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Practice English Speaking&Listening with: Evil Under The Sun

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( music playing )

( birds chirping )

- ( panting ) - ( hoofbeats )

Please, please, you must come quick.

There's a woman lying dead out on the moors.

It's all right, 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 4:00 on the outside for time of death.

Hercules Parrot, sir.

Poirot, mademoiselle.

Pucker your lips as though about to bestow a kiss.

- Poirot. - Man: Morning, Poirot.

I hope you have some good news for me.

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...

laugh and lump it.

( chuckles )

Oh, well.

The usual 100 guineas, I take it?

Oh, 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, 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.

So 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 is 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.

( children shouting )

So that's your game, is it?

You come out here and as near as, damn it, 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.

My God, I could wring her bloody neck!

If you would care to confide in me,

I should be honored.

All right, 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.

Then halfway across the Atlantic, she changed her mind and ran off with another man.

Well, I wouldn't have minded so much, only she took the jewel with her.

See, 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 affair du coeur?

Well, 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 finally after a week or so, she gave it to me

and I sent it along to be insured and--

she 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 within 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.

Yes-- she was the mistress of the King of Tyrania for years.

Then when he up and married the present queen,

he gave Daphne an old summer palace to keep her quiet,

but she's turned it into one those exclusive la-de-da hotels

where the nobs and nancys come to squawk at each other.

I can't stand it meself, but she's a good sort.

Anyway, you better come with me.

I'll have the captain prepare the cabin.

- We can sail tonight. - Uh, 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.

Oh.

I will take the train and join you there.

( speaking French )

Man: Waiter?

Could I have another brandy and the bill, please?

Patrick, really. You haven't got time for another drink.

- The steamer leaves at 11:00. - Oh, of course I have.

If you have the baggage sent down while I wait for the change.

Why do I always have to do everything?

- Monsieur Poirot. - Hmm?

Your reservation on the night train has been confirmed.

The tickets will be at the desk.

- Monsieur. - Thank you. Eh...

I must go.

I've got to catch that damn boat.

That'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 the "New Yorker"?

You know the sort of thing.

Farewell, courtesan, hello, innkeeper.

Darling, I'd love to help, but it's not publicity I need.

It's the cash.

Oh, well, God, darling, don't we all?

How are the Gardeners this morning?

Age cannot wither, nor custom stale their infinite vulgarity.

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.

Well, you can't expect American plumbing when you're in the Adriatic.

I guess not. Well, at least we've got a shower.

A cousin of Odell's was at someplace

in Yugoslavia last year

and had to wash in a kind of a shack in a field.

Isn't that so, Odell?

It wasn't my cousin, Myra, it was my aunt.

It was your cousin Thelma Snatchbone.

Okay, 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 Stewart?

No, no. Arlena Marshall. She remarried a couple of months ago.

Oh, good God, darling. I didn't know she was coming.

Oh, how marvelous.

I am her most 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.

Oh, 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.

Now 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.

( chatter )

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 on that?

- 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?

Yes, 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, really?

You know perfectly well that I've got a splitting headache

and I've got all the unpacking to do.

Andrea will show you to your room if you like.

- Thank you. - After two days on that suffocating steamer,

I would have really hoped you would have more consideration for me.

Anyhow, I'm no good at climbing around rocks.

( speaking French )

( car horn honks )

( shouting )

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 equipment

on motorized vehicles for 30 years.

( children chatter )

Stop playing pool with my garde-robe.

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 rancidly dreadful journeys.

Isn't that the absurd little man we saw in the station at Tyrania?

The one who pinched the only decent taxi from under your nose.

Yes, I do believe it is.

Morning.

Since we're all obviously going to Daphne's island, I better introduce myself.

I'm Kenneth Marshall and this is my wife Arlena.

- Hercule Poirot. Enchanté, madame. - Charmed.

And this is my stepdaughter Linda.

Linda, do stop standing there like a cough drop

and say good morning to Monsieur Poirot.

- Morning. - Bonjour, mademoiselle.

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'll have to pay double on the way home.

- ( engine starts ) - 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 12:00

to commemorate the glorious victory of Kosovo\Metohija

in 1193.

I'm reliably informed

that a mere handful of Tyranian cavalry

routed over 50,000

- barbarous Bosnian fanatics. - Yeah.

It was apparently the only military success in their entire history.

One success too many.

Arlena! Arlena, darling, I love you.

Tub was even more uncomfortable than that damn taxi.

What if the bitch refuses to do the show?

We lose all our backers, that's what, Myra.

After all, we sold the show on her name.

To think our futures

are riding on that snake-eyed hussy.

Daphne: Welcome to the island, everybody.

Kenneth, oh, it's marvelous to see you.

Absolutely marvelous.

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.

( bell dings )

Andrea?

If you're short-staffed,

Kenneth could easily carry the bags.

They'll be brought up in a minute.

There will be cocktails tonight at 8:00.

Do have a good, long,

peaceful rest, Arlena.

Oh, you must be Sir Horace Blatt's friend.

Perhaps-- perhaps you'll sign in?

Oh, so you're the famous Hercule Poirot, eh?

- Oh, you are too amiable, madame. - Perhaps.

I hope you haven't come here to practice

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.

( speaking French ) My desires are simply a good valet,

a tisane du menthe poivrée

at 8:00 in the morning precisely,

and, of course, some wax.

Some beeswax for my shoes.

That's all.

Odell: Actually, Gilbert had to do with the success this season.

Oh, my God. I really don't know what we are going to do about them.

You know, I really do think that the Millers have gone too far.

- Kitty is my oldest friend, Rex. - Oh, God, darling.

- I didn't know that. - Odell: Kitty is Myra's oldest friend, you know?

- I just told him, Odell. - Oh.

Did you hear what Gilbert said about the queen?

- Myra: No. - You see, Gilbert said to a friend of his,

"Do you know what the queen calls Kitty?"

And his friend said, "No, what does the queen call Kitty?"

You enjoying yourself?

- This was delicious if I could. - Oh, I could get you one.

Thank you.

How about a cocktail, Monsieur Poirot?

White Lady, a Sidecar, Mainbrace, or Between the Sheets?

No, if I could have a crème de cassis...

or a sirop de banane?

Do you have banana syrup?

Certainly.

Arlena: 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 met the Redferns?

Christine and Patrick.

Myra: Arlena, darling.

Arlena, our favorite 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.

And Odell insisted that we both come over here together

to see you personally.

Well, that'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 one.

Keila's mad to do it, but we're holding her off

until you have a chance to look at it.

And, Ken, he's done some of the best music you've ever heard.

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, Rexie-poo.

Thank you. Cheers.

Good morning, Linda. How's 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. - Morning.

Oh, good morning, Arlena.

I think it's gonna be a hot day.

Morning, Mrs. Redfern.

My word, she's in wonderful shape.

Yeah, how much was it we paid Kleinfield,

Kloutzwitz, and Stomanhoffan

- to contest that phony 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 quite frightening important

- I have to talk to you about, Arlena. - 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?

Oh, indeed, I have, Rex. I simply couldn't put it down.

I knew-- I knew you'd love it.

What a busy bee. You've been researching

exactly where I was born. And when.

Well, darling, there aren't too many stars

who 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."

- How ever did you find out? - I bribed his wife.

Naughty Rex.

Oh, the days of my youth.

But I have 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, and I've spent the advance--

I simply must have that release.

Forget it. You're not gonna barbeque 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, Arlena.

That's a promise.

Good morning, Mrs. Marshall.

Good morning, Mr. Brewster.

- Hello. - Oh, hello.

Oh, Linda, what are you doing here?

Acting as chaperone, gooseberry, or spy?

I just wanted to chat. You don't seem to be having much fun.

Well, if it's fun you're looking for, darling,

go and play with a jellyfish.

( laughs )

Oh, my God.

She runs like a dromedary with dropsy.

Bonjour, madame.

Hello, Mr. Poirot.

Bitch.

( screaming, laughing )

Put me down! No, no, no, no, no.

You do not care for the aquatic sports

or the sunbathing, madame?

Oh, I wish I could, but I don't go brown.

I 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...

( laughs ) a goose.

Oh, 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-- his "piffle" valve.

Such a valve still has to be invented, madame.

Oh, well, I dare say you're right. I wasn't paying that much 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 again.

- Andrea, I-- I don't care. - The man's impossible!

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... - ( cannon fired )

- ...with a vengeance. - Oh, very well, madame.

I'm so sorry. We late?

Patrick insisted upon rowing me right round the island.

It's much bigger than I thought.

Poor darling, he's absolutely 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, there you are. It's the script that I promised you.

No, Odell. 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?

"It's Not Right and It's Not Fair."

Sounds like a black man's left leg.

( laughs )

( birds chirping )

( woman sobbing )

( flies buzzing )

Christine: It's all right, Mr. Poirot.

Pardon, madame. 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'm most sick of in this place?

- What, madame? - Pity.

I can't bear to be pitied.

Everyone around 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 Stewarts 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. - ( scoffs )

I know that.

Come. Let us take a little promenade.

Hmm?

I wish I could do that.

- Just lie in the sun. - Pourquoi, madame?

Look at them lying in rows,

like corpses in the morgue.

They are not men and women. There's nothing personal about them.

They're just bodies. Butcher's meat.

Steaks grilling in the sun.

Oh, 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'm determined to enjoy myself.

It's so blissful here. So tranquil.

So far from all violence and trouble.

Yes, you're 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 there'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 her, 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. - Then why didn't you do something about it?

- Like what, for instance? - Like fixing up a divorce, for instance.

People do it all the time.

With most of my friends, it's almost a full-time occupation.

Arlena's all right. She just adores to flirt. That's all.

There's really 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.

Hmm, my hero.

I swear, if you were a man,

I would divorce you.

Hello, darling. You better get a move on.

Where have you been?

I've just been having a word with Daphne.

Mm. 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 at the Grangers' in London.

I've never set eyes on the man before.

Really?

I could've sworn you were there.

It must have been the night of your regimental dinner.

Well, anyway, what does it matter?

He just happens to be a guest here who took me for a boat ride, that's all.

He just happens to be a guest here, Arlena,

because you just happened to book him in.

The bitch, Daphne!

- ( door slams ) - Patrick: Christine, I refuse to talk about it!

Christine: That's rich! You don't want to talk about it!

Patrick: Oh, look here, Christine.

I can't even speak to a pretty woman without you

jumping to the conclusion that I'm having an affair with her!

Christine: Well, aren't you?

You leave me here alone all day and go off with her.

I'm the laughingstock of the whole hotel.

Patrick: Of course you're not. You're being ridiculous.

Arlena and I are just good friends. That's all.

Christine: I don't believe you.

Please, let's just go away from here.

Patrick: No, I absolutely refuse! Here we are and here we stay.

- If you don't like it, then you can... - Yes, what can I do?

( piano playing )

Well, I'm looking forward to having a nice

little chat with you, Patrick.

Oh, Myra. That is so beautiful.

- How's your drink? - I could use a refresher.

Of course.

- How are you feeling, Rex? - Simply sensational.

- Too much sun. - Très bien.

( chatter )

- ( applause ) - Good.

That's enough, Linda. It's adult time.

- Off to bed. - Oh, 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

Both: ♪ You're the nimble tread

of the feet of Fred Astaire

- Arlena: ♪ You're the National Gallery ♪ - I'd love one.

- A big one. - ♪ You're Garbo's salary

You're Camembert

You're the Nile

You're the Tower of Pisa

You're the smile on the Mona Lisa

I'm a worthless check

A total wreck, a flop

But if, baby, I'm the bottom

You're the top... ♪

And everybody that nails her.

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... ♪ - Thank you.

Both: ♪ But if, baby

- ♪ I'm the bottom ♪ - ♪ I'm the bottom-- ♪

- I'm sorry. - ♪ You're the top. ♪

- That was terrific. - Isn't she wonderful?

Wonderful, wonderful.

Daphne: Truly.

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?

( laughs )

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.

All right. I'll see you down in the hall in 10 minutes.

Ah, hello, Mr. Poirot.

( inhales )

Arlena: 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 Mauretania.

Without the champagne.

( laughs )

( grunting )

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? - Well, perhaps some people more than others,

but I just want to be alone.

- Voilà. - 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 had 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 Hattie Heimanheimer.

Well, 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.

Andrea goes to all the trouble

of preparing decent English breakfast

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 with me to the lighthouse?

- It'll be fun. - This must be my lucky day.

Never been in such demand. I'd like to, but I can't.

I've already got a date to go sketching with Christine.

Oh, that's all right. I'm glad to see you're making friends.

Good morning, Kenneth.

Good morning.

- Good morning, darling. - Oh, there's a letter for you.

- The boatman just 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?

Oh, I'd love to, but I'm afraid I can't.

This must be answered straightaway.

Well, this isn't my lucky day, Linda.

Well, 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. - Now, Linda, I won't tell you again--

Oh, clean it, clean it.

Don't just lean on the thing.

Here we all are.

Well-- well, what a colorful outfit.

Oh-- oh, I'm so glad you like it.

Linda and I are going off sketching, Mr. Marshall.

But 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.

Oh, morning, Poirot. Been swimming?

- You saw me? - No.

Yes, I have been swimming.

There is nothing like the shock of cold water

and rhythmic movement to stimulate the little gray cells.

Yes, of course. I don't suppose you've seen my wife about, have you?

- Madame Marshall? - Mm-hmm.

What, she rose so early?

Yeah, well, she's not in our room.

Oh, by the way, I was looking for that fellow Redfern earlier.

I don't suppose you've seen him either, have you?

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.

They're not really paintings, they're sketchings.

I hate the filthy things. Can't stand them.

I did some seagulls once.

( gasps )

Hi, Patrick. Going for a spin?

How 'bout taking me along?

Ah, well...

What time is it, dear?

- Five to 12:00. - 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.

( cannon fires )

Oh, 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 for me?

I'll come back with Arlena or I'll walk.

Are you kidding? I don't know how to work this thing.

Ah, look, it's simple.

This lever puts her in gear and all you have to do is steer.

Well, just this once, but don't get me involved.

Oh, 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?

Oh, it's just not possible.

Well, we'd better get some help.

I'll go. You stay with the body.

Are you kidding?! I can't do that.

Yeah, you're right. The murderer may still be about here somewhere.

- Well, can you make it back to the hotel? - In a flash.

- This thing's no problem. - Well, you'd better hurry.

Poirot: Madame Marshall has been strangled.

There are contusion marks around 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.

Oh, well, that may be so, madame, but...

Oh, dear, Monsieur Poirot, a word in your ear.

The whole world knows that you're 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's no way to avoid

this becoming an official matter.

Well, 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.

A bit of pong or 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.

Oh, yes, of course. How mortifyingly stupid of me.

Oh, do, please, forgive me.

In due course of time.

Well, what do you say, monsieur?

Will you bring your colossal brainpower

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 12:00 exactly.

That bloody gun went off as we were coming round those rocks there.

As you know, I sent Mrs. Gardener back for help immediately.

I touched nothing except to make sure that the body 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 12:00 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.

Monsieur.

( chatter )

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 best chalk it all up to experience and be on me way.

There's no point in intruding on the grief

of the new husband and all that sort of thing, you know?

You had no chance to speak to Madame Arlena?

Well, of course not. I mean, I've only just arrived, haven't I?

Oh, 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. - Well, then, how did I happen to find it

once again on the beach near the dead woman?

Oh, damn it, Poirot.

I'd make a rotten murderer, wouldn't I?

Leaving clues all over the place.

All right, I confess.

- You confess? - No, 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 myself over.

Ah, now, yes.

It's better than confronting her in front of her husband, you know?

We had a bit of a barney with her pretending to be all surprised and that.

Any road, she promised to sort it out by tonight.

She did not tell you where the real jewel was?

No, damn it, she didn't.

If you don't mind, Mr. Poirot, I'd like to go and get changed now.

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 exact.

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?

Well, 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, well-- 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'd killed her,

my crew would've seen me, wouldn't they?

They were all on deck bloody watching.

They're not adverse to clocking a decent bit of crumpet, are my lads.

Sometimes I think it's the only thing that wakes them up.

So if you don't believe me, ask them.

Très 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 that they're favorite

when you're dealing with the Arlenas of this world.

It's a little difficult to accept your condolences, Poirot,

when in virtually the same breath you accuse me

of murdering my wife because she was unfaithful to me.

Oh, I can understand that, of course.

But I hope you realize 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?

That's very simple. I was in here typing

until 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 to do.

With respect, monsieur, you could have typed that yesterday,

brought it in with you. There's absolutely no proof that you typed it this morning.

Daphne: Excuse me, Monsieur Poirot.

I'm sorry. I just couldn't help overhearing.

- I have the proof you need. - You do, madame?

Why, yes. You see, every week it's my custom

to collect all my staff together,

you know, 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-- I saw him in the mirror.

In the mirror?

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.

Madame, you cannot see in the mirror someone seated at the desk.

It's 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-- 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. - Uh-uh.

I'm sorry, the Belgian obsession with crime passionnel,

but you're barking up the wrong tree.

You see, I know-- I know who did it.

Huh? 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.

But why did you not tell me this before, madame?

Well, you said he is an old chum, isn't he?

And I didn't know then you were gonna start hurling accusations at me and Kenneth.

But he is the chap you want, all right. Why-- 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.

Christine: I don't want to hear any more about it, Patrick.

If you hadn't been poodle-faking with that awful woman,

you wouldn't have been there in the first place.

Oh, madame?

May I have a quick word with you, please, 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.

Well, 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-- well, I mean, she came along a few moments later.

She'd been swimming and then we set off

and we were there all morning.

I mean, if you don't believe me, then ask Linda.

- She'll tell you. - Calmez vous, madame.

- Mr. Poirot, I'm all right now. - Now I want you to

think about this very, very carefully.

At what time precisely did you leave the cove this morning?

Well, I was there until 12:00 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 12:00?

Because-- well, when I climbed to the top of the cliff

and was waving to Linda, who had gone for a swim,

- that awful gun went off. - ( cannon fires )

- Christine: The one they fire at noon every day. - Yes.

What did you do then, madame?

Christine: 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 I could and changed into my tennis things.

And then 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.

- Oh, not at all, my dear. - I was sketching at Gull Cove.

- Lost track of the time. - Mr. Gardener: Don't worry.

It's only a matter of four minutes exactly.

I'm afraid you have to come and 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.

Yes.

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.

- Oh. - Here it is.

She gave it to me. It's not bad, really.

No, she has talent, that one.

These are undeniably...

cliffs.

When did she leave you?

- Five to 12:00. - How can you be so sure?

Because she asked me.

What time is it, dear?

- Five to 12:00. - Lord, I must fly.

I'm playing tennis at 12:30.

Linda: 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.

Linda: I remember I was halfway down the beach

when Christine called out to me.

Don't forget your bathing cap.

Linda: I'd forgotten my bathing cap,

so I had to come back and put it on.

What a bore.

Now, 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?

'Cause I heard them having a row about it on the beach yesterday.

- Ah. - 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 your faces shining in every knife, fork, and spoon,

I'll have your guts for garters, understood?

Oh, madame? Have you any idea where I can find Monsieur Brewster?

Rex? I thought I saw him go out into the garden.

Oh, but come.

He's not the one you want.

You should cherchez la femme.

- Really, madame? - Absolutely.

You see, I've been having a little think and I worked it all out.

Look, 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 is in the clear because she was with him,

then it's all down to little Miss Cringe,

- isn't it? - Ah.

- Miss Cringe? - Yes.

The jealous wife. Christine Redfern.

You don't want to believe all that stuff about her being too weedy.

Women fight like tigers when they're losing their husbands.

Not that I've had much experience at that sort of thing myself.

But what is your theory?

I mean, how did Madame Christine do it?

Well, I don't know. She probably batted Arlena over the head

with a bit of driftwood and then finished her off

with a little pressure on the carotid-- carotid artery?

- The artery-- yes, yes. - Carotid-- the carotid artery, yes.

Well, 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.

Well, anyway, she used a pair of nutcrackers.

I know. Perhaps I'd better go and see if any are missing.

No, madame. Unfortunately, you see,

there are no nutcracker marks on the throat.

Pardon, madame, Christine could not possibly have done it.

Her alibi has been confirmed by Mademoiselle Linda.

And vice-versa.

How very irritating.

And, uh, the high,

blazing,

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 marvelous. That's--

Oh, so you've come, Mr. Poirot,

to question me about poor Arlena.

You know, I tell ya, 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 will 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?

( chuckles ) Where about?

How should I know?

I wasn't carrying a chart at the time.

( speaking French ) How amusing that is.

Chart or no chart, it was perfectly possible

for you to have watched Sir Horace Blatt's boat leave

and then to have pedaloed into Ladder Bay,

there to find the unsuspecting Arlena asleep,

and then you strangled her.

Rex: Monsieur Poirot, are you aware it would take nearly two hours

to paddle around the island from Ladder Bay to Gull Bay?

At 12:00 precisely, as that boring old gun went off,

I pedaled into Gull Bay.

Linda was there swimming.

In fact, I nearly hit her.

She was splashing around like a deaf seal.

Poirot: You say that you saw Mademoiselle Linda

swimming in Gull Bay at 12:00.

Rex: Certainly. I asked her to help me pedal back,

but the little charmer refused.

What do you want?

( silent )

- What did you say? - I said good God, darling,

help me pedal this damn thing back.

- My legs are killing me. - Pedal it back yourself.

And 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 pedaled off.

And about 10 minutes later, a bottle came whizzing over the cliff

and smacked down in the water right next to me.

The damn thing missed my head by inches.

I looked up, there's nobody around.

Well, 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 mean, I-- I know she loathes me because I adored Arlena,

but this is ridiculous.

You just wait till I catch-- 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.

What? You lying little brat.

You-- you just tell him that you saw me on that pedalo.

You tell him that you refused to help me pedal back.

Now you tell him.

- Oh, God. 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, all right, then. Yes, I did.

Kenneth: 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.

( clears throat )

Kindly accept my apologies, monsieur.

Incidentally, I accept your alibi.

Oh, that's real white of you, Mr. P.

Odell: I know, Monsieur Poirot, I'm 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 turned 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.

So 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

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.

Damn odd time for a bath, I would have said.

Anyway,

I changed and appeared suitably attired

in my Fred Perry 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 defense.

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.

Look, I was wrong about cherchez la femme.

Sorry about that, but it's quite obviously cherchez le fruit.

Rexy is the only one unaccounted for. Look. Look, I'll show you.

See, at 11:30 Arlena Marshall was left here alive

by Horace Blatt, who then sailed on down here.

Now at the same time, Myra and Patrick were here,

Linda and Christine were here, Kenneth was here,

and I was in my staff meeting.

So it has just got to be

our genial columnist.

And what's more, I know how he did it.

- Oh, you do, madame? - Absolutely.

You see, recently I was reading a magazine story

about a woman in Malea

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.

You see, Rex-- Rex Brewster

could have been lurking in the water here off Ladder Bay,

and when Arlena appeared on her pedalo,

he could have leaped up, pulled her off it--

Yes, very interesting, madame.

The only snag is, of course,

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 12:00.

He could not possibly have pedaled all the way

from Gull Cove to Ladder Bay

in half an hour.

Well, that's very inconvenient of him.

I mean, if he didn't do it, who did?

I-- 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.

- He seems rather proud of the fact. - Oh, but he does, dear.

- Most definitely. - What are you telling me, madame?

Well, at half past 11:00, I was having my staff meeting,

you know, giving the hired help

a pleasing stream of the old rancid.

And in particular pointing out to Andrea

that there was absolutely no point in making your curry de poulet vindaloo

so hot that it actually raised welts on the surface of your tongue,

when I just happened to look out of the window

and there was Odell in the garden reading a book.

He stayed there throughout the entire meeting.

- I'm positive of it. - ( scoffs )

Well, what-- what's the matter? Have I said something?

You have 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.

( birds chirping )

( man singing opera )

- Ah, "Rigoletto." - Correct.

- Verdi, qu'il est grand. - 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.

Well, it used to make the boys laugh

when I was trying to din some Latin into them when I was a schoolteacher.

Little boys laugh easily if it keeps them away,

even for a moment, from their study of Latin.

( chatter )

Monsieur, Dame,

please forgive me for interrupting the cocktail hour.

But there are two questions of great importance 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. ( chuckles )

It's rather more amusing than at first I thought.

- Morning, Sir Horace. - Hello, lass. Did you enjoy your swim?

Yes, sorry I'm so puffed.

The water was freezing and I'm running to get warm.

Daphne: He's crying his eyes out and pretending to pull himself together--

Hello, Daph.

That reminds me of the lady policeman. She's all out of breath.

She's telling her friends how she caught a burglar.

She said, "I chased him past the grocer's, you see,

and the butcher's and the baker's."

And then she said, "I finally caught him by the cobbler's."

( laughs )

Sorry, I don't find that remotely funny, Sir Horace.

Oh, I stand corrected, Daphne.

I'll tell you what I don't find so funny

and that's hanging around waiting for the great detective.

Oh, good morning, Monsieur Poirot.

Listen here, Poirot.

Not only have you not found Arlena's killer,

but what is more, you haven't found my diamond.

So I'm off if it's all the same to you.

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 gray cells.

Kindly ask all our friends to forgather

in the lounge after they've finished their petit déjeuner.

when all will be revealed.

- What? - You mean you know?

- Oh, yes. - Well, give us a few clues.

All right, I wish you to consider very carefully

a bathing cap, a bath,

a bottle, a wristwatch,

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.

About his marks what he talks, mostly.

Nobody's allowed to leave.

Madame. Mademoiselle.

Monsieur.

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 12:00 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 12:00. You knew this, you said,

- because you heard that awful gun go off... - ( cannon fires )

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.

Is very curious that you did not mention him.

And it's even more curious that when I confronted Monsieur 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 for him 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 12:00.

But she asked me the time,

I looked at my watch, and it was five to 12:00.

Ah, 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 slight act of

magie for you, mademoiselle,

I happen to notice that you were not wearing a watch.

This was not particularly surprising as you had been swimming.

A fact that could have been 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.

All right, see you in the hall in 10 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 12:00.

She then asked Linda the time,

who naturally said it was five to 12:00.

Linda then starts to go down to the sea.

While her back is turned, Madame Redfern returns Linda's watch

to the correct time, then calls Linda back,

telling her she has forgotten her bathing cap.

Now why should she bother

to do that, you may ask.

The answer is simple.

Remember at 12:00, 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 see exactly what happened as Madame Redfern

hurried up from the cove to the top of the cliff.

It is 20 to 12:00.

She pauses to wave.

Linda waves back,

but there is no Mr. Brewster.

No noonday gun.

Madame Redfern now turns

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 to 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.

Poirot: Suddenly to her great chagrin, she sees you, madame,

about to come down the ladder.

But I couldn't have climbed down the ladder.

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 overlooking 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 the cliff.

You may well ask how I knew she'd been in there.

Yesterday afternoon, not only did I discover

the false diamond that Sir Horace Blatt had returned to her,

but my excellent wine taster's 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 favorite perfume.

But I am digressing.

You ran down onto 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 all heard just about 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 that they're 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, Monsieur Poirot.

Odell, please. You weren't even there.

And I was. Remember I saw her lying there strangled.

Christine couldn't have done it.

Oh, I'm absolutely of your opinion, madame.

In fact, she did not do it.

The murder was committed by...

her husband Patrick Redfern.

( scoffs ) 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 hands, 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 Monsieur Redfern

bending over the body with suntanned limbs

wearing Arlena's white bathing costume

and red Chinese hat.

As I pointed out a couple of days ago,

all bodies lying on the beach are alike.

They're 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 in order to remove

Madame Arlena's bathing costume,

which she had previously stripped off the unconscious woman

and worn to play her part as a corpse.

I've got a point, Poirot,

which will stopple your whole case.

Christine is as pale as pasteurized milk.

Now, the question is, how could I have possibly mistaken

her arms and legs for Arlena's?

This stopples 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 runs 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.

( gunshot )

The rest was easy.

She now changed back into her original costume.

It was about five past 12:00.

Madame Redfern bids her husband a hurried farewell.

The clock is ticking.

She runs back across the island to rejoin the path

leading from Gull Bay to the hotel.

Oh, 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 hurls it over the cliff,

but has the bad luck

to have the event witnessed by

Monsieur Brewster, whom it almost hit.

She reaches the hotel, arriving there about 12:15.

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 Gardener,

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 later,

it is true, but unruffled and smiling.

A picture of innocence.

Yes, Monsieur, 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 here,

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.

Christine: You don't want to talk about it?!

Now look here, Christine. Can't I even speak to a pretty woman

without you jumping to the conclusion that I'm--

- well, having an affair with her? - But you are, aren't you?

Poirot: A part, you, madame, took every opportunity

to give the impression that you are a physically frail woman

who is 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.

Oh, 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, monsieur.

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 sooner or later 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.

Oh, you poor darling.

Poirot: Suddenly his hands are around her throat.

She struggles

and it is the end

of poor, foolish, beautiful,

gullible Arlena Marshall.

And that, madame, mademoiselle,

monsieur, 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 9 out of 10, Poirot.

I'm deducting one mark

for total absence of proof.

Is that true?

Do you mean as if 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.

Well, 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.

Oh, you made a right cockup, Poirot.

Oh, how very kind of you to see us off.

Oh, good-bye, my dear friends.

I don't think there'll be any necessity to leave a forwarding address.

Oh, 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 check. - Certainly.

Of course I also know

that you're thinking the check 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.

Oh, thank you so much.

Oh, would you mind me saying something, Miss Castle?

Your ensemble does absolutely nothing for you.

Good-bye.

Poirot: Une instance s'il vous pláit, Monsieur Ruber.

Monsieur Felix Ruber.

- Kenneth: Who did you say? - Rex: Ruber?

- Who the hell is Ruber? - Felix Ruber,

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 reports.

In the event of Mrs. Ruber's death,

her husband was the 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 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 bigamist Monsieur Ruber was now free

to return to his surviving wife

Madame Redfern.

Oh, yes, monsieur.

You were clever enough to avoid putting your signature

in the hotel register, but, you know,

the signature on this check 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 check,

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 taught Latin to small boys.

It was at that moment that I realized

that in that language

Felix Ruber is Redfern.

You see, it is folly to try and trick Hercule Poirot.

Even in a dead language.

Do you really think anyone's going to believe the evidence

of a couple of scribbled signatures

and your bloody, silly word games?

Oh, 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 the local papers

and which I have of course 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 favor

I would like to ask of you.

Would you smoke the pipe

which has been conspicuous by being unlit

since you arrived here?

No?

Domage.

As I thought.

Sir Horace, please be careful

to whom you give it next time.

By God, you're a wonder, Poirot.

Yes?

Daphne: Poor Monsieur Poirot.

Brave Monsieur Poirot.

I've just had a telephone call from His Majesty

and he is very pleased with the way the matter--

- The King of Tyrania? - Yes, he's very pleased with the way the matter has been

cleared up so quickly and so discreetly.

He's so pleased, in fact, that he is awarding you

the order of Saint Goodren the Inquisitive.

- Saint Goodren the In-- - First class.

How many classes are there?

( music playing )

The Description of Evil Under The Sun