08x02 - m*rder in Mesopotamia

[bunniefuu]

Honestly, sir,
it's such a kick to meet

the famous Hercule Poirot.

Uncle Arthur's told me
masses about you, of course.

Have you been working on
a case in Baghdad?

Non.

It's quite interesting actually.

Poirot got a telegram from an old flame
of his saying she was in a spot of bother

and could he meet her in Baghdad.

Good-looking woman.

Said she was
a Russian countess...

Countess Vera Rossakoff.

Really?

Thank you, Hastings,
for explaining that

to Monsieur Coleman.

We've had a bit of excitement
at Tell Yarimjah, too,

while you've been away,
Uncle Arthur.

Well, I've only been away
a day.

Well, this morning,
we had a dead Arab at the site.

Been strangled, apparently.

Good Lord!

I say, that's Sheila Maitland!

Her father's a superintendent
in the Baghdad police.

He must be up at the dig.

He doesn't approve of Sheila
coming out here alone.

What ho, Sheila?

Will you take that
machine away, Coleman?!

Fancy a race?

It may have escaped your notice
that you're in a oar

and I'm on a horse.

Ha ha!

Always good for a laugh,
old Sheila.

Thank you, Hastings.

I say, Poirot,
was that tactless of me,

mentioning the countess?

Could you ever
be tactless, Hastings?

Any news of her yet?

Non.

It's odd, though, isn't it?

I mean, she books into the hotel, sends you
this telegram, and then when you arrive,

she's gone off on some trip.

Oui.

Hello.

Hello.

- Eric Leidner.
- Ah!

You must be Hercule Poirot,
Captain Hastings' famous friend.

It is an honor to meet
an archaeologist

so distinguished, Dr. Leidner.

The honor is entirely mutual.

Do be careful...
that's Mr. Poirot's luggage.

Good afternoon,
Superintendent.

I say.

Ah, there you are, Dr. Leidner.

We've had a bit
of luck with...

I don't think you
know Mr. Poirot.

Mr. Poirot, this is Superintendent
Maitland of the Baghdad Police.

How do you do?

Superintendent.

Right.

Now, look here,

this fellow who got himself
strangled is on our records.

Name of lzzat Baqui...

small-time crook,
dealing in stolen goods,

stealing antiquities,
selling dr*gs,

prostitution.

So I want to question
all your Arab workmen.

I still favor the idea
he was buying stolen antiquities

from one of them.

Very well,
whatever you think necessary.

Hmm.

I'm sorry for that.

This is where
you'll be staying.

I only hope you'll be happy

in our rather primitive
accommodation.

No, no, no, not at all,
Dr. Leidner.

I am a man of
the taste most simple.

Nasty business,

this fellow being k*lled.

Yes.

We've had one or two
suspicious characters

hanging around
Tell Yarimjah...

since we started finding

the gold artifacts.

Urn...

LEIDNER: You're looking
for me, Annie?

Oh, Dr. Leidner, yes.

I was just showing our
distinguished guest his room.

Mr. Poirot, Miss Johnson,
my right hand,

You might say.

Oh, Dr. Leidner.

I'm delighted to meet you,
Mademoiselle Johnson.

How do you do?

I wonder if you could come
and cast your eye over the beads

I found this morning.

Sure.

Dinner's at 8:00, Mr. Poirot.

Where is the mosquito net,
Hastings?

Oh, we don't bother
with them here.

There's no body of water
for miles,

so we only get the odd mosquito
passing through, as it were.

Couple of little bites
won't do you any harm.

I'm extremely sensitive

even to a couple
of little bites, Hastings.

Of course, everyone's getting
frightfully excited

about the stuff
that we're finding here.

Ah, Bill,

I was just coming
to look for you.

Father Lavigny, this is Mr. Hercule
Poirot, he's come to stay with us.

Pleased to meet you,
Monsieur Poirot.

Mon Pére.

I have heard much
about your exploits.

According to the log,

there was a cylinder seal
found by Mr. Mercado yesterday

which he gave to you
to bring to the antica.

That's right, yes.

Do you know where it is?

I put it on that shelf there.

Well, it's not there now.

Well...

Everybody on the roof, please.

Old Leidner always insists
upon a group photograph

whenever we have
a distinguished visitor.

If the back row could move
slightly to the...

to the left.

You're not quite symmetrical.

Yeah.

Captain Hastings,
move those querns

if there's not enough room.

Madam Leidner,
what is a quern?

A millstone.

They seem to find more of those
than almost anything else.

Where's Mr. Mercado?

Joseph doesn't like
having his photograph taken.

And Mr. Carey's not here.

He's still out at the dig.

Now, relax, please.

And look towards the camera.

Quite still.

I'm afraid you'll find us

a gloomy crowd tonight,
Monsieur Poirot.

We're very distressed about
the poor Arab who was k*lled.

Oui.

It is a circumstance most
unfortunate, Madame Leidner.

Was he one of your workmen?

It's hard to say,

we have so many
casual workers.

Oh, God.

It's all right, Joseph.

ANNIE: What's wrong,
Mr. Mercado?

- It's all right.
- Sorry.

I was reading in my
guide book last night

why this bit of Iraq
used to be called Mesopotamia.

Apparently, it's Greek
for "between two rivers."

I mean, you know
hippopotamuses...

well, "hippo" means river,
and "potamus" means horse,

river-horse, you see.

No, er...

it's the other way around,
isn't it?

"Hippo" means horse,

and "potamus" means river;

otherwise, it would be
"between two horses."

So, as "meso" apparently
means "between,"

Mesopotamia means
"between two rivers."

Er...

the two rivers being the Tigris

and, urn, that other one.

The Euphrates.

Yes!

Between two rivers.

I should've thought
you would have known by now

that dinner is at 8:00,
Mr. Carey.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Leidner.

I thought that the work

was what was important here.

Not at the expense of
everyone else's convenience.

We finished our soup,
I'm afraid.

It's quite all right.

I had to finish

plotting those walls.

Yes.

Yes, of course.

It's been lovely weather again
today, hasn't it...

out of the sun, of course.

Ah, the fish!

The fish from one of those very
rivers of yours,

eh, Captain Hastings?

Oh, isn't that a sturgeon?

They call it a hybiarria
out here.

It's absolutely delicious.

LAVIGNY: Arabs do not

understand fish.

That Father Lavigny
is a strange cove, isn't he?

There is certainly something
odd about him.

Mais c'est curieux, hmm?

He is a philosopher,

an archaeologist,
world renowned,

and from his books,

I had the impression of a man
of great enthusiasm,

of eloquence, and yet he seems
not to be able to rub together

even the two words.

Hastings, perhaps
tomorrow afternoon,

I shall return to
Baghdad with the post car.

Poirot, look...

I've been married a few years
now, and I don't mind telling you

I've learned a thing or two
about the fair sex.

Countess Rossakoff
isn't coming back, you know.

That is as may be, Hastings.

But it has less to do
with my decision

than the fact that in Baghdad,

the rooms there are lit
by electricity

and the sand, it is not so
prevalent

as to get inside
the under-vest.

I do not know how
you've borne it for two weeks.

Well, family, you know.

I told young Bill
I'd make it a decent visit.

You are a man
of great courage, eh?

Good night, Hastings.

Good night, Poirot.

Sleep well.

No!

No!

Nurse! Nurse!

Nurse...

I saw the face again.

And there's someone
in the room next to mine,

I heard scratching on the wall!

It's all right,
don't be afraid.

Get Eric!

Yes.

- Get him!
- Yes.

Dr. Leidner,

Dr. Leidner!

What is it?!

I saw the face again,
at the window.

And I heard him,

I heard him scratching
on the wall.

What's the matter?

Mrs. Leidner saw a face at her window, and
someone was moving about in the antica room.

Right.

Nurse.

It's all right.

Just breathe deeply.

That's right.

What are you doing,
Father Lavigny?

I saw a light.

I thought someone was in here.

I'm just checking to see
nothing's been touched.

CAREY: What do you think?

Well, it certainly
looks like wax...

right here, by the handle.

Mmm, I noticed it
when I took its photograph.

Could it be candle grease?

From 6,000 years ago?

I don't think so.

Wasn't there some disturbance
in here last night?

No candles, though.

Father Lavigny
had a flashlight.

What was he doing in here?

He heard a noise.

How's his latest translation?

Don't be unfair to
Father Lavigny, Richard.

We've only found four tablets
and seals as yet,

and one of those
has disappeared.

I apologize, sir.

But everybody says
he's a famous epigraphist,

I just look forward to seeing
his first bit of work.

It occurs to me, Dr. Leidner,

that your work and the work
that I do have much in common.

Really?

All I've ever wanted to do

is dig in the earth,

find out the secrets

that time has buried there.

Exactement.

The digging into the past.

The sifting of a mass of dross
for the clues

and the people most important
that you deal with

are those who are dead.

I bet you don't have
as much paperwork.

Ah.

For the world,
it is drowning in paper.

People will be thinking
I'm insane.

Good heavens, no.

Noises in the night,
faces at the window.

No, there's something
going on here.

I shouldn't be surprised
if somebody weren't

trying to frighten
the expedition off.

Do you really think so? You...

Who's that?

What's he doing?

- Captain Hastings!
- It's all right.

You see the state I'm in?

You know, I'm very ashamed.

None of the men on the work
can understand me.

I was trying my Arabic
on that man.

He's a townsman,

and I wanted to see if I got on
any better, but no.

Dr. Leidner says
my Arabic is too pure.

He can go, next one.

- Go.
- Name.

Poor little beggar.

About...

six years old, I'd say.

Sent into the next world

with nothing but a little pot
and a couple of bead necklaces.

Perhaps that is all any of us
need, Mademoiselle Johnson.

I know it's hard to believe,
Mr. Poirot,

but I can't tell you
what fun we used to have,

Dr. Leidner,
Richard Carey, and I,

the first years
we worked out here.

We were such a happy party.

But...

But what,
Mademoiselle Johnson?

Oh...

To be frank,

since Dr. Leidner
got married...

of course, she's a very
charming woman

and I can quite understand
why Dr. Leidner fell for her,

but if she's so nervous about
coming to out-of-the-way places

that she needs a nurse
to hold her hand,

she should've stayed
in America.

And now the famous detective.

Oh, no, no, no,
Mademoiselle Johnson,

you are mistaken.

I assure you that my visit here,
it is purely coincidental.

Huh.

There she is now.

I say!

Isn't that splendid?

And it's almost undamaged.
Look.

JOSEPH: I find their pottery
crude compared to the Egyptians.

Oh, no, Mr. Mercado,

unsophisticated, perhaps...

on, my God!

MRS. LEIDNER: Sergeant!
Sergeant!

Are you all right,
Captain Hastings?

Yes, I'm okay.

What was all that about,
Mr. Mercado?

Well, why do you ask me?

The man is mad, obviously.

He said he was going
to avenge his brother.

What brother?

I do not know any brother.

What kind of a place
have I come to?

For years, I've lived in fear
of being m*rder*d.

You can't mean it.

I assure you, Captain
Hastings, that I do.

But m*rder*d by whom,
Madame Leidner?

When I was a girl of 20,

I married a young man
in our State Department...

Frederick Bosner.

I hardly knew him, I suppose.

It was one of those foolish
wartime marriages.

We'd only been married
a few days

and he went away.

I never saw him again.

Frederick was k*lled in the w*r,

but he was k*lled in America.

He was sh*t as a spy.

It was...

terrible...

terrible.

And then, about
three months later,

an amazing thing happened.

"I am waiting for you."

If you ever marry another man,
I will k*ll you.

"Signed Frederick."

But this purports to come
from your husband who is dead.

Exactly.

I thought I was mad
or dreaming.

Eventually,
I went to my father.

He worked in
the State Department, too.

He admitted the truth...

my husband hadn't
been sh*t at all,

he'd escaped.

The State Department
had covered it all up anyway,

and he was trying to protect me.

But then Frederick
had been k*lled

in a train wreck
a few weeks after his escape,

and he saw no reason to burden
me with the knowledge.

I shouldn't have told you this,

I just thought you were
someone I could talk to,

a comparative stranger
just here for a few days.

And you say now that
you have received

more of these letters?

Some years ago when I
got engaged to be married,

a whole flurry
of letters started.

I couldn't bear it.

I broke off the engagement.

It seemed that every time
I became

even friendly
with another man,

I was warned off.

And then there was
silence for years.

I met Eric, and we got engaged.

Nothing.

We married.

Nothing.

And then three weeks ago,

I got this.

"I have arrived."

But if this isn't your
former husband, who is it?

I don't know.

Frederick had a much younger
brother named William.

He was an unstable child,

but he adored Frederick.

Perhaps he feels that any
involvement

I have with another man
is somehow betraying

his brother's memory.

And this William Bosner,

you think that for this,

he might still be seeking
the vengeance?

The same night
I received that...

I saw the face at that window.

No!

For the first time.

No!

A dead face.

I really don't understand

why you're leaving, Poirot.

After all Mrs. Leidner
told us this morning,

I mean to say, there's
a damsel in distress

if you like.

We're all in bally
distress this year.

You wouldn't believe
what a difference there is.

There's Carey.

Even he was quite cheerful
last year...

believe it or not.

He's worked with Leidner
for years, of course.

So has Annie Johnson.

She blames Mrs. Leidner,

thinks her presence
spoils everything.

Is that your opinion,
Monsieur Coleman?

No, she's just jealous.

She used to run round
after old Leidner,

darning his socks and making him
tea in the old days.

I suppose she feels
a bit inhibited

with Mrs. Leidner around.

- Ah.
- Whoops.

- Oof!
- That was a good one!

We don't have to get there
in five minutes, you know.

Oh, that's half the fun
of this run.

You're getting old,
Uncle Arthur.

Speaking for myself,

Monsieur Coleman,
I have aged 10 years

since I entered
this automobile.

It's none of your
damn business how I behave.

Of course it's my business.

Now, you listen to me,
Mr. Richard Carey...

ERIC: Oh, there you are, Louise.

I thought Miss Johnson

might be up here.

She's just going out
to the dig.

Oh, good.

I'll try and catch her.

How you doing there, Richard?

I'll give you a hand.

I'll post those letters now.

Thank you.

Oh, tell me, Monsieur Coleman,

do you recognize
this handwriting?

COLE It's the lovely Louise's.

Madame Leidner?

Yes. Why?

Oh, nothing.

It just reminded me
of the handwriting

that I saw recently
of someone else.

Good Lord.

Why would she write threatening
letters to herself?

Oh, I think that would be an assumption
too great to make, Hastings,

on the grounds of the similarity
of the handwritings.

But if it was so,

it would not be
an occurrence unheard.

Pretty ruddy silly,
if you ask me.

Ah, well, if only people
would ask you, Hastings,

they would refrain
from the ruddy silliness, eh?

Good night, Hastings.

Good night, Poirot.

Monsieur.

The key to my room,
if you please.

Certainly, Monsieur Poirot.

The Countess Rossakoff, she
is returned yet to the hotel?

Not yet, Monsieur Poirot.

Oh. Merci.

Hello, Richard.

Hello, Sheila.
You're a long way from home.

If Mohammed won't go
to the mountain...

Why do you never
come into Baghdad?

There's nothing in Baghdad
that interests me particularly.

Really?

- I'm sure we could...
- Sheila.

Don't say another word.

I am very nearly old
enough to be your father.

I wasn't saying anything.

I don't know what
you're talking about.

It must be the sun or something,

seems to have gone
to your head.

Abdullah!

Abdullah!

Father Lavigny,

do you happen to know
where my nephew is?

I was hoping he could
run me into Baghdad again.

He's gone already, I think.

It's Friday, and the workmen
are paid today.

He has to collect
the money from the bank.

Oh, blast.

It's a bit clearer
up there now.

Louise has been
complaining lately

there's not enough room
to walk about.

I'm just going to tell her
the good news.

What time does Bill Coleman
usually get back from Baghdad?

Oh, I do not know.

It is variable.

Oh, my God!

Louise!

Oh, Louise!

She's dead.

Good God.

No alcoves,

no wardrobes,

and no curtains behind
which anyone could hide.

No.

The body was on this rug.

Leidner said he lifted her head
when he found her,

but he didn't actually
change her position.

It all seems
so straightforward, no?

Madame Leidner, she is lying
on the bed, half asleep.

Someone opens the door,

she looks up,
rises to her feet and...

And was struck down.

Oui.

Blood.

Very little.

The blood will have escaped
internally into the brain.

And the w*apon?

Was there no sign of that?

No.

Something heavy...

without any corners or edges.

Welded, perhaps,

by the strong arm of a man.

- Wielded.
- Thank you, Hastings.

It all seems
so straightforward.

Except for one thing...

if the person who entered
the room was a stranger,

why then did Madame Leidner

not cry out
for help immediately?

Miss Johnson said she thought
she heard a cry.

She was in the living room,

that's next-door
but one to this.

Perhaps it wasn't a stranger.

Yes, Hastings,

she may have been surprised
to see the person,

but she was not afraid.

I doubt if anyone would
hear a cry anyway.

The window was closed.

It was always closed in
the afternoon

to keep out the flies.

Tell me, Superintendent,

what is your opinion...
is that not blood?

It looks like it.

I'll find out.

Good.

It is a puzzle, eh?

The walls,
they are the most solid.

The windows,
they are closed and barred.

So the only way into this room

is through that door.

And the only way to that door
is through the courtyard,

and the only way into
the courtyard

is through the archway.

And beyond the archway,

there are five persons.

And they all tell
the same story...

that no stranger entered
the courtyard today.

And I do not think
that they are lying.

The room of Madame Leidner,
it is there.

And you were working here.

So the door to her room,

it is in your vision
all of the time,

when you look up
from your work?

That's right.

Nobody could have gone
in there.

And you were here
all of the time?

Except when I went up
on the roof for a few minutes

to see Dr. Leidner.

But Abdullah was here then.

Ah, yes, yes, Abdullah.

And you saw no other person
enter this courtyard?

After Mrs. Leidner had gone
into her room, no.

Captain Hastings

came in through the gate.

Wait... there were
a couple of minutes.

After I had been on the roof
and I came down,

Abdullah was not here.

He'd crept off to see
his Arab friends

in the guard tent.

And, Abdullah,

how long had he been absent,
do you think?

Not more than
three or four minutes.

Come on, Marie.

She feels things too deeply.

It's so terrible.

I was so fond of Louise.

Madame Mercado,

could you please tell me
what you were doing

at the time of her death?

I was washing my hair.

It seems so awful,
I was quite happy and busy.

So you did not leave this room?

Not until I came out
and heard what had happened.

It was awful.

Did it surprise you?

What do you mean?

Oh, no, it's just that
she might have

confided to you something.

No.

No, dear Louise
never told me anything...

anything definite, that is.

Of course, there were the faces
at windows and so forth.

MAITLAND: So there's nothing
you can think of

that would help us in any way?

No. No, there isn't.

Monsieur Mercado,

could you tell me what
you were doing at that time?

L?

Urn...

You were in your
laboratory, Joseph.

Yes, I was.

My usual tasks.

And at what time
did you go there?

Urn...

MARIE: At 10 minutes to 1:00.

That's right.

Did you come out into
the courtyard at all?

No!

It's horrible.

L-I can't.

It's so horrible.

We mustn't give way, Joseph.

Well, no way in from
here obviously.

The window was shut anyway.

Why do you think Mercado
was so upset?

He's a rum cove, I must say.

It is probably as his wife says, Hastings,
he is still shaken by the att*ck on him

the other day by the workman.

Tell me, Dr. Leidner,

your love for your wife
was your ruling passion.

That is true,

is it not?

Yes.

Then I must demand from you
the whole truth.

I assure you, Mr. Poirot,
I've kept nothing back.

No, no, no, no.

For example, you have not told
to me why you invited

to join the expedition

Nurse Leatheran.

ERIC: I've explained that...

my wife's nervousness,
her fears.

No, no.

No, doctor.

Your wife,
she is in danger, yes.

She is threatened
with death, yes.

And you send not for the police,

or not even for
a private detective,

but for a nurse.

I thought...

I...

You see, doctor, it all rings,

except for that one thing.

Why a nurse?

Well, there is an answer,

in fact, there can only be
one answer...

that you did not truly
believe that your wife,

she was in danger.

God help me.

I didn't.

Doctor, did you suspect
that your wife

wrote those letters herself?

I thought that maybe

worrying and brooding
over the past

might have possibly
affected her mind.

I thought that she might have

somehow written those
letters to herself

without being conscious
of having done so.

That is possible, isn't it?

There are, as I see it,
three possibilities.

Three?

Oui.

Solution number one...

and the simplest...

William Bosner,
the young, unstable brother

of the first husband
of Madame Leidner,

still seeks the vengeance.

First, he threatens her
and then

he carries out his threats.

But if we accept this solution,

then we have the problem
of how he entered and departed

without being observed.

And the second?

Solution number two...

that for reasons of her own,

Madame Leidner writes
to herself those letters

that are most threatening.

I thought that was
the idea you favored.

But if this was true,

then the letters, they have
nothing to do with the m*rder.

But now we come to
solution number three,

and to my mind,
the most interesting.

I suggest the letters,
they are genuine.

That they are written
by William Bosner,

the young brother-in-law
of Madame Leidner,

and that actually he is one
of the staff of the expedition.

Excuse me.

LAVIGNY: I joined the expedition
only about a month ago,

from the order of
the Pères Blancs of Carthage.

And before your arrival
here, mon Pére,

did you at any time make
the acquaintance

with Madame Leidner?

No.

I'd never seen the lady
until I met her here.

The other day,

Captain Hastings saw you
talk to a man outside,

and yet, previously,
this very same man

had been seen trying to peer in
at one of the windows.

It looked as if he was
hanging around the place deliberately.

That's what I thought.

I asked him what he was doing
and told him to go away.

Bon.

Father Lavigny
is out of the question...

he's a well known man.

Anyway, he only joined
the expedition last month.

I happened to take
the telegram

from Dr. Leidner
asking him to join

into Baghdad
and sent it myself.

Dr. Byrd had been taken ill,
had to go back to Boston.

But you do not appreciate

the point of importance,
Superintendent.

If it is William Bosner
who has done this thing,

where has he been
all these years?

He must have taken
a different name,

he must have built up for
himself a career.

The Countess Rossakoff?

I'm afraid not,
Monsieur Poirot.

Good night.

I didn't even know Mrs. Leidner
had been married before.

Oh, yes, American.

Went to the bad
during the w*r.

I just wonder what's going
to happen to the expedition now.

It's very much Leidner's show...

Sorry to interrupt.

Have either of you seen
Miss Johnson?

She wasn't at dinner,

she's not in her room either.

You don't think she's made off

with the family silver,
do you?

No, of course not.

I just...

well, you know,
with a m*rder*r about...

What's all this?

You mustn't sit here crying,
all by yourself.

Don't, Miss Johnson, don't.

Take a hold on yourself.

What's upset you,
Miss Johnson?

It's just...

it's all so awful.

Now, you mustn't start

thinking about it again.

What's happened has happened
and can't be mended.

It's no use fretting, you know.

No.

You're right, nurse.

I'm making a fool of myself.

It all came over me suddenly.

Yes.

Yes, I know.

A good night's sleep
is what you need.

Yes.

Thank you, nurse.

You're a nice, kind,
sensible woman.

It's not often
I make such a fool of myself.

ANNIE: She was never
a nice woman.

Give that to me.

Any sign of the Countess
yet, Poirot?

No, no.

And to tell you the truth,
Hastings,

I begin to fear
for her safety.

First, there was the telegram

stressing her need of help
most urgently,

then her absence from
the hotel at my arrival,

and now the continuing lack

of any sort of
communication from her.

Yes, I see what you mean.

Bonjour,
Mademoiselle Maitland.

Bonjour, distinguished
Belgian 'tec.

You see, Hastings,

people begin to remember
that I am not French.

It is good of you to come,

ma soeur.

It is most interesting
and important this news

of Mademoiselle Johnson.

Asseyez-vous, s'il vous plait.

Mademoiselle.

She must have m*rder*d
Mrs. Leidner.

Well, why else would she
burn that paper?

The writing was exactly like

the rest of the anonymous
letters.

Yes, yes, Nurse Leatheran,
but order and method, eh?

There is first a great deal

that you have to tell me.

Now, I could not ask you
at Tell Yarimjah,

but the good Doctor Leidner,
he worshipped his wife.

And he is sure
that everybody else

felt exactly
the same towards her.

But in my opinion,

that would not be
human nature.

No, no, no.
It is necessary for us

to discuss Madam Leidner with...
how do you say?

The gloves removed, eh?

So...

who was there
on the expedition

who did not like
Madam Leidner?

Oh...

Well, it's only my opinion.

Naturellement.

Well...

in my opinion,

little Mrs. Mercado
really hated her.

Ah.

And, er... Monsieur Mercado?

Well, he was a bit soft
on her, if anything.

Mrs. Leidner had a nice,

kind way of being
interested in people.

It rather went to Mr. Mercado's
head, I fancy.

Mrs. Mercado wouldn't have been
too pleased about that.

I've seen her look
at Mrs. Leidner

as though she'd like
to k*ll her.

Oh.

I didn't mean to say...

I mean, she...

No, no, no.

I understand.

What about Monsieur Carey?

Well...

he was always
very stiff with her.

And her with him.

Perhaps he was jealous
like Miss Johnson,

him being an old friend
of her husband's, too.

What ho, Sheila?

Look here...
I've bought two tickets

for the tennis club dance.

That's not until the end
of next month.

I know.

I wanted to get in
before anyone else.

Will you come?

Oh, all right.

Yes, I'd love to.

What is your opinion
of the younger man, Hastings?

William Coleman, for instance?

I say, steady on, Poirot,
he's my nephew.

No, he's your nephew
by adoption, Hastings.

Yes, but all the same.

How old was he
when he was adopted

by your sister
and her husband?

Oh, er, eight or nine.

His parents d*ed
shortly after the w*r.

They were some sort of distant
cousins of Harry Coleman.

And where was that, Hastings?

In America, actually.

Bill had the most peculiar
American accent when...

I Say..-

No.

You know well we must consider
every possibility, Hastings.

Good Lord.

How are you getting on
with our local mystery?

I've learned a great deal,
mademoiselle,

about our victim.

And very often the victim,
it is the clue to the mystery.

That's rather clever of you,
Mr. Poirot.

Merci, mademoiselle.

It's certainly true

that if ever a woman deserved
to be m*rder*d,

Mrs. Leidner was that woman.

Miss Maitland!

Nurse Leatheran, I'm afraid,
was quite taken in by her,

as many other people were.

What Sheila's telling you,
Monsieur Poirot,

take it with a pinch of salt.

She and Louise Leidner
didn't exactly hit it off.

We didn't hit it off
because Louise knew

that I saw through her.

In fact, I wouldn't
have much objected

to putting her
out of the way myself.

Then for the time of death
of Madam Leidner, Mademoiselle,

I hope you have a good alibi.

Alibi?

I was playing tennis
at the club.

You can ask anybody.

I was always taught
you don't speak ill of the dead.

Oh, that's stupid!

The truth's always the truth.

Louise Leidner
was the sort of woman

who wanted to break things up
just for fun,

for the sense of power.

And she was the kind of woman
who had to get ahold

of every male creature
within reach.

Have you told them
about Richard Carey?

About Mr. Carey?

Well, I've mentioned that they

didn't hit it off very well.

"Didn't hit it off very well"?
You idiot!

He's head over heels
in love with her.

Tell me, Hastings,
Monsieur Mercado...

is he right-handed
or left-handed?

Urn, right-handed, I think.

Yes.

Ah, bonjour, Monsieur Mercado.

Good morning.

Not many people
visit me out here.

You dig too deep, monsieur,

it is very difficult
on the legs, you understand.

These people
must have been jolly fit.

JOSEPH: The lower you get,

the more interesting it becomes.

Follow me, gentlemen.

One interesting thing

is that the pottery
found above this level,

it shows a marked difference.

Here, I will show you.

If you look at this piece...

Agh!

Something stung me.

A scorpion, perhaps?

Vite!

Merde, voila'.

I knew I felt something.

But it is not
a scorpion, though,

or it would
be already swollen.

But one cannot be

too careful, eh,
Monsieur Mercado?

Whoa!

That was neat, eh, Hastings?

What was that, Poirot?

Did you do that?

Oui.

I was the stinging insect
and very neatly I did it, too.

Regarde.

You did not see me, eh,
Hastings?

But what for?

I wished to observe
his forearm, Hastings.

The left one.

Did you not notice anything?

Well, yes, I did,
as a matter of fact.

- A lot of marks on the skin.
- Oui.

I suspected, but now
I had to be sure.

Monsieur Mercado, he is addicted
to dr*gs, Hastings.

I see.

So where does that lead us?

For the moment, I cannot say.

But facts, Hastings, facts,

those are the cobbles
that make up the road

along which we travel.

Poirot wants to see
if Miss Johnson

could really have heard
Mrs. Leidner call out

when she was m*rder*d,
you see.

So if you could go
in Mrs. Leidner's room

and just give a little cry,

I'll go in the living room
and see if I hear anything.

All right.

Oh, not a big scream
or anything.

I mean, not madly terrified,

just a little cry

as if you stubbed your
toe or something.

Yes, I see.

Bonjour, Monsieur Carey.

Ready when you are.

No, I've done it.

Oh.

Well, I didn't hear anything.

Perhaps you should try it
again a bit louder.

RICHARD: I'm hardly the right
person to help you...

Mrs. Leidner and I didn't get
on particularly well.

I suppose I was a bit resentful
of her influence over Leidner.

We were polite to each other,
but not intimate.

Hmm.

Explained most admirably,
Monsieur Carey.

But there are stories
going about

and one listens to these
stories and perhaps...

What stories?

Oh, the usual sort of story...
about you and Madame Leidner.

What foul minds people have.

Vraiment.

They're dogs, huh?

However deep one buries
an unpleasantness,

a dog, he will always
root it out again.

As for myself, I'm always ready
to be convinced of the truth.

You? Ha ha!

I doubt if you'd know the truth
if you heard it.

Hmm.

Try me and see.

All right.

I hated Louise Leidner.

That's the truth for you.

That's the truth.

We tried it several times,
getting louder and louder.

Even when Nurse Leatheran
screamed quite loudly,

you couldn't hear it
in the living room.

These mud-brick walls
are damned thick, you know.

Good, Hastings, good.

The only way we heard it

was when we tried it
with the window open.

The window to the room
of Madame Leidner?

Yes.

Well, that is very
interesting, Hastings...

even illuminating.

Madame Mercado,
Mademoiselle Johnson, bonjour.

Good day.

How are you getting on,
Mr. Poirot?

Oh, it marches slowly,
this affair, mademoiselle.

But this morning,
I was in Baghdad

with Superintendent Maitland.

His daughter is a young lady
most charming, n'est-ce pas?

Sheila Maitland?

Oh, she's all right.

Of course, she's the only
young creature in the place,

so she gets a bit spoilt
by all the young men

dancing attendance on her...

not that she doesn't
encourage them.

She was out here
yesterday afternoon

looking around
for one or other of them.

What's that you're doing?

This?

Oh, we found another
cylinder seal at last.

You know, this is only
the fourth one

we've found on this site...

apart from the one that's
got lost, of course.

And Pére Lavigny, he translates
them, n'est-ce pas?

Well, there's not usually
much to translate,

they're more pictorial,
although that varies

from age to age.

This one's just got
a short inscription...

just by the picture.

It's probably the name
of the owner.

How old is it?

Oh, about 5,000 years.

Oh!

Oh, it is of great beauty.

I'm just doing the mold
in the Plasticine

and then we make a plaster cast,

and he works from that.

That's most ingenious.

Have you got
a lot of Plasticine?

I could do with a bit.

Hastings, you're of
too great an age

to play with Plasticine.

There's a hole
in the door of my room,

and the mosquitoes just seem to
stream through it at night.

Oh, help yourself,

there's some in
the stationery cupboard.

Oh.

I think it's where
there used to be a lock.

They've taken the lock away

and left the...

I say!

What's this?

Poirot?

It's some sort of mask.

How extraordinary.

How did that get in there?

Joseph!

Joseph!

- Where's Joseph?
- Joseph?

He got up before I was awake,

and I can't find him anywhere.

I'm sorry, I haven't seen him.

He's not out at the dig?

No.

It will just be for
the one night.

Very good sir.

Thank you.

Monsieur, I would like
to send these telegrams.

This to Tunisia,

and these three to
the United States of America.

Keep them back.

Excusez-moi!

Excusez-moi s'il vous plait.

"Now that this foul drug
has led me..."

to m*rder...

I can no longer

live with myself.

"Marie would be better off
without me."

Ah, Captain Hastings!

Is there any news

of the man who was
hanging around outside...

the man I spoke to?

I don't think so.

I've been wondering since
whether the man

could have been an Iraqi dressed
up to look like a European.

Seems clear to me

he had some overwhelming
interest in Mrs. Leidner.

Your friend Monsieur Poirot
is coming out to visit us today?

No, he's a bit busy today,

sending telegrams.

Telegrams...

Where to?

All over the world he said,

but that was probably a bit
of foreign exaggeration.

I think perhaps

he also exaggerated
the length of time

it would take him,
Captain Hastings.

Good Lord.

Poirot!

I didn't think

you were coming
out here today.

Monsieur Mercado has
committed su1c1de, Hastings.

Not a word.

Bonjour, Pére Lavigny.

Bonjour, Monsieur Poirot.

Father Lavigny was asking me
about that fellow

I saw peering in
through the window.

Ah.

Mademoiselle.

Hello, Abdullah.

Nurse?

You'd better come with me.

So in answer to your question,
mon Pére, non.

The man is probably
of no significance anyway.

Ah, the so beautiful cup!

Mmm.

Oh, so beautiful.

And so ancient, Hastings.

No wax on it today either.

- Wax?
- Yes.

Richard Carey was quite upset.

There were little bits of wax
around the handle.

Ah, yes.

Candle grease, no doubt.

Oh, no! No!

Do you need me to go with you?

It's all right.

Does that mean Mercado
k*lled the Arab?

Oui.

For the Arab was well known
to the police, Hastings,

as a dealer in dr*gs.

Do you think he k*lled
Mrs. Leidner, too?

She may have known
of the addiction

of Monsieur Mercado.

And perhaps it would have

suited the temperament
of Madame Leidner

to feel that she knew a secret

which she could reveal
at any minute,

with the effects
most disastrous, eh?

So, for Monsieur Mercado,
certainement...

he would have had a motive.

Is something the matter,
Mademoiselle Johnson?

N-no...

Is it to do with
Monsieur Mercado?

You must tell me,
mademoiselle.

I've...

I've just seen something.

And what is it that
you have seen?

It is important that you
tell me, mademoiselle.

I've seen how someone
could come in from outside,

and on one would ever guess.

How?

You must explain to us,
mademoiselle.

I've got to
think it out first.

Is she all right?

Hastings...

I think I shall
rest here for the night.

Good man!

Why run after her?

Show your independence!

As an old, married man,

I don't mind telling you,
Poirot...

Hastings, is it not true

that your wife requested
that you should leave?

Well, that's true, but...

And that she requested

that you should leave
not only your home,

but the continent
in which it is situated?

Yes, but just for a holiday.

She felt she needed
a bit of a break.

Mmm.

Then perhaps you will kindly
not presume to lecture me

as an expert
on the psychology of women.

I would never have
thought it of Joe Mercado.

I never suspected a thing.

Eh bien, Dr. Leidner,

an addict is always adept
to the extreme

in concealing his addiction.

So where does this put your
investigation now, Mr. Poirot?

I do not know that
it adds to it,

nor that it takes away from it,
Monsieur Coleman.

But this investigation,

it marches more slowly
than I have expected...

but it marches.

Only I hope that it holds
for us no more surprises.

Amen to that.

Entrez.

I brought you a pair
of pajamas, Poirot,

and a razor.

Oh, that is so good
of you, mon ami.

Thank you very much.

Are you sure you're going to be
all right in here, Poirot?

Yes, of course I shall be
all right, Hastings.

I wouldn't want
to sleep in here,

I don't mind telling you.

Hastings, what is done is done.

The room,
it is entirely neutral.

There are no resonances
that are ghostly

of the death of Madame Leidner.

And, perhaps, there is something
that I may learn.

Yes.

All the same...

Good night, Hastings.

What?

Oh... ah, well, er,

good night, Poirot.

Miss Johnson.

Oh!

Mademoiselle!

Mademoiselle Johnson!

Mademoiselle Johnson?

Let me.

Agh!

She's drunk
something corrosive!

It's all right, Miss Johnson,

we'll soon have you better.

Hydrochloric acid.

What's happened?!

Get my bag from beside my bed,

and send someone to Baghdad
for a doctor!

What, Mademoiselle? What?

What is it, mademoiselle?

Please, try to tell me.

What is that, mademoiselle?

W-window.

- Wind?
- Window!

That Belgian detective
poking his nose in...

much good may it do him.

We can be across
the border by dawn.

Who can have done this foul
thing, Mr. Poirot?

Captain Hastings,
how is Miss Johnson?

She's dead.

Oh, God.

If somebody substituted
hydrochloric acid

for the water that she placed
habitually beside her bed,

half awake, she would have
swallowed sufficient of it

before she realized.

Oh, God!

Poor Annie.

Nothing to show whether
she took it

from the laboratory herself,
or not.

There is someone missing, sir.

Missing?

The French priest.

Know anything about this?

I was at the post office,
and a telegram came for you.

Merci, mademoiselle.

What are you doing
out here, Sheila?

On, Daddy!

It's in French.

It tells me that Pére Lavigny

has not left his
monastery in Carthage

for the last six months.

I don't understand.

Dr. Leidner,

I regret to have to inform you

the the cup of gold
in the antica room

and the ornaments made
of hair of gold

and several other artifacts,
are electrotypes most clever.

Forgeries? That's impossible.

Did you Pére Lavigny
by sight before he arrived?

Not by sight, no...

Good God!

But on the illness
most sudden of Dr. Byrd,

you sent a telegram
to Carthage, did you not,

asking Pére Lavigny
to replace him?

And to intercept a telegram,
what could be easier?

Superintendent Maitland,

I conjecture
that it would be wise

to alert the border posts
to watch out for him

travelling with another.

Got that, Sergeant Zibari?

Get on the radio to Baghdad!

Yes, sir.

Why did they have
to k*ll Miss Johnson?

What had she got to
do with them?

Nothing at all,
Superintendent.

She was trying to say something
before she d*ed,

wasn't she, Mr. Poirot?

Oui.

I thought she was trying
to say the word "window."

Was the window open?

Yes. She always kept it open.

I wondered if someone
had changed

the drinking water that way.

Nurse Leatheran,

if she had observed
the mysterious hand

enter in through the window
and exchange the jug,

scarcely would she have

swallowed the contents
of the glass

without the hesitation
considerable.

Then why was she talking
about the window?

Are we sure that's what she...

ZIBARI: Superintendent Maitland,
sir!

Open it.

Look

If that isn't blood,

I don't know what it is.

I blame myself, Hastings.

I should have made her tell us.

What, when she said
she realized

how someone could get
in from outside

without anyone knowing?

Oui.

La pauvre femme.

But how could you
have made her tell us?

But what did she see?

Well, she said she wanted
to think it out.

Yes, and that is what signed
her death warrant, Hastings.

If only she had told us.

What is it, mademoiselle?

The window!

Oh, Hastings,

what a fool
that I have been...

when the truth,
it is so clear,

so simple.

I have said several times

in the course of this
investigation

that this case revolved around

the personality
of Madame Leidner.

Now, it became
quite clear to me

that Madame Leidner was a woman

endowed by nature,
not only with beauty,

but with a kind of magic

that was calamitous,

that can sometimes
accompany beauty.

And such women can often
bring disaster...

sometimes on others
and sometimes

on themselves.

Madame Leidner was very young
when she first married

a Monsieur Frederick Bosner,

but she was widowed
most tragically

very soon after the wedding.

It was at this time that she
began to receive letters

that were anonymous
and most threatening,

but which she suspected
as coming from William Bosner,

the young brother
of her late husband.

Over the years,

every time she becomes

involved romantically
with a man,

a letter most threatening
and anonymous,

it would arrive
and the affair...

it comes to nothing.

But then there appears
on the scene...

Dr. Leidner, hmm.

And no such letter arrives.

They fall in love,
they become engaged,

and still no letter.

Suddenly, nothing stands
in the way of Madame Bosner

becoming Madame Leidner.

Why?

And why then did
such a letter arrive

after the wedding
with Dr. Leidner

when she arrived here?

This is history, Poirot.

Oui, cf accord, mon ami,

but history of
the importance extreme.

But now, Superintendent,
I will come to the present

and a consideration most
particular

of the entourage
of Madame Leidner.

On the face of it,

any one of them may have
committed a m*rder.

Look here, that's absolute rot.

No, no, no, Monsieur Coleman,

it is not the rot.

Alors, the first person to
consider was Pére Lavigny...

who now, of course, has fled,

but revealed himself to be
a thief and a forger

of the antiquities
archaeological, hmm,

but not, I think, a m*rder*r.

Also there are three persons

who have the alibis
that are watertight...

Dr. Leidner,

who never left the roof;

Monsieur Richard Carey,

who was working at the dig;

and Monsieur Coleman,
who was in Baghdad.

But even these alibis,

mes amis, are not as good
as they seem, hmm?

Non, oh, except that
of Dr. Leidner.

There is no doubt
that Dr. Leidner

was on the roof
all of the time

and only descended
long after the m*rder,

it had happened.

But now it is necessary
for us to pause for a moment...

to consider...

Mademoiselle Maitland.

Now, Mademoiselle Maitland

was very open with me
concerning

her feelings for Madame Leidner.

We didn't hit it off

because Louise knew
that I saw through her.

In fact, I wouldn't
have much objected

to putting her
out of the way myself.

Then for the time of death
of Madame Leidner,

Mademoiselle, I hope you
have a good alibi.

Alibi? I was playing tennis
at the club.

You can ask anybody.

But was that true?

Of course, she's the only young
creature in the place,

so she gets spoilt
by all the young men

dancing attendance on her...

not that she doesn't
encourage them.

She was out here yesterday
afternoon

looking around
for one or other of them.

I heard something

very different
in a conversation most casual

that I had with
Mademoiselle Johnson.

All right,

I rode out to
the dig after lunch.

Then why did you not say so,
Mademoiselle, when I asked you?

I couldn't.

Daddy doesn't like me
coming out here by myself.

But it's so boring in Baghdad.

You don't know what it's like.

But you do admit that you
did not like Madame Leidner.

Well, I don't like
a lot of people,

but I don't go around
murdering them.

I just rode out here because
I wanted someone to talk to.

I wasn't far
from the expedition house

when I saw the expedition car
drawn up in a wadi.

I thought it was rather q*eer,
and then I saw Mr. Coleman.

Did you speak
with Monsieur Coleman?

- No.
- Why not?

He was looking very furtive.

It gave me
an unpleasant feeling.

I know it looks a bit fishy,

but I've got a perfectly
good explanation.

Mr. Mercado had given me
a jolly fine cylinder seal

to take back to the antica.

I put it in my jacket pocket,
went for a walk,

and forgot all about it.

The next day,
I discovered it had gone.

I must have dropped it
when I took my jacket off

as I was walking along
that wadi.

I rushed all my business
in Baghdad

and spent an hour
searching for it.

And so...

the behavior
of Monsieur William Coleman

on the day of the m*rder
was indeed certainly suspicious.

But I do not think
that Monsieur Coleman,

as Monsieur Coleman,

has the temperament
of a m*rder*r.

No.

But there is nothing here
to veto the idea

that his personality,
which is most cheery,

might conceal the hidden one
of Monsieur William Bosner.

Why all of you listen
to this chap beats me.

Mademoiselle Maitland,

when you arrived at the dig,

did you see anyone?

None of the expedition
members, no.

There seemed to be no one
there but the Arab foreman.

Shufta Mr. Carey?

Shufta inak. lnak!

You did not even see
Monsieur Carey?

All right, yes, I did,

for a few moments...

near the dig.

- I'm sure we could...
- Sheila,

don't say another word.

I am very nearly old enough

to be your father.

And you, Monsieur Carey,

did you leave the dig
after Mademoiselle Maitland,

she had departed from you?

Did you return towards
the house?

No.

Hmm.

You see, according to some,

Monsieur Carey
and Madame Leidner,

they did not like one another.

Now, another person,
Mademoiselle Maitland,

propounded a theory
that was totally different

to account for their attitude
of la politesse frigide,

and Monsieur Carey himself told
me something different again.

All right!

I hated Louise Leidner.

That's the truth for you!

That's the truth!

I believe that he did
hate Madame Leidner.

But why did he hate her?

He was, to begin with,

devoted to his friend
and employer, Dr. Leidner,

and quite indifferent
to his wife.

But that did not suit

the temperament
of Madame Leidner, no.

So she set herself out
to trap him.

And then there
occurred something, I believe,

that was totally unforeseen.

She fell in love with him,

and he was not able
to resist her.

I suspected something
of the sort very early on.

And there we have the truth

of the state most terrible
of nervous tension

that he has been enduring.

Oh, he loved
Louise Leidner, yes,

but also he hated her

for undermining his loyalty
to his friend.

Are you accusing me of m*rder,
Monsieur Poirot?

You think I'd k*ll Louise?

You fool!

Non.

Merely I am taking you all

on a journey towards
the truth.

And I have established
one fact...

that every single member
of the expedition

could have committed
the m*rder...

including Nurse Leatheran.

I was a stranger!

I'd only been here
a few weeks!

Eh bien, ma soeur,

was not that just what
Madame Leidner was afraid of?

A stranger from the outside?

And, as a hospital nurse,

you could easily have
k*lled Madame Leidner

and Mademoiselle Johnson.

- But...
- But I do not think that

you are William Bosner.

Non.

Of course, there are many men

who can impersonate
women most successfully,

but, no, it is my belief that

Nurse Leatheran is exactly
what she says she is...

a hospital nurse
of the most competent.

Oh, thank you for nothing.

All along,

it had been in
the back of my mind

that one of the members
of the expedition

might have some knowledge
that they had kept back,

knowledge that would
incriminate the m*rder*r.

If so, this person
would be in danger.

And, in this, I was proved
correct most tragically

by the death of
Mademoiselle Johnson.

Two nights ago,

when Nurse Leatheran discovered
Mademoiselle Johnson in tears...

Give that to me!

The scrap of paper that
was discovered

by Nurse Leatheran

was b*rned by
Mademoiselle Johnson.

It is my belief...

that before Nurse Leatheran
entered the room,

Mademoiselle Johnson
had been tidying up some papers.

She must have come across
a draft that was unfinished

of one of those letters
that were anonymous.

And the handwriting,

it is constructed
most carefully

to resemble that
of Madame Leidner,

and the k*ller has been
careless to leave it.

But now the identity
of this k*ller

is known to
Mademoiselle Johnson.

She cannot understand it,

it upsets her badly.

Then on the evening
of her death,

Captain Hastings and myself

discovered Mademoiselle Johnson
on the roof

in a state of horror
most incredulous.

I've seen how someone
could come in from outside

and no one would ever guess.

I realized
that Mademoiselle Johnson

deliberately looked
in the opposite direction

and in order to throw
us off the scent

said the very first thing
that came into her mind.

But the m*rder*r had been
observing her closely,

and realizes that
she knows the truth...

so now she has to die.

And that night, she does so,

but not before
she tried to help me.

Try to tell me!

The wind...

- Window.
- Window!

However, the only words
she could manage to articulate

were "the window, the window."

Mademoiselle Johnson
was trying to tell me

what she had realized
on the roof that day,

how the m*rder of
Madame Leidner,

it had been committed.

Eh bien, first of all
you must all realize

one thing...

that the window to the room
of Madame Leidner

was on the side facing
away from the courtyard.

So...

Madame Leidner is lying
on her bed, half asleep.

The mask which has been used

already to frighten her
in the nighttime

begins to tap on the window.

But now she recognizes it
for what it is...

a thing of plaster and ink
hanging on a string.

She is not frightened,

HO.

She opens the window

and turns her face upwards

to see who is playing
on her the trick.

Before the quern of stone
smashes down on her head

does Madame Leidner see,

I wonder, the face
of her m*rder*r?

Her scream,

it is heard
by Mademoiselle Johnson,

who is reading
in the living room,

but heard only because
at this moment

the window to the room
of Madame Leidner is open,

as was proved by the experiment

most successful
of Captain Hastings.

The deed accomplished,

the m*rder*r pulls up again
the quern by the rope

that he's attached to it.

Have I not said all along

that this was
a crime passionnel?

Alors, Monsieur
Frederick Bosner,

the first husband of
Louise Leidner,

loved her with a passion

that only a woman
of her kind could evoke.

But I had dismissed
already from my mind

that Monsieur Frederick Bosner
could be a suspect

in this case because Monsieur
Frederick Bosner, he was dead.

Had been dead
for nearly 20 years.

Or had he?

Oh, certainly he
is sentenced to death.

But he escapes.

But then there is
the railway accident.

No, now surely he is dead, eh?

But suppose he was
still not dead?

Suppose he manages

to emerge from the wreck
with a new identity.

The identity of a young man

who was so d*sfigured
in this railway accident

that he is buried
as Monsieur Frederick Bosner,

and Monsieur Frederick Bosner
will be forgotten, n'est-ce pas?

Take my hand!

He will be free
to build a new life...

using a new name.

So...

is Monsieur Frederick Bosner
here amongst us today?

This Frederick Bosner
is a man of ability, eh?

He finds himself a profession
that is congenial to him.

He also keeps himself informed
of the movements of his wife.

She shall belong to
no other man.

And whenever he judges it
necessary,

he dispatches a letter.

And he copies most carefully

some of the peculiarities
of her handwriting

just in case
Madame Leidner decides

to take to the police
his letters.

But these letters that
are anonymous

and threatening,

they do not arrive
when she meets,

falls in love with,

and becomes engaged
to Dr. Leidner.

It is a puzzle.

And perhaps Madame Leidner
realized the answer

to these puzzlements

in the moment before she d*ed.

Ah, certainly, that is what

Mademoiselle Johnson
had realized...

how the m*rder, it had
been committed from the roof.

But what Mademoiselle Johnson
could not have realized

as Madame Leidner had done...

was that not only
was the m*rder*r Dr. Leidner,

-whom she adored...

But that Dr. Leidner
was indeed

Monsieur Frederick Bosner.

He has to wait 15 years

before the ravages of time
to his face

and to the memory
of Madame Leidner

obliterates the old
Frederick Bosner.

They meet and all goes well.

They marry...

and all goes well.

Until into the life
of Madame Leidner

there appears
Monsieur Richard Carey...

and that seals her fate.

It's a bit
clearer up there now.

Louise has
been complaining lately

there's not enough room
to walk about.

I'm just going to tell her
the good news.

He hurries to the window,

closes it, and fastens it.

He picks up and transports
the body of his wife

to a point between the bed
and the door.

He then notices a slight stain
on the rug by the window

so he places this rug
in front of the washstand

and the rug in front
of the washstand by the window.

If this stain, it is noticed,

it will be connected
with the washstand.

There must be no suggestion
that the window

played any part in the m*rder.

Oh, God.

Louise!

Oh, Louise!

A m*rder most cruel and hideous,
Dr. Leidner.

And not content with that...

you tried to incriminate
Mademoiselle Johnson

who was good and loyal to you,

who was in love with you...

by planting in her room...

the very quern with which you
had k*lled your wife.

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 re-creating the past.

I loved Louise,

and I k*lled her.

But you shan't have her, Carey!

You betrayed me.

You betrayed both of us.

Oh, if you'd known Louise...

you'd have understood.

No.

I think you understand anyway.

What are you doing here,
Hastings?

I'm enjoying my last
few moments in Baghdad.

And in 43 minutes,

the last train for one week,
it leaves for Istanbul.

Well, it's 10 minutes
to the station

and the cab's round the corner
with my luggage in it.

Have a tisane.

I didn't know you
spoke Arabic, Poirot.

Just a few words
that I have picked up, Hastings.

One should never squander

the opportunity
that travel affords.

- A tisane.
- Yes, sir.

Monsieur Poirot!

I have found you!

What is it, Monsieur?

The telephone, monsieur...

from the Countess Rossakoff.

Merci.

No, no, no, Monsieur!

She has gone!

Gone?

Yes, Monsieur.

The line...

the réception
was very, very bad,

and she was speaking
from Budapest.

Budapest?

- She left a message.
- Go on.

She said she had been
called to Shanghai,

and would you kindly settle

her bill for her?

Her bill?

Yes, Monsieur.

She said she would settle up

the next time she saw you.

Monsieur.

Do not speak, Hastings!