Agatha Christie's Poirot · Season 1
You remember Paul Deroulard?
I remember that it was not I who made the mistakes in that case. It was everyone else.
The old modesty lives on. Paul Deroulard died of natural causes, Hercule. The verdict of the court is there for all time.
And it is wrong.
What are these bloomin' things, Poirot?
Ah. Now these are the miniature gardens of Madame Alfred Lee.
What's the point of havin' a miniature garden? I mean, you can't do anything with it, can you? You can't take a deck chair out and sit it in.
Nothing like eighteen holes to build up an appetite. You really ought to try it, you know. You might find you actually enjoy it.
To hit a little ball into the little hole, in the middle of a large open field, I think it is not to the taste of Poirot.
A man may labor and toil to attain a certain kind of leisure in retirement. And then find that, after all, he yearns for the old busy days, and the old occupations he had thought himself so glad to leave. I had already begun to miss the daily toil of my previous employment when, tout à coup, I was flung back into the midst of the most perversely fascinating work that there is in the world: the study of human nature.
[after being exposed as the murderer] Dorothy Ferrars was an adulterous murdering bitch! She lorded it over us! All the money she had, she never worked for it, nor did her drunk of a husband before her. They were idle, useless parasites.
Stop it, James.
No! They didn't know what it was like. Scrimping and saving year after year, never able to afford a holiday, on call day and night to every idiot with a bilious attack for miles around. You've no right to stand in judgment on me. Blackmail? You call it blackmail? The law wouldn't punish her, would they? So I did. Well, there you are. I've done your work for you. Sorry Caro. Killing Ackroyd was easy. The knife was sharp, and I knew just where to strike. And for the rest, I simply had to follow my plan. The first thing to do was make sure everyone remembered me leaving the house. I drove away but parked the car a little way down the drive. Then I had to make it look as if Ralph Paton had entered through the window. He was a pathetic, profligate fellow. I knew Ackroyd had bought a dictaphone and had been using it. Now, I was going to use it to arrange for Ackroyd to speak from the grave. And then the business of the chair, which so intrigued you. I'd left Ralph Paton's muddy shoe outside when I entered through the window. Now, as I made my escape, I was able to use it to make a footprint on the sill.
And then, of course, the dictaphone did its work. Which convinces us that Monsieur Roger Ackroyd was alive at half past nine, by which time you were safely back at home awaiting the telephone call from the patient whom you had persuaded to take part in what you had told him was a practical joke.
Yes, you did well there, Poirot. I was quite surprised when you showed us your telegram from the ocean liner. Well done.
Thank you.
I needed the excuse of his phone call, you see, to ensure that I was first on the scene when the murder was discovered. I'd carefully calculated the position of the chair so that the dictaphone would be hidden from anyone standing in the doorway. When I'd sent Parker to telephone for the police, I had ample time to remove my contrivance and put the chair back in its accustomed place. Finally, I had to tell Ralph Paton of his uncle's murder, persuade him that he was in danger and get him to accompany me to the nursing home.
Why did you kill Parker?
Parker was too observant. He remembered that he'd brought in five letters, not four, and that one of them was handwritten on dark blue paper. He knew he hadn't moved the chair. How long would it be before he realized I had? No, I couldn't take that chance.
Everything was going fine until I made a foolish mistake. I invested in the Pampas de Fernandez Consolidated Railway. Well, they weren't consolidated. They didn't have a railway. And there's a huge mountain range between the two places. I lost just about everything. Poor Bella stayed behind to sell the ranch. I've come over here to find somewhere for us to live. Not that she's said a word against me. She's such a wonderful person. We're still as much in love as the day we met.
When, if I remember correctly, you thought her to be guilty of murder, n'est-ce pas?
Yes, well, since then I think I've learned what makes women tick.
Ah, yes. The ticking of the women. It has always been a mystery to Poirot.
There's nothing like marriage, that's the truth of it. The day I met Bella, it was as if I'd found myself. Ever since, I've been a completely different man.
Different man, yes. Could say the same about me, I suppose.
But you're happily married, Chief Inspector.
I don't know about that, Miss Lemon. You see, my Emily, she just doesn't understand my work. She never lets me talk about murder at the dinner table. And her tidying! It just gets worse and worse. Sometimes, I wonder how I've lived with her these twenty-seven-and-a-half years.
It's a shame you've never considered marriage, Mr Poirot.
There were occasions, Miss Lemon, when I did have la tentation. The temptation. But now, alas, I think it is too late.
So you knew all along that it wasn't Brian, then?
Oui, mademoiselle. But Monsieur Martin was not alone in his dislike for Lady Edgware. [to Miss Carroll] You, Miss Carroll. When I asked you the identity of the woman you saw entering the hall of Regent Gate...
[flashback, talking to Poirot and Hastings] It was her. I'd know her anywhere. And I saw her quite clearly.
But you were standing high up on the landing. The person who entered that night wore a hat with a slanting brim. From where you were standing, it would have been impossible to see the face.
I saw her.
Non, mademoiselle. You saw, I think, what you wished to see, hein? The woman who had wronged the man you had well served.
It's true. She never deserved him.
And it would have been impossible for Jane Wilkinson to have committed the murder. Because as we now know, Jane Wilkinson changed her mind and attended the dinner at Holborn. [to everyone] But from the beginning, I have been perplexed by five questions. One: What happened to the letter written by Lord Edgware informing his wife that he had agreed to the divorce? Two: Who is this letter P on the little gold medicine box? Three: Who made the telephone call to Jane Wilkinson at the dinner at Holborn? Four: How did a pair of pince-nez come to be discovered in the handbag of Carlotta Adams? And five: Why did the letter of Carlotta Adams state quite clearly that it was Ronald Marsh who paid to her the sum of $2,000 when it was impossible he could have afforded that sum?
Do you have the answers?
Of course Mr. Poirot has the answers. That's why you're here.
Ah, madame. You are a woman most remarkable. Eh, parbleu, to pull over my eyes the cotton wool. The letter, the disguise. Et surtout, to send me to your husband, to turn me into a witness that you had no motive for murder. Ma foi! You made of me, Hercule Poirot, your cat's-paw.
But it's true, Mr. Poirot. There was no motive if she was going to get a divorce.
A divorce would have been of no use to her, Miss Lemon. Which is why she pretended never to have received the letter from her husband. [to the Duke of Merton] Monsieur le Duc, you are of the religion catholique, n'est-ce pas?
Yes, I am. How did you know?
Jane Wilkinson told me you intended to get married at Westminster. Et naturellement, I assumed that she meant the Abbey. But later, you invited me to the Cathedral. Westminster Cathedral. Et voila. It was then that I knew that you must be catholique.
And he couldn't marry a divorced woman.
Oui.
So that's why Lord Edgware had to die.
My God, Jane. Tell me it isn't true.
I'm sorry, Percy. [to Poirot] I really thought I'd get away with it, you know. I thought I had you, ze great detective, 'round my little finger. I've always had that, you know. A power over men.
I wished only to protect you, madame. But I could not protect you from yourself.
Jane!
Oh, I'm not going to deny it, Percy. Why should I? After all, I've actually enjoyed it. All of it. Even being caught. I mean, it does put me centre stage. And who knows? Maybe they'll put me in Madame Tussauds.
But surely no one could think of murder in such a beautiful place.
No, no, no, no, Hastings. It is romantic, yes. It is peaceful. The sun shines, the sea it is blue. But you forget, mon ami, that there is evil everywhere under the sun.
[after Hastings theorizes that Arlena Stuart was hiding from someone] Hastings, once again, you come up with an explanation that makes everything clear.
Not to me it doesn't.
You mean she was afraid of someone?
I mean, Hastings, that there is evil on this island. And the murder that took place here was the work of a mind that was brilliant. But there is one thing the killer did not expect. The mind of Hercule Poirot. Eh bien. It is now time for these two minds to meet, and the truth at last must come to light.
[after being exposed as the murderer] I am so tired. I'm sorry about Anne Johnson. That was bad, senseless. It wasn't me. It was fear on my part. You'd have made a good archaeologist, Mr. Poirot. You have the gift of recreating the past. I loved Louise, and I killed her. [to Richard] But you shan't have her, Carey! You betrayed me. You betrayed both of us. [to Poirot] Oh, if you'd known Louise, you'd have understood. No, I think you understand anyway.
You're very clever, aren't you? I hope you don't expect me to confess. So, what are you going to do?
I shall do what I can to induce the appropriate authorities to grant to Caroline Crale the posthumous free pardon.
And me? What are you going to do about me?
I shall lay my conclusions before the necessary people. If they decide that there is a case against you, they may act. But it is my opinion that the evidence is not sufficient. Inferences only, eh? Not facts. Moreover, I believe they will not be anxious to proceed against a person in your position.
When I saw Caroline take the coniine, I thought she meant to kill herself. But the next morning when I overheard them talking about me, I ... I loved him and he was just stringing me along and she felt sorry for me. I watched him die, Monsieur Poirot, and I never felt more alive. But what I didn't understand was that I was killing myself. It was as if they hadn't died at all, but I had. I died, Monsieur Poirot.
Aunt Laura, tell me something. Honestly. Do you think love is ever a happy thing?
Oh, Elinor. Perhaps it always brings more sorrow than joy. But who could do without it? Anyone who has never really loved hasn't lived.
As I said before, Mr. Poirot, let the dead rest in peace.
Not when one has to consider the living.
These quotes come from Wikiquote's Agatha Christie's Poirot pages and are available under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.
