It's a wonder Japp didn't lock me up for breaking and entering.
But, Hastings, you performed magnificently.
I don't see what it proves, except that you need a strong hand to get that thing open. Lowen isn't exactly a weakling.
Ah, our old friend Monsieur Lowen, hein? He has suffered so badly at the hands of Monsieur Davenheim that he vows to exact his revenge on the demon banker. So, first, he kills his adversary, then he turns up at the house in order to ransack the safe and make off with the family jewels, hein?
It's the only explanation that fits.
Like the round hole into the square peg.
You know, Poirot, I sometimes wonder if you don't set me these little tasks just to find out how much embarrassment I can take in any one day.
The facts, Hastings. This is of critical importance.
Charlotte and Mathew Davenheim have occupied separate bedrooms since the spring.
Ah. And it is now the middle of October. Bon. And the bathroom cabinet?
You sure want to hear all this?
Hastings, do you think I play the games?
Two toothbrushes, one hairbrush, one pot of skin cream, one bottle of liver pills, one tube of toothpaste, one shaving brush, one packet of razor blades, one bottle of sleeping pills, one nasal spray, one bottle of eye drops...
Thank you, Hastings. I have heard enough.
There's another two pages.
The evidence, it is complete. Now, Hastings, Miss Lemon, I trust you have no monies deposited in the bank of Davenheim and Selmon?
Because I should advise you to withdraw it all, mon ami, before it is too late.
You think there's trouble looming?
I expect a big crash within the next few days, Miss Lemon. Perhaps sooner, hein? So, if you please, a note to the Chief Inspector Japp. Advise you to withdraw any monies deposited with the firm in question. Ah, still he will not comprehend.
I'm not sure I comprehend.
Hastings, as I told you at the start, once all the facts were placed before me, the solution, it becomes inevitable.
The professional private detective, ladies and gentlemen, is not the glamorous figure of fiction. He is a man who, failing in more worthy walks of life and being of meddlesome and troublemaking disposition, finally comes to rest in a dingy office over the chip shop, where he plies for hire in the sordid world of petty crime and divorce. Except, I have to say, for one. I have been fortunate in my career, in that many, in fact most of my cases have been shared with the most extraordinary of private detectives and, if I may borrow a word from his own native tongue, that doyen of the Belgian police force, Monsieur Hercule Poirot. I think I may say without fear of contradiction that Hercule Poirot has one of the most original minds of the 20th century. Intelligent, brave, sensitive, devastatingly quick, Hercule Poirot stands head and shoulders above any other detective of my considerable experience.
FBFBI Agent Burt
Japp, I hope you're not so short of manpower you're hiring a shamus. What are they good for, chasing lost dogs? This is a matter of international security we're dealing with here.
I have no intention of hiring anyone, Burt. And if you must know, Mr. Poirot here has an outstanding reputation.
BBurt
Oh! A gumshoe of distinction. And I suppose Al Capone's running for president.
BDSir Bernard Dodge
Seems I may owe you an apology, M. Poirot.
No, no, Sir Bernard. You were cleverly misled.
BDSir Bernard Dodge
How did you get onto it?
Whenever the occasion arises, Sir Bernard, to look into someone's address book, always first look under the letter "X" because that is where the secrets are kept. In the address book of Monsieur Egan which I found under his pillow, under the letter "X," there was only one number. No name. Just "X." It was a Mayfair number, which I thought strange. But when I pretended to use the telephone of Commander Daniels, I noticed that his number was the same as that in the address book. An interesting connection, n'est-ce pas?
I have worked hard, Hastings, to prepare for you the delicious dinner. I have searched the shops for the exotic herbs. I have argued with the butcher, who is a fool. I have beaten your scallops with a little mallet until my arm, it aches. And you sit there shoveling food in your mouth and writing in your little book.
Oh, I'm sorry. You're always rotting at me about order and method, so I've started to keep this notebook. I've got two columns. The first is to write down all the things I don't understand. Then the second is to write down the explanation.
What is it that you write now?
Well, the first thing is, if Lady Yardly's got the real diamond now and the other one was imitation, who's got the other eye of the Chinese god?
Hastings, there was no Chinese god. There was no connection with China whatsoever. Now, close your little book and eat your dinner.
I never knew you were so keen on opera, Poirot.
Generally, mon ami, I am not, but the Rigoletto. The father who is jealous. His daughter, she is dishonored, so he plans the murder parfait, but he has failed to understand the psychology. The result, catastrophe. That is what interests me.
Well, it does have a couple of good tunes, I suppose.
SCSuperintendent Carter
There's not the least clue who the victim may be.
It is possible that the surname of the intended victim will begin with the letter B.
SCSuperintendent Carter
That would be something.
I suggest it as a possibility, no more. It came to my mind when I read the signature "A.B.C." on the first letter and again when I heard the name of the unfortunate woman in Andover.
You mean, first a Mrs. Ascher in Andover, then someone beginning with B in Bexhill?
Well, that's possible, I suppose. I mean, we are dealing with a madman.
But so far he hasn't given us any clue as to his motive.
Does a madman have any motive?
IGInspector Glen
Perhaps he's gonna murder someone in every town of the alphabet all the way from Andover to, uh...
Zennor. [off Superintendent Carter's baffled look] I've thought a lot about it, you see.
NGNorman Gale
This is all very ingenious, but I'm afraid Monsieur Poirot doesn't really mean it. He keeps deliberately changing his story. First, poor Jane killed Giselle. And now her daughter did.
No, no, no, Monsieur Gale, the daughter did not kill the mother. The maid of Lady Horbury, she left the first-class cabin at the start of the flight, and we know that Madame Giselle did not die until shortly before we landed.
NGNorman Gale
Then how did she die?
You will recall, Monsieur Gale, that I asked you to disguise yourself as a reporter to go to see Lady Horbury.
HLady Horbury
What, he was...
I apologize for the deceit, madame. But you know, at first, the disguise of Monsieur Gale, it was hopelessly unconvincing, hein? But why? Why was the disguise of Monsieur Gale so unconvincing? There are two reasons for this. First, to make me believe that it would be impossible for him to impersonate the mysterious American. And secondly, and most important of all, to ensure that I would never learn the truth about how this murder was committed.
ABAlastair Blunt
I wish I could make you understand, Monsieur Poirot, about my meeting with Rebecca and my marriage. Gerda understood, didn't you, old girl? We could have married again after Rebecca's death, but, do you know, we'd come to rather enjoy all the secrecy. She's an actress through and through. She would have found it very dull being just one character. Well, I've killed three people, so presumably I ought to hang. But haven't I done something for England? I have held it firm. I have kept it solvent. I have kept it free from dictators. I am necessary to the continuing peace and well-being of this nation.
Is he saying what I think he's saying?
FCFrank Carter
What about me? He was gonna let me hang.
Précisément. Monsieur Blunt, with his usual efficiency, had provided for himself a second line of defense. If things went wrong, you, Monsieur Carter, you were to be the scapegoat. You see, by now, Monsieur Blunt knows of Monsieur Morley's opinion regarding you, and so he arranges for you to be engaged in a most mysterious fashion as a gardener. And how easy for Helen Montressor to fire a shot vaguely in your direction, drop the pistol at your feet, where you are bound to pick it up? You are caught red-handed, and of course nobody is going to believe your story, your ridiculous story about being employed by the secret service. No. As far as Monsieur Blunt is concerned, you can end your short life on the gallows.
ABAlastair Blunt
I don't waste pity on people like him.
Eh bien, Monsieur Blunt. That is where you and I, we do not see alike, for to me, the lives of those three people are just as important as your own life. [starts to leave but stops and faces Blunt] Monsieur Blunt, you talk of the continued peace of this nation, hein? Oh, yes, that is very good. But Poirot is not concerned with nations. Poirot is concerned with private individuals, who have the right not to have taken from them their lives.
Miss Lemon, if you please, would you come through for a moment with your notepad and pencil? I want that you send a telegram to the Assistant Commissioner Bergman in the police department of New York. "Please supply all available biographical material on Monsieur Rupert Bleibner, nephew to the wealthy Monsieur Felix Bleibner. Best wishes, Hercule Poirot."
Instead of "biographical," I could say "biog."
Is that a word, Miss Lemon?
It sounds efficient. I heard someone say it in a picture. "Give me the biog on Dutch Schultz, Miss Longfellow."
"Biographical material" will do very nicely, thank you, Miss Lemon.
