Narrator cue in five seconds, Mr. Hawksworth.
The Jury is out. And whole London holds it's breath
for the vedict on the infamous Beroldy trial.
Accusations against the beautiful Mme. Beroldy
over the brutal murder of her husband, Arnold, have shocked the entire nation.
After their wedding, ten years ago,
Mr. and Mme. Beroldy took a prominent place in the London society,
when the couple set in a permanent home in the city, a year ago.
And it was good news for the capital, too,
as Mr. Beroldy established his headquarters in the port of London.
Together with his English partner, Mr. George Connor,
here with Mr. Beroldy, they brought a valuable income to Britain.
Then, tragedy.
Masked intruders break into the Beroldy home.
Jeanne Beroldy is found tied up and her husband is stabbed in the heart.
And, at the memorial service, afterwards,
Mr. Connor comforts the grieving widow.
Two months later, a sensation,
as Jeanne Beroldy is taken into custody, and charged with her husband murder.
The story of the intruders was, they say, a clever concoction to divert suspicton.
Evidence comes to light of a secret assignation between Mme. Beroldy
and Mr. Beroldy partner, George Connor.
But, before Políce can aprehend him, George Connor flees the country.
And so, as Jeanne Beroldy faces the future alone,
her nine year old Marthe, fights to hold back the tears.
Alright, hold it.
Eighty five seconds, Mr. Letts.
I think we should come back to the Beroldy woman, at the end.
That's all the footage we've got, Mr. Letts.
Uh--, okay, then let's see those lasts shots again.
Now, good story!
George Connor commits the crime, then runs off and abandons Jeanne Beroldy.
Nah-- From what I heard, they were in it together.
He may have held the knife, but it was Mme. Beroldy who guided his hand.
- When's the verdict? - Tomorrow.
- Maybe we'll get some more footage later. - I doubt it.
If Mme. Beroldy really did kill her husband, she won't be making any more appearances.
- Ready, Mr. Letts. - Run it.
Poor little girl...
Her mummy is going to hang.
Hastings, to come again to France... c'est magnifique.
It will be the experience gastronomique.
I'm sure Deauville will be perfect for you, Poirot.
So you said mon ami, when you chose for us this destination.
It is famous for the comfortable hotels, excelent food
and sofisticated crowd.
It seems to me, Hastings, that these sofisticated people
they interest themsevelves mainly in des activités sportives.
Well, yes... Some people come to Deauville for that, but...
... not everyone.
Not for me, Hastings, I interest myself...
... in la bonne cuisine normande. - Absolutely.
Hastings, this hotel that you reserved for us it has a chef of the first order?
Top of tops, Poirot.
Bon! And the name of this hotel? You neglected it, I think, to mention it to me...
Pure coincidence, Poirot.
A lot of golfers are very gastronomic, you know, Poirot.
Nothing like eighteen holes to build up an appetite.
You really ought to try it. You might find you actually enjoy it.
To hit a little ball into a little hole in a large open field...
Non, mon ami. It is not the taste of Poirot.
- C'est à-vous, monsieur? - Non.
- Ah! Thank you. - À votre service, monsieur.
... the fields around the golf course,
the arquitect asked me if he could see you
tomorrow afternoon. He wants to know...
Wait a minute... that man...
- What? The little one, with the moustache? - That's Hercule Poirot!
The detective...
He's staying here...?
- Where's Lawrence, damn him? - He's just coming, now.
You don't need a private detective,
do you, Paul? - No.
Why do you ask?
Well, you've been very...
... preoccupied, recently. I just thought...
I don't need a private detective and it is none of your damn business, anyway.
You're my secretary, Stonor, not my confident.
- I'm sorry. - It doesn't matter.
Lawrence, you're taking my son to the station, this afternoon?
- Oui, monsieur. - Then you've got your holiday, is that right?
- Oui, monsieur. - Good.
- That was my stepfather. I have to go, now. - Jack, darling...
I have to pack. The ship leaves tonight.
It's so far away! Santiago's the other side of the world.
- I can't bear it. - I have no choice.
A whole year training for the most important cycling event of the region,
and, a week before, he springs this for me.
Why not refuse? You don't even like him.
Why don't you just tell him: no!?
It's only three months. I'll be back.
- Now I know what "she" felt like. - Who?
You know who! Isabel.
She lost you to me. And now I'm loosing you to your stupid business.
It's not the same.
I love you, Marthe.
- You loved her. - Until I met you.
Marthe!
Ma...
- I understand you're leaving us, Jack. - Yes, Mme. Daubreuil.
- I have to go, now. - I shall miss you.
- We both will. - Write to me.
Everyday.
- Your cases' ready, Jack? - Yes, mother. They're in the hall.
I told Lawrence to put them in the car.
I wish you'd tell me what this trip is all about.
Ten days crossing to Buenos Aires and then over land to Santiago.
It seems a hell of a long way to go just then you say so.
You don't want to be part of my business?
I think you're getting me out of the way, because you don't want me to see Marthe.
- That's a ridiculous sugestion. - Then why all this secrecy?
You'll be met at Santiago, everything will be explained to you.
- Thank you, Leonie. That'll be all. - Yes, Mme. Renauld.
You know, separating Marthe and me won't change my feelings towards her.
- That's enough! - You're only my stepfather!
- You cannot rule my life! - Jack...
No!
I wish you were dead, sometimes,
then once in my life, I could do as I please.
I say! Dinner alright, Poirot?
Yes, thank you, Hastings.
It is indeed fortunate for you that this is a hotel with great comfort
and a cuisine most excéllent.
Thank goodness for that. It has a marvellous golf course.
They say it will be the best in France, once they have finish it.
Oh! So this golf course, it does not have the necessary number of holes?
Oh, no! It has eighteen holes, but they're extending it.
A few more bunkers, that sort of thing.
- Hastings, what is it, a bunker? - You know, a sand trap.
I'm afraid that's where I usually end up...
It is the same in French. Le bunker.
And tomorrow you'll play... how do you say, the circle?
Oh! The round... yes, they're lining me up to some people.
Mesdames, messieurs, ladies and gentlemen,
je vous présente Isabel Duveen.
What an absolutely lovely girl...
♪ ... j'attendrai toujours ton retour ♪
♪ j'attendrai qu'un oiseau qui s'en fuit ♪...
Mr. Poirot?
My name is Paul Renauld. May I join you?
S'il vos plaît, monsieur.
Mr. Poirot, I happenned to see you this morning...
It was a piece of remarkable fortune because...
Mr. Poirot, I will pay you anything to help me.
In what way, monsieur?
I believe I am in danger of my life.
What makes you think that?
I am a rich man, Mr. Poirot. I have enemies.
May I ask what work is it that you do?
I own properties, hotels.
This hotel and golf couse are mine.
But I have another business... in precious stones.
I export them out of Santiago, in Chile,
and that's where the trouble began.
Fraud, Mr. Poirot, in massive scale.
I can't talk to you here. It's too dangerous.
Will you come to my villa tomorrow?
It's the "Villa Geneviève", next to "Villa Marguerite",
on the other side of the links. - Oui, d'accord.
Thank you, Mr. Poirot. Thank you.
De rien, Mr. Renauld.
It is most strange, is it not, Hastings?
This Mr. Renauld he says to me so much,
and yet he tells to me nothing.
Hastings...?
♪ ... et pourtant j'attendrai ton retour ♪
Be brave.
Help me, Leonie. Help me!
Madame!
- Toss us for it? - Heads.
Tails, I think.
- Yes, monsieur? - Bonjour, monsieur.
I have an appointment with Mr. Paul Renauld. My name is...
I know who you are. You better come in.
Merci.
My name is Lucien Bex.
I am Comissaire de Políce here in Deauville.
Mr. Bex.
Something has occurred to M. Renauld?
What's going on, Bex?
What is your business with M. Renauld?
It is a matter confidencial, monsieur.
- M. Renauld... - He's not here.
I am Giraud, of the Sûreté.
Giraud... that is a name that is known to me.
It is a name known to many. And you, monsieur...?
Mr. Giraud, this is Hercule Poirot.
- It's remarkable that... - Wait a minute, Comissaire Bex.
- Renauld asked you to come here today? - Oui.
- Why? - He told me he considered
his life to be in danger.
Well, it looks like he went to the wrong man.
Mr. Renauld was abducted last night.
- Are you at the Golf Hotel? - Yes, I'm there every year.
I'm not sure you were in the bar last night.
There was this singer... lovely voice.
- Do you mind? - Sorry.
Lovely.
I don't know what woke me up.
But, when I opened my eyes, there were two men in the room, both wearing masks.
So you cannot describe them at all, madame?
- It was too dark. - Obviously. It was the middle of the night.
It was two o'clock. I heard the clock strike on the mantelpiece.
- Fortunate. - Yes, indeed.
Go on.
One of them forced a gag into my mouth and tied me up.
The other one was standing, over Paul.
He'd taken a knife from my dressing table... here.
I-it was a gift from my son, Jack.
Anyway, he was threatening Paul with it.
- Did he speak? - Yes, in South American Spanish.
He was from Chile, I'm sure of it. That's where I met Paul.
We lived there for many years.
- And what did he say? - Sabe lo que queremos.
"You know what we want." Those were his first words.
The other one: "The papers? Were are they?"
Yes... M. Renauld he spoke to me of a fraud.
What happened then?
Well, I don't remember anything else.
I think I must have fainted... Oh God, I...
Non, non... madame, console yourself.
Poirot will find him.
You permit, madame?
They must have caused you great pain.
I think my partner is as good as mine on the game.
I think they're making one of those new bunker through here?
- I'll help you find the ball. - Thanks.
It's my fault, sir. Every night I lock the doors.
- But last night I was so tired... - You failed in your duty.
Tell me, Mlle. Leonie. At what hour did you you retire to bed?
At nine o'clock.
- Ah!! And you heard nothing? - No, sir. I didn't hear a sound.
And this?
It's mine, sir. I always have a cocoa in the evening.
- Tell me -- - Do you mind, M. Poirot?
This is my investigation.
There were just the three of you in the house, last night?
- Yes, sir. - Isn't there a son?
Master Jack is Monsieur Renauld's stepson, sir.
He left yesterday for South America.
- To Chile? - Yes, sir. To Santiago.
- Do you know why? - No, sir.
I believe it has to do with his father's business.
- He didn't want to go. - No?
No, sir. As a matter of fact, they argued about it quite violently.
Jack was very upset to miss the Trophee de Deauville,
the cycle race. He'd been training very hard.
Tell me, mademoiselle, did M. Renauld and his stepson argue very often?
- Yes, sir. I'm afraid they did. - For heaven's sake, Poirot.
Do you think Jack Renauld kidnapped his stepfather?
I think the thoughts of Hercule Poirot, monsieur, are far beyond your comprehension.
Was there anyone else in the house? No gardener, or handyman...?
Lawrence, the chauffeur, should have been here, sir, but he's on holiday.
- When did he heave? - Yesterday, sir.
He also...?
C'est curieux.
- No sign of it? - No.
Thank you.
Ah! M. Giraud,
I've circulated Paul Renauld's description across France
and I have men making inquiries in the station and at the airport.
- We'll find him. - Of that I am not so sure, monsieur.
So...
- What's going on? - Who're you?
My name is Gabriel Stonor. M. Renauld's Private Secretary.
- Is there something wrong? - M. Renauld has disappeared.
- Abducted by agents from Chile. - But that's...
- My God! That something's going up. - What d'you mean?
Well,he's been very...
... I dunno, nervous, recently.
- How recently, Mr. Stonor? - In the past couple of weeks.
He only came to France a couple of years ago.
And before that?
He had a business in precious stones in Chile. That's where he made his fortune.
But he's a very private man. I don't know much more than that.
- I see. - Where's Eloise... Mme. Renauld?
- Upstairs. - I must go to her.
Yes, of course.
- You can go now, M. Poirot. - M. Giraud!
Do you really think you can just walk in here and take over this investigation?
This is my case.
And if anyone is going to find M. Paul Renauld,
I can assure you it's going to be me.
- Still no luck? - No.
I'll look over here.
- Find anything? - Good Lord!
Well, Dr. Hautet?
Killed at about two o'clock in the morning, I'd say. Stabbed in the back.
Unusual weapon. It's just a paper knife.
I'd say the stone in the hold is a saphire.
Renauld's wife said they took a knife from the room. A present from her son.
- Has anyone informed Mme. Renauld? - No, Hastings.
And it is a duty I do not wish to perform.
There's a set of footprints in there. You didn't jump in, did you?
- Of course not. - It looks that someone did
You can take him away, now. Poor devil...
Marched down here, with nothing but that coat and his undercloth and was then killed.
It's no way to go.
This is yours, I believe, Captain Hastings.
Uh! Thank you.
Hastings, what is it, this white line that I see?
Oh! They were to dig a new bunker here.
This is where it's going to be.
This was by the grave. Brand new.
Was does it tell you, M. Giraud?
Only that our friends from Chile came prepared.
- Oh! So you assume it was theirs? - Of course.
- And what ot this? It's a piece of lead pipe.
- Oui. - Well, what of it?
It also was beside the grave.
Paul Renauld was stabbed. Not bludged, you know.
That probably been here for weeks. It's of no interest.
Au contraire, monsieur. To Poirot, it's of great interest.
Label the spade and put it with the knife.
- You can keep the lead pipe. - Sir?
- I found this in the dead man's pocket, sir. - Merci.
Hastings, if you please, read it.
"My dearest one, why haven't you written to me for so long?
"I'm beginning to think there's someone else.
"I think I would kill you, if I thought I was going to lose you.
"But you do love me. I know you do. As I love you.
"Always, your own adoring, B.D."
- So, Paul Renauld had a lover. - That's what it looks like.
"B.D."?
I'm sure Mme. Renauld will enlighten us.
Well, you're not to ask her, are you? She doesn't even know her husband's been...
Capitão Hastings is right. We better tell her.
I will tell her.
- That is most strange, is it not, Hastings? - What's that, Poirot?
M. Renauld...
He wore his coat very long.
This Giraud... I heard much about him, Hastings.
Who is he?
They call him "The Pipe", because he smokes this pipe ridiculous.
Doesn't seem very fond of you.
No, that is because he believes himself the greatest detective in France.
- Perhaps he is. - Non, non, non. Poirot, he is now in France.
- Hastings, regarde. - Allow me...
Hastings! The briar, it is sharp.
Viens, mon ami.
So much for my golf.
"Your own adoring, B.D."
I don't know.
Unless...
- M. Stonor? - The villa next door, the Villa Marguerite.
It's rented by a Mme. Daubreuil. Bernadette Daubreuil.
- Do you know this woman? - No, but you see, there's this thing.
In the last three months, M. Renauld made three large payments from his bank account.
- To this Daubreuil woman? - Yes, it headed up
to a hundred thousand francs.
I did ask Renauld about it, but he just startled me.
- You suspected blackmail, M. Stonor? - Yes, I did. But--
If she sent him this letter, maybe they were having an affair.
- Seems self evident. - Yes, but it's so unlike him.
Renauld was an odd sort.
Very secretive, reclusive, even.
But he adored his wife.
You wanted to see me? Gabriel, What's happenned?
Eloise, it's... bad news.
- What? - Mme. Renauld,
I'm sorry to have to tell you that your husband has been found murdered.
Oh, no!
He was stabbed last night, with the knife that was taken from your room.
Oh, God!
Why...?
Why Paul?
It's this one, here.
- You don't believe her, do you, Poirot? - I don't know, Hastings.
This case... it reminds me something.
I just do not know.
- This might be unpleasant. - Just one moment, M. Hautet
Mme. Renauld... the identification, it can wait.
No, I'd like to get this over with.
Paul!
No!
Oh, no!
Take her back to Villa Geneviève.
I am an imbécile.
Truly, if there was ever love and grief in the voice of a woman, I heard it now.
Et bien, Hastings. We must begin agan.
It's quite dreadful, really quite dreadful, the death of M. Renauld.
Do you have any suspects yet,...?
At present time, mademoiselle, suspicions are directed towards two persons.
- Two? - South-americans. From Chile.
Two suspects.
Is that why it requires the services of two detectives?
I'm handling this case, madame. M. Poirot is merely observing.
Well, I have nothing to tell you.
My daughter, Marthe, and I, lead quiet lives.
How long do you live in Villa Marguerite, madame?
Almost a year.
- My mother needed the sea air for her health. - So you arrived here after M. Renauld?
- Yes. - Did you know him?
- We met a few times. - You became friends?
- We became acquaintances. - Mme. Daubreuil,
On three occasions, Paul Renauld made large payments to you.
How do you explain that?
I don't. It is no business of yours.
- Madame... - I'll handle this if you you don't mind.
Need I remind you, madame, that we are investigating a murder?
- What of it? I had nothing to do with it. - Will you tell me, please,
what was the exact nature of tour relation with Paul Renauld?
- I have nothing to say. - Was there any assignation between you?
Monsieur, you insult me.
In my own house, in front of my daughter. You will leave now.
Your methods leave something to be desired, monsieur.
My methods work, M. Poirot.
As, if you insist in staying around, you'll find out.
But I do insist, monsieur.
Waste your time, if you want to.
But I will find the murderer of Paul Renauld before you
and that is a promise.
- You will stake on that your reputation? - I will stake anything.
In fact, I'll tell you what, how about a wager, Poirot?
And what would you wager against me, M. Giraud?
Name it.
Very well, I will tell you.
- That famous pipe of yours... - My pipe?
Oui, bien sûr. It is, how do you say? Your trademark.
If I will solve this case before you, I will have the pipe.
Very well.
And what is your trademark, M. Poirot?
- How about that famous moustache? - You can't be serious.
What better way to show the world who's the master here?
You lose, you shave your moustache.
- What do you say? - Poirot...
I hope you know what you're doing, Poirot.
Mon ami, you must not concern yourself with Giraud.
Now, tell me, Hastings,
what is your opinion of the two ladies that we met at the Villa Marguerite?
Well, I don't know about Mme. Daubreuil,
but, it seemed to me that her daughter Marthe, worried about something.
She certainly had the eyes most anxious, did she not?
But the mother, Hastings...
Where have I seen that face before?
I thought I might go for a swimm before breakfast tomorrow, Poirot.
That is a madness, Hastings, but suffered only by the English.
I'm sorry...
- Don't I know you? - Do you?
You're the singer from the hotel, the other night...
You must have a good memory for faces.
No, but I thought you were splendid.
- Really wonderful. - That's kind of you.
- I'm Isabel Duveen. - Arthur Hastings.
- Have you been in? - Yes, it's freezing.
You're shivering.
I was in Honfleur, last year. And in Paris, before that.
- But I like Deauville best. - When did you come here?
At the start of the season. Deauville is so beautiful.
and I was happy here. Very happy.
I thought...
- It all went wrong, really. - Is that why your songs are so sad?
- Votre addition, monsieur. - Oh, thank you.
Did you hear about that murder that happenned here yesterday?
- On the links? - Yes. I was the one who discovered the body.
Gosh, how thrilling!
I'm afraid I am abolutely doped on crimes.
Oh, yes? As a matter of fact, I'm staying here with Hercule Poirot.
- The detective? - Yes.
- Is he as brilliant as they say? - Oh, absolutely.
I must say, I'd hate to have him on my trail. Where is he now?
Still having breakfast, I should think.
Actually, I ought to be going.
Isabel...
... do you think I could see you again?
- We could go out for lunch, if you like. - Could we?
This is my address.
- Why don't you call for me? - Right.
Rue des Escaliers.
It's not very chic, I'm afraid.
Thank you.
- Bye. - Bye.
Hastings!
How very kind of you, you arrive at last.
Steady on, Poirot. As a matter of fact, I just met someone...
Someone? A young lady, no doubt, hm?
Ah, Hastings, Your face is like an open book.
But there is no time to talk about this now, mon ami.
We must go at once. M. Jack Renauld has returned to Deauville.
And Giraud is interrogating him at the Prefecture.
You have no right to hold me here.
- I have every right. - I told you...
I decided not to sail, but, at the same time, I didn't want to go home.
Just for another argument with my stepfather.
So, in the night of the murder, you remained in Cherbourg.
Yes.
I stayed in Cherbourg all night.
I only saw the news in the paper this morning.
- And you came straight home? - That's right.
But my mother was out
and I was waiting for her when he called.
Next thing I know, I was dragged here.
For questioning.
If you think you can intimidate me, you're wrong.
M. Renauld,
what was the purpose of your journey to Santiago?
My stepfather wouldn't say.
He seemed to think there was...
... some sort of fraud, something in St. Peter,
something to do with his precious stones.
Couldn't come at a worse time for me.
- In what way? - It's the race, this week.
The Trophee de Deauville.
- You're taking part? - Yes.
And I came fifth last year.
I mean to do better this time.
That is, unless you intend to keep me here.
Non, non, non, M. Renauld. You may go.
If you don't mind, M. Poirot, that decision is mine to make.
Pardon, monsieur.
You wish to arrest M. Renauld?
Not yet.
Jack!
- Oh, darling!... - Mother...
So, you didn't go?
Well, it doesn't matter now.
Not now.
- M. Poirot? - Oui.
- Ah! Merci. - What is it?
It is the coat of M. Renauld.
- Jack Renauld? - Yes, sir. I took it off this morning.
- M. Poirot asked me to hold it back. - Merci. If you please, Hastings?
You take your orders from me, not from M. Poirot! Is that clear?
Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.
What the hell to you think you're doing?
- Measuring the coat. - I can see that.
- Just as I thought. - What?
The coat.
It is short.
Hastings, I must leave in the next train for London.
What? But why?
Because the face of Mme. Daubreuil it is known to me. I've seen before.
There's also something about this case that is familiar to me.
Why London?
Because that is where the answer is to be found.
Hastings, I wish to know at what time the last train left Deauville
on the night of the death of M. Renauld. - Right.
And go also to the office of M. Bex and tell to him to where I've gone.
And when should I say you'll be back?
When I have discovered the truth, Hastings.
- How's the Deauville sole? - Delicious.
You're not married, are you?
Good heavens, no!
- Have you ever been? - No.
I don't know... I suppose I never found the right girl.
You're lucky.
Am I?
The right girl, the right man... No one can hurt you more.
How did you come to be hurt, Isabel?
Forget it.
I don't want to spoil a nice lunch.
Tell me about the case.
Have you found these misterious south-americans yet?
No. Poirot seems to think they don't exist. But it doesn't make sense.
Go on.
Paul Renauld, a multimilionaire seems to have no background or history
is found stabbed in the back in a golf course.
Well, if he wasn't abducted and taken there,
what was he doing out in the links, in the middle of the night,
wearing only a coat and undercloths? - I see what you mean.
Personally, I suspect his wife.
Mme. Renauld? Why?
If Poirot is right and there were no intruders, she must have made them up.
And the only reason for her to do that is if she killed him herself.
- But did she have a motive? - Well, there's always money.
Paul Renauld's a very rich man.
And it seems he was having an affair with his neighbour, Bernadette Daubreuil.
How did you find out that?
She wrote him a letter. She signed it "B.D."
But that doesn't necessairily mean she...
No, but we also discovered that Paul Renauld payed Mme. Daubreuil a large sum of money.
Okay, Isabel,
I really shouldn't be telling you any of this...
My lips are sealed.
Thank you, Arthur. That was a lovely lunch.
Don't thank me. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much.
Where are you off to, now?
Do something for Poirot, He wants me to go
and see the Comissaire of Police.
- Oh! Do you mind if I tag along? - Why would you want to do that?
I enjoy your company and, I told you,
I'm absolutely fascinated by crime.
Right.
M. Bex said to wait for him in his office, Capitão Hastings.
- He'll be with you shorly. - Thank you very much.
- Is this where he lived? - Yes.
- And that's where you found him? - Yes.
- Stabbed in the back. - Look, Isabel,
I'm not sure this is a very good idea...
Don't worry, I'm all for the horrors.
What's that?
They're footprints from the scene of crime. They took a cast.
- And this? - That's the knife that was used.
- The knife...? - yes.
- Oh! I see-- - I say! Are you all right?
- Yes. - Are you sure?
- Yes. - Come here, sit down.
Do you think you can get me some water, please?
I'll be back in a minute.
The women and crime, Captain Hastings, they don't mix.
She's gone.
Was she interested in anything in particular, Captain Hastings?
- What was it that upset her? - I really have no ideia.
M. Letts?
Mr. Poirot! And how may I help you?
Yes, I know exactly what you're talking about, Mr. Poirot.
I entered the spool in, myself. And I was there in the trial.
When was this, M. Letts?
A good ten years ago.
Ah! There we are.
The Beroldy case.
- I wonder if you could help me... - Monsieur?
I'm making inquiries for a friend of mine.
I wanted to know the time the last train left Deauville, two nights ago?
Tuesday, monsieur? That would have been the seven minutes past twelve to Paris.
You did happen to see two foreigners, getting on - South Americans?
- Non, monsieur. - How about this man?
- Giraud? - Have you seen him?
- Well? - Yes, monsieur.
- But he wasn't getting "on" the train. - No?
No, he arrived on the last train from Cherbourg.
I noticed him, because he appeared to be so... nervous.
- And what time was that? - Eleven forty.
Jack Renauld...
That story about the masked intruders...
the ones who supposedly abducted Arnold Beroldy, was all made up.
And this Mme. Beroldy, it was her hands, was it not?
- They were not-- fastened together tightly? - That's right. It's what gave her away.
Her lover, George Connor, didn't want to hurt her.
Ah, yes! It all cames back to me now. Mme. Beroldy... she did not hang?
- No, ela... - Ready, Mr. Letts.
Run it.
Right before the verdict is passed, she admited her story was a lie
and threw herself at the mercy of the jury.
The real murderer was her partner, George Connor, she said.
It was all his plan.
He'd killed her husband and forced her to go along with it.
Personally, I think there was more to it than that.
- If you please do tell me... - Well, he may have stroke the blow,
but she planned it.
And of course it was Mme. Beroldy who inherited the money
from the coffee businness from the husband.
Absolutely. She had nerves of steel, that woman.
In a way, I think, she was rather horrible.
- And this George Connor, was he arrested? - No. That's him there.
- Yes. A face that is to me most familiar... - He managed to escape the country.
- To South America. - Yes.
The Police never found him.
And what of Mme. Beroldy?
The amazing thing is that she was acquited.
Well, it was quite a performance.
That's her there, with her daughter, after the verdict.
She left the country, later on. Changed her name.
Oui.
To Mme. Bernadette Daubreuil.
With the Station's Master evidence, my case is getting stronger by the minute.
So Jack Renauld was lying when he said he was Cherbourg
the night his stepfather was killed. He was actually here, in Deauville.
- You better tell Poirot. - Oh, I think he already knows.
You can wait here. I want to have a word with Mme. Renauld.
Right.
Marthe, calm down, calm down, everything will be alright.
Why can't we leave, Jack? It is all an horrible business...
- Soon, darling. - And then? What about us?
You know what I want, Marthe...
I can't live without you, Marthe.
- What is it? - It's another body.
The knife, Captain Hastings, Look at the knife.
- Hastings, you've received my telegram? - Poirot...
I have succeeded, mon ami. I have succeeded to the marvel.
Poirot, I have to tell you... there's been another murder.
- A second murder? - Commited with an identical knife.
Not an identical knife, the same knife that killed Paul Renauld,
stolen from this very same office by the woman that Cap. Hastings brought here.
We can't be sure of that, M. Giraud.
The knife vanishes. The knife reappears. What more do you want?
It is a very serious businness, Captain Hastings.
To bring a complete stranger into Políce Headquarters and leave her here!
- I can't believe the incompetence of it. - And you have not been able to find her?
We're looking. But we only have her description to go.
You wat until I get my hands on her...
- You've no idea who she was? - No. We met on the beach.
- She didn't tell me her name. - She must have told you something.
No, not really.
And you believe this to be the same knife that killed M. Paul Renauld?
A paper knife with a stone set in the hilt. It certainly looks the same.
But why take it to...
Doesn't make sense.
Bonjour, Dr. Hautet.
Well, the first thing that you ought to know
is that this man was stabbed after he died.
What?
Look at the wound.
The Knife was lodged in his heart, but there's no blood.
- Then what did he die of? - It's too soon to say.
But I'd guess an epileptic fit.
But why stab a man who's already dead?
- To create an impression, Hastings. - What impression?
The impression that he very nearly did create.
- You've no idea who he is? - No identification, nothing.
Look at his hair, his fingernais.
I'd have said he was a tramp.
And yet his clothes were of a man well to do, n'est ce pas?
- C'est curieux. - We found those in the shed.
Some old clothes. They could be the tramp's, or...
- The gardener's? - Do you think so?
Yes.
- What about the time of death? - He's been dead quite a while.
Possibly, four or five days.
And so, it would appear that the death of this man
ocorred before the death of M. Paul Renauld.
You're just trying to confuse the issue, Poirot.
- You do not find it to be confused, M. Giraud? - No.
As a matter of fact, I'm ready to make an arrest.
You are?
Is that race this afternoon, isn't it? The Trophee de Deauville.
Yes.
- What time is it expected to end? - Four o'clock.
Will be then.
And what more suitable venue that the finishing line?
- Right... - Bad luck, Poirot.
But I told you, didn't I?
You've met the better man.
And so you see, mon ami, it is what I found out in London.
And that is the key to this mistery most bizarre.
I just can't believe it, Poirot.
Ten years ago, Jeanne Beroldy is accused of murdering her husband
and now is living here, in Deauville under the name of...
Mme. Daubreuil. Exactement.
Shouldn't you confront her, or something?
I think it would serve no purpose, Hastings. After all, to change her name it is no crime.
But it must have been she who murdered Paul Renauld.
- And the motive, Hastings? - Well, the letter...
She said that she would kill him rather than lose him.
But that is because you still assume
that the BD in the letter it is Bernadette Daubreuil.
But of that there would be no evidence.
But it is the same crime, Poirot. The fake abduction...
Non.Non, non, non, mon ami. You forget that, ten years ago,
Mme. Daubreuil, or Jeanne Beroldy, as she was then called,
invented the story of the masked intruders.
Now, it is her neighbor, Mme. Renauld.
Oh, that's true.
And there is one other question you should ask yourself, Hastings.
What's that?
What happenned to the true Killer? George Connor...
Pardon, monsieur.
There's a young lady in the reception asking to see you.
- To see me? - Oui, monsieur.
Perhaps it's the young lady of your acquaitance.
Oh, you mean...
Yes, of course, her name, it is still unknown to you.
- Yes. - Et bien. We shall see.
M. Poirot!
I hope you forgive me for coming here. I had to see you.
Mademoiselle...
Please.
I am afraid, M. Poirot. I'm terribly afraid.
Mademoiselle?
That horrible man has just been to see me.
Giraud.
He's such a bully! He discovered that Jack was here on the night of the murder.
But if that is the case, mademoiselle,
it is most unwise from M. Renauld to conceal it.
I know. But that doesn't mean...
M. Poirot, Giraud is going to arrest him.
You can't let him... please.
I love him.
Mademoiselle... shh--
He's innocent, M. Poirot. I know he is.
And who do you believe the true killer to be, mademoiselle?
I know who it was.
Tell it to me.
The before he died, I heard someone in Paul Renauld's garden.
I climbed up over the wall and that's when I saw him.
- Who? - A tramp.
He was a dreadful looking creature, dresses in rags.
Paul Renauld tried to calm him down, but he wouldn't listen. He was asking money.
And you believe that this was the man...
Jack and his stepfather had their differences.
Mademoiselle, if I am to save M. Jack Renauld,
it is necessary that I speak to him, without delay.
You're too late. The race, it will begin in a few minutes time.
- The race that Giraud mentioned. - He said he was gonna be at the finish.
- Mademoiselle, you and your mother will be there?
- Yes. - Hastings and I also.
Fear not, mademoiselle, all will be well.
Thank you, Mr. Poirot. Thank you.
I wonder if she knows... her mother's true identity?
She was about nine years of age at the time, Hastings.
It is possible that the truth, it has been shielded from her.
Well, she is certainly in love with Jack Renauld.
You should have seen them, Poirot.
Comment, mon ami?
I heard them together. Over the same garden wall, as a matter of fact.
- Hastings, you did not mention this to me. - Didn't I?
- Well... - Do you not see of it the significance?
Oh! You think Paul Renauld could've overheard them too?
Non, mon ami. I think the exact opposite.
- Bonjour, mademoiselle. - M. Poirot?
If you please, I would like to see the room of M. Jack Renauld.
I'm sorry, sir, but M. Renauld is not here.
Mlle. Leonie, I am perhaps, all that stands between your master and the guillotine.
His life, it is in your hands.
There. See him there?
First his coat, now his shoes. What are you expecting to find?
Remember the two footprints inside the grave, Hastings?
- Yes. - Voilà.
- So Jack was there... - Oui, mon ami.
And I have no doubt that these will match the cast in the office of M. Bex.
I thought you were trying to save him not incriminate him.
I'm trying to comprehend him, Hastings.
Well, I don't understand.
You know this girl, Hastings?
No, no. I've never seen her before.
There is a signature... "Bella Duveen."
Bella!
Poirot...
- Mme. Renauld. - M. Poirot?
- Where are the cyclistes? - They should be here any moment.
No sign of Giraud.
- Why are you here? - To speak with your son.
Third place! And in a record time.
Congratulations, monsieur.
M. Renauld, I have certain questions I must ask you
concearning your late stepfather.
- What? Here? Now? - Yes. Here and now.
Why did you return to Deauville on the night of his death?
- I told you, - The truth, monsieur.
- I wanted to see someone... - Marthe Daubreuil.
- Yes. - And did you see her?
- No. - Why not?
Out of the way! Move!
Jack Renauld, I'm arresting you for the murder of your stepfather
and also for the murder of your unnamed accomplice.
- Take him! - Giraud, you've got it all wrong...
Giraud is never wrong.
Tell me, M. Renauld, do you deny it?
Tell him, Jack.
No, M. Giraud. I have nothing to say.
You see?
You've come here to arrest him yourself, haven't you, Poirot?
Well, I beat you...
... by a whisker.
Bonjour, M. Stonor. If you please, we'd like to speak with Mme. Renauld.
- Come in. - Merci.
Mme. Renauld, I am here in the interest of your son, Jack Renauld.
Is there anything you can do for him?
Mais oui. But, in order to help him,
the events of the night when his stepfather died must come to light.
- Of course. - All of them.
Very well.
The real name of your husband was not Paul Renauld,
but George Connor, was it not?
Yes.
You mean the man wanted ten years ago for the murder of Arnold Beroldy?
My God!
And you met him after he has escaped from England to South America.
Yes.
But you must believe me, M. Poirot, he wasn't a bad man.
- That woman used him. - Jeanne Beroldy.
Mme. Daubreuil, as she calls herself now.
Ten years ago, she told Paul she was in love with him, but it was all a lie.
She wanted her husband's money, and she used Paul to get it.
And she persuaded him to murder her husband.
Yes.
Then she laughed at him, told him she wanted nothing more to do with him.
And then, when the Police discovered the truh, she betrayed him.
This George Connor... he made his fortune
in the business of precious stones whilst in Santiago
and it was there that she met you and your son?
Yes, Jack worked for him, that's how we met.
And you married and came to live together here?
How do you know all this, M. Poirot?
The eyes of Hercule Poirot, madame, they see everything.
Ten years after his escape from England, George Connor came to Deauville.
He had made for himself a fortune in Chile
and he uses this money to establish himself in France.
But somehow, his old lover,
Jeanne Beroldy, has managed to track him down.
Now calling herself Bernadette Daubreuil
taunts him by taking the very house next door.
The money that she has inherited from the murder of the first husband,
has long ago been spent,
but she now sees that her knowledge,
it can bring her a new fortune.
She uses this to blackmail Paul Renauld.
And then, matters already grave, they are made worse.
Jack Renauld falls in love for the beautiful girl he sees almost daily,
Marthe, the daughter of the woman that Paul Renauld hates and fears.
Paul observes them together, but he is powerless to prevent the romance.
And thinks now only of escape.
Yes, Paul was being drained by Mme. Daubreuil.
Everyday was a torment to him. He had to get away.
And the method that had warked for him ten years ago, he decides to put to use again.
Yes...
Only this time he was the one to be the victim the intruders had killed.
I would move away
and later, the two of us would meet and start again.
What about Jack? He didn't know.
I never told him about Paul's past. I couldn't.
And so, the plan it was made.
But then, a few weeks later,
a tramp comes to Villa Geneviève.
That is the way out.
He is violent,
abusive and dangerously ill.
They struggle together, and the tramp suffers a seizure that is fatal.
If it is to be believed that Paul Renauld is dead,
then a body, it has to be found.
And now, as if by Providence, a body it has been sent, in the form of the tramp.
Paul dresses the tramp with a suit of his own clothes.
But there is worse. To make this deception convincing,
the body it has to look as though it has been murdered most brutally.
It is a dreadful deed, that to make the resemblance of murder.
Sometimes, I wish you were dead...
And so, to the day itself.
Jack, the stepson of Paul Renauld, is sent to Chile,
simply to remove him from the scene.
In the same manner, Lawrence, the chauffeur, is given a holiday.
And so, the preparations, they are complete.
But Pau Renauld, he uses every oportunity
and when he sees me, Hercule Poirot, he decides to draw me into his plan.
It is a pretty little show, là, that he plays at the hotel.
He tells to us nothing, just that there is a fraud
and pretends to be afraid.
But this is all a performance designed to give credence to his plan.
Night falls and all is in readiness.
The maid, Leonie, is sound asleep,
for the cup of cocoa that she takes each night, it has been drugged.
And now, at last, Paul Renauld puts into action his plans,
repeting the events of ten years before.
He ensures that the ropes they cut into the wrists of his wife,
for, this time, there must be no mistake.
The hour, it is ten o'clock,
and not two o'clock, as you later tel me, madame,
for Paul Renauld intends to leave on the last train from Deauville,
which leaves at seven minutes past twelve.
he slips on an overcoat, for it is his intention
to make his escape dressed in the cloths of the tramp.
And then both George Connor and Paul Renauld
will, once again, no longer exist.
Paul Renauld plans to bury the tramp where he shall be discovered.
The new bunker, it is ideal.
He also has with him a pipe made of lead
with which he intends to desfigure the face of the dead man.
Only then the justice, which he had for so long eluded,
overtakes him. Fantasy is made reality.
An unknown hand stabs him in the back.
So someone learned of the plan to fake his death and used it to kill him.
Oui, mon ami.
And, if I may say so, madame, when you heard of his death from M. Bex,
your performance, it was superbe.
But you weren't convinced.
Non. But then, when you saw his body in the mortuary...
It was horrible! Horrible!!
It shouldn't have been Paul. It shouldn't...
You have suffered an ordeal, madame. I salute your courage.
My God...
You knew nothing of this, M. Stonor?
No, of course not. Nothing at all.
You have not even suspected that your employer,
he was in hiding from British authorities?
No, why should I have?
M. Poirot, I don't care what happens to me,
but can you help Jack?
Et bien, the preliminary hearing it is set for tomorrow, is it not?
Yes, Giraud is settled that he'll be comitted for full trial.
But I know that Jack had nothing to do with his stepfather's death.
I, too, know it, madame.
And it is something I can also prove.
How can you prove that Jack didn't kill Paul Renauld?
Et bien that is simple, mon ami. On that night, there was a witness.
A witness that has yet to come forward.
- Who? - Ah, Hasting, it is for you a dilema,
is it not?
You search for the truth, and yet, over it, you are always afraid.
What do you mean?
Speak of Mlle. Bella Duveen, mon ami.
You can't protect her no longer. I must speak with her at once.
Her name isn't Bella, it's Isabel.
Isabel to you, mon ami, but Bella Duveen to Jack Renauld.
Remember the "B.D." that we found in the letter?
- That letter was writen to Paul Renauld. - Non, non, non, Hastings.
It was addressed to "My dearest one". Why do you assume it was his?
Because it was in his coat's pocket.
It was in the pocket of the coat he was wearing, but that coat, it was not his.
Do you not see, Hastings? When Jack Renauld left for Cherbourg,
by mistake, he took the coat of his stepfather.
- And so that night... - Exactement.
Paul Renauld, he was wearing the coat of his stepson.
So, Isabel was in love with Jack Renauld.
Oui.
Why have you been torturing yourself, mon ami?
The photograph you have not seen, The name you do not know...
Why must you protect this girl?
I dunno.
I suppose I've fallen in love with her.
Ah! Then for you, mon ami, I am most sad.
Bonjour, madame. Mlle. Bella Duveen, s'il vous plait.
Miss Duveen? Why do you want her?
She is required, most urgently, in a Court of Law.
It is her testimony that can prove the innocence of a young man.
- Well, Im sorry, she's not here. - What?
She went out yesterday and did not return.
Ah! Poirot! There's something you owe me, I think.
- The game is not over yet, M. Giraud. - No?
Non. The judge has still to make his recommendations.
Hanging onto the bitter end, hey Poirot? Well, I can wait.
I've examined the papers set before me by the lawyers set for prosecution and defense
and I've just a few questions I wish to ask.
M. Renauld, do you deny that you were in Deauville on the night of the crime?
No, I was here.
And did you say to your stepfather, that same day:
"I wish you were dead, then I could do as I please"?
Your honor, my client has been under considerable nervous strain.
- I wish to place it on record... - Yes, yes, Dr. Grosier.
Do you understand, M. Renauld, that, on the answers you have given me,
I have no alternative than to commit you for trial?
- Yes... - Very well, then.
Isabel!
My name is Bella Duveen.
I wish to give myself up for the murder of Paul Renauld.
You knew about this! You tricked me!
So, M. Poirot. We meet at last.
Isn't that what I'm meant to say?
Mlle. Duveen, why did you murder M. Paul Renauld?
Why do you think?
I think it was because you were in love for his stepson, Jack Renauld.
- Yes. - But he had left you,
for Marthe Daubreuil.
And it was Jack Renauld that you threatened to kill in your letter.
You got the wrong man!
You thought Paul Renauld was his stepson.
It was dark and he was wearing the wrong coat.
I don't want to talk about it.
Then tell me, Mlle. Duveen,
why did you take the knife from the office of M. Bex?
- To protect myself. - And this knife, it was yours?
Yes.
Merci, Mlle. Duveen.
Poirot...
I should be outside.
- I owe you an apology. - No.
Yes... I saw you at your hotel.
You recognised Poirot.
Yes. That's when I decided to use you,
to find out out what you knew.
But the things I said, Arthur,
I wasn't just pretending.
You said you're in love with Jack Renauld.
I was. Once.
And now?
Just forget about me, Arthur. You're a kind man.
If only we had met before, maybe...
Ladies and gentlemen, Let's propose a toast.
To freedom!
- And to us, Jack. - To a new life together.
The wedding it is to be soon, M. Renauld?
Ah yes, we want to put this very much behind us.
Start again.
Poor Bella... I treated her shamefully, M. Poirot.
At least that awful Giraud lost the wager with you, M. Poirot.
Oui. But it is a wager that Poirot is yet to win.
Out of the way! Let me through!
How can you, Jack? How can you celebrate?
Mother...
You may be free, but Paul's death is on your hands.
- That's not fair. - Sit down, mother.
No, Jack. You never understood him.
You defied him, mistrusted him,
and by your heartless treatment of another woman, you killed him.
- I didn't... - You'll never inherit his money!
Tomorrow, I'll take steps to desinherit you and that girl!
- Mother... - You're no son of mine!
Take me home, Leonie.
Jack, she... didn't mean what she said.
She did.
Jack, darling, you can stay with us tonight.
Yes, I think that would be best.
Poirot, I wish you'd explain what we're doing here.
We're watching the house, mon ami.
Well, I know that. But why? There's only Mme. Renauld in there.
- Who was that? - Was the true killer of M. Paul Renauld.
- What? But Isabel... - Non, non, non, Hastings.
Bella Duveen was not the killer of Paul Renauld.
Well, then who was?
Mille tonerres! The gun! It was not according
to my plan. Alons-y, vite!
This way, Hastings! The room of Mme. Renauld c'est par ici!
She came, just as you said she would, M. Poirot.
She tryed to smuther me...
I was waiting, just like you said me to,
but when she saw me, she got a gun... We struggled and it went off.
I'm afraid she's dead...
Who is it, Poirot?
The true killer of Paul Renauld, mon ami...
... Marthe Daubreuil.
No! You cannot arrest me! I have done nothing!
Mme. Daubreuil, you are being held as an accomplice to murder.
No! I need to speak to Marthe! Where is Marthe?
Poirot...
Ah, yes...
Merci beaucoup.
It has indeed challenged the little grey cells
of Hercule Poirot to the extreme.
Yet from the start I knew that this was a crime of the cold blood,
and so it was...
Marthe Daubreuil knew of the plans of M. Paul Renauld to fake his death,
and, with great cunning, decided to use those plans for the purposes of her own.
But, M. Poirot, how could she have known? We told no one.
So you believed, madame.
But when you made the plans, it was by the garden wall, was it not?
Yes, Paul and I, We talked there, then.
I'll dig the grave at ten o'clock.
And I'll be on the train out of here seven minutes past twelve.
You'll have to identify the body.
It won't be pleasant, but you'll have to be convincing.
I'll do my best.
If it's really the only way to rid you of Bernadette Daubreuil,
then, so be it.
And that's how Marthe Daubreuil she overheard it.
Later, Hastings heard Marthe talking with Jack over the same wall.
And that's when I admitted the possibilidity.
Why did she do it?
Always it was for money.
M. Paul Renauld planned to escape the blackmail of Mme. Daubreuil
by pretending to be dead.
But what if he were really dead, what would happen then?
Paul's money would come to me.
Exactement.
But what if a short while later, you were also to die, madame?
Jack would have everything.
And Marthe would have Jack Renauld.
But this marriage it could only take place if Paul Renauld no longer stood in the way.
Oh yes, Marthe and his mother certainly planned for long term.
However, yesterday they discovered that Mme. Renauld intended to change her will,
and that forced them to act at once.
My God! What devils...
Oui. Alors, Mme. Renauld played the part I suggested to her,
and that was to force the hand of Mme. Daubreuil.
Oh, Bella! Will you ever forgive me?
Yes, Jack, of course.
But this is what I don't understand, M. Poirot.
So, these two were protecting each other.
Oui, M. Bex. Never before have I seen so many misconceptions.
And that was because each thought the other guilty of the murder.
But why?
Let me describe it to you as I see it.
On the night of the murder, Jack Renauld returns from Cherbourg.
He plans to visit Marthe Daubreuil in secrecy,
but he is seen by the Station Master.
Meanwhile, Mlle. Bella Duveen,
tortured by her love for Jack Renauld,
decides to visit him one last time to plead with him,
unaware that he has supposedly departed to Santiago.
Her route, it will take her accross the golf links.
In the meantime, M. Paul Renauld has completed his task
and is now ready to recover the body of the tramp which lies nearby in the shed
with the knife he has placed in his chest.
He plans, of course, to bury the tramp in the grave
and that is when Marthe Daubreuil strikes.
However, at this moment, a figure aproaches.
Marthe Daubreuil flees from the scene.
The route of M. Jack Renauld has taken him also accross the golf links
where he makes a discovery most terrible.
The body of his stepfather. Can it be true?
He climbs into the grave...
... just as Mlle. Bella Duveen arrives,
cutting her hand and tearing her sleeve on some sharp briars
which are near the site of the new bunker.
And so, to the moment of truth.
Jack Renauld looks up and what does he see?
Mlle. Bella Duveen with blood on her clothes.
It must be the blood of his stepfather, of that he is sure.
She had mistaken his coat and has killed the wrong man.
And Mlle. Bella Duveen?
She sees Jack Renauld in the grave, with the body of his stepfather.
What could she believe?
And from that moment,
each thought the oher had perpretated the crime.
And that, M. Bex, is why they were protecting each other.
It's true. That's how it's happened.
But-- what about the knife? Why take the knife from my office?
Mademoiselle?
I thought it was Jack's.
You see, he had given me one that was exactly the same.
It's true.
I had them made when I was working for my stepfather.
The safires were from Santiago. They were souvenirs from my time there.
Exactement.
But, M. Renauld, they were more than two knives, were they not?
Oh yes, three safires.
And three knives.
The first knife, you gave to your mother.
This was the knife that was used by Paul Renauld
by plundging into the chest of the dead tramp.
The second knife, you gave to Mlle. Bella Duveen.
But this knife, it played no part in the events that follow.
Because it was the third knife, that Mlle. Duveen
took from the office of M. Bex,
this was the knife that was used to kill M. Paul Renauld.
Tell me, M. Jack, this third knife, to whom did it belong?
I gave the third knife to Marthe Daubreuil.
Excuse me.
Entrez.
- M. Poirot. - M. Giraud.
This is yours, I think.
Non, monsieur. You may keep your pipe.
But from this moment, each time you light it, you'll think of Hercule Poirot?
Yes...
I will.
Actually, Poirot, I think I might stay out here a little while longer.
But of course, Hastings. You wish to improve your "deshability" on the links.
What? Ah, my "handicap". No, no, no, it's not that.
I just don't feel ready to come home just yet.
You speak of Mlle. Duveen?
A girl who would do what she did for Jack Renauld...
She must really love him.
And yet, Hastings, there are men who do not deserve such love from a woman.
And then...
Return home only when you are ready, mon ami.
Until then... au revoir.
Merci.
If you please, monsieur, I wish to make the little detour.
Bien, monsieur.
Arthur...
Isabel!
♪♪ ... ♪♪
translated, and resync by titta for Addic7ed.com