- What are you doing, Hastings?

- What?

No, I'm just waiting for Stiffie Benson.

We're going to play golf.

But we are in the middle of a murder investigation.

Just a quick nine holes.

Only, Stiffie rang me.

He's only down here for one day.

Anyway, it's not a real murder investigation, is it?

- What do you mean?

- Well, I mean, obviously, whoever it was killed the wrong girl.

- So it does not count?

- No, I'm not saying that.

Hastings, after three attempts had been made on the life of Mademoiselle Nick, Poirot gave his word he would protect her.

The fourth attempt apparently misfired.

And Mademoiselle Maggie Buckley was killed.

Well, I can see you'd feel pretty cut up about it.

But it's a dead end, Poirot.

Anybody could have fired that shot.

Nobody had a real motive for wanting to kill either of them, anyway.

My dear Hastings, already my investigations have uncovered the fact that Mademoiselle Nick was engaged to the flyer Captain Seton and that he has probably left his large fortune to her.

A very forceful motive for murder, surely.

Now... ..we have work to do.

I say!

Are you any forwarder?

Comment?

You are going to get to the bottom of this, aren't you?

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

Hope my alibi's in order.

There are other things besides alibis, Commander.

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

I've always wanted to marry her.

POIROT SPEAKS FRENCH Mademoiselle was the fiancee of another man.

A motive, perhaps, for killing, n'est-ce pas?

But there would have been no need.

The other man dies the death of a hero.

CHALLENGER: So, it's true.

Nick was engaged to this Michael Seton.

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

- Well, I didn't know about it.

- Oh, hello, Freddie.

So, neither of you knew that Mademoiselle was engaged to Mr Seton?

Nick's a close little devil when she likes.

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

Have you got my watch, darling?

Yes.

I... got it done this morning.

FREDDIE: It's a bore.

Always something going wrong with it.

You said it kept wonderful time.

Yes.

Well, it does.

It's, er...

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

I've got a bit of a headache.

I'm going to go and lie down.

POIROT: Compliments of... ..Hercule... ..Poirot.

Merci, madame.

I've sent her some flowers already.

I might send some fruit, I suppose.

Ah, the eatable, it is not permitted, Commander.

You don't think someone's still going to try... Good Lord!

So, on the night of the fireworks, you were in the kitchen?

That's right.

You help your wife with the cleaning up, do you?

That's right.

When there's company, I do.

That's where the lady was killed, there, by the steps.

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

- That's right, son.

- I liked it.

Dad used to kill pigs when he worked on the farm, didn't you, Dad?

I've seen pigs killed.

I liked it.

Young'uns like to see pigs killed.

Shot with a pistol the lady was.

She didn't have her throat cut, did she, Dad?

JAPP CLEARS THROAT Are they all like that around here?

HASTINGS: Poor Miss Buckley.

She was in quite a state, wasn't she?

She didn't seem to have any idea where she put the will.

Most people have a sort of secret place where they keep things like that.

Mon Dieu!

Are there any secret panels, that sort of thing, in the house, do you know?

ELLEN: Well, there is, as a matter of fact.

I remember being shown it as a girl.

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

In here or in the drawing room.

HASTINGS: Big enough for someone to hide in?

ELLEN: Oh, no, sir.

It's just a little cupboard sort of a place, about a foot square.

Oh.

Thank you very much, sir.

Secret panels?

I like to cover every eventuality.

Eventuality, huh?

Here is an eventuality for you, Hastings.

- Who's it from?

- Madame Rice.

"Darling, party was too marvellous.

"Feeling rather doomy today.

"You were wise not to touch that stuff.

"Don't ever start, sweetie.

It's so damned hard to give up.

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

What hell it all is?

"Love, Freddie."

Dated last February.

She takes cocaine, of course.

HASTINGS: Driver's licence.

Dressmaker's bill.

Perfectly good dividend warrant.

The young girls nowadays, Hastings, they are not properly trained.

Order and method are left out of their bringing up.

There's a cheque here for £20 from... What are you doing, Poirot?

We are searching for the will, mon ami.

Those are, well... underclothes, aren't they?

My poor Hastings, decidedly, you belong to the Victorian era.

Ah.

This is Monsieur Michael Seton.

Yes.

And his love letters, if I mistake not.

Poirot, you really can't do that.

It isn't playing the game.

We are not playing a game, Hastings.

We are hunting down a murderer.

Here.

You'd better read them as well as me.

Two pairs of eyes are no worse than one pair.

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

"January the third.

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

Oh, look here.

"March the second.

"My dearest, this is pretty rotten, "all this beastly concealment, isn't it?

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

I say, Poirot, listen to this!

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

"By the way, somebody said I ought to make a will, "tactful fellow, so I have, "on half a sheet of note paper and sent it to old Whitfield.

"I remembered your name was Magdala, which was clever of me.

"A couple of the fellows witnessed it."

So you were right.

He did make a will.

Yes, and anyone who read these letters would know the fact.

HASTINGS: We looked everywhere.

POIROT: Try to remember, mademoiselle, where you last saw your will.

I can't.

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

The secret what?

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

Nonsense!

I've never heard of such a thing.

Ellen said so?

Mais oui, but we are wandering from the subject, huh?

The last will and testament of Magdala Buckley.

Did you use a will form?

There wasn't time.

I was just going off to have my appendix out.

Besides, Mr Croft said that will forms were dangerous.

Mr Croft was there?

Yes, it was his idea to make the will at all.

He is very helpful, the excellent Monsieur Croft.

- Yes, he... SHE SCOFFS What an idiot.

Letting you hunt round End House.

Charles has got it, of course.

My cousin, Charles Vyse.

Ah.

NICK: Mr Croft said the proper person to have charge of it was a lawyer.

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

Charles has got it.

He'll show it to you if you really want to see it.

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

No, I suppose not.

POIROT: No!

- What on earth's the matter?

POIROT: You must eat nothing that comes from the outside, mademoiselle.

Nothing.

You think they're still trying?

You think it isn't over yet?

POIROT: I think... ..it is not over yet.

INSPECTOR: Even if the murderer did throw the gun in the sea... ..all this is a waste of time.

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

Go on.

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

Oh, yes... but sharp.

Go on.

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

Keep your eyes down, lads!

WAVES CRASHING But, my dear sir... ..no will has been entrusted to my keeping.

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

No.

Now, look here, Mr Vyse!

I never received anything of the kind, Captain Hastings.

In that case, monsieur... ..there is nothing more to be said.

There must be some mistake.

MAN: There you are, sir.

That's sixpence.

Thank you, sir.

- Thank you.

MAN: Peppermint rock!

Lovely peppermint rock!

Ah, there you are.

I've got some information on the Lazarus Gallery I thought might interest you.

Tell me, Chief Inspector.

They're not far off Queer Street.

A slump in pictures has hit them badly.

Antique furniture, too.

They built new premises last year and overreached themselves.

Thank you, Inspector.

That's a good motive, eh, Poirot?

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

More as a joke than anything else.

Yes?

MR CROFT: She wrote it out then and there.

Who witnessed it?

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

And, afterwards, what was done with it?

We posted it to Mr Vyse.

The lawyer, you know.

HASTINGS: You know that it was posted?

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

Looks all right.

But who is lying, I wonder?

Monsieur Bert Croft or Monsieur Charles Vyse?

I see no reason for Monsieur Croft to lie.

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

TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWS What are we doing here, Poirot?

INDISTINCT CHATTER MAN: All change!

All change!

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

- A gynaecologist?

- No.

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

Who is this Dr MacAllister?

Miss Lemon is trying to tell us, Hastings.

MISS LEMON: So I went to his place in Harley Street.

He's got a nursing home there and another place in Paris.

I didn't like it.

There was something unpleasant about it.

- It is respectable?

- Yes.

Very smart, though.

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

Oh?

It was only a ruse, Captain Hastings.

Oh, a ruse.

Right.

I managed to chat to one of the nurses.

She said, "Your Commander Challenger "comes to the clinic at least once every ten days."

Does he, indeed?

Miss Lemon... you have done well.

Jolly well.

Who is Dr MacAllister?

POIROT: Oh, Hastings.

He is the uncle of Commander Challenger.

TRAIN WHISTLES The uncle he told us about.

Right.

But you should have seen the waiting room.

Lady Lowestoft was there.

And Mrs Bindhoff.

Blimey.

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

TRAIN CHUGGING TRAIN WHISTLE BLARES No, no, no.

Hastings, you do not come.

You are going to visit a Monsieur Whitfield for us.

- Who's Mr Whitfield?

- He is the lawyer that Michael Seton mentions in his letter.

Says he sent his will to him.

Precisement.

I want you to find out if that was true and what were the terms of the will.

What if all the dibs is coming to Miss Buckley?

He'll never tell me that.

Then you must use your powers of persuasion, Hastings.

"Dibs."

HE CHUCKLES SOFTLY He's in London, isn't he?

There is a train to Plymouth in seven minutes, and from there, you can catch the train to London.

The Majestic Hotel, if you please, driver.

Be kind enough to take this box for me.

RECEPTIONIST: Mr Poirot?

- Yes?

There's an urgent message for you.

Uh-huh?

It's from Dr Graham.

Will you telephone him at the nursing home?

He said it was most important.

Yes, of course.

Would you make the call for me on your telephone?

Thank you.

Grange Nursing Home, please.

I do not like these urgent messages, Miss Lemon.

I never reply to urgent messages.

I know they're going to be unpleasant.

- There you are, sir.

- Thank you.

Hello?

Dr Graham?

Inspector Japp, it's you?

What's happened?

Comment?

Yes.

Yes, I will come at once.

Mademoiselle Nick is dangerously ill. She has been poisoned.

INSPECTOR: The chocolate's cut in half, horizontally... ..cocaine mixed with the filling... ..the chocolate's stuck together again.

How could she be so idiotic?

It is only this morning that I warned her.

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

This came with the chocolates.

"With the compliments of Hercule Poirot"?

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

Copied from the card you sent with some flowers.

Quite well copied, too.

METAL CLANKING NICK RETCHING HE CLEARS THROAT How is Miss Buckley?

I have failed, Miss Lemon.

I have failed utterly and completely.

Mademoiselle Buckley died ten minutes ago.

TRAIN WHISTLE BLARES Tickets, please.

Madam.

Sir.

Sir.

Thank you, madam.

♪ She'd love to be On rapport with him ♪ ♪ But not behind a bolted door With him ♪ ♪ And what did she do I leave it to you ♪ ♪ She did just What you'd do, too.

♪ - That's terrible.

- I know.

Poor old Poirot.

He must be feeling dreadful.

He is.

He won't come out of his room.

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

How did you get on with that lawyer in London?

Very well, as a matter of fact.

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

He's a partner now and so...

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

And?

He left everything to Miss Buckley.

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

SEAGULLS SQUAWKING JAPP: Now, I want you to tell me exactly how and when the parcel for Miss Buckley arrived.

A dark-haired gentleman brought it.

Came up in a big red car.

Ah.

Lazarus, eh?

And what did you do with it?

I just put it on the end of the table here.

About, er, half past two, it was.

Everything that comes in for the patients is left here for the nurses to take up.

Well, I came on duty at three o'clock.

Well, five to, actually, because I got a lift up the hill from Dr Graham.

Anyway, I took her up the parcel then.

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

NURSE: Mm.

There was the box of chocolates, there was a bunch of flowers from a Mr and Mrs Croft, and there was a parcel that had come in the post.

And that was a box of Fuller's chocolates, too.

Comment?

A second box?

Yes, it was a coincidence.

Anyway, Miss Buckley unwrapped them both.

And your card was in one of them, so she said that was all right and I was to take the other one away.

- Who was the other one from?

- There wasn't a card.

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

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

Oh.

Oh, I'm not sure.

Miss Buckley had unwrapped them both before she looked inside them.

I really couldn't say.

You left a box of chocolates at the nursing home for Miss Buckley yesterday, Mr Lazarus.

Yes, I did.

That was very amiable of you, monsieur.

As a matter of fact, they were from Freddie, Mrs Rice.

She asked me to get them.

I see.

So you've still got no leads, then?

I wouldn't say that.

I want to see them hanged, whoever did this.

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

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

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

DOOR CLOSES JAPP CLEARS THROAT She says, "Will you please go away?"

Excuse me.

FREDDIE: Go away!

How dare you!

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

You sent a box of chocolates to Miss Buckley yesterday.

I won't be bullied!

JAPP: Two people have been murdered, Mrs Rice.

Your friend was killed with poisoned chocolates.

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

You think I killed Nick?

We have to investigate every possibility, madame... ..even the remotest.

Nick telephoned me yesterday and asked me to get her a two-pound box of Fuller's chocolates.

- She asked you to get them?

FREDDIE: Yes.

So I did.

How did she sound on the telephone?

- Sound?

- Hm.

All right.

Her voice sounded a bit weak.

I didn't realise who it was at first.

Until she told you who it was?

SHE EXHALES Yes.

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

Yes, of course.

Well... Who else could it have been?

Well, that didn't get us very far.

POIROT: I understand nothing.

Nothing!

I am in the dark.

I am a little child.

Who stands to gain by the death of Mademoiselle, huh?

Madame Rice.

Who buys chocolates, admits it, and then tells a story about being rung up on the telephone that does not, for one minute, hold the water?

Madame Rice.

No, it is too simple.

Stupid.

But she takes cocaine, you say.

Of that, there is no mistake.

And there was cocaine in those chocolates.

She is not stupid.

The killer tried four times and failed.

The fifth time... ..he succeeded.

What did he want?

What was going to happen when Mademoiselle Nick died that he so dearly wanted to happen?

Well, we shall see.

Today, perhaps, all will become clear.

I cannot eat these eggs.

They are of totally different sizes.

- Mr Poirot?

- Yes.

Telephone for you, sir.

In the foyer.

- Who is it?

- A Mr Charles Vyse.

Ah!

Things begin to happen, huh?

Excuse me.

When?

This morning?

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

Tonight?

Oh, yes, yes.

Au revoir.

It begins.

HASTINGS: What's going on?

Suivez.

Monsieur Charles Vyse has just informed me ..that this morning, through the post, he has received a will signed by his cousin, Mademoiselle Buckley, and dated 25th of February last.

What, it's turned up after six months in the post?

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

But does she leave everything to Mrs Rice?

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

But there seems no doubt that it is the same will and witnessed by Ellen Wilson and her husband.

Which brings us back to Frederica Rice.

Such a pretty name, Frederica.

POIROT: Mais oui.

Prettier than what her friends call her, huh?

Freddie?

Ce n'est pas joli for a young lady.

MISS LEMON: There aren't many abbreviations for Frederica.

lt's not like Elizabeth, where you can have dozens.

Eliza, Liz, Betty, Betsy, Bess.

Thank you, Miss Lemon, that's... Or Margaret.

That has a lot, too.

Maggie, Madge.

- Margo.

MISS LEMON: Peggy.

HASTINGS: Margie, Meg, Meggie.

Ah, there you are, Poirot.

I've been looking for you.

What's your name, Chief Inspector?

- Name?

What name?

- Your first name.

James.

James Japp.

Jim.

Jimmy Japp.

HASTINGS: Jamie Japp.

Chief Inspector Japp and I will leave you to play.

What about Hercule?

Oh, there aren't any for Hercule.

Herc?

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

But we cannot be sure.

This is a matter of complex and hidden motives, huh?

And... Oh, mon Dieu!

What's up?

I have been blind.

Blind!

"Complex," I have said?

Mais non.

Of a simplicity extreme.

Extreme.

And miserable one that I am...

..I saw nothing.

VEHICLE APPROACHING S'il vous plait.

BELL RINGS INDISTINCT CHATTER This makes a nice change for me.

I'm not a... Oh, Bert.

Look, we're going to sit next to that nice Captain Hastings.

Oh.

Hello.

Good.

That is all, I think, Monsieur Vyse.

In an ordinary case, the will of a deceased person is read after the funeral.

In fact, I am proposing to read it now.

Although dated last February, it only reached me by post this morning.

However, although it is a most informal document, it is properly attested.

This is the last will and testament of Magdala Buckley.

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

"I leave everything of which I die possessed... "..to Mildred Croft... "..in grateful recognition of the services rendered by her "to my father, Philip Buckley, "which services nothing can ever repay."

Signed Magdala Buckley.

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

Philip Buckley was out in Australia, and if hadn't been for me... Well, I don't want to go into that.

Well, I think perhaps you ought to, Mrs Croft.

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

She knew about it, though.

Nick, I mean.

I guess her father must have told her.

But if anyone says that there is no gratitude in this world, I shall tell them that they're wrong and that this proves it.

I presume, Monsieur Vyse... ..that, as next of kin, you could contest that will, huh?

There is, I understand, a vast fortune at stake, which was not the case when the will was made.

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

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

MR CROFT: Well, Mrs C, this, er... this is a surprise, huh?

Dear sweet girl.

SHE SOBS I wish she could look down now and see us.

Perhaps she does.

Who knows?

SHE SNIFFLES Perhaps.

A little idea.

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

Now, I know that she does not like to have it bruited about, but Mademoiselle Felicity Lemon has the pronounced powers of the medium.

Now, we are all here.

We are seated around the table.

Let us hold a seance.

- This is ridiculous.

- Wonderful idea.

A seance!

But surely... - This is nonsense.

POIROT: No, no.

It will be most interesting.

Why not?

All ready, Mademoiselle Lemon?

I'll turn the lights out.

Now, we must all join hands.

Is that not so, Mademoiselle Lemon?

Well... Everybody join hands, and... SWITCH CLICKS ALL MURMURING Now, please, if you please, we must have the complete silence while Mademoiselle Lemon goes into her trance.

HE SNIGGERS Do you think you could... Quiet, please.

SHE BREATHES DEEPLY Yes, she is now going into her trance.

WHISPERS: Is there anybody there?

I think it's time we stopped fooling about.

HASTINGS: Shh!

Is there anybody there?

DOOR CREAKS WOMAN GASPS INDISTINCT CHATTER SHE SCREAMS It's her!

She's come back!

Them that's murdered always walks!

It's her!

- You're real.

- I'm real, all right.

CHALLENGER: Thank God.

Thank God.

Who was responsible for this farrago, then?

It was I who persuaded Mademoiselle Nick to pretend to be dead, I'm afraid.

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

- Oh.

But I'm afraid you won't be able to enjoy the benefits of that will you forged just yet.

Oh, but it was just a joke, dear.

Just a joke.

NICK: Oh, it really is very funny.

Just a bit of a laugh, that's all.

That will was a forgery?

Oh, yes.

And a very fine one, too.

You've got nothing on me.

NICK: Nothing?

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

No!

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

And you say nothing!

We never had nothing to do with that.

Don't say anything, Bert.

Don't say anything.

- We may've forged the will... - Bert!

..we never had nothing to do with no killing.

Take them away, Inspector.

Take them out of my house.

Strewth, we never had nothing to do with that girl dying.

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

I really hated doing it.

Deceiving you, all my nice friends.

As long as you're all right, really.

I think it's time for a celebration.

- Yes.

POIROT: Perhaps.

Or perhaps it is time for the truth.

Chief Inspector Japp.

Early this evening, acting on information received from Mr Poirot, I concealed myself behind a screen in the library.

'When everyone was assembled in the dining room, 'another person entered the house.

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

'They then took out the object that was in there 'and went out into the hall.'

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

They put the object they'd removed from behind the secret panel in the pocket of one of those coats hanging there.

Mrs Rice.

Yes?

Just help me out, will you?

Go and look in the pocket of your coat.

Show me what's in there.

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

Humour me, Mrs Rice.

Gloves.

Try the other pocket.

ALL GASPING It's not mine!

If you're trying to frame her... No, no.

Someone is trying to frame Madame Rice... ..but it is not Inspector Japp.

And it is not Poirot.

Merci.

Maggie Buckley was killed.

That was inescapable.

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

But that did not make sense.

Mademoiselle Nick loves End House, huh?

Is that not so, Mademoiselle Nick?

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

So, what good fortune, she thinks, when she meets the wealthy young aviator, Michael Seton, at Le Touquet.

But he does not fall in love with her.

He falls in love with someone else.

This is rubbish.

So an outrageous plan begins to form in the pretty head of our young lady.

And when I think of this, I think of some silly things that Captain Hastings and Miss Lemon were saying.

That there were many abbreviations for the name of Margaret.

Maggie, Margo, Madge, etc.

Yes.

And it occurred to me to ask myself the question... ..what was the real name... of Maggie Buckley?

And tout d'un coup it came to me!

There were two Magdala Buckleys!

FREDDIE: Oh, my God.

This is rubbish, Freddie.

It's slanderous, too!

Charles, you're my lawyer!

POIROT: Magdala was a family name.

But Michael Seton did not know that Mademoiselle Nick was called also Magdala.

He only knows her as Nick.

And in his very informal will, he just says he leaves everything to Magdala Buckley.

This is untrue.

It's untrue, every word of it!

Voila the person, the person who shot Mademoiselle Maggie.

Mademoiselle Nick.

Are you mad?

Why should I kill Maggie?

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

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

It was with her he was in love... ..not you!

You silly little man.

You don't know anything.

You're all so... stupid!

Let me get my watch.

Come on, then.

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

POIROT: My dear Chief Inspector... ..she very nearly did get away with it.

Even Poirot is taken in, huh?

The murder of Maggie Buckley was easy... ..but to make it doubly convincing, Mademoiselle Nick continued with more tales of attempts on her own life.

What first put you onto it?

I think... ..the love letters... ..of Michael Seton.

You see, Mademoiselle Nick stole only those letters which did not contain the name of Maggie.

But there was something else about those letters.

On the 27th of February last, Mademoiselle Nick underwent an operation for appendicitis.

But there was a letter dated March the second, from Michael Seton... ..and he does not mention it.

She was such a queer little girl.

She couldn't help herself, you know?

It's going to be a very unpleasant business.

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

POIROT: I think there will be no need.

If I mistake not, the wristwatch of Mademoiselle Nick will obviate the necessity for a trial.

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

What?

What the hell do you mean?

No, do not try to deceive me, Commander, with your hearty, good-fellow manner.

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

You and your uncle in Harley Street.

Now look here!

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

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

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

Good God!

Cocaine in the wristwatches?

- Hm.

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

Ooh, that's awful!

POIROT: Indeed, it is, Miss Lemon.

But it is better than the rope of a hangman.

CHILDREN SHOUTING INDISTINCTLY LAUGHTER It is satisfying, is it not, Chief Inspector, in a case... when at last one knows everything?

I thought you knew everything anyway, Poirot.

Well... Ah.

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

- None for Mr Poirot because I read an article on the train how ice cream was extremely bad for the little grey cells.

And two for me because mine are dead already.

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

The sea air obviously agrees with them.

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

JAPP LAUGHS Thank you.

Sante.

JAPP LAUGHS Subtitles by accessibility@itv.com