- Are you enjoying yourself? - Yes.
Hastings, my friend, tell me.
To blow up the English Parliament, was it a sin or a noble deed?
It's not worth asking me, old son I was never much into politics.
Where is Ms. Japp?
She doesn't like fireworks.
The noise disturbs the delicate sensibility of many ladies.
Maybe, maybe.
I think it's more that she doesn't like to see people enjoying themselves.
Tell you one, tough - what a wonderful night for a murder...
If anyone wanted to shot somebody, nobody'd know if it was a gunshot or firework.
But not so good, my friend, if the chosen method was strangulation.
No. That's true, no.
- Or poisoning, come for that. - Yes.
You're pulling my leg!
Yes, Hastings. We pull ever so gently...the leg.
Wel,I still think it is a jolly good night for a murder.
Good-night, Chief-Inspector. Good-night, Poirot.
- Good-night. - À demain.
Good night!
Carry on, lads.
You won't forget your dental appointment at 11:00, will you, Mr Poirot?
Hercule Poirot does not need to go to the dentist.
You put it off once already.
My teeth are perfection. It is a sacrilege to tamper with them!
Why do we not do something constructive about my collars, Miss Lemon?
That laundry is on the pay of my enemies...
- Residence of Mr. Poirot. - Yes. Poirot, please.
Yes.
Chief-Inspector Japp.
He is here.
- Good morning, Chief-Inspector Japp... - There's a strange thing, Poirot.
Do you remember how we stopped by the Bardsley Garden Mews last night
where your friend Hastings keeps his car
and he's saying that the sound of the shot would be covered by the noise of fireworks?
- Yes. - Well, someone did it.
- Really? - It's not murder, it looks like suicide.
But I'm not entirely happy with that...
I'll meet you there in one hour.
Cancel all my appointments for this morning, Miss Lemon.
But...
- Oh,did you? - Oh, yes.
The dead woman is Mrs. Allen. She shared the house with a friend,
Miss Plenderleith, who is a professional photographer or something along those lines.
Miss Plenderleith was away in the country,
and when she came home this morning she found her friend's door locked.
She knocked some calls, but can't get any answer.
In the end she gets really alarmed and calls the police.
10:45, our lads break the door down
and there's mrs. Allen lying in a heap on the floor, shot through the head.
- Right, Brett, what's the trouble? - Well, the position is all right.
If she shot herself, she'd probably've slipped from the chair into just that position.
- But ...? - The prints on the gun, sir, they're the problem.
Bit of a thumb print and a forefinger and that's all.
Just what you get from pressing a dead woman's fingers on a gun, and not doin' it very well.
Gun in left hand, wound on the left side...
Presuming she was left-handed.
She looks as though she's holding the gun,
but if that she isn't, it's only lying in her hand.
- Anythin' else? - The window was closed and bolted,
and the door was locked, but I haven't been able to find the key.
What's this?
That mean something?
- Anything strike you? - I was looking at the watch.
Hum... expensive, by the look of it.
" Tuesday, November the 5th".
- How long's she been dead? - She died at about 11.30 last night.
- No sign of any note having been written. - No.
Seems to me that all we've got at the moment is the missing key...
If the key was here, we wouldn't hesitate.
Suicide, we'd say.
This must be a terrible shock to you, miss Plenderleith.
I still can't believe it.
We'll be as brief as possible.
Now, you've already told Inspector Jameson
how you found the body when you came in this morning.
You were away for the weekend, I take it?
- Yes. Since Friday noon. - Pardon, mademoiselle.
When you found the door locked, you called the police.
Did it not occur to you that she might have gone away and lock the door before leaving?
Why should she lock it?
In any case, she would have left a note for me.
- And she did not leave any note? - Of course she didn't!
Tell me about miss Allen, miss Plenderleith.
I met her abroad. She was on her way back from India.
I was looking for someone to share a flat with me, we decided we liked each other.
What about her husband?
Nothing to write him about, apparently.
He drank, I think. Died one year or two after the marriage.
You know if mrs. Allen was in any financial difficulties?
No, I'm sure she wasn't.
Did she have any particular man friend or men friends?
She was engaged to be married again, if that answers your question.
What's the name of the man she was engaged to?
- Oh my God, I haven't told Charles. - Who is Charles, miss?
The man Barbara was engaged to, Charles Loverton-West.
He's MP for some place in Hampshire. I should have phoned him.
I will get this for you. But there'd been no quarrel between them, as far as you know?
I would be very surprised. Barbara wasn't the quarreling kind.
What is your own opinion of monsieur Laverton-West?
He's young, ambitious, a good public speaker, means to get on in the world.
And on the debit side?
Well, in my opinion he's common place... and rather pompous.
Those are not very serious faults, mademoiselle.
- Oh, you don't think so? - Well, they might be to you.
But to mrs. Allen, no.
She would not notice them.
- You were fond of your friend? - Yes, very.
I know this must be upsetting for you, but there are 1 or 2 other questions I'd like to ask you.
- Mrs. Allen was left-handed, wasn't she? - Left-handed? No, I don't think so.
- No. I 'm sure she wasn't. - Really?
You see, she was shot was in the left temple and the gun was in her left hand.
- Didn't yout notice that when you found the body? - No, I didn't.
It was so horrible I didn't notice anything.
That's understandable, miss. But it is highly unlikely
that a right-handed person would shoot themselves left-handed.
- You ever seen this before? - No.
It's not yours or Mrs. Allen?
It's not the kind of thing a woman normally wears, is it?
Then you recognize it?
I don't recognize it. I recognize what it is, tough.
It's half of a man's cufflink.
Once I've got this filter's screwed down,
we put a new oil in and she'll run like a well oiled clock.
Hastings!
Hello!
- What're you doing, Hastings? - Well, I thought I'd do some work in the car.
But you had to ask questions. To sum up local opinion.
- Oh, I've done that! - Freddie!
Freddie is helping me with the oil filter.
Hello, there. I've put a little span in it, till we get the new casket.
- Right. This is mr Poirot. - How are you, cuff?
I am Fred Hogg. You can call me Freddie.
- Hello, Freddie. - Freddie's got the goods.
- Did you see something last night? - Yes, Miss Allen went to the postbox about six.
About 21:30, a car pulled up ... A Standard Swallow.
Rubbish really, but it looked smart.
A man got out, 45-ish ... military-looking gent.
- You seen him before? - Yes, a couple times.
Dark blue overcoat, trim brush moustache. He was in there for about one hour.
- I saw them come out together. - So you saw him leave?
I don't miss much, gaff'.
- You heard what they said, of course. - Yeah.
He said " Think over an' let me know ".
And she said somethi'n, then he said " So long ".
And the way they talked, they seem friendly, yes?
Kinda hard to tell with you, gent'folk, but they seemed though, yes.
You didn't hear what mrs. Allen said?
Na, she was sort'f round behind the door.
Now look here, my boy, I want you to answer my next question very carefully.
If you don't know the answer or can't remember, just say so. Is that clear?
- Ask the question. - Which of them shut the door? Mrs Allen or the gentleman?
I think the lady did. No, she never! It was him!
He pulled it off with a big bang and got in the car really quick.
Here you are, my boy. You seem a bright kind of shaver. Here's six pence for you.
That's very kind of you, sir. Couldn't ya see a way to make it up to 1 shilling could you?
Go on, play off!
- Chief-Inspector Japp and Mr. Poirot. - Good day,gentlemen.To what do I owe this pleasure?
- Not great pleasure, sir, I'm affraid. - Oh...?
- We brought bad news. - Go on.
It's mrs. Allen. Mrs. Barbara Allen.
What about her? Get on with it, man!
She's dead, sir.
Dead?
I don't believe it. What's happened?
Apparently, suicide, sir. Was anything worrying mrs. Allen, do you know?
No, not a thing. We were engaged to be married.
Yes, quite so.
I can't believe it. Dead?
How?
Shot, sir.
With a shot? Good God! I hope the newspapers didn't get a hand of this?
I couldn't sir. I wonder if I can ask you...
Yes? Thank you... Yes, I'll hold on.
It's the Prime minister.
I have some questions sir...
If you could just make an appointment with my secretary. Yes, yes, I'm still here.
Very good, sir. We will do that. I'm sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.
Pardon, monsieur.Allow to me to express my deepest sympathy at your loss.
Yes. Thank you. Stiff up a leap, that's the british way.
Magnifique!
By the way, sir... was mrs. Allen left-handed?
Left-handed? No,
cannot say that ... no. She was right-handed, I am sure.
Yes. Ah! Prime minister... No, not at all, Mr. Prime minister.
Yes, yes, everything's ready for you.
What a stuffed fish! No, not a stuffed fish. A boiled hen.
It is how you say, Japp. More concerned about the newspapers than his fiancee being dead.
Plenderleith girl was quite right about him.
Mind me, good-looking chap. Might go down well with some women.
Perhaps.
But it would not do, I think, for them to have a sense of humor.
The important thing is they all seem to agree that mrs. Allen was righthanded.
Yes. Of course, one must not jump to conclusions, mon ami.
Never mind "jump'n to conclusions", Poirot. This is a murder we're dealing with.
To the Bulldog Breed Laundry.
«Dear Sirs,
Once again
I am obliged
to communicate you
the dissatisfaction I have
for your starching of my collars.
I refer to my instructions
of the 2nd of March 1935
and subsequent letters of...»
and you look for them up in the file and enumerate them.
- All of them, Mr. Poirot? - All of them, miss Lemon.
It is becoming serious.
The trouble is, Mr. Poirot, they just don't understand the letters.
- Why not? - They're Chinese, Mr. Poirot.
- The Bulldog Breed Laundry is Chinese? - Yes, Mr. Poirot.
- Where is the world coming to,miss Lemon? - I'm sure I couldn't say, sir.
But when the boy brings your laundry back, he brings the letters too, for me to explain to him.
- And you do? - No.
- Why not? - I don't speak Chinese.
- So what do you say to him? - Well, I say to him...
" Him collar no vely good starchy ". I show him the collars and say it.
Hastings, my friend, you spent a few years in China, did you not?
Oh, absolutely. Fine fellows, fine fellows.
Did you have any trouble with your laundry?
- Yes I did, as a matter of fact. - And what did you say to them?
Well ... I said... " him collar no vely good starchy ".
That's where I got it from, sir. I asked the Captain, knowing he had been in the East.
- But, Hastings, my collars did get any better! - No, mine didn't either, now I come to think about it!
Why don't you get yourself some turndown collars? They're much more the thing, you know.
The thing? Do you think that Poirot concerns himself with mere " thingness "?
- No, I see that, Poirot... - A turndown collar
is the first symptom of decay of the grey cells.
- It's the Chief-Inspector Japp. - Good, she is out of it.
- Good morning, Chef-Inspector Japp. - Yes, well... Good morning.
- Now... Who is out of it? - The Plenderleith.
She was playing bridge in Essex up 'til midnight.
We've got to give up any idea of her being concerned in the business.
A disappointment, Japp.
You are still convinced that we are dealing with a murder, here?
No doubts about it.
Somethin' I've been meaning to ask you, Poirot.
What was it that you're sniffing in the room when we first examined the body?
- Snif, snif, snif. You got a cold, have you? - No.
I always thought your grey cells were on the brain.
Don't tell me your nose cells are superior to everyone else's too!
By no means. It was merely cigarette smoke.
- I didn't smell cigarette smoke. - Nor did I, my friend.
There were nine cigar ends in the ashtray. Six of them gaspers, three Turkish.
Exactly.
Your wonderful nose cells knew that without looking, I suppose?
I assure my nose does not enter into the matter. My nose registered nothing.
But the brain cells registered a lot?
Well, there were certain indications, did you not think so?
Now, am I wrong or are going to talk further with the beautiful miss Plenderleith?
Yes.
You know, there was something missing to that room, Chief-Inspector.
But also something added, I think.
- You know what's worrying me, Poirot? - Yes.
- Yes? What you mean " yes "? - I saw you consulting
Mrs. Allen's check book yesterday.
You're too clever for your own good, Poirot, you are.
And you noticed as I did, that mrs Allen drew out 200 pounds in cash on Monday morning?
- And three months ago,on the 6 of August,another 200. - Truly?
Truly. But there's not 200 pounds in this house that my lads could find.
I am afraid, miss Plenderleith that we're no longer trating this as a case of suicide.
Suicide?
You see, beeing as your friend in no shape or form to commit suicide,
we have to consider the alternative ... murder.
Murder? Are you sure? How horrible!
Horrible, perhaps... mademoiselle. But ... impossible?
I suppose it is possible.
And if there was a murder, there would be a motive.
Ask me any questions you like.
But I don't see how I could help you.
On Monday night, mrs. Allen had a visitor.
Is described as a man of 45, military bearing, tooth brush moustache, smartly dressed
and driving a Standard Swallow car. Does you know who that is?
It sounds like Major Eustace.
- Who is Major Eustace? - He was a man Barbara had known in India,
about one year ago, and we've seen him off and on since.
- He was a friend of Mrs. Allen? - He behaved like one.
Would I surprise you, miss Plenderleith,
if I suggested that this man was blackmailing mrs. Allen?
Of course! So that was it!
Of course!
You find the suggestion feasible, mademoiselle?
I was a fool not to think of that! I wish she'd told me,
I would have told him to go to the Devil!
But perhaps he might have gone... might he not? To monsieur Laverton-West?
Yes ... yes, that's true.
Which room do you think mrs. Allen would have received his visitor in?
Probably in here.
On the other hand, if she wanted to write a cheque, or anything of that kind, she'd probably take him upstairs.
There's no question of check. Mrs. Alllen drew out 200 pounds in cash on Monday.
So far, we haven't been able to find any trace of it in the house.
But I'd like to have just one more look around, if I may?
- Look any way you like. - Thank you.
- Would you like to sit down? - Thank you.
- A cigarette? - You are most kind.
This cupboard under the staircases, miss Plenderleigh...
It's locked.
Yes, I've already found that out. Could I have the key, please?
Uh ... I don't know where it is.
That's too bad! Then we're gonna have to break the lock.
Oh! It must be upstairs.
I managed to find it.
Good!
We keep it locked, otherwise one's umbrellas and things never happen to getting pinched.
Very sensible.
That's mine!
I came back with it yesterday morning, so there can't be anything there.
Let's just play it on the safe side.
- Nothing much there. - No. There couldn't have been, could there?
- Sorry to bother you again, mr. Lavington-West. - Couldn't it have waited?
This sort of inquiring is often incovenient, sir.
I do not mind the inconvenience, if I see the results.
Have you any idea yet, Chief- Inspector, what caused ms. Allen to take her own life?
Perhaps it would be more understandable, sir, if I tell you that it wasn't suicide, but murder.
- What are you talking about? - Do you have any idea
who might have any conceivable motive--
No! It's bizarre!
The mere idea is ... unimaginable!
Did she ever mention any enemies? Anyone who might have a grudge against her?
Never.
- Do you know Major Eustace? - Eustace? Eustace?
Oh, yes ... I met him once at Barbara's ... Mrs. Allen's.
Quite a doubtful type, in mt opinion. I said as much to Ms. Allen.
It wasn't the sort of man I should've encouraged to have to the house, after we were married.
- I need to get dressed. - What did Ms. Allen say to that?
She quite agreed. She trusted my judgement implicitly.
And naturally, as my wife, she would have come to consider
a good many of her assertors, well... unsuitable, shall we say.
Quite.
What can you tell me about your own movements on the night of November 5th, sir?
My movements?
my movements?!
Clearly a matter of routine, sir. We have to ask everybody.
I just thought a man in my position might habe been exempt.
It doesn't quite so.
Very well.
Let me think...
I was at the House of Commons.
Left about 22:30. Went for a walk along the Embarkment.
- Watched some of the fireworks. - Quite no plots right now, there is!
- Then I walked home. - What time did you arrive?
Somewhere about 23:15, 23:30.
- Perhaps someone let you in? - No.
- Did you meet anyone whilst walking? - No.
- What an alibi! - So feeble it must be genuine.
Well, I'm not bored about him, it's that miss Plenderleith that worries me.
I'd still like to know what'd she worried about that briefcase.
This is more what you know about, Poirot:
You like to chase that kind of triviality that leads nowhere
"The Mystery of the Preambulanting Briefcase". Soumds like promising.
Is Major Eustace in the club?
- Major Eustace? - Yeah?
Chief-Inspector Japp, Scotland Yard.
- Oh, yeah? Drink? - No, thank you, sir. Might we have a word?
Yes. Should we go over here?
Sit down, please.
I see buffen from now and off, but nothing like a Chief-Inspector.
- You smoke Turkish, I see. - Yeah.
Would you prefer a "gasper"? I've got some... somewhere...
No, no, this will do fine. Thanks.
I think you knew mrs. Barbara Allen, Major Eustace?
Ah!... Yes.
A very sad business. Saw it in the paper, last night.
- You met her in India, I believe? - Yeah. That's some years ago, now.
- Did you also know her husband? - No, as a matter of fact, we never came accross.
Did you know something about him?
I heard he was a bit way of having a bad head.
- Of course it was only hearsay. - Mrs Allen never spoke about him?
Never.
What I want to know is - did you see mrs Allen on the night of November the 5th?
Indeed I did.
- You got to her house, I think? - That's right.
She asked me to advice her about some investments.
She gave no hint of contemplating suicide?
Not at least in the world. As a matter of fact, when we said goodbye,
I said I'd ring up soon and we'd go on a show together.
- You said you'd ring her up, were those your last words? - Yes.
Curious, I have information you said something quite different.
My information is that what you actually said was: "Well, think it over and let me know. "
Not quite the same thing, is it?
Well, I-I think what I said was that she should let me know when she was free.
I mean, you can't expect a man to remember word for word.
Excuse me, Major... Deidre said we need some more gin for the counter.
- Bring up a couple of bottles, will you? - Right.
- You own this place, do you Major Eustace? - Whish I did. Would be a gold mine.
You said mrs Allen asked you about some investments.
Did she by chance entrust you the sum of 200 pounds?
What the devil do you mean by that?
Well, mrs Allen drew out the sum 200 pounds in cash from her bank.
Some of the monry was in five pounds notes. They can be traced by their numbers,of course.
Trace them then! And be damned to you!
- Trace them ... I don't care! - Was the money to invest, Major,
or was it blackmail? - That's a preposterous sugestion!How dar'ya?
Look, what happened was this...
I went 'round to the house. I mean, I telephoned first...
- What time did you get there? - About 21:30.
- We sat and talked... - And smoked?
Yes ... we smoked, anything wrong with that?
- Where did this talk take place? - In the living room.
As I said, we sat and talked, quite amicably,
and then I left just before 22:30.
- You stayed in the room for every visit? - Yes.
- It didn't go upstairs for Mrs. Allen's room? - No.
- Could I just look at your cufflinks? - Cufflinks?
- You can refuse, if you wish, of course. - I got nothing to hide.
- When did that happened? - What?
- One of them is broken. - I know.
I noticed that this morning. He doesn't show if I put that in the inside.
Would it surprise you to learn that it happened when visiting Mrs. Allen's?
- I did not deny I was there. - Yes, but that piece of cufflink
was found not downstairs in the sitting room, but upstairs in Mrs. Allen's own room.
- In the room where she was murdered. - Murdered?
Yes. And where a man sat smoking the same kind of cigarettes you smoke.
Are you trying to frame me? I never went near the house that night.
You didn't need to. She was dead when you left.
No! Wait a minute! Wait a minute!
You got someone that heard me talking to Barbara in the doostep...
They heard you talk to her. Then pretend to to wait for her to answer
and then talk again. That's an old trick!
Oh, my God! It isn't true.
I need of ask you to accompany me to the Police Station.
Oh, my God!
- Hello. - Yes, dear.
- Could I please speak to miss Plenderleith? - Well, you could, if she was here.
- She's gone off playing that golf. - Golf?
If you please. And that poor mrs Allen still lying cold, down at the mortuary.
Indeed. This is most difficult, I'm sorry, mrs...?
- Pierce, dear. - My name is Hercule Poirot.
Oh, I've heard of you, dear.
Well, I am most flattered.
Mrs. Pierce, I am in some bit of difficulty...
- Oh... - I came here yesterday with Chief-Inspector Japp
and we were meaning to search for clues in one particular place of the house.
- So I was wondering if I ... - Oh, come on in, dear, help yourself.
You are most kind. Thank you.
My old man wi'be ever so tingly when I tell him you was here.
Always reading your exploits in the papers, he is.
That's very nice, mrs Pierce.
- May I? - Yes, go on!
Providing a drink, he would. Reading all that rubbish in the newspapers...
Mrs. Pierce,
where does Miss Plenderleith go to play the golf?
You sure that he's all right, Captain Hastings?
The name of Poirot is feared on golf courses all over the continent.
You don't have any handicap certificate on you, do you, sir?
No, no. I am fine.
Now, there should be a little hole somewhere I have to push the ball into it...
You see that flag there?
No.
- In front of the big tree ... a little patch of red. - Ah, yes! Good
- That's where the little hole is. - No...
Won't keep you a moment.
Now, all you have to do is hit it with that.
Go ahead, easy does it.
- Am I allowed to hit the flag? - Oh, yes! Yes, that'll be fine.
Oh, it will not hit the flag, I think.
Oh, bad luck!
Hastings, how we'll catch up with miss Plenderleith, with so many hits each time?
Well, we can't. She started that an hour and a half ago.
We might see her coming back in one of the parallel holes.
I do wish you'd stop rummaging around in the dustbins.
- Not another one! - Number three, Hastings!
Someone is having a bad day. People do break clubs, you know.
- But three clubs in three holes? - Well what, then?
Well, miss Plenderleith is is getting rid of some golf clubs
in a place where she thought that would never be noticed.
Major Eustace is not guilty of murder, Hastings.
- Lost your ball again, Poirot? - Shh! Keep out of sight.
Look.
We've seen enough, Hastings. I must regretfully abandon
a most interesting game and go to telephone to Chief-Inspector Japp.
Why? Why would a presumably sane young woman want to throw an expensive case to a lake
with just two magazines and stones to make sure it sank?
You need worry no longer. The answer is coming.
And why break up a perfectly set of golf clubs?
I don't mind telling you I layd awake last night worrying about it.
Mon pauvre Japp.
- Miss Plenderleith, mr Poirot. - Thank you, miss Lemon.
I'm sorry I'm late. I just come from Barbara's funeral.
It was so good of you to come. Please sit down, mademoiselle.
- I have certain news to give you. - I read it in the papers.
Major Eustace has been arrested. It was murder, then?
Oh yes! The willful destruction of one human being by another human being.
And now mademoiselle I am going tell you just how I arrived to the truth in this murder.
He has his methods. I humour him, you know.
To begin with, there was the smell of the cigarette smoke.
- Which I didn't smell. - Precisely!
And yet the ashtray had no fewer than nine cigarettes.
It was odd, very odd that the room smelled as it did - perfectly fresh!
Ah! So that's what you were getting at!
The next thing that attracted my attention was the wristwatch worn by the dead woman.
- What about it? - It was worn in the right wrist.
By my experience, it is more usual to be worn on the left wrist.
But now, my friends, I come to the writing bureau.
Yes, I thought we'd come to that.
The blotting pad had on top a clean, untouched piece of blotting paper.
The shit was clean because Barbara hadn't written any letters that day,
Yes, she had. Freddie saw her post some letters at 18:00.
Well done, Hastings!
So then, what happened to the piece of paper to which she had blotted her letters?
But there was a second curious detail about the writing desk.
Perhaps you, Japp, can remember the arrangement of it?
Allow me.
Inkstand and blotting pad in the centre,
the pen tray to the left,
the calendar and quill pen to the right.
- Eh bien! - Yes?
Ah! You do not see? The pens for use are the pen tray to the left.
Is it not it more usual to find it on the right? More convenient for the right hand?
So I made myself a picture, Japp.
A picture of Miss Plenderleith arriving home after weekend.
A picture of Miss Plenderleith opening the door and finding her friend
lying dead with a pistol clasped in her hand.
Her left hand, naturally, since her friend was left-handed.
In spite of everything that Miss Plenderleith has done to convince us otherwise.
There was also a note addressed to you, Mademoiselle.
It was, I fancy, a very moving letter,
about a young, gentle, unhappy woman, driven by blackmail,
to take her own life.
I think almost once the idea flashed into your head.
Let him be punished!
You take up the note and the top sheet of the blotting paper.
Then you go downstairs, you light the fire,
and drop both into the flames.
You take the ashtray upstairs,
to further the illusion that two people sat up there talking.
You also had a lucky brake.
You discover a fragment of Major Eustace's cufflink in the sitting room.
You take that upstairs too. You expect that to clinch the matter.
You take the pistol from the left hand.
You wipe it clean and put it back in the left hand.
You bolt the window and lock the door.
There must be no suspicion that you have tempered with the room.
And so it goes on. Oh yes, mademoiselle, it was clever.
A very clever murder. For that was what it was...
The attempted murder of Major Eustace.
It wasn't murder... It was justice!
That man haunted Barbara to her death! Poor kid ...!
Just because she became involved with some married man in India and had a baby.
When the child died, she came back to England.
She met Charles and fell in love with him...
God knows why, that pompous little tack...
And then that devil Eustace turned up from India.
If you'd read that letter she left me, you'd understand why I did what I did.
She loved Charles, she said. She couldn't live without him.
But for his own sake, she mustn't marry him.
She was taking the best way out. I wish you'd seen that letter!
And you call it murder!
And it is murder! The man you wish to trap is already in prison.
Do you really wish to destroy him?
Do you really wish to destroy the life... the mind...
... of any human being?
No ... I don't.
I wish I did, but I don't.
Well, I'm jiggled!
Not murder disguised of suicide but suicide made to look like murder.
And cleverly done to it. Nothing overemphasised.
Wait a minute! What about the briefcase? What about the golf clubs?
Well, they were Mrs Allen's. You see, Jane Plenderleith had to convince us
that her friend was right-handed, if we had to believe she had been murdered.
- But the golf clubs, they were the left-handed! - Of course!
And when she opened the cupboard... she tried to focus our attention on the wrong object...
So she used the briefcase as a... What is it? A blotter? Kipper?
- Red herring. - Absolutely!
And now, my friends, it is time for me take you to lunch.
Subtitles by titta for Addic7ed.com