HASTINGS BREATHES DEEPLY HASTINGS INHALES DEEPLY Are you feeling better, Hastings?

HE EXHALES Yes.

Yes, I am, as a matter of fact.

Takes the pressure off the pancreas, you see.

Uh-huh.

The pancreas is nothing.

Of the digestive organs, the liver is the king.

Look after the liver, and life will take care of itself.

DOOR OPENS MISS LEMON: Your tisane, Mr Poirot.

Thank you, Miss Lemon.

This is what you need, Hastings.

No fear.

I've tasted it.

- Mr Poirot?

- Yes, Miss Lemon.

There's a lady outside.

- A client?

- I don't know.

When I say "outside", I mean outside in the street.

I've been watching her from my window.

She keeps on, backwards and forwards, and then stops and looks up at the building.

I'm sure she wants to come in.

Go and intercept her, Miss Lemon.

Inform her that Hercule Poirot is not devouring the strange ladies this season.

Mr Poirot!

To leave the pancreas alone, Hastings, is the best advice I can give you.

And look to your diet.

What did you eat last night, huh?

Ah!

Do not tell me.

You went to that Indian restaurant you keep on telling me about, n'est-ce pas?

The Orient has much to teach us, Poirot.

Uh-huh.

You have been warned, Hastings.

Do you know what is the most heavily taxed import in Belgium?

Rice!

The Government of my country is determined to stamp it out.

I was brought up on rice, rice pudding.

And how are you feeling, Hastings?

Well... POIROT: Yes, Hastings, but we happen to be living in a cold country.

The Indian philosopher Rabindranath Tagore specifically recommends rice as a cure for all known ills.

MISS LEMON: She won't come in, Mr Poirot.

She denied wanting to see you at all at first.

Then she said she'd meet you.

Where?

RAIN PATTERING POIROT: Don't be nervous, madame.

You are among friends.

MRS PENGELLEY: I may be wickedly wronging poor Edward, though.

It's a terrible thought for a wife to have, but I've got this dreadful idea.

POIROT: You suspect your husband of?

Oh, Monsieur Poirot.

I'm dreadfully afraid I'm being poisoned.

I see.

What makes you think so, Madame?

I'm sick after nearly every meal, and I get this burning pain all down here.

The doctor says it's gastritis.

But it's very odd.

Whenever Edward's away for the weekend, I'm quite all right again.

Even Freda noticed that.

- Freda?

- My niece.

And then there's that tin of weedkiller.

The gardener says he's never used it, but it's half empty.

You and your husband reside where, Madame?

Polgarwith.

It's in Cornwall.

Do you have any children?

No.

But a niece, I think you said, yes?

Yes.

Freda Stanton.

My husband's only sister's child.

She's lived with us for the last eight years.

That is until a week ago.

A-ha!

And what happened a week ago?

I don't know.

One day last week, she just flared up and walked out.

She's taken rooms of her own in the town.

Leave her to come to her senses, so Mr Radnor says.

Monsieur Radnor?

Oh, he's just a friend.

A very pleasant young fellow.

Anything, you know, between him and your niece?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Madame... ..we must be brutal.

Do you know of any reason why your husband should wish you out of the way?

Yes, I do.

There's a yellow-haired hussy that works for him.

My husband's a dentist, Mr Poirot, and nothing would do, but he must have a "smart girl", as he put it, to make appointments and mix his fillings for him.

Go on, Madame.

Well, there's talk around the town.

I mean, her with her bobbed hair and her white overall.

Of course, he swears it's all right.

But then he would, wouldn't he?

It makes me cold talking like this.

Alors, let us then be practical.

You return to Polgarwith today, yes?

Yes.

There's a train at five.

Eh, bien.

Tomorrow, Captain Hastings and I will follow you there.

I don't want there to be any talk.

Courage, madame.

We will be discretion itself.

HASTINGS: You see, he was one of the Wiltshire Hastings on his father's side.

So, it was Herbert who moved the family to Cornwall.

Yes, Herbert was my father.

Who was your mother, then?

Maude Hastings.

At least, she wasn't Hastings until she got married.

She was Maude Willoughby.

What are you doing, Hastings?

I'm trying to get these relationships sorted out.

If I'm going to pretend I'm the son of Mrs Pengelley's second cousin.

HE SIGHS What do you think of this case, Hastings?

Nasty business, I'd say.

Unless Mrs Pengelley's making the whole thing up.

Madame Pengelley did not strike me as being a hysterical woman, Hastings.

No, if I mistake not, we have here a very poignant human drama.

TRAIN WHISTLES GUARD: Polgarwith.

This is Polgarwith.

You see, it's very simple, Hastings.

Ordinarily, a woman will accuse anyone in the world except her husband.

She will stick to her belief in him through thick and thin.

This "other woman" complicates matters.

You mean affection may turn to hate under the stimulus of jealousy?

Exactly.

Why, then, come to me?

To have her suspicions proved wrong?

Or to have them proved right?

In a town like this, Hastings, woe betide any husband who buys a tin of weedkiller.

HASTINGS: Only one place to buy something like that.

POIROT: But then, if his wife suffers from gastritis and is inclined to be imaginative, the fat is in the flames, I think.

KNOCK ON DOOR If Monsieur Pengelley chooses for dalliance his receptionist, Hastings, he chooses unwisely.

It is a little too close to home.

Domestic quarters on one side and surgery on the other.

WOMAN WEEPING HASTINGS: What is that, Poirot?

Sounds like someone crying.

WOMAN SOBS POIROT: In here, Hastings.

SHE SOBS JESSIE: Yes?

We wish to see Mrs Pengelley.

You can't.

She's dead.

- Dead?

JESSIE: Not an hour ago.

Upstairs.

Cold.

Of what did she die?

- Are you foreign?

- Belgian.

The whole world's gone mad today.

What happened?

It's not my place to say anything, and I'm not going to.

But everybody knows.

Indeed?

Didn't I see the master with my own eyes standing near the shelf with the weedkiller this evening?

And didn't he jump when he turned round and saw me a-watchin' of him?

And the missus's gruel there on the table, ready.

Not a bite more food passes my lips while I'm in this house.

Not if I dies for it.

MR PENGELLEY: Jessie?

Jessie!

Oh, my God, it's him.

You'll have to go!

MR PENGELLEY: Jessie?

Where does the doctor who attended your mistress live?

Dr Adams.

At the other end of the High Street.

Who is it, Jessie?

JESSIE: It's nobody, sir.

It's just some men.

I'm very sorry to hear of your tragic loss, Monsieur Pengelley.

MR PENGELLEY: Thank you.

We'll come back some other time.

Yes.

Thank you.

Thank you, Mademoiselle.

We should have come with her yesterday, Hastings!

An imbecile, a criminal imbecile, that's what I have been!

How I boast about my little grey cells, and now I have lost a human life!

A life that came to me to be saved!

DOORBELL RINGS DR ADAMS: Damned nonsense!

Damned nonsense, every word of it!

Was I or was I not in attendance in this case?

- Indeed.

- Did I, or did I not say, the first day I went to see Mrs Pengelley, gastritis?

Yes.

Did I ever waver from that diagnosis?

No, I did not.

- This is undoubtedly... - This town is a hotbed of gossip.

A lot of scandalmongering old women get together and invent God knows what.

But the fact remains...

They read scurrilous rags of newspapers, and nothing will suit them better, but that someone from their town should be poisoned, too.

- But Madame Pengelley... - Why should anyone want to poison her?

Dr Adams, will you please listen to me?

Why?

I'm telling you.

It was yesterday that Madame Pengelley came to London in order to consult me.

She believed she was being poisoned.

Never!

Hastings, do you hear that?

Now I am a liar, huh?

Dr Adams, please allow me.

Madame Pengelley believed her husband was the poisoner.

Rubbish!

I know Edward Pengelley.

Wouldn't poison his grandmother's dog.

But it is not the dog of Madame Pengelley's grandmother that has been poisoned!

Madame Pengelley believed that her husband had fallen in love with his receptionist.

"Fallen in love"?

- Yes.

- Edward Pengelley isn't the sort of man to fall in love.

We play golf together.

Never been in love in his life.

Damn fine dentist, too.

I'll be blunt with you, Mr Poirot.

We in Polgarwith don't need you outsiders coming in spreading your tittle-tattle.

All I am trying to tell you, Monsieur Le Docteur, is what Madame Pengelley thought.

If she thought that, she must've gone mad.

She should've come to see me.

I'd have told her.

And had all her fears ridiculed?

Ridiculed?

Certainly not.

I've got an open mind, I hope.

FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING HASTINGS: ' "Fall in love"?

'Edward Pengelley's not the sort of man 'to fall in love.'

He is as obstinate as a pig, that one.

He says it is gastritis, therefore, it is gastritis.

"Did I waver from that diagnosis?

Never!"

HE SIGHS A doctor who lacks doubt is not a doctor.

He is an executioner.

And poor Madame Pengelley, surrounded by such closed minds.

We owe it to her, Hastings... ..to unmask her murderer.

HASTINGS: Well, let's meet the yellow-haired hussy, eh?

What is this "hussy", Hastings?

Mm.

It means the sort of girl who's... sort of... no better than she ought to be, kind of thing.

No better than?

That's it.

OBJECTS CLATTERING FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING OBJECTS CLATTER, SHE GASPS I say!

Oh, I'm sorry.

Yes, sir.

Oh.

Right.

Look, er...

I'm the second cousin of er... No.

Good morning.

Look here, I've got a toothache.

Ow!

There's been a bereavement.

Erm... Mr Pengelley isn't in the surgery today.

Ah.

Right.

Well, I'd better come back some other time, shall I?

POIROT: It is all right.

I will look after him.

Come along, Hastings.

- What?

Oh.

Right.

I'll come back next week, then.

What a stunner, Poirot!

You must not excite yourself, Hastings.

Good morning.

And what do you think of our little town?

It is charming, Madame.

I hope you find us interesting enough.

Indeed, I do.

Miss Stanton, dear.

Gentleman to see you.

Who are you?

Hercule Poirot.

And you?

Jacob Radnor.

Oh, poor Auntie.

Of course, it was all nonsense, her thinking Uncle Edward was poisoning her.

It's terribly sad.

I've been wishing all morning I'd been kinder and more patient.

These regrets are all too common, mademoiselle.

But one must move on.

I know, but I've got a sharp temper.

After all, it was only silliness on Auntie's part.

You stood a great deal, Freda.

What was the actual cause of your disagreement, Mademoiselle?

Look, I'll be running along.

I'll see you this evening, eh?

Goodbye, gentlemen.

Thank you.

You are affianced to Monsieur Radnor, is that not so?

- As a matter of fact, yes.

- Uh-huh.

How did you know?

Well, one does not have to be the greatest detective in the world to notice it.

Oh, I see.

That was the whole trouble, actually, with Auntie.

She did not approve of the match for you?

It wasn't that so much.

POIROT: But you see...

Yes?

It seems rather a horrid thing to say about her now, now she's dead.

But you'll never understand unless I tell you.

Well, Auntie was... She was absolutely infatuated with Jacob.

Jacob?

Jacob Radnor, you mean?

Yes.

Yes, I know.

I mean, she was over 50, and he's not 30 yet.

But there it was.

She was silly about him.

It would've made things dashed difficult.

Well, I just had to tell her in the end.

I had to say it was me Jacob was after.

Well, she carried on most dreadfully.

She wouldn't believe a word of it and was so rude and insulting.

I lost my temper, I'm afraid.

I wish I hadn't.

And so you left?

FREDA: Yes.

So I should jolly well think.

Thank you very much, Miss Stanton, you have been most helpful.

I hope I've put your mind at rest.

That's all.

Indeed.

Mind at rest, Hastings!

I thought it all seemed quite, you know... "You know"?

I'm not surprised she had gastritis.

Comment?

If she's going to run around after chaps half her age... Mr Poirot?

Ah!

Hello again, Monsieur Radnor.

I wonder if I might have a word with you.

I can pretty well guess what Freda has been telling you.

POIROT: Indeed?

RADNOR: It was all really unfortunate.

At first, I was quite pleased.

I imagined the old woman was helping things along with Freda.

And then it turned out... Well, the whole thing was absurd.

And extremely unpleasant.

This is my little place.

Oh, is this your shop?

Not bad, is it?

After you, gentlemen.

Thank you.

- Good morning.

POIROT: Good morning.

NEWSOME: Good morning, Mr Radnor.

It's all right, Mr Newsome, these gentlemen are with me.

You go and have your dinner if you like.

NEWSOME: Thank you, sir.

This is most impressive, Monsieur Radnor.

We're trying to liven Polgarwith up a bit.

New fashions.

Better quality.

When are you and Mademoiselle Stanton going to get married?

Soon, I hope.

Look, Mr Poirot, can I speak freely?

Of course.

I'm going to be candid with you.

Excellent.

I know a bit more than Freda does, you see.

Indeed?

She believes her uncle to be innocent.

And you don't?

I'm not so sure as all that.

I can tell you one thing, though.

I'm going to keep my mouth shut about what I do know.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

I don't want my wife's uncle tried and hanged for murder.

Why do you tell me this, Monsieur?

Because I've heard of you, and I know you're a clever man.

It's quite possible you might ferret out a case against him.

But I put it to you, what good is that?

The poor woman is past help, isn't she?

And she'd be the last person to want a scandal.

You are probably right.

So you want me to "hush it up"?

Well, I admit I'm being selfish about it.

I'm building up a good little business here.

You don't know what these SMALL TOWNS are like.

Most of us are selfish, Monsieur Radnor.

Not all of us admit it so freely.

Yes, I will do what you ask but I tell you frankly, you will not succeed in hushing it up.

Why not?

Vox populi, Monsieur Radnor, that is why.

The voice of the people.

"Earth to earth... "..ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

"In sure and certain hope of the Resurrection "to eternal life, "through our Lord Jesus Christ, who shall change our vile body "that it may be like unto His glorious body, "according to the mighty working..." HASTINGS: We can accept this rather extraordinary story about Radnor and Mrs Pengelley?

But, yes.

Must've been dashed embarrassing for him.

Perhaps.

Or perhaps he found it a little flattering, huh?

Flattering?

She was old enough to be his mother.

Well, almost.

"..as we forgive them that trespass against us.

"And lead us not into temptation, "but deliver us from evil."

Madame Pengelley was an estimable and charming lady.

Thank you, Mr Poirot.

If only I'd listened to her.

I assumed it was some minor digestive disorder.

- Terrible business.

- Sandwich, Captain Hastings?

- Terrible business.

- Gastritis.

Gastritis, pure and simple.

If you don't mind, Mr Pengelley, I'd like to read the will.

I have to get back to the office before midday.

Yes, yes, by all means.

There are no secrets.

It's quite straightforward, really.

After the usual preamble, Mrs Pengelley leaves £2,000 in trust for her niece, Miss Freda Stanton, until she is 40.

The residue of her estate, which amounts to some £20,000 in government bonds... ..she leaves to her husband, Edward Pengelley.

That's all.

SHE SOBS If you'd excuse us.

Thank you.

I think I should take her home.

POIROT: It is all very interesting, is it not, Hastings?

Interesting?

Seems to be rather sordid and unpleasant.

Hardly seems any mystery about it.

POIROT: I agree.

There is no mystery whatever.

Pengelley had three motives for the murder.

Money, he was in love with his assistant, Mrs Pengelley was apparently in love with Radnor.

I must say I find that pretty hard to believe.

Ah, Hastings, you admire les femmes, uh?

You prostrate yourself before all who are good-looking.

Look how you were struck all of a pile by that yellow-haired hussy.

Quite untrue!

But psychologically, you know nothing whatever about them.

There you are.

That just shows.

Women are always saying I understand them rather too well.

Really, Hastings?

I should like to hear them say so myself.

No, no, mon ami.

You listen to Poirot, and you shall learn.

TRAIN WHISTLES HE SIGHS In the autumn of a woman's life, Hastings, there comes always one mad moment when she longs for romance, for adventure, before it is too late.

Even if she is the wife of a respectable dentist in a country town.

And you think that... A clever man might take advantage of such a moment.

I'd hardly call Pengelley so clever.

He seems to have got the whole town talking.

WHISTLE TRILLS POIROT: You know, Hastings, what I find curious is that the only two men who know anything about the case they both want to hush it up.

What, Radnor and the doctor, you mean?

I don't see what that's got to do with it.

Well, before your bank holiday in August, Hastings... ..we shall see Monsieur Pengelley in the dock.

A good thing, too.

And it will be our job to save him from the gallows.

MAN: All right, lads, pick 'em up.

Ready?

MAN: One, two, three, heave.

One, two, three, heave!

One, two, three, heave.

One, two, three, heave!

COINS JINGLING Two heads and a tail.

Two Yins and a Yang.

Right.

That's number 15.

I don't understand this.

Are you sure you were thinking about Poirot?

This hexagram's come out as "Ch'ien".

What does that mean?

Modesty.

"Superior man carries things through without vanity."

MISS LEMON: Doesn't sound like Mr Poirot.

What are you doing, Hastings?

- Nothing.

- The I Ching, actually.

The I...

I Ching, it's an ancient Chinese oracle.

We were foretelling your future.

Most amusing.

HASTINGS: Your hexagram comes out as "modesty".

Oh?

That is most apt.

Well, well.

Yes, but it's the lines that are important.

Your second line says, "Ten pairs of tortoises cannot oppose him.

"The man in the scarlet knee bands is coming."

Tortoises?

Knee bands?

You see, the tortoise is considered a magical animal.

It means you're gonna be so successful that not even magic can stop you.

Hastings, I have had enough of this nonsense.

I can foretell the future better than any Chinese oracle.

As you will see, if you look in this newspaper.

"Herr Hitler speech, full text"?

Further down the page.

"Cornish Mystery.

Mrs Pengelley Exhumed."

POIROT: How long did I say, Hastings?

Say?

I said, did I not, that we should see Monsieur Pengelley in the dock.

HASTINGS: Before August bank holiday!

And when is the August bank holiday?

Two weeks on Monday.

Precisement.

He's done nothing!

- Now, now.

- No, you're wrong!

People tell lies!

They tell terrible lies!

He's innocent, I tell you!

He's innocent!

SHE SOBS TRAIN WHISTLES "Gossip in Polgarwith became intense "when Edward Pengelley announced his engagement "to his 25-year-old receptionist, "Miss Edwina Marks, three weeks ago."

What did I tell you, Hastings?

The voice of the people.

Hastings?

Have you finished your meditation?

Hastings?

HE SNORES MAN: And what was the reason for your visit?

No particular reason.

I often dropped in to see them.

We were friends.

MAN: Did you see Mrs Pengelley on this occasion?

RADNOR: No.

She was in bed, I was told.

She had her "digestive trouble" again.

She had this "digestive trouble" quite regularly?

RADNOR: Not regularly, no.

But she'd been suffering for some time with it.

You saw the accused?

RADNOR: Yes.

MAN: What was he doing?

He was in the kitchen preparing some gruel to take up to his wife.

MAN: Now, what I want you to tell the court is exactly what met your eyes when you went through that door into the kitchen.

RADNOR: Well, I saw Mr Pengelley.

He had his back to me.

He was putting a tin up on a shelf.

There was a tray with a bowl of gruel on it on the kitchen table.

- One moment, Mr Radnor.

This tin that Mr Pengelley was replacing... ..can you tell us what was in it?

No.

MAN: Can you describe it to us?

It was a bit bigger than a cocoa tin.

It was yellow with black printing on it.

Or perhaps dark blue.

Could we see exhibit D, please?

This tin, Mr Radnor?

Yes.

CROWD MURMURS Oh, no!

Can't I have just one little murder case to myself?

POIROT: Bonjour, Chief Inspector.

We were on this case long before you were.

Mm.

Good ham.

- I am glad.

Madame Pengelley came to me because she thought she was being poisoned.

She was right.

Poirot said Pengelley would be in the dock before August bank holiday.

So what are you here for?

To rescue him.

Oh, no.

He had the means to do it, the weed killer.

He had the opportunity to do it.

He lived in the same house and prepared some of her meals.

He had the motive to do it.

The yellow-haired hussy who has to be no better than she ought, huh?

- Hmm.

And yet, Inspector, he did not do it.

I can name six people who had a motive to kill Madame Pengelley.

What about Mademoiselle Stanton?

HASTINGS: She inherits under her aunt's will.

JAPP: Don't spoil it, Poirot.

This is a little holiday for me.

It's an open-and-shut case.

Everyone knows Pengelley did it.

Everyone does not use the grey cells, I think.

CAMERA SHUTTER CLICKS CAR HONKS Do you think I should talk to the niece again?

Certainly.

The symptoms of gastritis are identical to the symptoms of arsenic poisoning.

That is not what the pathologist from the Home Office said, Dr Adams.

No, no, no.

I'm telling you.

The symptoms of gastritis are identical to the symptoms of arsenic poisoning.

That's why I made the diagnosis that I did.

HASTINGS: I don't see what's going to save him.

POIROT: Poirot will save him.

With the help of the vox populi, of course.

Well, the vox populi seems quite certain Pengelley did it if you ask me.

Precisement.

You have now grasped the nub of the matter.

RADNOR: Monsieur Poirot!

Ah!

Monsieur Radnor.

Hello.

Captain Hastings.

This is a sad business.

- Ah!

The trial?

Yes.

I just think it is.

Do you see any chance of him getting off?

Well, he has reserved his defence.

And he may have something up his sleeve, as you English say.

Would you care to join Captain Hastings and me for a drink at the hotel?

- Well, thank you.

- Then please do join us.

We can go to my room, Monsieur Radnor, where we can discuss the intricacies of this case, non?

RADNOR: Splendid.

Please sit down, Monsieur Radnor.

- Thank you.

- Hastings, be so kind as to offer our friend something to drink.

HASTINGS: Sherry?

- Please.

Business is good, Mr Radnor?

RADNOR: Excellent, thank you, yes.

I've taken over the shop next door to add to mine.

Eh bien, it is er... Jacob, n'est-ce pas?

I'm sorry?

Jacob Radnor?

Yes.

PENCIL SCRATCHING Jacob... ..Radnor... ..of 21 Fore Street, yes?

What are you doing?

POIROT: Captain Hastings and I are very experienced, Monsieur Radnor, in matters of this kind.

And we both feel that our friend, Monsieur Pengelley, has one... loophole of escape.

Loophole?

What loophole has he got?

That you should sign... ..this little piece of paper.

What is it?

A confession that you murdered Madame Pengelley.

HE LAUGHS You must be mad!

No, no, no, my friend, I am not mad.

Madame Pengelley was a lady very well-to-do.

But the small allowance she made to her niece was not sufficient for your ambitious schemes.

No.

You must get rid of both her and her husband.

And then, all the money would go to Mademoiselle Stanton, non?

You yourself decide to murder Madame Pengelley... ..and let her husband hang for the crime.

I'm not going to stay here listening to this!

- Hastings.

You've got no right to keep me here.

POIROT: Nevertheless, you will stay.

You set about your task very cleverly, Monsieur Radnor.

You made love to that plain, middle-aged woman.

You implanted into her mind doubts about the fidelity of her husband.

You introduced arsenic into her food, being very careful never to do so while her husband was away.

You were in the house while her husband was preparing the gruel for his wife.

And you introduced the fatal dose.

The rest is easy.

RADNOR: Very interesting.

Very ingenious.

But why do you tell me this?

Because, Monsieur Radnor, I represent... No, not the law.

I represent... ..Madame Pengelley.

And it is for her sake that I am going to give you the chance... to escape.

Now, look... You sign that piece of paper... ..and I will give you 24 hours' start, Monsieur Radnor.

Twenty-four hours before I place this matter into the hands of the police.

HASTINGS: You can't get away, Radnor.

Look out of that window.

Those two men have orders not to lose sight of you.

Damn you!

You've only got one chance, Radnor.

What guarantee have I got?

None.

But you will surely hang... ..if you do not sign.

All right.

Damn you!

Shall I give them the signal, Poirot, to let him pass?

Certainement.

You have 24 hours, Monsieur Radnor.

I'll get back at you, Poirot... one day.

I think not, my friend.

In two days, you will be in the prison cell.

I'm not sure we should've let him go, Poirot.

You're letting a dangerous criminal escape out of sheer sentiment.

No, Hastings, that was not sentiment.

That was realism.

We have no shadow of proof against him.

The only chance was to frighten him into confession.

Hastings, those two men of yours... ..who are they?

I haven't the foggiest idea.

I just noticed them standing there when we came in.

That is sheer brilliance!

Oh!

Well.

Your peculiar Oriental practices, which I tease you about, are obviously working wonders on your grey cells.

Maybe it's the rice.

I hope not, Hastings.

HASTINGS: Where are we going?

POIROT: To place this into the hands of the authorities.

That's not for 24 hours.

Did you really believe that I would let a cold-blooded murderer get off Scottish free?

- Oh, no.

- I do not understand you.

You object if I let him off.

You object if I do not let him off.

That very day I see it, sir.

I see his hand hovering over the missus's gruel, sir.

Whose hand?

Well, his, sir.

The master's, sir.

And was there something in that hand, Miss Dawlish?

Yes, sir.

There was, sir.

Weedkiller, sir.

CROWD MURMURS MAN: When you say weedkiller, Miss Dawlish...

This is most extraordinary.

Have you notified the police?

No.

We thought it would come better from you.

Good.

Meanwhile, I'll ask that the trial is at least adjourned.

There is just one thing.

We did promise Mr Radnor that we'd give him a 24-hour start.

Don't get many of them in Peckham.

POIROT: If Edward Pengelley had really murdered his wife, Hastings, guilt would've made him sensitive to what people would say if he announced his engagement to Mademoiselle Marks.

No, Hastings.

A guilty person would've waited and quietly slipped out of Cornwall forever before doing such a thing.

There's Japp!

INDISTINCT CHATTER HASTINGS: I don't know what you're going to tell him.

Nothing at all, Hastings.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news.

He will learn soon enough that his open-and-shut case has broken hinges.

Hey, Poirot, come and try one of these!

POIROT: My dear Japp.

- Poirot.

Hastings.

Shan't half miss these when I get back to London.

CAR HONKS Are you still poking about in my murder?

Ah, no, no, Chief Inspector.

Captain Hastings and I are retiring from the field.

Oh?

Why?

Sometimes it is braver to admit defeat than to battle on with no hope of success against the superior forces.

Oh, yes.

So Pengelley's going to swing in spite of all your efforts?

Well...

If we are to catch the next train, we must tear ourselves away.

Captain Hastings is going to treat me to dinner at a most excellent restaurant he's discovered which serves the Indian food.

It is to this food that Captain Hastings attributes the improvement to his grey cells.

Indian?

What, these hot curries and things?

POIROT: Yes.

- Rather you than me, Poirot.

Au revoir, Inspector.

Make haste, my friend.

I do not wish to be visible when Inspector Japp discovers he has to chase after Monsieur Radnor.

Too late.

Sir!

Sir, the Inspector says, can you come, please, sir?

The trial's been adjourned.

- Adjourned?

What for?

- Mr Radnor's confessed, sir.

- Confessed?

To the murder.

He confessed to that French gent in writing!

Poirot!

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