09x04 - The Hollow

[bunniefuu]

Hello, darling.

Managed to slip away, but I think I sprang my bloody wrist.

Oh, John How is work?

Fine, thanks.

I'm doing a big abstract to the International Exhibition.

How's yours?

I might be making some progress in the Ridgeway's Disease.

I've a patient in Hammersmith Hospital, Mrs.

Crabtree, she's a driver's wife, I believe, she's dying of Ridgeway's.

But she's allowed me to try some new treatments on her.

By God, she's got some spirit! Poor, frightened old thing that she is.

And all I get from Gerda is, "Why are you out so late?

" Well, sometimes you're with me.

Hmm, but all the time I'm married to Gerda.

It's what you wanted, isn't it?

Yes.

Will I see you this weekend?

- Yes.

Are you going?

- Yes.

- Well, that will be lovely.

- Yes.

Henrietta, come here.

It's going to be a complete disaster.

It's always the same when I invite Gerda.

I wish I hadn't, but the worst thing is that she's so terribly nice.

One has to have her, of course, it would be so terribly rude to invite John without her.

On the other hand, it does seem so odd, doen't it?

Someone as nice as Gerda should be so voyd of any kind of intelligence.

I often think, if she had any spirit at all, she'd stay away.

Henrietta will help, of course.

Strange how good Henrietta is with Gerda.

- What're you talking about, Lucy?

- The weekend is upon us, Midge.

The guests will be arriving any minute.

And I'm just trusting to Henrietta to make conversation, because John and Gerda it's a nightmare, John and Gerda.

Lucy, do you know what time it is?

I'm sorry, darling, I have absolutely no idea what time it is.

It's a quarter past six! Midge, I am sorry! Why didn't you tell me?

Come, come, come, go back to your dreams.

Good night.

Are you alright?

I'm tired.

A weekend in the country will make you feel better.

Yes.

Unfortunately, Gerda is driving.

- Victor! - Mr.

Poirot, sir, have a good trip?

Without incident, thank you.

Victor, Victor, what is that smell?

- Smell?

Can't smell anything, sir.

Just good country air.

Collie, the telephone number is on the pad, in the surgery.

Call me if there's trouble.

There'll be no trouble, Dr.

Christow.

- Goodbye, children.

- Bye, daddy! Be good! It won't start.

Switch on the ignition, Gerda! - I'm so stupid.

I'm sorry.

- Let's just get there, shall we?

I wish we could stay at home.

The Angkatell frighten the life out of me.

- Goodbye, children! - Bye mummy.

Bye daddy! The weather's said fair for the weekend.

Everything's spick and span (immaculate) at the cottage, the wife's seen to that.

I am sure I shall be most comfortable.

It will be a relief, I expect, escape the fumes and stink of London.

I say! Milles tonnerres! Why must you spent so many hours at the hospital when you've a perfectly surgery at home?

It's research, Gerda! Research, as I've explained before.

- Why are you slowing?

- It might be about to turn red.

- But it isn't, is it?

It's green.

- Oh! Sorry I just become convinced it'd suddenly Oh, God, Gerda! Gudgeon! Hello, Midge! Great to see you! - What a gorgeous car! - He's a Legonda.

Goes like the wind! Thank you, Gudgeon.

- Hello, Lucy.

- Henrietta! Wonderful to see you.

I supose that, by the time you take that magificent steed of yours to the stable, give it a rub down and a nosebag, lunch might be ready.

- Who's coming?

- The Christow.

- And Edward's arriving after lunch.

- Good.

Looks like you'll have some company, Mr.

Poirot.

Someone has taken the cottage next door.

Mr.

Poirot! Enchanté, Madame.

Everything is beautiful, as usual.

But tell me, someone has taken up residence at Dovecotes?

Yes, sir.

A lady.

An actrice, they say.

How's the dreaded dress shop?

Bloody awful! - Hello there! - Edward! Hello, Midge! Hello, Henrietta! But tell me, Madame Simms, what is this?

I did not expect any mail to this address.

It's from Lady Angkatell, up at The Hollow.

Pour ce soir?

How are things at Ainswick, Edward?

Just as lovely as ever?

Why don't you come and see?

You're always welcome.

Anytime.

Anytime at all.

You are sweet.

And Ainswick is the best place in the world.

Do you remember our special tree?

Igdrasil.

The secret sign we used to draw everywhere?

Fancy a breath here?

My God! Igdrasil.

Who drew that?

You did.

So, what've you been doing, since I saw you last?

Nothing.

That sounds peaceful.

You could find peace at Ainswick, with me.

I wish I wasn't so dreadfully fond of you, Edward.

Makes it so much harder to go on saying " no".

What you really mean is that you won't marry me because of John Christow.

- Why doesn't the fellow get a divorce?

- Because That's it, isn't it?

If there'd be no John Christow in the world, you'd marry me.

I used to spent my holidays with Edward, at Ainswick.

It seemed so vast.

Oh, how I miss it! - Why didn't you inherit it, Lucy?

- Midge, you know very well girls don't inherit.

It's the way the world wags.

Edward isn't even my cousin, he's family's second cousin.

But he's still in tail.

Ainswick falls like rain, right plop in his lap.

- Aren't you remotely bitter about that?

- No, of course not.

I've invited that crime fellow for dinner.

I'm sorry?

That's why I was in your bedroom so early, this morning.

I had this premonition, you see.

That we were to have terrible foughts, for dinner.

So, him being here, just could be a distraction.

What crime man, Lucy?

He was in Bagdad when Henry was High-Comissionary.

He stays in one of those funny little cottages, down the lane.

I remember he wore this pink flower on his button hole and he was solving something, I can't quite remember what.

But of course I'm not terribly interested on who k*lled whom.

I mean, once you're dead, you're dead it doesn't matter why, does it?

I'm no good in anything.

I don't know why you ever married me.

You needed taking care of, that's why I married you.

I try to be a good wife, John.

This may not be the best time to tell you You know I love you, don't you?

Of course I know, but I have to warn you No one else, just you.

We'll never make it to Shovel Down in third.

Very fair sh**ting, Edward.

Now, there.

Your turn, Henrietta.

See if you can k*ll a burglar.

- Well done! - No, you only winged him.

Hello, everyone! Hello, Henry! - It's the Christow! - Hello.

So sorry we're late.

Not at all, not at all, just in time for sporting target practice.

Nice to see you, John.

Now then, Gerda, come along.

- Try to put one in bullseye.

I've never tried.

- Hello, darling.

- Darling.

- I think you may have met Midge Hardcastle?

- Yes, of course.

And of course you know my second cousin, Edward.

- How do you do, Edward?

- Hello, John.

- What's going on?

- Henry's brought the a*tillery.

Has he indeed?

I sprang my bloody wrist.

Careful.

Did I miss?

I bet I missed.

My turn, is it?

Gerda, how lovely to see you! Thank you, Henry.

Come along, Gudgeon.

I say, Lucy! That's nothing.

Once, on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, I was jumped by a couple of thugs.

We were rolling about in the dirt, we were.

Then, before I knew it, she'd sh*t one in the leg and one in stomach.

How she didn't hit me, God alone knows! It's quite simple! You do it very quickly and you don't think about it, Henry.

Sena has in ballet class.

Point shoes, the whole lot.

- And Terence?

- Chemistry.

Always trying to blow things up.

He's planning to make nitroglycerine while were away.

- But don't tell John anything.

- Oh, I shan't.

- And you?

- Oh, I've taken up Leathercraft.

Do you like this?

I made it.

It's so nice talking to you.

But I suppose it will soon be time for dinner.

Gerda why do you come here if you hate it so much?

I want John to be happy.

- He could come without you.

- No, he wouldn't like that.

He wouldn't enjoy it without me.

He said so.

John is overly unselfish.

I'd rather stay in Harley Street, to be frank, but he thinks it is good for me, to get out into the country.

Oh, the country's alright.

No need to throw in the Angkatells We're an odious family.

Come on, let's go in and get changed.

There's some sort of detective coming in, apparently.

You wouldn't believe it.

Monsieur Poirot has habilities one has to say, quite phenomenal.

It's absolutely true, the talk about there was in Bagdad.

Monsieur Poirot and his little "green" cells.

Grey, Madame.

Pardon me.

But we're awfully lucky to have him as a neighbour.

I mean, in case anything went wrong.

Would you give it all up if I asked you to?

And come and live with me?

No.

No?

It's not really what you want.

Couldn't you lie to me, just once?

- Why?

- Because I love you, Henrietta.

But you're so damn it all, so detached.

Your art, your cars, your friends.

I want you to think you only need me.

Isn't that what Gerda does?

Don't you tell me you care a damn about Gerda.

Why not?

I like Gerda.

- Dinner, Milady.

- Thank you, Gudgeon Please, Monsieur Poirot.

Come this way.

Merci.

Has anyone seen John?

Well, the customers are awful! One has to put up far more insolence in a dress shop than Gudgeon or Simmons or any decent domestic does here.

It must be absolute hell, darling.

But why does one has to be so proud?

Anyone having to earn one's living, doesn't have to be the end, has it?

It's all about self-esteem, surely?

You're the expert on that.

So, how do you do it then, Monsieur Poirot?

I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle?

To solve so many crimes?

Merely I use the process of the thought logic and once the process it has been applied, alors, the mistery becomes éclairé and the criminal mind it is uncovered.

But that assumes that you're cleverer than the criminal, doesn't it?

I am not sure that it does, Mademoiselle.

Logically.

Oh, I think it does.

What happens if you come across one who's cleverer than yourself?

This is not the highest probability, Mademoiselle.

Have you ever been to Deauville, Monsieur?

Careful, sir.

Henrietta has a very sharp tongue.

After dinner, we use to play games.

Perhaps charades.

But tonight I think it would be most appropriate, if we were to essay the m*rder Game.

Lucy, don't you think Monsieur Poirot would be rather bored Someone has to pretend to be dead.

m*rder*d.

And then we all have to find out who did it.

It's such fun! It usually turns out to be Gudgeon.

Lady Angkatell, it's a proposition that is most delightful, but I'm one who retires early to his bed.

Your dinner, it was superb.

Mademoiselle, I hope that we shall resume our conversation at another time.

I'd like that, Monsieur Poirot.

- Sir Henry.

- Mr.

Poirot.

An evening that was most delightful.

- Thank you.

- Thank you.

I know! You must come to lunch tomorrow.

Oh, yes! He must, mustn't he?

Pardon, but tomorrow I am engagé.

Nonsense, there's absolutely nothing to do around here, for miles and miles and miles.

I insist you come to our sunday lunch.

Henry, tell him I do not take kindly to being disobeyed.

We'd be very pleased to have you, old man.

Et bien.

It will be my pleasure to attend.

Thank you.

Bonne nuit.

Good night, Mr.

Poirot.

- Good night.

- Good night.

Ace of diamonds.

Why on earth did you lead that diamond, Gerda?

Oh! I was it wrong?

Don't be absurd, she had to lead the diamond.

The only sane thing to do.

Game and rubber.

Well done.

- Wait, did we win?

- A lucky finesse! - You cheated.

- Was it obvious?

So that Gerda would win.

Honesty means nothing to you, does it?

Good evening! - Who the devil are you?

- Veronica Cray, Sir Henry.

Please, please, forgiving me for barging in upon you like this.

I'm the dinky little house, up the lane and I've had the most frightful catastrophe.

Please, come on in.

Henry, close the window.

What happened?

I've run out of matches.

On a Saturday night! And I smoke like a chimney truly.

I feel a complete fool, but there's not a match in Dovecotes so I've come to beg some from my only neighbours within miles and - My God! - Hello, Veronica.

My God, it's John Christow! Matches, was it?

This is too, too extraordinary! - Do you know each other?

- We did a long time ago.

- Yes, John's an old friend.

He was the first guy I was ever in love with.

Midge, would you kindly ring the bell?

I thought you were just wonderful! Weren't we really madly in love?

Veronica, this is my wife.

How lovely to meet you.

Ah, Gudgeon, tell me, do we have plenty of matches in the house?

- A dozen boxes came today, milady.

- Excellent.

- Would you kindly get six?

- Very good, milady.

And how do you like Dovecotes?

Oh, I adore it! It's so cute and so close to London And, yet, we feel so gloriously isolated.

We kindda lost touch when I went to California, didn't we?

- You've been to California?

- Oh, I live there, actually.

I just popped over to do a little play.

One has to keep up to hand, and say hello to Shaftesbury Avenue and all that.

My dear Lady Angkatell, I surely won't need all these.

We have plenty in the house.

Besides, I always think it's rather tiresome only having one of a thing, don't you?

This is very kind of you, thank you.

Will you see me back to my cottage?

I want dreadfully to know what you've been up to in all those years and years, since I've seen you.

I'm so sorry to have bothered you in this pathetic way, Lady Angkatell, - Night, night.

- Good night.

- That was Veronica Cray! - Indeed.

We must catch up one of her pictures, Henry.

If that little performance is anything to go by, we will certainly get our money's worth.

- I assure it's true - It can't be! - I'm not joking - No, it's not true! It is true.

Come on, John.

Come on.

What time is it?

Uh I've-- I've no idea.

Sorry to wake you.

I had to go in for a drink with the woman.

Good night, John.

Good night.

Morning.

- Morning.

- Morning.

We're sh**ting after breakfast.

- We might bag a few pigeon.

- You wanna come?

No, thanks.

I feel a bit shattered, to be honest.

For me?

It came this morning, sir.

We have to talk about our future.

I'm sorry?

Our future, John! We've wasted 12 years.

I'm not going back to the States.

I'm going to make my life here, with you.

You've this you've got this taped out all wrong.

We had quite a time together, last night, but Veronica, you know our lives are completely divergent.

I mean, when we split up, well, that was just it.

We split up.

We didn't split up.

You ditched me.

I was your fiancée and you ditched me! I couldn't go with you to Hollywood.

I had to finish Med School.

Of course, to being a doctor.

Well, you go on being a doctor, I don't mind.

My dear girl, I'm married.

I have children! I know.

I'm married myself, at the moment.

It's nothing a good divorce lawyer can't fix.

John I always did want to be your wife.

You see, I have this passion, this overpowering passion! - We have to be together.

- No.

That is not going to happen! - But last night - Last night?

Look, you're not a child! Last night was a one off.

Are you saying you don't love me?

You are a very, very alluring woman, Veronica, but I don't love you, no.

I came all this way to find you! Waited in this ghastly hovel (hut) for the weekend for you to be here! You see I knew that if we could be, just once more, together, just once more You-- you planned it?

You belong to me, John.

You're mine! When I was young man, I wanted to share my life with you and you wouldn't do it.

Because my career is so much more important than yours.

Anyone can be a doctor.

You're a nasty piece of work! You leave me again, I'll really make you sorry! So be it! Goodbye.

I hate you more than I thought I could hate anyone! Good day, sir.

Lady Angkatell would like you to come to the pavillion, sir, for a glass of cherry.

- Out of doors?

- Would you care to follow me, sir?

Merci.

Milady?

I see that you are playing the "m*rder Game".

Alors, très bien.

I congratulate you all.

Henrietta - Allow me, madam.

- Give that to me, Gerda! Mademoiselle, do no Poirot?

What's happened?

Gerda has mur I mean John has been sh*t.

He's dead.

Isn't really my line, m*rder.

Non, but the procedure it has been followed quite correctly and, until the police arrive, all we can do is to ensure that the body it is undisturbed.

and that nobody tampers with the evidence.

It's it's a bit chilly.

- You alright if we wait in the pavillion?

- Oui, bien sûr.

Can I offer you a cherry?

Non, merci.

It's better not to touch.

- I suppose we can smoke.

- Oui.

Non, non, merci.

A very able fellow, Christow.

Very able.

Slightly too able, if you take my meaning.

I just don't know what to do about lunch.

It seems so heartless to be seating around a table, stuffing oneself as if nothing had happened.

Don't worry on my account, Lucy.

God bless you, dear Edward, but say what you will, m*rder is a very awkward thing.

It upsets the servants so, breaks whole routine out.

The worst of all, it was duck for lunch, my very, very favourite! What about Gerda, Midge?

Perhaps something on a tray would be good.

I've placed sandwiches and some coffe in the dining-room, milady.

Gudgeon, thank you! Gudgeon really is a jewel, you know?

And a proper, substantial sandwich is as good as lunch.

And there's nothing remotely heartless about them, if you know what I mean.

- Lucy, don't! This is all so awful! - Oh! Midge! Don't cry, little Midge.

Monsieur Poirot, this is Inspector Grange.

I expect you've heard about Monsieur Poirot.

- I most certainly have.

- Inspector.

May I ask you what brings you to these "neck o da woods"?

Well, I visit this "neck of the woods", Inspector, for the weekends.

My friends persuaded me to purchase a cottage here.

It is the second one, in that way, along the lane.

Are you fond of the countryside, aren't you, sir?

Le paysage is most, except for the trees, have this untidy habit of dropping leaves.

And that path leads to the lane, you say?

Oui.

And that path leads to the farm and that's where Lady Angkatell came?

Edward Angkatell and Miss Savernake came from the woods separately and then they stood there and there?

Oui, it was like one mis-en-scène from the theatre.

I'm giving Gerda some brandy.

Oh, how thoughtful of you, Henrietta.

Yes, I was remembering, we were given a brandy, for shock, when I was a little girl, at Ainswick.

Of course, I suppose it's not exactly a shock with Gerda, is it?

Personally, I don't know how I would feel if I'd just m*rder*d my husband, but wouldn't exactly be shock, would it?

I mean, there wouldn't be no element of surprise.

Why are you so sure that Gerda k*lled John?

It seems so evident.

Why, what else do you suggest?

Isn't it possible that Gerda came along to the pool, found John lying there and just picked up the revolver when we came on the scene?

This is what Gerda says?

Yes.

Oh! Well, fortunately, duck is quite pleasant cold.

I couldn't lie down any longer.

I still can't believe that it's real.

That John is dead.

Who could have k*lled him?

Who could possibly have k*lled John?

This is my wife, Inspector Grange.

Lady Angkatell.

I was hoping to have a word with Mrs.

Christow.

There she is.

- Mrs.

Christow?

- Yes, I'm Gerda Christow.

I should just want to ask you a few-- He was a wonderful doctor.

So kind, so unselfish.

The best of husbands.

Who could've wanted to k*ll him?

What exactly happened, Mrs.

Christow?

It was all so sudden I went out from the house, and along the path to the swimming pool What time was this?

About 12:58.

I noticed the clock.

And, when I got there, there was John, lying there, and blood - Did you hear the sh**t?

- Yes.

No I don't know.

Sir Henry and Edward were out sh**ting.

I just saw John blood and a revolver.

- And I picked up the revolver - Why?

I beg your pardon?

Why did you pick it up?

I don't know.

Shouldn't I have?

So you have decided that Madame Christow sh*t her husband?

Yes, sir.

Don't you think she did it?

It could have happened as she said.

Yes, could have.

But it's a very thin story.

They all think she did it.

And you thought she'd done it, didn't you?

When you first arrived on the scene I am not sure what I thought.

Something was not exactement as it should have been.

What's that?

Looks like leather work, sir.

- Oh, right.

- Sir, we got the w*apon.

Come on, pick it up.

Been in the pool, destroyed any fingerprints that might have been on it.

Yes, it comes from my collection.

It's my hobby, Inspector.

- When did you last see this one?

- Yesterday afternoon.

We were doing some target practice.

Who actually fired the g*n on that occasion?

I think we all had at least one sh*t with it.

- Including Gerda Christow?

- Including Gerda Christow.

And after the sh**ting?

I put the firearm back in its usual place.

Will Sir Henry require a late supper, milady?

There is some duck leftover.

No, Gudgeon, he's driving Mrs.

Christow up to London as we speak.

He's staying at his club.

Gudgeon, about those eggs I meant to write the date on them, as per usual.

But, because of the confusion Could you kindly ask the cook?

I've seen to it myself, milady.

Oh, bless you, Gudgeon.

- Do you think Gerda will be alright?

- Oh, yes.

She'll probably send for some old school friend of hers.

She's probably got three or four.

I can just see them, scrabbling hockey types, from Turnbridge Wells.

What extraodinary things you do say, Lucy! Very well, Eastbourne and tennis, if you insist.

I wonder if there're any left?

- School friends?

- No! Policemen.

Don't they normally leave one hovering in the hall?

Or outside, peeking behind a bush, watching the door?

In case another m*rder is comitted in the night?

Lucy, don't I'm so sorry, how stupid of me, of course.

Gerda is on her way back to London.

Oh, dear.

I didn't mean Tomorrow, I think it's better to telephone the shop, you know.

Just tell them about the inquest.

Just say you're staying off here for a few days.

I haven't said anything, but you do know how sorry I am?

Sorry?

That John Christow's gone?

You didn't like John.

He and I hadn't much in common.

You had me in common.

Henrietta, for God's sake! No need to be like that.

What did you think I'd be like?

Did you think I'd seat and cry for a pocket handkerchief while you'd held my hand?

You're nice enough, Edward, but, honestly, you are inadequate.

Alô?

Yes.

Monsieur Poirot, we could use your brains.

Join us, would you?

So which of the ladies did this wrap belong to?

I take it, sir, that you're referring to the cape of artic fox.

I noticed it yesterday, when I took the cherry out to the pavillion.

But it is not the property of anyone in this establishment, sir.

Well, who's is it, then?

It might possibly belong to Miss Cray, the motion picture actrice.

She payed a visit after dinner, the night before last, for the purpose of borrowing some matches, sir.

Did she take away six boxes?

That is correct, sir.

Servants are the devil, aren't they?

Still Sir Henry identified the g*n.

Which means that all Mrs.

Christow had to do was to get it from the study.

Don't you agree?

- And her motive, what is it?

- Motive?

Jealousy, I'd say.

La jalousie?

Peut-être.

You know these fancy doctors.

He'd probably get one of those rich lady patients a good "see to".

And Lady Angkatell mentioned some trouble with a nurse.

But she was a bit vague.

Yes, she would be vague.

I'm taking the train off to London.

I'm going to Harley Street.

Would you care to join me?

I don't remember any quarrels.

No.

Mrs.

Christow was devoted to her husband.

Quite slavishly so.

- Tyrannical, was he?

- No.

But he was what I would call a selfish man.

He took it for granted that Mrs.

Christow would fall in with his ideas.

You organized his appointments, Miss Collins.

Any difficulty with patients?

Lady patients?

He had an excellent manner with patients.

Yes, but any hanky panky?

- Certainly not.

What about Mlle.

Veronica Cray?

Veronica Cray?

Well, we believe she was a friend of Dr.

Christow's.

- Do you mean the actrice?

- Oui.

I'd no idea he knew her.

Any ideas as to whom might have k*lled Dr.

Christow?

Absolutely none at all, Inspector.

When the body was discovered, Mme.

Christow was standing beside it, with a revolver in her hand.

Look, I don't know who you are, but if you think Gerda Christow k*lled her husband, you are categorically wrong.

- It's the Inspector, Mrs.

Christow.

- Thank you, Collie.

- Good afternoon.

- My friend Elsie, I mean, Mrs.

Patterson.

- Ma'am.

This is Monsieur Poirot.

Have you found out who k*lled him?

Uh no, not yet Ma'am.

- Was it you, Mrs.

Christow?

- That's unfair! - Why do you persecute the poor woman?

- Excusez-moi.

But perhaps Madame Christow would prefer to speak for herself.

It was not me.

No.

It is a hard thing, to k*ll the one you love, n'est ce pas?

A very hard thing, I should imagine.

I couldn't do it.

Balistic's report.

We ran it right away.

Have a look at that, Poirot.

Merci, Madame.

So the balistics report proves that the g*n in the pool was not the one who k*lled John Christow.

I've spoken to Sir Henry.

He says that there is a g*n missing in his collection.

A .

38 Smith & Wesson, brown holster.

I think this whole thing could be a frame set up to implicate Mrs.

Christow.

But, if that was so, why do not leave the right revolver lying by the body?

But she might not have pick it up.

And it is possible, Inspector, that the m*rder*r might be someone who wanted to k*ll Dr.

Christow, but did not want to implicate Gerda Christow.

Well, he had a funny way to work about it.

We suspected her right from the start.

Oui, mon ami.

Very swiftly you suspected her.

Look, Poirot.

You were a eye witness, you saw everything.

Oui, I saw.

But the eyes of witnesses are most unreliable.

Sometimes, the eyes see what they are meant to see.

You saying it was arranged?

There was something about the tableau, the people around the pool it was false.

And I can not place my finger on what it was.

There were three people, Lady Angkatell, Monsieur Edward Angkatell and Henrietta Savernake.

Henrietta.

And anyone of these three people could have sh*t Dr.

Christow before Madame Christow arrived, could have retreated by one of the paths, turn around and returned.

Blimey, you're right.

There is also another possibility, Inspector.

Someone could have come from the path, along the lane, then fired the sh*t and gone back the same way.

You're dead right.

And that could be Miss Veronica Cray.

Crime of passion.

Bingo! - You have interviewed her?

- Yes, I have.

Christow went to visit her that morning.

They had a fight.

I spoke to the maid.

Cray said to him: "I hate you more than I ever thought I could hate anyone!" That is interesting.

And it was her fur coat in the pavillion?

Yes, it was.

She must have left it there when she entered to borrow the matches.

I do not believe she went there to borrow the matches.

She could have borrowed them from me and saved the walk.

No, no, no.

She was nervous, on account of you being a foreigner.

Et bien - Santé.

- Santé.

You know something about human nature, don't you?

I know a little about human nature.

Inspector Grange has got into his head that I quarreled with John Christow on the day he d*ed.

And did you?

I hadn't seen John for 12 years.

But the real truth is so fantastic that I'm certain that a guy like Grange wouldn't believe it.

But I think you might understand.

I am flattered, Mademoiselle.

Actually, I am married.

Madame.

12 years ago, John was very in love with me.

Even obsessively so.

He wanted me to give up acting, having a life of my own, even a mind of my own He was so possessive and domineering I thought I couldn't go through with it and I broke off the engagement.

I'm affrai he took it rather hard.

When we came back here, on saturday night, the whole thing blew up again.

He went mad, quite literally mad.

He wanted to leave his wife and children, he wanted me to divorce my husband he wanted us to get back together.

He carried a torch for me, all these years.

We argued and argued, and in the end I had to send him back The Hollow.

Next morning, he returned.

I told him it was impossible.

He insisted.

I told him I didn't love him, I could never love him and I begged him not to ruin my life a second time.

I had to be brutal.

Yes, I said I hated him.

And we parted in anger.

And now he is dead.

- It is a tragedy.

- Undoubtedly.

Do you think I should say any of this at the inquest?

I mean his wife.

I can not see that it has any bearing at the inquest.

It is private.

And perhaps it should remain so.

I talked with the kitchen maid, sir.

Simmons.

She says that, Sunday afternoon, she saw the butler walk across the hall with a revolver in his hand.

I'm very sorry, sir.

I suppose I ought to have mentioned it.

At about 17:30, I noticed a revolver lying upon the hall table.

I picked it up and brought it in here.

There was a gap up there on the shelf, so I put it where it belong.

Which one, Gudgeon?

This one, sir.

But that is not a revolver.

That is an a*t*matic p*stol.

I'm very sorry, sir.

I'm affraid I'm not fully informed about firearms.

Sir Henry, I'll have it fully checked for fingerprints.

Oh! I doubt there will be any fingerprints, sir.

Why not?

Because I polished it with my handkerchief before replacing it, sir.

Why the devil did you do that?

I felt it might be dusty, sir.

How nice to see you, Monsieur Poirot.

Oh, dear! There's a poor girl in the kichen, just sobbing her heart out.

What have you been telling them about the p*stol, Gudgeon?

Never mind, it doesn't matter.

I'll explain everything.

You may go.

Dear poor Gudgeon, you know.

He tries so hard to protect us from any kind of trouble This here is all quite feudal, you know?

But he didn't find the p*stol in the hall at all.

No, no, no.

He found it when he took out the eggs.

Eggs?

What eggs?

You see, I went out to the farm to collect the eggs.

I put the p*stol on the egg basket and then I put the new eggs on top of the p*stol.

When I came back and saw John laying there, well I mean, unwell I sort of had a bit of a shock and almost dropped the basket.

Dear sweet Gudgeon, as per usual, sprang to my rescue.

Later on, I wanted to write the date on the eggs, otherwise, you see, we tend to eat the fresher eggs before the older ones, and that simply will not do And then Gudgeon told me he had taken care of everything.

And which p*stol was that, Lady Angkatell?

That was the Mauser.

25.

And why did you put it into the basket?

Oh! I knew you would ask me that, Monsieur Poirot.

Of course I must have had a reason, mustn't I, Henry?

I mean, I must have had some idea worrying about in my head, in order for me to put the Mauser into the egg basket, in first place.

My wife is extremely absent-minded.

Sir Henry, if I may ask you a question.

How many people, in general, know that the police can identify a g*n by the little marks on the b*llet.

The marks of the riffling.

I think that's pretty well common knowledge nowadays, Poirot.

I was just taking the dog for a walk.

I love peaking in other people's houses.

Do you mind if I take a look?

But certainly, Mademoiselle, entrez, if you please.

I would be most grateful, however, if the dog might be kept outside.

How beautifully tidy! You'd hate my studio.

There's clay all over the place, and glaze, and paint bottles But I understand, you are an artiste.

Aren't you an artist too, Monsieur Poirot?

On the whole, I would say non.

I've known crimes that were artistic, supreme exercises of imagination.

But the solving of them, non.

The criative power is not what is needed.

What is required is a passion for truth.

And, once you have the truth, once you have knowledge, is that enough?

Or do you have to go one step further and transform the knowledge into action?

Why did you come here, Mademoiselle Savernake?

As I said, I was taking the dog for a walk.

It is odd I did never take notice of a dog on my visits to the Angkatell.

That might be because they haven't got one.

I borrowed the gardener's.

Don't actually like animals much, dogs, horses horrible, smelly things.

I am not, Monsieur Poirot, terribly truthful.

Non.

But I think that you have integrity.

The inquest is tomorrow.

Is it necessary, do you know, the Police to know that I was John Christow's mistress?

You were lovers?

I do not think that the Police has any difficulty in discovering this.

I suppose not.

Why should Gerda bear such heavy burden?

She adored John and now she is dead.

I didn't break up his married life.

I was one of a procession, along with Veronica Cray and all the others.

- So he was like that?

- No! He was a noble man, a fine man.

He was doing a vital research into a debilitanting disease.

It's called Ridgeway's, there is no known cure.

He was working on it night and day, for months.

His curiosity, his determination Oh! I wish I could make you understand.

- But I understand.

- Really?

You mentioned Veronica Cray.

She also was a friend of Dr.

Christow?

They were engaged to be married 12 years ago.

Were they?

Look, I'll make it simple.

Veronica was, and is, a bitch of the first water.

She wanted John to give up medicine and go and live with her in Califórnia.

So he broke off and subsequentely married Gerda.

He had a number of affairs, which Gerda never knew nothing about.

But he really never got over Veronica.

And in the last Saturday they met, for the first time in 12 years.

He went out to see her home and he returned to the Hollow at 03:00 a.

m.

.

Yes.

How do you know?

The housemaid had a toothache.

Lucy has far too many servants.

And how is it that you know?

I was watching out my window.

The toothache, Mademoiselle?

Quite another kind of ache, Monsieur Poirot.

If you see me with a p*stol in my hand, Simmons, the proper thing to do is come to me and say: Mr.

Gudeon, would you be so kind and give me an explanation.

Yes, Mr.

Gudgeon.

The improper thing to do is to go babbling to the Police.

That is common.

Where would Her Ladyship be, if we all run doing things like that, hmm?

Lucy, why did you take the p*stol?

I'm not entirely sure, Henry.

I do recall, though, waking up that morning with some sort of premonition, that there might, just might, be some kind of accident.

.

Accident, who might have had an accident?

Well, obviously, John Christow.

And, I mean, one does feel awfully sorry, of course, and one does tend to blame oneself - Good God, Lucy! Oh, Henry! Oh, Henry! Oh, Henry, I'm so dreadfully worried about Ainswick.

If Edward never marries, and he won't, you know, if Henrietta turns him down, it will all die out.

It will.

They will break it up and sell it off in little tiny pieces.

Lucy, does it really, honestly, matter?

Of course it matters.

Ainswick is my home.

It's all our land.

No Somebody'd got to get rid of him.

Lucy, you didn't Don't be such a fool.

Do you really believe, for a moment, that I could've sh*t him?

I invited him here, Henry.

One doesn't ask guests for the weekend and start bumping them off.

- Did your aunt like John Christow?

- Lucy?

Lucy's a cousin, not an aunt.

Yes, she liked him very much.

And your also cousin, Mr.

Edward Angkatell, - did he like Dr.

Christow?

- Not particularly.

And do they like Madame Christow?

It's not a matter of liking her, she's famíly.

- Is she?

- We're not all rich, you know?

Gerda is from a branch of rather humble Angkatell's.

She's tolerated, I think it's fair to say, because she's one of us.

And your understanding of tolerance would be to sleep with her husband?

Why did you take the revolver out of the hand of Madame Christow and drop it into the pool?

A Gerda is very clumsy.

She might have fired it and hurt someone.

But you're not clumsy, are you?

And yet you dropped it.

If there were fingerprints on that revolver, that is to say, fingerprints before Madame Christow handled it, it would've been intersting to know who's they were.

Meaning that you think that they were mine.

You're suggesting that I sh*t John and then left the revolver beside him so that Gerda could come along and pick it up.

But if I'd done that, give me credit for enough intelligence, to have wiped my own figerprints off first.

But, Mademoiselle, you have enough intelligence to know that if there would be no fingerprints in the revolver, other than Madame Christow's, other than Madame Christow's, it would be très remarcable.

Because you were all sh**ting with the revolver the day before.

And there are something else we have just discovered.

We now know that the revover that was dropped into the pool was not the revolver that k*lled John Christow.

He was sh*t with a quite different g*n.

And you think that I sh*t him?

When he was dying, John Christow said: "Henrietta.

" I told you, we were lovers.

Oh yes, of course .

He was your lover.

So, as he was dying, he says, "Henrietta.

" Very touching.

- I don't think there is any need to sneer.

- I am not sneering.

But I do not like being lied to.

I've admitted that I'm not very truthful.

But I don't k*ll people, Monsieur Poirot.

Gerda! Poor dear, Gerda.

I'm so sorry.

Not getting too a little sleep, I trust.

What is an adjournment, you know?

You must be famished.

Why don't you come back to the Hollow for lunch?

I'm taking Gerda directly home.

She needs rest and quiet, not this.

What did they see in Christow?

That wretched woman is completely heartbroken.

- Poor devil.

- Are you all packed?

I'm getting lift to town.

All set.

Come on, Midge.

Bye, Edward.

Bye.

Edward! - Damn cold! - It is, rather.

What's this one?

It looks a bit like Gerda.

Cowed and hunched.

She modelled for me.

Don't you dare tell her that's what what I ended up with.

I call it "The Worshiper".

Who is she worshiping?

John.

Did you understand all that business with the second g*n?

No, but it lets Gerda off the hook, doesn't it?

Let's have some tea and toasts, then I'll take you to your lodgings.

Mademoiselle, do not! John has been sh*t.

He's dead.

Edward, Midge, how wonderful to see you both! He rescued me from Madame Alfrege.

It was frightfully romantic.

I was whisked from the shop and taken to lunch at The Connaught and, do you know what?

I never went back.

I'm a dull dog, I know.

I am no much good at anything.

I just read books, putter about.

Midge has agrred to come to Ainswick and be my wife.

And nothing could make me happier.

Of white satin, don't you think?

And ivory Prayer Book.

What about bridesmaids?

Oh, I don't fuss.

Just a quiet wedding.

I quite agree.

They don't match, do they?

I mean it, there's always a rather plain one, that ruins the whole-- Absolutely dozens of them, poking about in the woods, making a terrible mess with all the pheasants! Why are they still here?

They're searching for the missing revolver, Midge.

Bonjour, Mademoiselle.

Good morning, Monsieur Poirot.

Will they find it, do you think?

Soon, I should say.

You have returned very suddenly from London, Mademoiselle.

There's a party for Midge and Edward, who, believe it or not, are getting married.

Why, did you think the m*rder*r would return to the scene of the crime?

You know, it did seem to me, from the very beginning, that either this crime was very simple, so simple that it was very difficult to believe in its simplicity, or it was very complex.

And it is to say that we are contending against a mind that is able of inventions that are intricate and ingenious.

So that every time we seem to be heading towards the truth, we're actually being led away from it.

A mind that is subtle and yes, very ingenious, which is plotting agaist us the whole time.

And succeding.

What is that to do with me?

It is a creative mind, Mademoiselle.

- And this is a strange tree.

- It's a Igdrasil.

A memento of my childhood, I draw it everywhere, doodling, you know.

I've seen it before, in the pavillion, by the pool.

In the pavillion?

Where it must have been drawn on Sunday morning.

Oh yes, on the little table.

- But that was on Saturday afternoon.

- Non, non It was not there when Gudgeon brought the cherry glasses.

- Then it must have been in Sunday afternoon.

- Non, because Grange's men did not leave the area until dusk.

Oh, yes! I remember.

It was after dinner, on Saturday.

Non, Mademoiselle Savernake.

People do not doodle in the dark.

No, I think you were in the pavillion on Sunday, after 12:00, when Gudgeon brought out the cherry glasses.

I think you stood by the table, watching someone, waiting for someone and you doodled.

I didn't go down to the pool until 13:00.

Just after John Christow had been sh*t.

But Igdrasil testifies against you.

You were there and sh*t Dr.

Christow or you were there and saw who did.

This is outrageous! Do you think you are cleverer than I?

The inquest resumes tomorrow, and all I've got is vague suspicions leading to nowhere.

Nowhere, instead of somewhere.

That is it.

Do you know, half the time I think those Angkatells know all about it.

Oh, they do know all about it.

Henrietta Savernake?

Nothing from her either.

She went straight to Chelsea.

I searched her studio with a fine tooth comb, but there's no g*n.

Just art pieces.

Sculptures, funny looking horses, bits of wood, metal - Horses, did you say?

- Wel, one horse.

If you can call it a horse.

- A horse?

- Yeah, what's so fascinating about that?

It's a point of psicology, Inspector.

How quickly can you get me up to London?

What're you looking for, sir?

This.

The horse.

Merci.

Quite good, actually.

Merci.

Monsieur Poirot! Mademoiselle Savernake doesn't like horses.

Voilá.

I think that this will prove to be the m*rder w*apon.

- So Miss Savernake did it.

- Non! Looks to me bloody likely.

No, Mademoiselle Savernake is not, in my opinion, a m*rder*r.

Let us be quiet about our discovery, for the time being, Inspector.

And watch.

Let us be intelligent.

Is Her Ladyship at home?

You will find Lady Angkatell in the greenhouse.

If I might, the inquest is concluded, m*rder by person or persons unknown.

Is it necessary to trouble Her Ladyship further, sir?

Lady Angkatell.

Monsieur Poirot.

Tell me, what are your views on compost?

I've come to offer you apologies for the inconveniencies you have suffered.

It's high time to put a full stop to the whole thing.

You do understand me, don't you?

I'm not sure that I do, Lady Angkatell.

Oh, come, come, Poirot.

You understand perfectly! Since Inspector Grange has failed to find the m*rder w*apon, he'll have to let the whole thing drop.

You, I dare say, won't.

Non, I shall not let it drop.

What if were told the truth?

Would you like to tell me the truth?

Oh, Monsieur Poirot, I would love to tell you the truth.

Then, of course, we could all agree that John Christow is over and done with.

Could we, Madame?

You really are very foreign, aren't you?

Are you quite sure you have not something, Lady Angkatell?

Something just came upon me, you might have overlooked it.

I could be wrong, of course, and you could've handled everything, but since you never mentioned it, I'm a little concearned What's the matter, Lucy?

- It's the holster.

- What?

Oh Henrietta, the holster! The g*n was in a holster! - Yes, Collie?

- It's Miss Savernake.

The holster, Gerda! Where is the holster?

You have to give me the holster and then you'll be safe.

Not completely safe.

Dommage.

Poirot! How did you?

Sometimes, the fastest car it is not fast enough, Mademoiselle.

Not when it races against the brain.

Where are the children?

- Elsie's taken them to the Zoo.

- Thank Heaven for that! I know that you k*lled your husband, Madame.

Yes.

I did.

Why did you do it, Gerda?

Why did you k*ll John?

Because it was all a lie! Everything! I thought he was the noblest man in the world.

But I saw his face when he followed that woman, that evening I knew he'd loved her, before he'd married me, but I thought I thought it was over.

I tried to sleep, but I couldn't.

It was the middle of the night.

I had to know.

They were there.

I could hear them.

John and Veronica Cray.

I believed in him as though he were God.

I worshiped him.

And it was all a lie.

I had to k*ll him.

You do see that?

I had to! I am not quite so stupid as everyone thinks.

I knew I could k*ll John and the Police would never know because I had read in this novel how they can tell which g*n fires the b*llet.

So, I took two.

Sir Henry had shown how to load and fire the day before.

It was easy.

You shove the cilinder back into the frame and you're ready for sh**ting.

I'd sh*t with one then hide it and let them find me holding the other.

I forgot about the leather thing.

- The holster.

- I forgot about it too.

I also forgot.

The memory, it is selective, n'est ce pas?

And then I heard Inspector Grange mention this holster, this holster of leather-- I remembered where I had seen it before.

What's that?

Looks like leather work, sir.

Where is your bag for the leather work?

I-I think it's in the surgery.

The surgery?

I seat there.

In his chair.

I'll fetch it for you, shall I?

S'il vous plaît.

But Madame Oh, I'm not going anywhere, don't worry.

When you return to your studio, I'm affraid you'll discover that one of your sculptures, it has been destroyed.

It is the sculpture of the head of the horse.

It could have worked, Mademoiselle, if you did not tell me how much you detested the creatures.

I know that you were helped by your family, once they knew what you wanted done.

Henrietta.

Isn't it possible that Gerda came along by the pool, found John lying there and just picked up the revolver when we came on the scene?

This is what Gerda says?

Yes.

But why do you wanted it done, Mademoiselle?

Because John asked me to.

That's what he meant when he said, "Henrietta".

He was asking me to protect Gerda.

And he knew that I'd do anything he wanted, because I loved him.

Oui.

I began to realize the truth when I saw there was a pattern, a pattern to implicate everyone, other than Gerda Christow.

You deliberatly planted Igdrasil to catch my attention and put yourself under suspicion.

I put the p*stol on the egg basket and then I put the new eggs on top of the p*stol.

Oh, I doubt there'll be any fingerprints, sir.

Because I polished it with my handkerchief before replacing it, sir.

And Lady Angkatell, and the family, they closed hands and colluded, because There's only one thing to do, if you want to clear from suspicion the person who is actually guilty, suggest guilt elsewhere, but never localize it .

- Vite! - Oh, my God! Gerda! Gerda! Help her, for God's sake! It is too late.

Potassium Cyanide.

Wife of a doctor She knew exactly what to do.

What happens to me now?

Go, my child.

Your place is with the living.

I will remain here with the dead.