Unsurpassed.

The greatest that ever lived.

There doesn't seem much point.

You've told her yourself.

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

No, but seriously, these were just accidents.

You are as obstinate as the devil.

You're too clever.

That's where I got my name.

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

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

My real name is Magdala.

- That's unusual.

Yes, it's a kind of family name.

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

NICK: That's it.

That's where I was standing.

HASTINGS: And the boulder only just missed you?

Could someone have pushed it from above?

NICK: No.

I tell you, it was just another accident.

POIROT: Do you have any enemies, Mademoiselle?

NICK: I'm afraid I don't.

No.

Sorry.

POIROT: Is there anyone who would profit by your death?

NICK: No.

That's why it seems such nonsense.

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

There's one the bedroom that's usable.

All my friends stay at the Majestic.

- Who is your nearest relation?

- My cousin, Charles Vyse.

He's a local lawyer.

He gives me good advice and tries to restrain my extravagances.

He arranged the mortgage for me and made me let the lodge, about a year ago.

We saw someone gardening there.

Mr Croft.

Very Australian.

You know, hearty, and that sort of thing.

I mean terribly kind, but... Mrs Croft's a cripple, poor dear.

POIROT: Have you ever made a will?

NICK: Yes, I did.

About six months ago.

The day before my op for appendicitis.

POIROT: And what were the terms of that will?

NICK: I left End House to Charles.

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

Tell me about your friends.

Freddie Rice is my practically greatest friend.

She left her husband about a year or two ago.

He just won't give her a divorce.

POIROT: And Commander Challenger?

He wishes you to marry him?

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

And you remain hard-hearted?

What'd be the use of George and I marrying one another?

Neither of us has got a bean.

Eh bien!

Apart from Madame Rice, is there any other friend you can trust, Mademoiselle?

- There's Maggie, I suppose.

- Who is Maggie?

She's a distant cousin.

Lives in Yorkshire.

I usually have her to stay sometime in the summer.

She's no fun, though.

- Ah.

The person ideal!

Telegraph her to come tomorrow.

- Oh!

- Ah-ah!

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

- That's the chap.

- I was in there the other day.

The Lagonda overheated just outside, so I went in to... - Hastings, this morning, somebody shot at Mademoiselle Buckley with a Mauser pistol.

A Mauser?

Why?

Do you know anyone who has a Mauser?

Yes.

I have.

It was Dad's.

He brought it back from the war.

It's gone.

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

She says Miss Buckley's a terrific liar.

Really?

That is most interesting, Hastings.

It is interesting for itself and it is interesting that Madame Rice has said it.

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

Ah, these little curious things.

I like to see them appear.

They point the way.

WOMAN: There's a darling.

This is all very well, Poirot.

But what we're trying to do is impossible.

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

Well said, Hastings.

I don't know where to start.

I don't like the look of her friends very much.

Except Commander Challenger, obviously a pukka sahib.

You know, Hastings, you have the most extraordinary effect on me.

- Really?

- Yes.

You have so strongly the flair in the wrong direction, that I am almost tempted to doubt the Commander.

CHARLES: Who's there?

It is I, Poirot.

DOOR OPENS The office isn't open.

I pushed the door downstairs.

It was not locked.

You are Monsieur Vyse?

Yes.

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

Hercule Poirot.

Boirot?

Poirot!

What kind of place is this?

Tell me, Monsieur Vyse, if I may ask... and I have said nothing about this to your cousin, Mademoiselle Buckley, you understand, is there any chance of End House being on the market?

Oh, no.

Miss Buckley is absolutely devoted to the place.

Nothing would induce her to sell End House.

But I do not ask idly.

Er... I myself am in search of just such a property.

It's out of the question, I'm afraid.

She's fanatically devoted to the house.

Ah.

Why should Charles Vyse say that Mademoiselle Buckley had a fanatical devotion to the house?

Did it seem like a fanatical devotion to you, Hastings?

- No.

- No.

Nor to me.

What did the garage say?

Well, whatever I tell you, you'll believe just the opposite.

Oh, come now, Hastings!

Oh, very well, then.

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

Truly?

Then why did Madame Rice say that the car accident was all an invention by Mademoiselle Buckley?

POIROT: Permit?

Madame, I do not know if your friend has told you, but today, her life has been attempted.

What do you mean?

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

Did Nick tell you that?

Yes, but it is no fantasy of Mademoiselle's imagination.

You understand?

I happened to see it with my own eyes.

Here is the bullet.

You see, Madame, several curious accidents have occurred during the last few days.

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

And before that, you were in London?

No.

I was staying with friends in Tavistock.

Ah!

I wonder what were the names of your friends with whom you were staying?

Is there any reason why I should tell you that?

No, no.

Mille pardons.

I was most maladroit.

It's just that I myself having friends in Tavistock, fancy that you might have met up with them.

Their name is Buchanan.

- No.

But go on about Nick.

Who shot at her?

And why?

As yet, we do not know.

But I shall find out.

I am, you know, a detective.

Oh.

What do you want me to do?

Watch over your friend.

POIROT: Excuse me.

DOORBELL RINGS HASTINGS: It's open.

There must be somebody here.

Hello?

Well, if they leave the house open like this all the time, I'm surprised they haven't all been murdered in their beds.

IN AUSTRALIAN ACCENT: All right.

I want you to come out very slowly with your hands above your head.

Ah, Monsieur Croft.

Stay where y'are.

No, no, no, my friend.

I am Hercule Poirot.

CROFT: Coo-ee!

WOMAN: Coo-ee!

Who do you think this is, Mrs C?

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

I brought him along to have a chat with you.

Well, isn't this too exciting for words?

Enchante, Madame.

And Captain Hastings, Mr Poirot's associate.

I've read about you, too, Captain.

Oh!

Right.

They're friends of Miss Buckley, Mrs C. Oh, well, isn't that nice?

What a dear child she is.

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

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

Her beady-eyed cousin of hers has no more chance of persuading her to settle down here for good, than fly in the air.

Ah!

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

He's silly about her, but she won't... Don't gossip, Milly.

I have my reasons for being interested in that girl.

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

- Well, er... - Good.

The man who invented the camera has a lot to answer for, mon ami.

Nice people.

Typical Australians.

POIROT: Hm... I do not know.

That cry of coo-ee.

The insistence on showing us 5,000 photographs?

Were they not playing the part a little too thoroughly?

POIROT: Ah!

That's Mademoiselle Nick!

- See you tonight, then, George.

- Righty-ho.

POIROT: Bonjour, mademoiselle.

Hello, Monsieur Poirot, Captain Hastings.

Morning.

Is this your boat?

How would I afford a thing like that?

It's George's.

POIROT: Ah.

I'm just rushing to the station to meet Maggie, the nursing guardian you insisted I send for from darkest Yorkshire.

Bon.

I shall feel happier.

But you're wrong, you know, about Maggie.

She's got no kind of brains.

Good works is about all she's fit for.

That, and never seeing the point of jokes.

But there is no joke here, I think, Mademoiselle.

Cheer up, Monsieur Poirot.

ENGINE STARTS Tell you what?

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

Tell me, Hastings... ..if Commander Challenger has not got a bean, as Mademoiselle Nick has said, how can he afford such a ship, uh?

Oh, probably just, er... Well, maybe it's... Maybe she meant... I don't know.

DOORBELL RINGS Ellen!

Oh, it's only you!

Ah, Mademoiselle, I am desolated!

Oh, I'm sorry.

It did sound rude.

Thank you.

Did you call, miss?

Oh, it's all right, Ellen.

I answered it myself.

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

ELLEN: No, miss.

That's why I sounded rude.

I thought you were my dress being delivered.

The brute's promised faithfully.

Ah, here's Maggie.

Maggie, here are the sleuths that are protecting me from the secret assassin.

This is my cousin, Maggie Buckley.

That's a marvellous shawl, Nick.

Yes.

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

I've never seen you in a black dress before, Nick.

I thought you hated black.

I do hate it.

The cleaners didn't deliver the one I wanted to wear.

PLANE ENGINE ROARING That racket!

They shouldn't allow speedboats in the harbour!

That's not a speedboat.

It's a seaplane.

I think these flying people are absolutely marvellous.

- Pity about Michael Seton.

- He may still be all right.

Rather a mad family.

That uncle of his, Sir Matthew Seton, he was barmy.

Died about a week ago.

Isn't he that millionaire who ran bird sanctuaries?

Yes.

Some girl chucked him once.

He took to gannets by way of consoling himself.

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

JIM: Of course, you knew him, didn't you?

I forgot.

We met him last year at Le Touquet.

He was marvellous, wasn't he, Freddie?

Don't ask me, darling.

He was your conquest, not mine.

Have you done any flying, Captain Hastings?

- Well, actually... NICK: There's the telephone.

Oh, don't wait for me.

I don't eat dessert.

All the extra guests will be arriving.

for the fireworks soon, anyway.

NICK: It's too bad Mrs Croft can't be here.

It's bad luck on poor old Mrs C altogether.

But she never complains.

You know, that woman's got the sweetest nature.

Splendid view of the festivities, eh?

Didn't you come last year?

I say!

Look at that!

What a display!

MAGGIE: Beautiful.

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

Oh, let me.

No, you wouldn't know where to find it.

Oh, Maggie, can you get mine, too?

It's in my room.

NICK: She didn't hear.

I'll get it, Freddie.

My fur one.

This cape isn't nearly enough.

Thank you, darling.

POIROT: It is monotonous, do you not find, Hastings?

I like the different coloured ones.

I feel the dampness of the feet.

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

I wouldn't mind putting something on myself, actually.

Poirot, look!

It's Miss Buckley!

Mon Dieu!

Sorry I've been so long, Maggie... It's Maggie Buckley.

She's been shot.

How did it come about that your cousin is wearing your cape tonight?

We came in to fetch our coats and... I just flung off the cape on the sofa there.

I went upstairs and I was still in my room... ..when I heard Maggie call out that she couldn't find her coat.

She said she'd take mine, if I didn't want it, and I said, "All right, I'd be out in a minute."

And when I did... ..did come out... NICK SOBBING Well, I, er, I won't ask any more questions tonight.

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

You've had a shock, you understand?

What you need is complete rest.

I know of an excellent nursing home.

No.

But we want you to feel safe, mon enfant.

Do you understand?

NICK: I understand, but you don't.

I'm not afraid any longer.

I've got nothing to live for now.

If someone wants to murder me, they can.

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

Mademoiselle, I have failed you.

I, who promised you protection, have not been able to protect, but now I want to know that you are in safe hands, with people around you, day and night.

DOOR OPENS What's going on?

It's not Nick, is it?

She's not dead?

No.

No, mon ami, she is alive.

Nick!

My darling, I thought... I thought you were dead.

It's all right, George.

Don't be an idiot.

I'm quite safe.

Then what's happened?

The police man said Miss Buckley was dead.

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

I'm sorry, George.

Er... It was Miss Maggie Buckley.

Oh, my God!

What a tragedy!

RADIO: 'The statement from the chancellor has announced 'in our nine o'clock bulletin... 'Hope has been abandoned 'for the aeroplane pilot, Mr Michael Seton.

'Trobriand Island fishermen have salvaged wreckage 'believed to be parts of the Albatross, 'the seaplane built by Mr Seton 'for his attempt to fly around the world.

'The opposition...' No-one, Dr Graham.

No-one.

Not even the dearest friend of Mademoiselle's Buckley is to be allowed to see her.

Oh, Monsieur Poirot!

Not even the King of England.

No-one.

Except me, Captain Hastings, and your good self.

Mademoiselle, I wish you good night.

DOOR CLOSES POIROT: Hastings.

How is she?

Safe.

You don't think the police could be right, do you, Poirot?

That this is the work of some wondering lunatic?

No.

The murderer is someone in Mademoiselle's own circle.

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

I am quite sure he did not.

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

HASTINGS: Difficult not to give oneself away in circumstances like that.

Answer me three questions, Hastings!

- What?

What?

- Three questions.

One, why has Mademoiselle Nick been sleeping so badly of late?

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

Three, why did she say last night, "I have nothing to live for now"?

- Did she?

- She did.

Answer the questions, Hastings.

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

About what?

What?

Oh.

I don't know.

The black dress?

Well, you heard.

The cleaners let her down.

Anyway, all women have a black dress.

You have little appreciation of the feminine temperament, Hastings.

Well, anyway... The last... It was a natural thing to say after that awful shock.

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

To be horror struck by her cousin's death, torture yourself for it, yes.

All that is natural enough.

But the other?

No.

TELEPHONE RINGING Never before has she displayed that attitude.

She has been defiant.

Hello?

Yes?

Certainement.

Yes.

Madame Rice.

She wishes to see us.

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

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

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

You'll find out sooner or later, so I might as well tell you the truth now.

I was not in Tavistock.

No, Madame?

I motored down from London last week with Mr Lazarus.

We stayed in a little place called Shallacombe, together.

I see.

I'm still a married woman, technically.

May I be impertinent, Madame?

Is there such a thing these days?

You care for Monsieur Lazarus?

He's rich.

POIROT: Ooh, la, la!

That is an ugly thing to say.

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

You are very intelligent, Madame.

You'll be giving me a diploma next!

I'm going to take some flowers around to Nick and see how she is.

Oh, that is very amiable of you.

And I thank you, Madame, for your frankness.

Very nice.

Very nice.

I'm at the Gulls, myself.

A stone's throw from the gasworks.

My dear Chief Inspector, it is so good to see you.

You do not stay here?

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

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

As you say, Chief Inspector.

You think these accidents she had were all part of it?

Oh, there is no doubt.

Hm, you might be right.

Be a help if we could get a hold of the gun.

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

They mostly haven't.

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

They've just got down from Yorkshire.

Let me know if you have any ideas, won't you?

Of that, you may be sure, Inspector.

It is all very well and pretty for Madame Rice to force the richness of Monsieur Lazarus down our throats, huh?

Yes.

I must say, that rather disgusted me.

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

No, no, no.

Madame Rice was trying to tell us something.

"I have a friend who is very rich.

"He can give me all I need.

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

I see.

Look here, Poirot, what's the meaning of this?

They won't let me see her.

Is this your work?

- Have you seen Dr Graham?

Gave the usual guff.

"As well as can be expected.

Passed a quiet night."

You think I don't know those tricks?

I've got an uncle in Harley Street.

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

Listen to me, mon ami.

There is no fooling you.

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

You comprehend?

I see.

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

We will say no more.

The extreme prudence is what is needed at the moment.

I can hold my tongue.

Mum's the word, eh?

I'll send her some flowers.

They like flowers, don't they?

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

You know?

Oh, well... It doesn't matter who knows now.

Now that it's all over.

Now that I'll never see him again.

Courage, Mademoiselle.

I haven't any courage left.

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

Waiting and hoping.

Captain Hastings does not know what we are talking about.

Michael Seton, the airman.

I was engaged to be married to him.

He's dead.

You heard the news last night?

On the wireless.

I made an excuse about the telephone.

I wanted to hear the news alone, in case... I don't want to live.

I don't want to live.

I know.

I know.

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

The grief, it passes.

You think I'll forget?

Marry someone else?

Never.

But you are fortunate, Mademoiselle.

You have been loved by a brave man.

When did you get engaged?

Just after Christmas.

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

Sir Matthew Seton.

He thought women ruined a man's life.

He was frightfully proud of Michael though.

He financed the building of the Albatross.

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

He would have been a... I don't know.

A kind of a world hero.

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

HASTINGS: Yes.

Yes, I see.

I never told anyone, not even Freddie.

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

It seemed a bit boastful to do it while the papers were full of Michael's flight.

Michael would have hated that.

Mademoiselle, you once mentioned that you had made a will.

Mm.

Where is it, this will?

Oh.

Knocking around somewhere.

I'm frightfully untidy, you know.

Papers and things are... mostly in the writing table, in the library.

Or maybe in the bedroom.

Or maybe... I'm sorry.

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

If you want to.

POIROT: I was right.

When you mean this engagement business has some bearing on the crime?

- Listen to me, mon ami.

Just over a week ago, Sir Matthew Seton dies, and Sir Matthew Seton was one of the wealthiest men in England.

- Yes... - Attendee.

He has a nephew, whom he idolises, to whom, we assume, he has left his vast fortune.

Last Tuesday, this nephew Michael Seton, is reported missing.

And on Wednesday, the attacks on the life of Mademoiselle begin.

Now, suppose, Hastings, that Michael Seton made his will before he started his flight and that he left all he had to his fiancee?

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

No, no!

It is an enormous fortune!

Ah!

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